By Rabbi Fryer Bodzin:
Dear Friends,
There are so many connections between the Yiddish production of Fiddler on the Roof, which I saw earlier this week, and Parashat Naso.
At first glance, Parashat Naso seems to be about structure and logistics. We read census numbers, tribal offerings, the responsibilities of the Levites, and the careful functioning of the Mishkan. But beneath all of those details is a much deeper spiritual question: how does a community hold itself together when every individual is carrying something different?
If you know the world of Anatevka, then you know that is precisely the question at the heart of Fiddler as well.
Tevye and his family live in the tension between tradition and change, stability and uncertainty, communal expectation and personal longing. The image of the fiddler balancing precariously on a roof has become one of the great metaphors of Jewish life itself. We know what it feels like to try to keep our balance in a world that can feel fragile and uncertain, and yet somehow, we still insist on making music.
The connection to Parashat Naso becomes even clearer when we consider the meaning of the word naso itself: “to lift” or “to carry.” In the parasha, the Levites are entrusted with carrying the Mishkan through the wilderness. Some carry beams, others curtains, others the sacred vessels. Each task is different, yet together they sustain something holy.
So too in Fiddler.
Every character is carrying something: memory, hope, fear, disappointment, love, responsibility, and the burden of Jewish continuity in an uncertain world.
As I sat in the theatre this week, I found myself crying more than once. One of those moments came during the song “Sabbath Prayer,” when Tevye and Golde bless their daughters with the words:
“May the Lord protect and defend you.”
Those lyrics echo the ancient words of Birkat Kohanim found in this week’s parsha:
יְבָרֶכְךָ ה׳ וְיִשְׁמְרֶךָ
“May God bless you and protect you.”
Every Shabbat, here in Toronto in 2026, my husband and I place our hands on our daughter’s head and offer that same blessing. We are not dissimilar from Tevye and Golde. We pray that our child will be protected in a world that often feels vulnerable and unpredictable.
The Priestly Blessing concludes with
יִשָּׂא ה׳ פָּנָיו אֵלֶיךָ וְיָשֵׂם לְךָ שָׁלוֹם
“May God lift God’s face toward you and grant you peace.”
But in our tradition and perhaps in Tradition! as well, peace does not always mean the absence of struggle. Sometimes peace means the capacity to remain steady amidst uncertainty. It means continuing to build, to bless, to love, and to sing even when life itself feels a bit unsteady.
That is the fiddler’s gift.
And perhaps that is one of the enduring lessons of Parashat Naso. Holiness does not emerge only once life becomes secure and settled. Holiness emerges in the courage to keep carrying what must be carried, and to keep making music along the way.
If you have not yet gone, and are able to, the Yiddish production of Fiddler on the Roof is playing through June 7 at the Elgin Theatre, presented by the Harold Green Jewish Theatre Company. You don’t need to understand Yiddish to experience it. Trust me.
Shabbat shalom
Rabbi R Fryer Bodzin