Fiddler On The Roof -1971- -

A low moan rose from the women. Men clutched their prayer shawls. Sholem felt the earth tilt. He had milked his cow, Rivka, in that same barn for thirty years. His father had been born in the bed he still slept in. Tradition said a man plants trees for his grandchildren. But what if there is no ground left to plant in?

The young man lowered the bow. “My name is Levi. Yussel was my grandfather. He taught me to play on this very roof. I came back to play for the wedding of Motel and Hodel. But I heard the news.” fiddler on the roof -1971-

Sholem sat beside him on the cold ground. “Play something,” he said. “Play something that remembers.” A low moan rose from the women

He was thinking of the old fiddler, Yussel, who used to perch on the eaves of the synagogue during weddings, scraping out melodies that made even the goats weep. Yussel had died last winter. No one had taken his place. The roof felt quiet now. He had milked his cow, Rivka, in that