The Old Country

TEVYE'S DAUGHTERS (302 pp.]--Sholom Aleichem-- Crown ($3).

Tevye the dairyman was really a simple soul. He lived quietly in a Russian village during the early days of the century, when Czarism was cracking and the old Jewish communal life had begun to crack, too. All he wanted from life was a chance to sell his butter and cheese, an occasional glance into the Old Testament or the Talmud, and some reliable husbands for his sprouting daughters. "The Lord," he sarcastically remarked, "wanted to be good to Tevye, so He blessed him with seven female children ... all of them good-looking and charming . . . like young pine trees." But what was the use of such a blessing if he couldn't raise their dowries? ,

Tevye and his troubles are at the center of Sholom Aleichem's classic Yiddish tales, which in the past half century have become an integral part of Jewish folk life. Some have been translated into English in Tevye's Daughters--though with only a shade of the ironic, shoulder-shrugging spirit of the original.

An Eye for Love. A leading figure of the Jewish literary renaissance of the 1900s, Aleichem wrote with passionate love for the Jewish religious tradition; at the same time, he edged his stories with the skepticism that was sweeping European Jewry. He became the spokesman and critic of an entire people. When Tevye mangled a Biblical quotation, bemoaned his everlasting poverty, or quarreled with God (whom Tevye loved so well he could risk familiarity), Jewish readers could recognize both the story and its bite.

Tevye had no trouble marrying his daughters off; the trouble was in getting the right, husbands. When a rich old butcher offered to marry his eldest, Tevye had visions of living off his son-in-law. But instead, his daughter became engaged to a poor young tailor. "What kind of a world has this become?" asked Tevye. "A boy meets a girl and says to her, 'Let us pledge our troth.' Why, it's just too free and easy . . ." But Tevye gave in; he, too, had an eye for love.

His second daughter married a radical, a good talker. Tevye poked fun at his son-in-law's ideas, but when his daughter followed her husband to exile Tevye was secretly proud. "Those daughters of mine --when they fall in love ... it is with their heads and hearts, their bodies and souls."

From Hand to Hand. The third daughter brought real trouble: she married a Gentile. Tevye could overlook modern love, even revolutions, but not apostasy. Rising to his dignity as a believer, he sorrowfully banished his daughter from his house. And yet, he wondered, did he do right? Does a Tevye close his heart to his children?

Though these stories may seem mere half-sad, half-merry anecdotes, they are actually incisive portraits of European Jewish life. Through Tevye's irony, they underline the weaknesses of that life: "I was . . . asking questions of the Almighty and answering them myself ... I wasn't worried about God so much, I could come to terms with Him . . . What bothered me was people."

Few writers have ever earned the love of their people as has this man whose real name was Samuel Rabinowitz, and who chose to call himself Sholom Aleichem ("peace be unto you"). His stories, published in paper booklets, were passed from hand to hand among European Jews. When he died in The Bronx in 1916, more than 100,000 people lined the streets of his funeral procession. He had said: "Let me be buried among the poor, that their graves may shine on mine, and mine on theirs."

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