stands for her emigration to the Land of Israel, not her improbable return to Tevye’s deserted house on the day he was expelled from exile. A great deal has been written about Chava the Zionist and Beilke the American, representing as they do the two apparently successful solutions to the European Jewish predicament. Even more has been written about the unassuming Tsaytl, who—let us suppose—stayed in rural Ukraine to be forgotten or patronized by the emigrants and their historians; beaten and robbed by Shkuro’s and Petliura’s soldiers; reformed resolutely but inconsistently by the Soviets (possibly by her own children); martyred anonymously by the Nazis; and commemorated, also anonymously, in the Holocaust literature and ritual. Which is to say, relatively little has been written about Tsaytl’s life but a great deal has been written about her death—and about its significance in the lives of Chava’s and Beilke’s children. But what about Hodl? Hodl might be celebrated in Russian Soviet history as a “participant in the revolutionary movement” or, if she made the right early choice, as an “Old Bolshevik.” She might be remembered in the history of international socialism as a member of the movement’s Russian contingent. Or she might be mentioned in the history of Siberia as a prominent educator or ethnographer. She would not, however, be a part of the canonical Jewish history of the twentieth century on the theory that a Bolshevik (assuming this is what she became, along with so many others) could not be Jewish because Bolsheviks were against Jewishness (and because “Judeo-Bolshevism” was a Nazi catchword). Hodl’s grandchildren—fully secular, thoroughly Russified, and bound for the United States or Israel—are an important part of the Jewish story; Hodl herself is not. It is obvious, however, that Hodl’s grandchildren would not have entered Jewish history had Hodl not been one of Tevye’s daughters—the one he was most proud of. A Marxist cosmopolitan dedicated to the proletarian cause and married to a “member of the human race,” she would probably never have gone back to Boiberik or Kasrilevka, would never have had her sons circumcised, would never have spoken Yiddish to any of her children (or indeed her husband, Perchik), and would never have lit candles at a Sabbath dinner. She would, however, have always remained a part of the family—even after she changed her name to something like Elena Vladimirovna (as she was bound to do). “She is God’s own Hodl, Hodl is,” says Tevye after she leaves, “and she’s with me right here all the time . . . deep, deep down . . . . ” And of course Perchik, the son of a local cigarette maker but “a child of God’s” by adoption and by conviction, was the only son-in-law Tevye admired, considered his equal, and enjoyed “having a