Am out of the country and was not able to post all the biblical verses and recordings, but wanted, at least to post the poems. The first poem in which Jacob lists the failings of some of his sons helps to understand the blessing he gives them. The second by Rokhl Korn deals with death and so relates to Jacob’s death. Will complete when I return.
THIS WEEK
Itsik Manger, יעקבֿ אָבֿינו האָט עגמות־נפֿש פֿון זײַנע קינדער, The Patriarch Jacob Has Aggravation from His Children
Rokhl Korn, כ’האָב שױן מער קײן טענות, I Have No More Complaints
For a biography of the poet Itzik Manger, click here.
For a biography of Manger in Yiddish, click here.
יעקבֿ אָבֿינו האָט עגמות־נפֿש פֿון זײַנע קינדער
יעקבֿ אָבֿינו זיצט אַלט או מיד
אױף דער גראָזבאַנק פֿאַר נאַכט,
ער פֿילט די בײנער טוען אים װײ,
נישט פֿאַר קײן שום ייִד געדאַכט.
די בנים זענען פֿון גאַנץ קאַיאָר
אַװעק מיט די שאָף אין פֿעלד:
„אױ, גאָטעניו, די דאָזיקע זין
פֿאַראומערן מיר די װעלט.
אָט האָב איך דאָ נישט לאַנג געפּאַקט
דעם בכור בײַ בילההן אין בעט.
צי קען דען אַ טאַטע מוחל זײַן
אַ קינד אַזאַ מין חטא?
נו און זײ — די אַנדערע צװײ,
אַזאַ מין חילול־השם —
זײ האָבן חרובֿ־ונחרבֿ געמאַכט
די קהילה קדושה שכם.
ער הײבט זיך אױף. די לופֿט איז שאַרף,
ס’איז שױן צײַט צום שלאָפֿן גײן,
די בנים װעלן מסתּמא שפּעט
קומען אַהײם צו גײן.
איציק מאַנגער, מדרש איציק
THE PATRIARCH JACOB HAS AGGRAVATION FROM HIS CHILDREN
The patriarch Jacob is sitting, old and weary
On the grassy bank at the end of the day,
His bones are really hurting him,
May no Jew feel this way.
Since early dawn his darling sons Have been off in the field with the sheep: “Oh, dear God, these sons of mine
Have made my world turn bleak.
Not long ago I caught
my oldest son with Bilhah in the biblical sense.
Can a father really forgive
A child who’s committed such an offense?
Well and them — the other two,
Such a desecration of God’s name —
They have utterly destroyed
The holy community of Schechem.
Well, and Judah, that lovely lion
With that harlot he met that day —
it was just so close and to Istanbul
They would have been on their way.
Just lucky that one of them
Was a least a somewhat decent guy
That’s why I had a silken shirt sewn for him
For the Purim holiday.
And Jacob lifts his eyes:
Is he mistaken? Oh, can it be?
He sees Mother Rachel walking
Clearly, in reality.
She walks with quiet silken steps
And approaches nearer and nearer,
She moves her lips, he listens intently,
But, alas, he cannot hear her.
She winks at him with her kerchief:
“Auf wiédersehen!” – and she’s out of sight,
As if she herself had only been
A breath of wind at night.
The Patriarch Jacob sighs heavy and deeply:
“What a fool a dream can be —
Why doesn’t the corpse take with it
The longing and misery?
He gets up, the air is sharp
It’s time to go to sleep,
His sons will likely come home late
Given the schedule they keep.
Itsik Manger, medresh Itsik Tr. Sheva Zucker
Yankev ovinu hot agmes-nefesh fun zayne kinder
Yankev ovinu zitst alt un mid
oyf der grozbank far nakht,
er filt di beyner tuen im vey,
nisht far keyn shum yid gedakht.
di bonem zenen fun gants kayor
avek mit di shof in feld:
“oy, gotenyu, di dozike zin
farumern mir di velt.
ot hob ikh do nisht lang gepakt
dem bkhor bay bilhen in bet.
tsi ken den a tate moykhl zayn
a kind aza min khet?
nu un zey — di andere tsvey,
aza min khilel-hashem —
zey hobn khorev venekhrev gemakht
di kehile kedoyshe Shekhem.
nu, un Yehude, der vazhner leyb,
mit der zoyne oyfn veg —
s’hot gehaltn oyf a hor
zey zoln keyn stambul avek.
a shtikl glik, vos eyner fun zey
iz khotshbe a shtikl layt,
derfar hob ikh im oyfgeneyt
oyf Purim a hemdl fun zayd”.
un Yankev heybt di oygn oyf:
tsi hor er a toyes? neyn!
er zet befeyresh un oyf der vor
di muter Rokhl geyn.
zi geyt mit shtile zaydene trit
un kumt alts neenter tsu im.
zi bavegt di lipn. er hert zikh ayn,
nor s’dergeyt nisht tsu im ir shtim.
ot vinkt zi mitn tikhl tsu im:
“oyf viderzen!” — un farshvindt,
vi zi aleyn volt nor geven
an otem funem vint.
Yankev ovinu ziftst shver un tif:
“a kholem iz take a nar —
far vos zhe nemt nisht mit dos mes
di benkshaft un dem tsar?”
er heybt zikh oyf. di luft iz sharf,
s’iz shoyn tsayt tsum shlofn geyn,
di bonim veln mistome shpet
kumen aheym tsu geyn.
Itsik Manger, Medresh itsik
Rokhl Korn
For a biography of Rokhl Korn, click here.
For a biography of Rokhl Korn in Yiddish, click here.
כ’האָב שױן מער קײן טענות
כ’האָב שױן מער קײן טענות צו קײנעם,
כ’האָב אַפֿילו קײן טענות צו זיך —
עפּעס אַלץ איז געשען אַזױ פּלוצעם,
עפּעס אַלץ איז געשען אַזױ גיך,
װי אין פֿאַרװירטן געאײַל.
I have no more complaints against anyone,
Not even against myself —
Somehow everything happened so suddenly,
Somehow everything happened so fast,
As if in a mad mad rush.
A life has gone by, just like that,
Days basted together
For now.
On the lash of time
A drop
Quivers, ready to fall —
A glance full of wonder,
A smile
Weeps into
The foggy distance.
Rokhl Korn, Tr. Mayer Landau and Sheva Zucker, Rachel Korn: Selected Poems, 1986
kh’hob shoyn mer keyn taynes
kh’hob shoyn mer keyn taynes tsu keynem,
kh’hob afile keyn taynes tsu zikh —
epes alts iz geshen azoy plutsem,
epes alts iz geshen azoy gikh,
vi in farvirtn geayl.
s’iz a lebn farbay, ot azoy zikh,
farstrigevet teg
oyf dervayl.
oyf der vie fun tsayt
a tropn
tsitert tsum faln greyt —
a farvunderter blik,
a shmeykhl
veynt zikh arayn
in der farneplter vayt.
8 november 1972
Rokhl korn, farbitene vor, tel-oviv, 1977
Am out of the country and was not able to post all the biblical verses and recordings, but wanted, at least to post the poems. These two poems deal with loss of a child and hunger. Will complete when I return.
WEEK 11
Ayde Maze, אַ געבעט פֿון אַ פֿרוי, A Woman’s Prayer
Rokhl Korn, אַ בריװ פֿון אוזבעקיסטאַן, A Letter from Uzbekistan
Ayde Maze, A gebet fun a froy
For a biography of Ida Maze in both Yiddish and English, click here.
אַ געבעט פֿון אַ פֿרוי
גאָט, נעם מיך צו פֿון דער װעלט,
צו דײַן בעסערער רויִקער װעלט,
װוּ ס’װאַרט גרײט אין דער טיף מײַן געצעלט,
פֿון זאָרגיקן טומל פֿאַרשטעלט.
איך װײס דעם ניגון פֿון מער װי אײן ליד
נאָר איצט בין איך מידער װי מיד,
און װיל װײַט און װיל שטילקײט און רו,
קום: מאַך די אױגן מיר צו. נײַע לידער, מאָנטרעאָל 1941
A WOMAN’S PRAYER
God, take me away from this world
to a better and quieter world,
where a tent is prepared for me
in deeps hidden from care and confusion.
You have led me by the hand
in this circus of living lands,
my dissolution hanging by a thread.
Enough. I want to return.
It has become more laughable than hard.
What if I know the taste of tears of all kinds,
of hurt and joy, building up and disruption?
Enough. I no longer want any of it.
I am a woman who knows her origin
and has kept the bit tight between her teeth.
What if the heart leaps up like a frightened lamb?
At night my tears put out the flame.
I am a married woman.
My husband and I together drag the yoke.
I behind a barbed fence at home,
he like a blundering ship at sea.
Each of us sows his own isolation.
One at home behind the menacing fence,
the other on the winding roads,
earning his bread like a blind wanderer.
I am a mother. I have given birth.
Life came out of me and I lost it,
and the grave bound me to itself
until I became one with it.
But the will of your hand was:
“Set a cradle in the deeps,
you will rock your child there
when you lie there, and it will be like home.”
I know how to sing more than one song.
But I am more tired than tired now.
I want to be far away and I want silence and rest.
Come close my eyes.
Tr. Seymour Levitan, Outlook, Vol. 49 No. 2 Mar/Apr 2011
A GEBET FUN A FROY
Got, nem mikh tsu fun der velt,
Tsu dayn beserer ruiker velt,
Vu s’vart greyt in der tif mayn getselt,
Fun zorgikn tuml farshtelt.
Genug mikh gefirt bay der hant
In tsirk fun dayn lebndik land,
Mikh shvindlt der umgeyn oyf shtrik,
Genug shoyn – ikh vil shoyn tsurik.
s’iz mer lekherlekh vi es iz shver,
Un az ikh veys shoyn dem tam fun mer vi eyn trer?
Fun veytik un freyd, fun boy un tseshter,
Genug zol zayn, kh’vil shoyn nit mer!
Ikh bin a froy vos ken ir shtam
Un halt vi mit tseyn arum zikh dem tsam
Khotsh es shpringt dos harts vi a tseshrokene lam,
Ikh lesh mit trern durkh nekht dem flam.
Mir hobn banand undzer elnt gezeyt,
Ikh in der heym hinter shtekhikn ployt,
Er iber vegn krum un fardreyt,
Vi a blinder geyer, zukht zayn broyt.
Ikh bin a mame vos hot geboyrn,
Lebn gegebn un tsurik farlorn,
Es hot mikh yene grub bashvorn;
Biz ikh bin mit im, eyns gevorn.
s’hot dayn hant azoy bafoyln,
shtel avek a vig in heyln,
Vest dayn kind dort kenen vign,
Vet dir heymlekh zayn dos lign.
Ikh veys dem nign fun mer vi eyn lid
Nor itst bin ikh mider vi mid,
Un vil vayt un vil shtilkayt un ru,
Kum: makh di oygn mir tsu.
Ayde Maze, Naye lider, Montreal, 1941
A LETTER FROM UZBEKISTAN by Rokhl Korn
R-L: Montreal writers Rokhl Korn, Maza and Kadya Molodowsky
For a biography of Rokhl Korn, click here.
For a biography of Rokhl Korn in Yiddish, click here.
Rokhl Korn spent some of WWII in Uzbekistan.
אַ בריװ פֿון אוזבעקיסטאַן
מײַן פֿרײַנט איבער װײַטע, װײַטע ימען,
איך שרײַב צו דיר אָט דעם בריװ —
ס’איז חודש מערץ אין אוזבעקישן לאַנד,
די צײַט, װען ס’בליט דער מאַנדלבױם און דער אוריוק
אין יעדן לוקל, בײַ אַ יעדער װאַנט,
נאָר װי נעמט מען דאָס װאָרט דו זאָלסט מיך פֿאַרשטײן?
מײַן האַנט איז מיד, עס מאַרשטשעט זיך אױף איר די הױט
און שטאַרט אַװעק װי אַ לײדיקער זאַק,
און ס’איז מײַן גרעסטער טרױם — אַ לאַבן ברױט.
My friend across faraway seas,
I’m writing this letter to you —
It is the month of March in the land of Uzbek,
The time when the almond tree and apricot blossom
in every lane and every wall,
But how do I find the word so that you will understand me?
My hand is weary, the skin on it wrinkles
And stiffens like an empty sack,
And my greatest dream is —
A loaf of bread.
When I went out into the street,
just across from the house
Lay the carcass of a dog.
The spring wind played
With his rotting fur.
A cart just happened to drive by
With a white coffin over its wheel.
A shriveled old grandma stopped walking
And crossed herself with her dry hand
Slowly and for a long time.
“Hunger, hunger is in the land again —
Only yesterday he played with the child,
I know him, I know him, it’s my neighbor’s dog.
And look at the coffin, see its size and length,
Oh, if only these were beds, tables, benches —
And do you think this person stretched out in the white box
Died, God forbid, of sickness?
It’s hunger, hunger in the land.
And you, my sweet dove, show me your hand —
How long do you think you’ll be walking around on this earth?
I can see that your step is already heavy with death.”
The sun was shining brightly,
I was standing still
Listening to the old woman’s words.
I was supposed to write you a letter
My friend —
Do you remember my wild joy
The first springtime
When the earth smelled of fresh grass,
And my lips, like buds on a tree
Were filled with juices of longing
And blossoming dreams,
Do you remember, My friend?
And today —
Today I would like to crawl into a hole somewhere
Just like an animal when it feels that the hour of death is near,
And my greatest dream is still —
A crust of bread.
Fergana, Uzbekistan (Central Asia) March 1942
Tr. Mayer Landau and Sheva Zucker, Rachel Korn: Selected Poems, 1986
a briv fun uzbekistan
mayn fraynt iber vayte, vayte yam|en,
ikh shrayb tsu dir ot dem briv —
s’iz khoydesh merts in uzbekishn land,
di tsayt, ven s’blit der mandlboym un der uryuk
in yedn lukl, bay a yeder vant,
nor vi nemt men dos vort du zolst mikh farshteyn?
mayn hant iz mid, es marshtshet zikh oyf ir di hoyt
un shtart avek vi a leydiker zak,
un s’iz mayn grester troym —
a labn broyt.
ven kh’bin aroys in gas,
iz grod akegniber hoyz
gelegn di neveyle fun a hunt,
s’hot mit zayn oysgekrokhener fel
geshpilt der frilingdiker vint.
farbaygeforn iz a vogn grod
mit vayser trumne kver ibern rod.
an alt zmorshtshet babkele hot opgeshtelt ir gang
un zikh ge|tseylemt mit ir trikner hant
pamelekh un lang.
“der hunger, hunger iz shoyn vider inem land —
ersht nekhtn hot er zikh geshpilt do mitn kind,
ikh ken im, ken im, s’iz mayn shokhn|s hunt.
un ze di trumne, ze ir greys un leng,
oy, voltn dos gevezn betn, tishn, benk —
un meynst, az der vos ligt in vaysn kastn oysgeshpant
geshtorbn iz kholile fun a krenk?
s’iz hunger, hunger inem land.
un du mayn taybele, anu vayz nor dayn hant —
vi lang meynst nokh arumtsugeyn oyf dr’erd?
ikh ze, dayn shrit iz shoyn mit toyt bashvert”.
di zun hot hel geshaynt,
ikh bin geshtanen shtil
un tsu der alters reyd zikh tsugehert.
ikh hob gezolt dir shraybn dokh a briv
mayn fraynt —
gedenkst mayn vilde freyd
in ershter frilings|tsayt,
ven s’hot di erd geshmekt mitn frishn groz,
un s’hobn mayne lipn, vi di knospn fun a boym
zikh ongegosn mit zaftn fun benkshaft
un tseblitn troym,
gedenkst, mayn fraynd?
un haynt —
haynt vil ikh zikh farkrikhn ergets in a lokh
ot, vi a khaye, ven zi filt shoyn noent di sho fun toyt,
un s’iz nokh alts mayn grester kholem —
khotsh a reftl broyt. Fergana, March1942
WEEK 10
Miryem Ulinover, דער גאָלדענער בעכער, The Golden Goblet
Rokhl Korn, דאָס אַלץ, וואָס קומט מיר צו חלום, Everything I Dream
Rokhl Korn, אַ נײַ קלײד, A New Dress
Miryem Ulinover, Der goldener bekher
44 12And he searched, beginning at the eldest, and leaving off at the youngest; and the goblet was found in Benjamin’s sack.
און דעם קנײטש דעם טיפֿן
קען ער האָבן רק
פֿון אַן אָרט אַ פֿינצטערן
פֿון בנימינס זאַק! מרים אולינאָווער, מרים אולינאָווער, אַ גרוס פֿון דער אַלטער היים: לידער, פּאַריז, 2003
Here is my very literal non-rhyming translation.
THE GOLDEN GOBLET
On the cupboard pane
The charm of Sabbath rests,
There lies the khale knife
With it’s ivory handle.
There the golden goblet
So much in demand in days gone by,
Now so out of use
Has been put away.
One day, they say, it
Knocked into something
And in a dark place
Got a dent.
Everything gets used
And loses its color,
But not the golden goblet
With its deep notch!
Old and holy it sparkles
Out of the cupboard,
Perhaps it is
The cup of Joseph the Righteous…
And the deep dent
It can have only
From a dark place
In Benjamin’s sack!
Tr. Sheva Zucker
der goldener bekher
oyfn shoybnshenkl
rut der shabes-kheyn,
dort ligt s’moytsey-meser
mitn grif fun beyn.
dort der goldener bekher
far tsaytns gefregt,
mit der tsayt ge|paslt
un avekgeleygt.
er hot on epes, zogt men,
eyn mol ongeklapt
in an ort a finstern
un a kneytsh gekhapt.
opgenutst vert alts
un farlirt zayn farb,
nisht der goldener bekher
mit dem tifn karb!
alt un heylik shimert
er fun shank aroys,
efsher iz es
Yoysef hatsade’s kos…
un dem kneytsh dem tifn
ken er hobn rk
fun an ort a fins|tern
fun Binyomens zak!
Miryem Ulinover
Rokhl Korn, Dos alts, vos kumt mir tsu kholem
41:7And the thin ears swallowed up the seven rank and full ears. And Pharaoh awoke, and, behold, it was a dream. 8And it came to pass in the morning that his spirit was troubled; and he sent and called for all the magicians of Egypt, and all the wise men thereof; and Pharaoh told them his dream; but there was none that could interpret them unto Pharaoh.
32And for that the dream was doubled unto Pharaoh twice, it is because the thing is established by God, and God will shortly bring it to pass.
Everything I dream
must begin and end —
then why am I between,
waiting for a lost voice,
wound and bound and cobwebbed
in a time gone grey,
while the breath of eternity
rifles through me like the pages of a book?
And at the margin of the pages
is the purple light
of all things not yet come into being,
all things passing away.
My dream hovers at the head
of grief that threads the fears
of a sightless world and leads it
to the genesis of human fears. Rokhl Korn Tr. Seymour Levitan, Paper Roses: Rokhl Korn/פּאַפּירענע רויזן, Aya Press, 1985
dos alts, vos kumt mir tsu kholem
dos alts, vos kumt mir tsu kholem
hot dokh ergets an onheyb, a sof —
to far vos shtey ikh bloyz in der mitn
un vart oyf farblondzhetn ruf?
un ver farvebt un farshpinvebt
in der gro gevorener tsayt,
beys s’bletert mikh, vi a seyfer
der otem fun eybikeyt.
un oyfn rand fun di bleter
flamikt mit purpurner shayn
dos alts, vos iz nokh nisht gevorn,
dos alts, vos iz erev fargeyn.
es shtelt zikh der kholem tsukopns
dem troyer, vos odert zikh ayn
in a blinder velt un firt zi
tsum breyshis/breyshes fun mentshlekh geveyn.
Rokhl korn, di gnod fun vort, 1968
A NEW DRESS by Rokhl Korn. Recording to follow after Jan. 15, 2025
41: 42And Pharaoh took off his signet ring from his hand, and put it upon Joseph’s hand, and arrayed him in vestures of fine linen, and put a gold chain about his neck.
Today for the first time
after seven long years
I put on
a new dress.
But it’s too short for my grief,
too narrow for my sorrow,
and each white-glass button
like a tear
flows down the folds
heavy as a stone.
Stockholm, 1947
Rokhl Korn
Tr. Ruth Whitman, An Anthology of Modern Yiddish Poetry, Selected and translated by Ruth Whitman, Workmen’s Circle, 1979
a nay kleyd
ikh hob zikh ongeton haynt,
tsum ershtn mol
nokh zibn lange yor
a nay kleyd.
nor s’iz tsu kurts far mayn troyer
un tsu eng far mayn layd,
un siz a yeder vays-glezerner knop,
vi a trer,
vos flist fun di faldn arop
farshteynert un shver.
Rokhl korn
THIS WEEK Avrom Sutzkever, איך ליג אין אַן אָרון, I Lie in a Coffin
Itsik Manger, יעקבֿ אָבֿינו לערנט מיט זײַנע זין „מכירת יוסף”, Jacob Teaches the Story of Joseph to His Sons
Avrom Sutzkever, Ikh lig in an orn
37:24 Then they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
לז 24 און זײ האָבן אים גענומען, און האָבן אים אַרײַנגעװאָרפֿן אין דער גרוב. און די גרוב איז געװען לײדיק, קײן װאַסער איז אין איר ניט געװען.
For a biography of the poet Avrom Sutzkever, click here.
For a biography of Sutzkever in Yiddish, click here.
הינטערגרונט פֿון סוצקעווערס ליד „איך ליג אין אַן אָרון”
BACKGROUND TO SUTZKEVER’S POEM “I LIE IN A COFFIN”
The searches had begun in Soltanek. There was nowhere left for me to hide…. I asked Kon (the head of the first Judenrat) for his advice. What should I do? He told me that Maurer had ordered that fifty Jews be held permanently in the courtyard of the Judenrat. He told me that if there were only forty-nine I could stay. We counted. There were exactly fifty. Kon sought a solution. He wanted to save my life. But he could not send one of them away in exchange for me and put them at the mercy of the Jewish snatchers. I saw him struggling and I told him that I would find myself a hiding spot here and that nobody would notice me.
The courtyard was quiet. Prayers could be heard from the open windows of the Mefitsey-Haskole Library. A group of Jews was sitting on the stairs down below. Among them was a student from the Kleyn-Stefin Street yeshiva, a palm-reader, a fortune-teller. The Jews pushed closer to him, wanting to hear his words.
Dusk arrived. I sought out a hiding place. The Burial Society was located in the same courtyard. Some coffins had been left in a corner. I crawled into one of the coffins, closed the lid over my head, lay down, and inhaled the stuffy air. That’s how I composed my poem “I Lie in a Coffin.”
Abraham Sutzkever, From The Vilna Ghetto to Nuremberg: Memoir and Testimony, edited and translated by Justin Cammy, 2021.
I LIE IN A COFFIN
I lie in a coffin
as in clothes made of wood,
here I lie.
Let it be a small boat
on wild stormy waves,
let it be a cradle.
And here,
where bodies have
parted with time,
I call you, sister,
and you hear my voice
from afar.
Suddenly, here in the coffin,
a body is moving. How can it be?
You approach.
And I know you: your eyes
and your breath
and your light.
This, it seems, is the order of things:
here today,
there tomorrow,
and now, in a coffin,
as in clothes made of wood,
still my word sings. Vilna, August 30, 1941 Avrom Sutzkever
Tr. Heather Valencia זינגט נאָך אַלץ מײַן וואָרט/Still My Word Sings: Avrom Sutzkever
Yiddish and English Edited and translated by Heather Valencia
ikh lig in an orn
ikh lig in an orn,
vi in hiltserne kleyder,
ikh lig.
zol zayn s’iz a shifl
oyf shturmishe khvalyes,
zol zayn, s’iz a vig.
un do, vu es hobn zikh gufn
gesheydt mit der tsayt,
ruf ikh dikh, shvester,
un du herst mayn rufn
in vayt.
vos tut zikh in orn a tsapl
a layb umgerikht?
du kumst.
ikh derken dayn shvartsapl,
dayn otem,
dayn likht.
azoy iz a ponem der seyder:
haynt do,
morgn dort,
un itst in an orn,
vi in hiltserne kleyder,
zingt nokh alts mayn vort Avrom Sutskever, Vilne, 30stn oygust, 1941
Itsik Manger, Yankev Ovinu lernt mit zayne zin “mekhires Yoysef”
29: 27Fulfil the week of this one, and we will give thee the other also for the service which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years.’
35 19And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephrath—the same is Beth-lehem. 20And Jacob set up a pillar upon her grave; the same is the pillar of Rachel’s grave unto this day.
37: 3Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he made him a coat of many colours.
37:24 Then they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
37 28And there passed by Midianites, merchantmen; and they drew and lifted up Joseph out of the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites for twenty shekels of silver. And they brought Joseph into Egypt.
39: 7And it came to pass after these things, that his master’s wife cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she said: ‘Lie with me.’
41: 18 And, behold, there came up out of the river seven kine, fat-fleshed and well-favoured; and they fed in the reedgrass. 19And, behold, seven other kine came up after them, poor and very ill-favoured and lean-fleshed, such as I never saw in all the land of Egypt for badness.
THIS WEEK Yankev Glatshteyn, עשׂו, Esau
Itsik Manger, דינה בת יעקבֿ גייט אויף אַ ראַנדעוווּ Dina Bas Yankev Goes on a Rendez-vous
Yankev Glatshteyn, Eysev
33: 25And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. 26And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was strained, as he wrestled with him.
33.4 And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him; and they wept.
4:15 And the LORD said unto him: ‘Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.’ And the LORD set a sign for Cain, lest any finding him should smite him.
As Esau wept upon his brother’s neck,
a great light streamed into his face.
Jacob bowed, called out in fear:
“Behold, God flames upon your countenance.
“Verily, brother.
When, nightlong, you struggled
with the angel,
I too fought a hard battle.
All day I marched toward you like Cain
until I sensed a dire lament
redeeming me from murder.
A dreadful bellowing besieged me then.
Great giant,
you conquered yourself.
So long as Abel lives
I will give you of my light,
I will grant you my sign:
Here goes Esay
who was almost Cain.” Yankev Glatshteyn, Father’s Shadow, 1953
Tr. Etta Blum, Jacob Glatstein, Poems, Tel Aviv, 1970
Eysev
ven Eysev hot geveynt oyf zayn bruders haldz,
iz oyf zayn ponem oyfgegangen a groys likht.
Yankev hot zikh gebukt un oysgerufn mit moyre:
ze, got flakert oyf dayn gezikht.
farvor, bruder mayner.
ven du host mitn malekh zikh geranglt a gantse nakht,
hob ikh oykh gekemft a bitere shlakht.
bin ikh dir dokh dem gantsn tog,
antkegn gegangen vi Kayen,
biz kh’hob dershpirt az a biterer geveyn
nemt fun mord mikh laytern un bafrayen.
demolt hot in mir oyfgeshturemt
a moyredik brumen.
groyser giber,
bist zikh aleyn baygekumen,
azoy lang vi Hevl vet lebn,
vel ikh dir mayn likht antlayen.
kh’vel dir shenken mayn tseykhn.
do geyt Eysev.
der shir-gevorener Kayen.
Glatshteyn, Dem tatns shotn, 1953
Itsik Manger, Dine Bas Yankev geyt af a randeyvu
34:1And Dinah the daughter of Leah, whom she had borne unto Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land.
3And his soul did cleave unto Dinah the daughter of Jacob, and he lovedthe damsel, and spoke comfortingly unto the damsel.
Dina applies her lipstick
On her lips upper and lower,
Her lips poppy red—
Enough, she must go out and explore.
She puts on her straw summer hat,
That matches her summer frock;
She catches a wanton glance in the mirror
Takes her parasol and goes out for a walk.
The town hall clock has struck eight,
That means that the time has come too
To rush to the young men of Shechem
To meet for their rendez-vous.
O Shechem, you beautiful town
Of waltzes, music and light,
For your every park love has a secret,
And every secret means delight.
I’m sick and tired of Father’s house,
Where people do nothing but pray.
Since Mother Rachel has died
All laughter has gone away.
Sadness hangs over the old house
Like a venomous spider so bad
If not for the merry nights in Shechem
She would long ago have gone mad.
O Shechem, you beautiful town
Of waltzes, music and light,
For your every park love has a secret,
And every secret means… delight.
Each secret is near and dear to her
Although she doesn’t know what they mean;
She knows one thing, that the young men Of the town like her and are keen.
But now the first lantern of Shechem begins to shine
And a fiddle wails in the pub
A new waltz by Johann Strauss:
“I long, my heart, my love!”
Tr. by Sheva Zucker
Dine bas-Yankev geyt oyf a randevu
Dine firt mitn lipnshtift
iber di lipn ahin un aher,
di lipn flamen vi royter mon —
genug, men darf nisht mer.
zi tut on dem shtroyenem zumerhut,
vos past tsu ir zumerkleyd;
zi khapt a kuk in shpigl farshayt,
nemt dos zuntikl un geyt.
der rothoyz-zeyger tseylt op akht,
dos meynt, az s’iz shoyn tsayt
tsu ayln zikh tsum randevu
mit di Shkhem|er yunge-layt.
“o, Shkhem, du sheyne freylekhe shtot
fun valtsers, likht un muzik,
far dayn yedn park hot di libe a sod,
un yeder sod meynt glik”.
s’iz ir nimes un mies dem tatns heym,
vu men davnt tog un nakht.
fun zint di muter Rokhl iz toyt
hot dort keyner nisht gelakht.
der umet hengt ibern altn hoyz
vi a groyse giftike shpin.
ven nisht di freylekhe nekht in Shkhem,
volt zi lang arop funem zin.
o, Shkhem, du sheyne freylekhe shtot
fun valtsers, likht un muzik,
far dayn yedn park hot di libe a sod,
un ayeder sod meynt… glik”.
s’iz ir noent un tayer ayeder sod,
khotsh zi veyst nit dem basheyd;
zi veyst nor eyns, az zi gefelt
di Shkhem|er yunge-layt — — —
nor ot likhtikt der ershter lamtern fun Shkhem
un s’khlipet a fidl in shenk
a nayem valtser fun yohan shtraus:
“ikh benk, mayn harts, gedenk!”
Itsik Manger, Medresh Itsik
THIS WEEK Reyzl Zhikhlinski, ביבלישע נאַכט, Biblishe nakht
Khave Rosenfarb, רחל און לאה, Rokhl un Leye
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Biblishe nakht
29: 25 And it came to pass in the morning that, behold, it was Leah; and he said to Laban: ‘What is this thou hast done unto me? did not I serve with thee for Rachel? wherefore then hast thou beguiled me?’ 26And Laban said: ‘It is not so done in our place, to give the younger before the first- born. 27Fulfil the week of this one, and we will give thee the other also for the service which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years.’ 30:14And Reuben went in the days of wheat harvest, and found mandrakes in the field, and brought them unto his mother Leah. Then Rachel said to Leah: ‘Give me, I pray thee, of thy son’s mandrakes.’
The night was dark.
The night was deep, without stars.
The wind rustled in the trees.
The wind was looking for Leah.
Jacob buried his face
in Leah’s breast:
—Rachel, Rachel, my wife!
Seven years I have waited for you.
Long were the days,
longer the nights.
So many cold moons
have embraced my body.
Rachel, Rachel, y wife.
Silent was Leah.
With thin, bitter lips
she went to her encounter
with her son Reuben,
Jacob’s firstborn.
The night was already full
of the aroma of the flowers
that were waiting
for Reuben
in the field. Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Silent Doors Tr. Barnett Zumoff, in God Hid His Face: Selected Poems of Rajzel Zychlinski, 1997
biblishe nakht
di nakht iz geven shvarts,
di nakht iz geven tif, on shtern.
der vint hot geroysht tsvishn beymer.
der vint hot gezukht Leyen.
Yankev hot bahaltn dos ponem
in Leyes layb:
— Rokhl, Rokhl, mayn vayb!
zibn yor hob ikh oyf dir gevart.
lang zaynen geven di teg.
lenger nokh di nekht.
azoy fil kalte levones
hobn arumgenumen mayn layb.
Rokhl, Rokhl, mayn vayb.
shtil iz Leye gelegn.
mit dine, bitere lipn
iz zi akegngegangen
ir zun Ruvn|en,
dem bkhor fun Yankev|n.
di nakht iz shoyn ful geven
mitn reyekh fun di blumen,
vos hobn gevart
oyfRuvn|en
in feld. reyzl zhikhlinski, shvaygndike tirn, 1962
Khave Rosenfarb, Rokhl un Leye
29: 16 Now Laban had two daughters: the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. 17And Leah’s eyes were weak; but Rachel was of beautiful form and fair to look upon. 18And Jacob loved Rachel; and he said: ‘I will serve thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter.’
Rachel plays on the mandolin
And Leah plays on the flute.
Between them the Shekhina lays out the cards
And seeks an exact account.
Leah will have two eyes that are dim,
but a large and hungry heart.
Rachel will have luck in love
And braids that are darker than dark.
Leah will have passionate dreams,
and on her lips — a trembling song.
But Jacob, the man from distant lands,
will only see that her eyes are not strong.
Rachel will bewitch the foreigner Jacob;
her beauty will be pleasing to him.
So what if she does not have passionate dreams?
At least her eyes are not dim.
Leah will die after a long life,
but her heart’s longing will never abate.
Rachel, sated with love, will die young,
with the black shining still in her plaits.
Rachel plays on the mandolin
and Leah plays on the flute.
Between the two women, the Shekhina is smiling.
She now knows how each life will conclude. Chava Rosenfarb
Tr. Goldie Morgentaler, Chava Rosenfarb, Exile At Last: Selected Poems, edited by Goldie Morgentaler, 2013
Rokhl un Leye
Rokhl shpilt oyf der mandoline
un Leye shpilt oyf der fleyt.
tsvishn zey beyde leygt kortn di shkhine
un zukht a genoyem basheyd.
Leye vet hobn oygn tsvey tribe
un a groys un hungerik harts —
Rokhl vet hobn mazl in libe
un tsep vos zaynen gor shvarts.
Leye vet hobn heyse khaloymes;
oyf lipn — a tsiterdik lid,
nor Yankev, der man fun vayte mekoymes
vet zen, az ir ponem iz trib.
tsu Rokhl|en vet tsien dem man fun mekoymes,
vayl zi farn oyg iz im lib.
iz vos, az zi hot nit keyn heyse khaloymes?
derfar iz ir ponem nit trib.
Leye vet zatkeyt in yorn zikh arbn,
nor hungerik oysgeyn vet s’harts.
Rokhl a zate fun libe vet shtarbn
mit tsep vos zaynen nokh shvarts…
Rokhl shpilt oyf der mandoline
un Leye shpilt oyf der fleyt.
tsvishn zey beyde shmeykhlt di shkhine
zi veyst shoyn genoy dem basheyd. Khave Rosenfarb, Aroys fun Gan-eydn, 1965
My ancestors:
Men in satin and velvet,
faces long and silky pale.
faintly glowing lips
and thin hands caressing faded folios.
Deep into the night they speak with God.
Merchants from Leipzig and Danzig
with clean cuffs, smoking fine cigars.
Talmudic wit. German niceties.
Their look is clever and lacklustre,
clever and self-satisfied.
Don Juans, dealers and seekers of God.
A drunkard,
a pair of converts in Kiev.
My ancestors:
Women bejewelled in diamonds like icons,
darkly crimsoned by Turkish shawls,
and heavy folds of Satin-de-Lyon.
But their bodies are weeping willows,
the fingers in their laps like withered flowers,
and in their faded, veiled eyes
lifeless desire.
Grand ladies in calico and linen,
broad-boned, strong and agile,
with their contemptuous, easy laughter,
with calm talk and uneasy silence.
At dusk, by the window of the humble house
they sprout like statues.
And coursing through their dusky eyes
cruel desire.
And a pair
I am ashamed of.
All of them, my ancestors,
blood of my blood,
flame of my flame,
dead and living mixed together,
sad, grotesque, immense.
They trample through me as through a dark house.
Trampling with prayers, and curses, and wailing,
rattling my heart like a copper bell,
my tongue quivers,
I don’t know my own voice –
My ancestors speak.
Tr. Shirley Kumove Drunk From The Bitter Truth: The Poems Of Anna Margolin, edited, translated, and an introduction by Shirley Kumove, 2005.
MAYN SHTAM REDT
Mayn shtam:
Mender in atles un samet,
Penemer lang un bleykhzaydn,
Farkhaleste glutike lipn.
Di dine hent tsertlen fargelte folyantn.
Zey redn in tifer nakht mit got.
Un sokhrem fun Laypsk un fun Dansk.
Blanke manketn. Eydeler sigarn-roykh.
Gemore-vitsn. Daytshe heflekhkeytn.
Der blik iz klug un mat,
Klug un iberzat.
Don-zhuanen, hendler un zukher fun got.
A shiker,
A por meshumodem in Kiev.
Mayn shtam:
Froyen vi getsn batsirt mit brilyantn,
Fartunklt royt fun terkishe tikher,
Shvere faldn fun satin-de-leon.
Ober dos layb iz a veynendike verbe,
Ober vi trukene blumen di finger in shoys,
Un in di velke farshleyerte oygn
Toyte lust.
Un grand-damen in tsits un in layvnt,
Breytbeynik un shtark, un baveglekh,
Mitn farakhtelkhn laykhtn gelekhter,
Mit ruike reyd un umheymlekhn shvaygn.
Far nakht baym fentster fun oremen hoyz
Vaksn zey vi statues oys
Un es tsukt durkh di demernde oygn
Groyzame lust.
Un a por,
Mit velkhe ikh shem zikh.
Zey ale, mayn shtam,
Blut fun mayn blut
Un flam fun mayn flam,
Toyt un lebedik oysgemisht,
Troyerik, grotesk un groys
Tramplen durkh mir vi durkh a tunkl hoyz.
Tramplen mit tfiles un kloles un klog,
Treyslen mayn harts vi a kupernem glok,
Es varft zikh mayn tsung,
Ikh derken mit mayn kol –
Mayn shtam redt.
Margolin, Lider, 1929, 1991
Leyb Kvitko, Eysev
25:25 And the first came forth ruddy, all over like a hairy mantle; and they called his name Esau. 27: 3Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me venison; 4and make me savoury food, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat; that my soul may bless thee before I die.’
כה 25 און דער ערשטער איז אַרױסגעקומען אַ רױטער, אין גאַנצן אַזױ װי אַ האָריקער מאַנטל; און מע האָט גערופֿן זַײן נאָמען ֵעָשׂו. כז 3 דרום נעם אַצונד, איך בעט דיך, דײַנע װאַפֿן, דײַן פַֿײלבַײטל און דײַן בױגן, און גײ אַרױס אין פֿעלד, און פֿאַנג מיר אַ געפֿאַנג; 4 און מאַך מיר אַ מאכל אַזױ װי איך האָב ליב, און ברענג מיר, און איך װעל עסן; כּדי מײַן זעל זאָל דיך בענטשן אײדער איך שטאַרב.
Esau,
Hairy Esau, blessed with fragrant fields;
To you I owe an ancient debt,
Debt deep within my marrow,
Buried in my innards’ shadows…
Esau.
Quietly, behind your back,
Quietly I sensed the savor of your good fortune,
Esai—that sturdy draft
of your fragrant fields…
Esau,
Hairy Esau, with our blind father’s blessing
On your wild, wooded head,
On your gentle, fair hair—
Don’t ask for payment now, Esau… not now…
Drop by drop you have seeped your way
Into my gloom of distant days,
Breath by breath exhaled
With all my many-thousand souls,
On the ashes of the road,
On the ashes of being…
Esau,
On the broad canvas of pain, of moldy distant days,
Is spun,
Is sewn,
Is stitched,
My ancient heart,
My ancient dreams
My dark glassy stare…
Look there, look there….
Esau,
Leave me and tend your sheep,
Your fragrant springs,
Lay your hand on them,
Your hairy ancient hand…. Leyb Kvitko Tr. Allen Mandelbaum and Harold Rabinowitz, Penguin Book of Yiddish Verse
Eysev
Eysev,
bavaksener, gebentsht mit shmekndikn feld!
dir kumt fun mir a grayzer khoyv,
er ligt farzunken in mayn tif,
bagrobn in mayne farshotene oytsres…
Eysev,
shtil, hinter dayne pleytses,
shtil hob ikh gezoygn di reykhes fun dayn mazl,
dos kreftike getrank
fun dir, Eysev, shmekndik feld.
Eysev,
horiker, mit blindn tatns brokhe
oyf valdnkop,
oyf mildn, blondn —
mon mikh nit atsind … mon mikh nit atsind…
tropnvayz dayns iz ayngezunken
in mayn grayzn umet.
tropnvayz oysgehoykht
mit ale mayne toyznter neshomes,
oyf ash fun gang,
oyf ash fun zayn…
Eysev,
oyf breytn paynenflakh fun shiml-uralt
iz oysgeshpint,
oysgeshtikt,
oysgeshtrikt
mayn uralt harts,
mayn grayzer troym,
mayn tunkl-glantsik kukn…
zukh dort, zukh…
Eysev,
ker zikh op fun mir tsu dayne shepselekh.
tsu dayne shmekndike kvaln,
leyg aroyf dayn hant oyf zey,
dayn horik alte hant…
leyb kvitko
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Yitskhoks brokhe
27 3Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me venison; 4and make me savoury food, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat; that my soul may bless thee before I die.’
33And Isaac trembled very exceedingly, and said: ‘Who then is he that hath taken venison, and brought it me, and I have eaten of all before thou camest, and have blessed him? yea, and he shall be blessed.’
38And Esau said unto his father: ‘Hast thou but one blessing, my father? bless me, even me also, O my father.’ And Esau lifted up his voice, and wept.
41And Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him. And Esau said in his heart: ‘Let the days of mourning for my father be at hand; then will I slay my brother Jacob.’
43Now therefore, my son, hearken to my voice; and arise, flee thou to Laban my brother to Haran;
כז 3 דרום נעם אַצונד, איך בעט דיך, דײַנע װאַפֿן, דײַן פֿײַלבײַטל און דײַן בױגן, און גײ אַרױס אין פֿעלד,און פֿאַנג מיר אַ גע ֿפ ַאנג; 4 און מאַך מיר אַ מאכל אַזױ װי איך האָב ליב, און ברענג מיר, און איך װעל עסן; כּדי מײַן זעל זאָל דיך בענטשן אײדער איך שטאַרב.
מיט דער ברכה אין די הענט,
און פּחד אין די טריט. רײזל זשיכלינסקי, שװײַגנדיקע טירן, 1962
ISAAC’S BLESSING
Esau was running from the field with the kill,
And the deer, the wind, ran too.
The mountain ran after them
With the feet of a child:
O, let Old Father Isaac
Bless me too!
When they crossed the threshold of the tent,
Old Father Isaac was already sleeping.
Satiated and tired.
His silver beard sparkled on the table.
— Too late —
Buzzed a fly that was licking
The last morsels of the blessing
from the plate.
Too late.
Esau cried.
From the other side of the door
Jacob left
With the blessing in his hands
And terror in his steps.
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Silent Doors
Tr. Sheva Zucker
Yitskhok|s brokhe
Eysev iz gelofn fun feld mit dem gefang
un gelofn iz der hirsh, der vint.
der barg iz nokhgelofn
mit fislekh fun a kind:
o, zol mikh oykh bentshn
der alter foter Yitskhok!
ven zey zaynen ariber di shvel fun getselt,
iz shoyn gelofn der alter foter Yitskhok, zat un mid.
zayn zilberne bord hot gefinklt oyfn tish.
— tsu shpet —
hot gezhumet a flig, vos hot gelekt
di letste shtiklekh brokhe fun dem teler.
tsu shpet.
Eysev hot geveynt.
fun yener zayt tir
iz Yakov avek
mit der brokhe in di hent,
un pakhed in di trit.
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Shvaygndike tirn, 1962
THIS WEEK Yekhiel Shraybman, פֿון עקדת יצחק, from The Binding of Isaac
Kadye Molodovski, פֿרויען־לידער 7, Women-Poems VII
Miryem Ulinover, אַ חומש־נאַכט, A Khumesh Night
Yekhiel Shraybman, fun “Akeydes Yitskhok”
23 1And the life of Sarah was a hundred and seven and twenty years; these were the years of the life of Sarah. 2And Sarah died in Kiriatharba—the same is Hebron—in the land of Canaan; and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her.
כג: 1 און דאָס לעבן פֿון שׂרהן איז געװען הונדערט און זיבן יאָר און צװאַנציק יאָר; דאָס זַײנען געװען די יאָרן פֿון שׂרהס לעבן. 2 און שׂרה איז געשטאָרבן אין ִקרַית-אַרבע, דאָס איז ֶחברון, אין לאַנד כַּנַען. און אבֿרהם איז געקומען צו קלאָגן אױף שׂרהן און זי צו באַװײנען.
For a biography of Shraybman, click here.
For a biography of Shraybman in Yiddish, click here.
13. Somewhere, in the middle of the road, from an abandoned wreck of a tavern there suddenly appeared an old man, … with a staff in his hand that was three times taller than he himself, and with a great sack from his neck down to his ankles. Apparently a vagabond or simply a wanderer, or maybe even another angel in disguise…. And thus did he say to Avrom:
14. Avrom, Mr. Avrom, you are a smart Jew… you withstood God’s trial, doesn’t have to be and couldn’t have been better… Don’t think that the One Above likes people to believe in him blindly and blindly do everything that He asks them to do. On the contrary: The One Above sometimes likes it when one doesn’t obey Him, if it’s not something that should be obeyed… You passed the exam with flying colors, Mr. Avrom. The Holy One Blessed Be He has now seen clearly what sort of a humane human being you are, and will remember it and keep it in mind until the end of all generations. Instead bring the news home to Sore, bentsh goyml, and thank God for having escaped this great danger, make a great feast and rejoice together with your Sore, with little Yitskhok and with all those near and dear to you. Amen.
15.How this old wanderer knew Avrom’s whole story, I can’t exactly say. It was, it appears, to have been another angel in disguise.
16. But it wasn’t destined for Avrom to rejoice together with Sore. He didn’t find Sore at home. Neighbors said that in the last couple of days Sore could not find her place. She was literally flickering out like a candle. With nothing but a little shawl on her shoulders she set out yesterday on foot to look for Avrom and Yitskhok. It seems—said the neighbors—that she was going to Hebron.
17. Avrom and Yitskhok set out right away, of course, to Hebron and arrived there, woe is me, exactly as Sore was drawing her last breath. Because of great misery and too much to live through Mother Sore’s heart gave out and in Hebron she departed this life.
18. And as it is written in old Yiddish in “Seyfer hayosher” “Avrom and Yitskhok came to Hebron and found that Sore had died. So they cried very hard. Yitskhok fell upon his mother and wept and Avrom fell upon his wife and wept. They delivered a great eulogy for herand rivulets of tears poured and poured from their eyes.”
19. Tears. Tears. Tears.
20. Tears before the flood and tears after the flood. And Avrom’s children and descendants, like the stars in the sky and like the sand at the seashore, have to this very day shed so many tears, that the strongest flood is nothing compared to their rivers of tears.
Tr. Sheva Zucker, “The Binding of Isaac,”Yetsire un Libe, Keshenev, 2000.
Fun Akeydes Yitskhok
13. ergets in mitn veg hot fun a farlozter khorever kretshme plutsem zikh aroysgeyavet an alter man, …mit a shtekn in der hant dray mol hekher fun zikh aleyn, un mit a groyser torbe oyfn haldz biz arop tsu di knekhl zayne. a ponem a veggeyer, tsi glat azoy a vanderer, tsi efsher take a tsveyter farshtelter malekh…. un er hot Avromen gezogt azoy tsu zogn: 14. reb Avrom, reb Avrom, ir zent a yid a khokhem… ir hot gots nesoyen oysgehaltn, vos beser darf men nit un beser kon gor nit zayn … meynt nit, az der eybershter hot lib me zol in im gleybn blind un blinderheyt tomed altsding ton vos er heyst. farkert: der eybershter hot lib me zol im a mol afile nit folgn, oyb me darf im nit folgn… ir hot dem ekzamen gut oysgehaltn, rb Avrom. hakodesh-borekh-hu hot itster gut gezen, vos far a mentshlekher mentsh ir zent, un vet dos gedenken ed sof kol hadoyres. trogt gikher aheym Sore|n di bsure, bentsht goyml, makht a groyse sude un zayt aykh mesameakh in eynem mit ayer sore?n, mit yitskhok|len un mit ale ayere eygene un noente. Omeyn.”
15. tu. fun vanen der doziker altitshker veggeyer hot gevust Avrom|s gantse geshikhte, ken ikh pinktlekh nit zogn. dos iz take, zet oys, vider geven a tsveyter farshtelter malekh. 16. freyen zikh in eynem mit Sore|n is shoyn Avrom|en nit bashert geven. in der heym hot er Sore|n nit getrofn. skheynem hobn gezogt, az Sore hot in di etlekhe teg dos ort zikh nit gekent gefinen. zi hot mamesh getsankt, vi a likht. mit a hoyl shalekhl oyf di aksl iz zi eyernekhtn avek tsu fus zukhn Avrom|en un Yitskhok|n. Dakht zikh — hobn di shkheynem gezogt—iz zi gegangen keyn Khevron.
17. Avrom un Yitskhok hobn, farshteyt zikh, bald avekgelozt zikh keyn Khevron un zenen ahin ongekumen, vey-vey, punkt tsu Sore|s yitsies-neshome. far groyse tsores un shtarke iberlebenishn hot zikh der muter Sore|n opgerisn dos harts un zi iz in Khevron nifter gevorn.
18. un vi es shraybt zikh oyf ivri-taytsh in “seyfer hayosher” zenen Avrom un Yitskhok gekumen in Khevron un hobn getrofn Sore iz geshtorbn. hobn zey shtark geveynt un Avrom iz gefaln oyf zayn vayb un geveynt. zey hobn oyf ir gezogt a groysn hesped un ritshkes trern hobn zikh gegosn un gegosn fun zeyere oygn.”
19. trern, trern. trern.
20. trern erev dem mabl un trern nokhn mabl. un Avrom|s kinder un kindskinder, vi di shtern oyfn himl un vi di zamdn baym breg funem yam, hobn biz haynt fargosn azoy fil trern, az der shtarkster mabl iz kegn zeyere taykhn trern a gornit.
Kadye Molodovski, Froyen-Lider VI
National Library of Israel, Schwadron collection
For a biography of Kadya Molodowsky click here.
For a biography of Kadya Molodowsky in YIddish click here.
This poem draws on many verses in this and previous as well as later parshes that describe the matriarchs.
21: 14And Abraham arose up early in the morning, and took bread and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away; and she departed, and strayed in the wilderness of Beer-sheba.
24: 21And the man looked stedfastly on her; holding his peace, to know whether the LORD had made his journey prosperous or not. 22And it came to pass, as the camels had done drinking, that the man took a golden ring of half a shekel weight, and two bracelets for her hands of ten shekels weight of gold;
24: 53 And the servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah; he gave also to her brother and to her mother precious things.
29:17 17And Leah’s eyes were weak; but Rachel was of beautiful form and fair to look upon.
29: 31And the LORD saw that Leah was hated, and he opened her womb; but Rachel was barren.
30: 14 And Reuben went in the days of wheat harvest, and found mandrakes in the field, and brought them unto his mother Leah. Then Rachel said to Leah: ‘Give me, I pray thee, of thy son’s mandrakes.’
ל 14 און ראובן איז געגאַנגען אין די טעג פֿון װײצשניט, און האָט געפֿונען ליבעפּעלעך אין פֿעלד, און האָט זײ געבראַכט צו זײַן מוטער לאהן. האָט רחל געזאָגט צו לאהן: גיב מיר, איך בעט דיך, פֿון דײַן זונס ליבעפּעלעך.
פֿרויען־לידער VI
פֿאַר כּלות אָרעמע װאָס זײַנען דינסטמײדלעך געװען,
צאַפּט די מוטער שׂרה פֿון פֿעסער טונקעלע
און קריגן פֿינקלענדיקן װײַן.
װעמען ס’איז אַ פֿולער קרוג באַשערט,
טראָגט די מוטער שׂרה אים מיט בײדע הענט,
און װעמען ס’איז באַשערט אַ בעכערל אַ קלײנס
פֿאַלט דער מוטער שׂרהס טרער אין אים אַרײַן.
און פֿאַר גאַסן־מײדלעך
װען װײַסע חופּה־שיכלעך חלומען זיך זײ,
טראָגט די מוטער שׂרה האָניק לױטערן,
אױף קלײנע טעצעלעך,
צו זײער מידן מױל.
פֿאַר כּלות אָרעמע, פֿון אַ מיוחסדיקן שטאַם
װאָס שעמען זיך דאָס אױסגעלאַטעטע װעש
ברענגען צו דער שװיגער פֿאַרן אױג,
פֿירט די מוטער רבֿקה קעמלען אָנגעלאָדענע
מיט װײַסן לײַװנטלײַן.
און װען די פֿינצטערניש שפּרײט אױס זיך פֿאַר די פֿיס,
און ס’קניִען אַלע קעמלען צו דער ערד צו רו
מעסט די מוטער רבֿקה לײַװנט אייל נאָך אײל
פֿון די פֿינגערלעך פֿון האַנט ביזן גאָלדענעם בראַסלעט.
פֿאַר די װאָס האָבן מידע אױגן
פֿון נאָכקוקן נאָך יעדן שכנותדיקן קינד,
און דאַרע הענט פֿון גאַרן
נאָך אַ װיגן פֿון אַ װיג,
ברענגט די מוטער רחל הײלונגסבלעטער
אױסגעפֿונענע אױף װײַטע בערג,
און טרײסט זײ מיט אַ שטילן װאָרט,
ס’קאָן יעדע שעה גאָט עפֿענען דאָס צוגעמאַכטע טראַכט.
צו די װאָס װײנען אין די נעכט אױף אײנזאַמע געלעגערס,
און האָבן ניט פֿאַר װעמען ברענגען זײער צער,
רעדן זײ מיט אױסגעברענטע ליפּן צו זיך אַלײן,
צו זײ קומט די מוטער לאה
האַלט בײדע אױגן מיט די בלײכע הענט פֿאַרשטעלט. קאַדיע מאָלאָדאָווסקי, פֿון „פֿרויען־לידער”, חשוונדיקע נעכט, 1927
WOMEN–POEMS VI
For poor brides who were servant girls,
Mother Sore draws forth form dim barrels
Pitchers of sparkling wine.
To those so destined, Mother Sore
Carries a full pitcher with both hands.
And for those so destined, Mother Sore’s
Tears fall into the tiny goblet.
And for streetwalkers
Dreaming of white wedding shoes,
Mother Sore bears pure honey
In small saucers
To their tired mouths.
For high-born brides now poor,
Who blush to bring patched underclothes
Before their mother-in-law,
Mother Rebecca leads camels
Laden with white linen.
And when darkness spreads before their feet,
And all camels kneel on the ground to rest,
Mother Rebecca measures linen ell by ell
From her rings to her golden bracelet.
For those whose eyes are tired
From watching the neighborhood children,
And whose hands are thin from yearning
For a small, soft body
And for the rocking of a cradle,
Mother Rachel brings healing leaves
Discovered on distant mountains,
And comforts them with a quiet word:
At any hour, God may open the sealed womb.
To those who cry at night in solitary beds,
And have no one to share their sorrow,
Who talk to themselves with parched lips,
to them comes Mother Leah quietly,
Shielding both eyes with her pale hands. Tr. Kathryn Hellerstein, Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky, 1999; Permission by Translator
froyen-lider VI
Far kales oreme vos zaynen dinstmeydlekh geven,
Tsapt di muter Sore fun feser tunkele
Un krign finklendikn vayn.
Vemen s’iz a fuler krug bashert,
Trogt di muter Sore im mit beyde hent,
Un vemen s’iz bashert a bekherl a kleyns
Falt der muter Sores trer in im arayn.
Un far gasn-meydlekh
Ven vayse khupe-shikhlekh kholemen zikh zey,
Trogt di muter Sore honik loytern,
Ayf kleyne tetselekh,
Tsu zeyer midn moyl.
Far kales oreme, fun a meyukhes|dikn shtam
Vos shemen zikh dos oysgelatete vesh
Brengen tsu der shviger farn oyg,
Firt di muter Rivke kemlen ongelodene
Mit vaysn layvntlayn.
Un ven di finsternish shpreyt oys zikh far di fish,
Un s’knien ale kemlen tsu der erd tsu ru
Mest di muter Rivke layvnt eyl nokh eyl
Fun di fingerlekh fun hant bizn goldenem braslet.
Far di vos hobn mide oygn
Fun nokhkukn nokh yedn shkheynesdikn kind,
Un dare hent fun garn
Nokh a vign fun a vig,
Brengt di muter Rokhl heylungsbleter
Oysgefunene af vayte berg,
Un treyst zey mit a shtiln vort,
S’kon yede sho got efenen dos tsugemakhte trakht.
Tsu di vos veynen in di nekht af eynzame gelegers,
Un hobn nit far vemen brengen zeyer tsar,
Redn zey mit oysgebrente lipn tsu zikh aleyn,
Tsu zey kumt di muter Leye
Halt beyde oygn mit di bleykhe hent farshtelt.
Miryem Ulinover, A Khumesh-Nakht
24: 3And I will make thee swear by the LORD, the God of heaven and the God of the earth, that thou shalt not take a wife for my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell.
7The LORD, the God of heaven, who took me from my father’s house, and from the land of my nativity, and who spoke unto me, and who swore unto me, saying: Unto thy seed will I give this land; He will send His angel before thee, and thou shalt take a wife for my son from thence.
14So let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say: Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say: Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also; let the same be she that Thou hast appointed for Thy servant, even for Isaac; and thereby shall I know that Thou hast shown kindness unto my master.’
60And they blessed Rebekah, and said unto her: ‘Our sister, be thou the mother of thousands of ten thousands, and let thy seed possess the gate of those that hate them.’
כד 3 און איך װעל דיך באַשװערן בײַ יהוה דעם גאָט פֿון הימל און דעם גאָט פֿון דער ערד, אַז דו זאָלסט ניט נעמען אַ װַײב פֿאַר מַײן זון פֿון די טעכטער פֿון דעם כַּנַעני װאָס איך זיץ צװישן אים.
די שבת־מלכּה שװעבט פֿון װײַט,
מיט חומש־סדרות רױשט איר קלײד…
און װען כ’האָב זיך צו דער זעט מיט חומש אָנגעלײ’נט
און די שטערן װינקען: „שױן גענוג אױף הײַנט!“,
קלאַפּ איך אָן אין יעדער אײנער מײדלװאַנט:
קומט!“
מיט גאָלד און זילבער זע איך װי ער שפּאַנט,
אליעזר שדכן!
ליכטיק איז די בענקשאַפֿט,
טונקל איז די נאַכט,
לאָזט צום גליק אײַך, שװעסטער,
זילבער העל צעלאַכט!
שאָטנס האָט דער אָװנט
שורותװײַז צעשטעלט —
אפֿשר װאַרטן שלוחים
אױך אױף אונדז אין פֿעלד…
הערט די װײַטקײט ציטערט,
צוקט און בליצט, און רופֿט— גאָלדן צירונג שימערן זע איך אין דער לופֿט… לאָזט צום גליק אײַך, שװעסטער,
זילבער העל צעלאַכט, רבֿקהס שטערן שײַנען
װעט אַ גאַנצע נאַכט! מרים אולינאָווער, אַ גרוס פֿון דער אַלטער היים, מעדעם־ביבליאָטעק,פּאַריז 2003
A KHUMESH NIGHT
The Sabbath Queen floats in from afar,
Her dress rustling with portions of Torah …
And when I have read my fill of Khumesh
And the stars wink: “Enough for today!”,
I knock on the wall of every girl:
Come! With gold and silver, I see how he strides,
The matchmaker, Eliezer!
Longing is pellucid,
The darkling night is dim–
Leap at happiness, sisters,
Burst into silvery laughter!
Suddenly, the evening
Sets shadows into verses…
Messengers might be waiting
For us, too, in the field!
Hear the distance tremble,
Twitch and flash, and call–
I see golden jewelry
Glistening in the air…
Leap at happiness, sisters,
Burst into silvery laughter:
Rebecca’s star will glow
The whole night through. Translated by Kathryn Hellerstein
a khumesh-nakht
di shabes-malke shvebt fun vayt,
mit khumesh-sedres roysht ir kleyd…
un ven kh’hob zikh tsu der zet mit khumesh ongeley’nt
un di shtern vinken: “shoyn genug oyf haynt!”,
klap ikh on in yeder eyner meydlvant:
kumt!”
mit gold un zilber ze ikh vi er shpant,
Eliezer shadkhn!
likhtik iz di benkshaft,
tunkl iz di nakht,
lozt tsum glik aykh, shvester,
zilber hel tselakht!
shotns hot der ovnt
shures|vayz tseshtelt —
efsher vartn shlukhim
oykh oyf undz in feld…
hert di vaytkayt tsitert,
tsukt un blitst, un ruft —
goldn tsirung shimern
ze ikh in der luft…
lozt tsum glik aykh, shvester,
zilber hel tselakht,
Rivkes shtern shaynen
vet a gantse nakht!
THIS WEEK Rokhl Korn, לוטס ווײַב, Lot’s wife
Miryem Ulinover, צו מאָרגנס,The Next Morning
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, הגר אין מידבר,Hagar in the Desert
Itsik Manger, אַבֿרהם אָבֿינו פֿאָרט מיט יצחקן צו דער עקידה,Abraham Takes Itsik to the Sacrifice
Yankev Glatshteyn, מײַן טאַטע יצחק, My Father Isaac
Khave Rosenfarb, יצחקס חלום, Isaac’s Dream
Rokhl Korn, Lots vayb
19: 17And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said: ‘Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the Plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be swept away.’
24Then the LORD caused to rain upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven; 25and He overthrow those cities, and all the Plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground. 26But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.
I lacked the courage to look back
when my home burned behind me
and everything once called happiness
was torn apart.
And so I’m so jealous of you
stopping in mid-flight
and gathering together all your love
in salty-hard stone.
Exile was more terrifying than God’s anger,
yearning stronger than His punishment—
your home nested under your eyelids,
the cradle, the orchard, brown flocks of sheep,
when tongues of flame licked
the open wounds of earth, stone, clay.
Now you stand guard over all your dreams,
guarding bare mountains, the dead sea—
blood trickles into your limbs with twilight,
and in the glow of its flame
your young body shimmers pink,
a smile on your lips as you remember–
mated to your own, entrusted name,
you’re you again—not just your husband’s wife.
I lacked courage to look back,
and now my heart is stiffened— a clod of stone —
and the word on my lips turns to salt
with silent, unfinished tears.
Rokhl Korn
By permission of Translator Seymour Levitan
lots vayb
kh’hob nisht gehat keyn mut tsu kukn oyf tsurik,
ven hinter mir geflakert hot mayn heym
un s’iz farlendt gevorn alts,
vos hot a mol geheysn — glik.
deriber bin ikh dikh azoy mekane,
vos host zikh opgeshtelt in mitn geyn
un host dayn gantse libshaft
ayngezamlt in zaltsik-hartn shteyn.
der na-venad hot dikh geshrokn
mer vi yhvhs tsorn
un benkshaft iz gevezn shtarker fun zayn shtrof —
s’hot unter dayne vies zikh ayngenest dayn heym,
di vig, der sod, di broyne stades shof,
ven s’hot der brand gelekt mit fayerdike tsungen
di vundn ofene fun erd, fun shteyn, fun leym.
itst shteystu oyf der vakh fun ale dayne troymen,
a hiterin fun hoyle berg, fun toytn yam —
es trift arayn di shkiye blut in dayne glider,
un in dem opshayn fun ir flam
shimert mit a yungshaft rozlekher dayn layb,
un s’shmeykhlen dayne lipn mit dermonung
far|ziveg|t tsu dayn eygenem, fartroytn nomen
—bist vider du — un nisht nor fun dayn man dos vayb.
kh’hob nisht gehat dem mut tsu kukn oyf tsurik,
iz itst mayn harts farshtart — a grude shteyn,
un s’zaltsikt zikh dos vort oyf mayne lipn
mit a shtil, nisht oysgeveynt geveyn.
Rokhl korn, di gnod fun vort
Miryem Ulinover, Tsu morgns
21: 6And Sarah said: ‘God hath made laughter for me; every one that heareth will laugh on account of me.’ 7And she said: ‘Who would have said unto Abraham, that Sarah should give children suck? for I have borne him a son in his old age.’
און שבת צו מאָרגנס װערט ליכטיק און שײן,
קאָנסט װידער פֿון טײַטש־חומש הערן און זען.
װען פֿון באָבעס װערט בײַ אונדז אַרומגערעדט,
װי די מאַמע שׂרה לאַכט זיך אױס אין בעט
אין איר שענסטן קאָפּטוך, גליקלעך, שטאָלץ ביז גאָר,
אַז מלאָכים־צוזאָג איז געװאָרן װאָר…
און פֿון גאָלד’נעם מיזרח שטראָמט אַ זיסער דופֿט,
און דאָס סעדל באָדט זיך אין באר־שבע־לופֿט,
און די הימלען שמײכקען ניסימדיק און בלאָ:
אין די באָבע־יאָרן ג’האַט אַ זונעניו!
מרים אולינאָווער
THE NEXT MORNING
And Shabes morning sunny and beautiful it will be,
And the wonders of the women’s bible you’ll be able to hear and see,
Where the subjects of grandmothers is discussed
And Mother Sarah is in bed laughing out loud
In her most lovely headscarf, happy and so very proud
That the angels’ promise has come true…
And from the golden East a sweet scent blew,
And the little orchard is reveling in Be’er Sheva air,
And the heavens are smiling miraculous and blue:
In her grandmother years she gave birth to a zunenyu.
Miriam Ulinover
Tr. Sheva Zucker
tsu morgns
un shabes tsu morgns vert likhtik un sheyn,
konst vider fun taytsh-khumesh hern un zen. v
en fun bobes vert bay undz arumgeredt,
vi di mame Sore lakht zikh oys in bet
in ir shenstn koptukh, gliklekh, shtolts biz gor,
az malokhem-tsuzog iz gevorn vor…
un fun gold’nem mizrekh shtromt a ziser duft,
un dos sedl bodt zikh in ber-sheva-luft,
un di himlen shmeykhken nisimdik un blo:
in di bobe-yorn g’hat a zunenyu!
Miryem Ulinover
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Hoger in midber
21: 14And Abraham arose up early in the morning, and took bread and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away; and she departed, and strayed in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15And the water in the bottle was spent, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs. 16And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bow-shot; for she said: ‘Let me not look upon the death of the child.’ And she sat over against him, and lifted up her voice, and wept.
Little Hagar wanders in the great desert
And weeps.
The desert has not yet grown smaller,
And Hagar has not yet grown bigger.
Behind closed eyes she sees the man
Whom she loves.
Yellow sand all around.
The wind covers over the little female steps
The desert swallows little Hagar’s tears,
The jug is empty,
And all who are weary,
And all who are thirsty
Carry with both hands
Hagar’s empty jug.
Reyzl Zhikhlinski
Tr. Sheva Zucker
di kleyne Hoger blondzhet in dem groysn midber
un veynt.
der midber iz nokh nisht gevorn klener,
un Hoger iz nisht gevorn greser.
hinter tsugemakhte oygn zet zi dem man,
vos zi hot lib.
gele zamdn arum un arum.
der vint farshit di kleyne froyentrit
der midber shlingt der kleyner Hogers trern,
di krug iz leydik.
un ale mide,
un ale durshtike
trogn mit beyde hent Hogers leydike krug.
Reyzl Zhikhlinski, Shvaygndike tirn, NY, 1962
Hear Itsik Manger read, Avrom Ovinu fort mit Yitskhokn tsu der akeyde, available on my CD The Golden Peacock: The Voice of the Yiddish Writer
Genesis 22: 1-5 1And it came to pass after these things, that God did prove Abraham, and said unto him: ‘Abraham’; and he said: ‘Here am I.’ 2And He said: ‘Take now thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest, even Isaac, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt-offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.’ 3And Abraham rose early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son; and he cleaved the wood for the burnt-offering, and rose up, and went unto the place of which God had told him. 4On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off. 5And Abraham said unto his young men: ‘Abide ye here with the ass, and I and the lad will go yonder; and we will worship, and come back to you.’
„אליעזר, בײַ דער וואַסערמיל
דאָרט זאָלסטו בלײַבן שטיין!
פֿון דאָרט וועל איך מיט יצחלקען
צו פֿוס שוין ווײַטער גיין“.
אליעזר אויף דער קעלניע ברומט
און קוקט אַלץ אויפֿן שליאַך.
(טרויעריק און שיין, זאָגט דער פּאָעט,
זענען די וועגן פֿון תּנך).
איציק מאַנגער, ליד און באַלאַדע
ABRAHAM TAKES ITZIK TO THE SACRIFICE
The gray light of the dawning
Touches the earth with dawn.
Eliezer, the loyal servant, puts
The black team’s harness on.
Taking the child up in his arms,
Old Abraham shuts the door.
Over his ancient roof, there gleams
A blue and pious star.
“Up, Eliezer” – the whip rings out,
The road has a silvery look.
“Sad and lovely,” the poet says,
“Are the roads of the Holy Book.”
The graying willows on the way
Run to the house again
To see if his mother stands beside
The cradle of her son.
“Daddy, where are we going now?”
“To Lashkev – to the fair.”
“Daddy, what are you going to buy
At Lashkev – at the fair?
“A soldier made of porcelain,
A trumpet, and a drum;
A piece of satin to make a dress
For mother, who waits at home.”
Abraham feels his eyes grow moist
And the steel knife pressing, where
It scalds the flesh beneath his shirt…
“To Lashkev… the fair…. some fair.”
“Eliezer, stop at the water mill.
Stop for a while and wait.
Isaac, my son, and I will go
On from there on foot.”
Eliezer sits and grumbles, and casts
Down the road an anxious look.
“Sad and lovely,” the poet says,
“Are the roads of the Holy Book.” Tr. Leonard Wolf, The World According to Itzik
avrom ovinu fort mit Yitskhok|n tsu der ekeyde
di groe morgn-demerung demert iber der erd,
der alter getrayer Elyezer shpant
in vogn di kare ferd.
avrom trogt oyf zayne hent
zayn bn-zkunim aroys,
a frumer bloer shtern blitst
iber dem altn hoyz.
"hayda Elyezer!'' --- dos baytshl knalt
un ot zilbert zikh der shlyakh.
(troyerik un sheyn, zogt der poet,
zenen di vegn fun Tanakh).
di groe verbes paze veg
antloyfn oyf tsurik,
a kuk tun, tsi di mame veynt
iber der puster vig.
"vu forn mir itster, tateshi?''
"keyn lashkev oyfn yarid_''.
"vos vestu mir koyfn, tateshi,
in lashkev oyfn yarid_?''
"a zelnerl fun portselay,
a paykl un a trumeyt
un far der mamen in der heym
atles oyf a kleyd''.
avrom|s oygn vern faykht,
er filt vi dos meser brit
unter der zhupitse dos layb:
--- shoyn eyn mol a yarid_...
"Elyezer, bay der vasermil
dort zolstu blaybn shteyn!
fun dort vel ikh mit its|kheylek|en
tsu fus shoyn vayter geyn''.
Elyezer oyf der kelnye brumt
un kukt alts oyfn shlyakh.
(troyerik un sheyn, zogt der poet,
zenen di vegn fun Tanakh).
itsik manger, lid un balade
Yankev Glatshteyn, Mayn tate Yistkhok
22:7-8
7And Isaac spoke unto Abraham his father, and said: ‘My father.’ And he said: ‘Here am I, my son.’ And he said: ‘Behold the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt-offering?’ 8And Abraham said: ‘God will provide Himself the lamb for a burnt-offering, my son.’ So they went both of them together.
As Isaac in his old age
was being led to the sacrifice,
he lifted up to heaven his clouded eyes
and said in a tired voice:
“I know that now I’ll be your choice.”
No good angel came flying,
the flames burned more brightly and higher.
“The blade has been sharpened for my throat.”
Isaac, old, was not deceived
as when he was that lad from Genesis;
he knew that there would be no lamb.
And as they bound him to the altar,
and as he smelled the searing fumes,
he spoke his mind thus:
“God will not interrupt this slaughter!”
He called out in a tired voice:
“Here I am — prepared to be your ram.”
Yankev Glatshteyn, Tr. Etta Blum, Jacob Glatstein: Poems, 1970
mayn tate Yitskhok
az men hot dem altn Yistkhok gefirt tsu der akeyde,
hot er oyfgehoybn tsum himl di fartunklte oygn,
gezogt hot er mit a shtim a mider:
kh’veys az kh’vel itst zayn dayn vider.
keyn guter malekh iz nisht ongefloygn.
s’vert dos fayer flamendiker un greser.
far mayn haldz iz gesharft dos meser.
der alter yitskhok hot zikh nisht genart,
vi ven er iz a khumesh-yingl geven.
er hot oyf keyn leml nisht gevart.
ven men hot im genumen bindn tsum mizbeyekh
un er hot derfilt dem zengendikn reyekh,
hot er azoy geton zogn:
got vet di shkhite nisht ibershlogn.
er hot oysgerufn mit a shtim a mider:
hineyni, kh’bin greyt tsu zayn dayn vider.
yankev glatshteyn, shtralndike yidn, nyu-york, 1946
Khave Rosenfarb, Yitskhoks kholem
All of Genesis 22 but these passages, in particular.
22 7And Isaac spoke unto Abraham his father, and said: ‘My father.’ And he said: ‘Here am I, my son.’ And he said: ‘Behold the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt-offering?’ 8And Abraham said: ‘God will aprovide Himself the lamb for a burnt-offering, my son.’ So they went both of them together.
13And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in the thicket by his horns. And Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt-offering in the stead of his son.
אַ נאַקעטער קערפּער, מעסער אין גאַרטל,
אין װײכע סאַנדאַלן די בר ָאנזענע פֿיס.
אױף אַקסלען—האָלץ אין אַ שײַטער געבונדן,
האָט ער געשמײכלט ייִנגליש און זיס.
גוט-מאָרגן, מײַן מײדל, דערקענסט מיך נישט ליבסטע?
אױף מיר האָסטו צװ ַאנציק יאָר לאַנג געװ ַארט.
דאָס בין איך יצחק, דײַן חתן-באַשערטער.
דורך דורות אומענדלעך צו דיר כ’האָב געג ַארט.
אַװעק וואַרף די קלײדער, אַ טוך נעם אַ װײַסעס
און בינד דיר די לענדן אַרום.
פֿלעכט אױף די צעפּ און הער אױף צו װײנען.
די האַנט גיב מיר דײַנע און קום!
זײ האָבן אַלע געקעמ ֿפט און געליטן געשט ָארבן צו מאַכן עמעצן פֿרײַ נאָר איך בין גרעסער, נאָר איך בין העכער נאָר אין לײדן בין איך נאָך רײַכער פֿון זײ.
אױף חושך-װעגן צו װײַטער עקדה האָט גלײביק אַ פֿלעמל געװ ַאנדערט מיט זײ נאָר איך בין גרעסער, נאָר איך בין העכער נאָר אין גלױבן בין איך מער אָרעם פֿון זײ.
טאָ, װי קענען הײַנט געשען מיט מיר נסים, אַז ס’זענען קײן נסים געשען מיט זײ װאָס זײ האָבן אין גלױבן געלעבט און געתּפילהט און איך װיל נאָר זאַט זײַן אין שעה פֿון פֿאַרגײַן.
האָב איך געקוקט אױף מײַן טאַטן אַבֿרהמען.
נאָר ער האָט מיך שװײַגנד גענומען בײַם האַנט.
און בר ָאנזענער יצחק אין אַנגסטיקטן ציטער
געפּרעסט האָט זײַן גוף צו דער װאַנט.
— דו שרעקסט זיך גאָר יצחק? איך בין נאָר אַ חלום.
דערװ ַאך און דו ביסט שױן צוריק אין דער הײם.
דאָרט װאַרט אױף דיר רבקה, דײַן אמתע כּלה,
און רופֿט אין געצעלט דיך אַרײַן.
אײַל זיך צוריק אין דײַן לאַנד פֿון די נסים
און מיך מיט מײַן טאַטן לאָז איבער אַלײן.
דײַן גאָט גײט אַלײן הײַנט מיט אונדז צו עקדה,
טאָ אײַל זיך צוריק אין דײַן ספֿר אַרײַן.
חוה ראָזענפֿאַרב, די באַלאַדע פֿון נעכטיקן וואַלד און אַנדערע לידער, מאָנטרעאָל, 1948
ISAAC’S DREAM
As I was standing, all set for my exile,
Doom staring at me from the road’s blinding end,
The door, like a book’s heavy cover, opened,
To bring forth a guest from the Biblical land.
His body, half naked, a knife in his loincloth,
In sheep-leather sandals his tanned, bronze-like feet,
A bundle of firewood upon his shoulder—
He said, with a smile very boyish and sweet:
“Good morning, my girl; remember me, dearest?
You’ve waited for me so long—not in vain.
I’m Isaac, your bridegroom, ordained by the Heavens …
Through ages I’ve wandered to you, till I came.
Take off your dress. A sheet of plain linen
Is sufficient to drape round your navel and hops.
Undo your braids and let’s hurry, my sweetheart, Y
our hand clasped in mine and a chant on your lips.
Thus shall I lead you beyond the horizon,
Between north and south, through the west—to the east,
Until we reach Mount Moriah, my dearest,
There to be wedded, to rejoice and to feast.
So come, let us hurry, the distance is calling.
Pray, why do you shiver with anguish and cry?
You’re asking why all that wood on my shoulder,
The glittering knife on my hip—you ask why.
Then return your soul to my soul, my beloved. Read your fate in my fate, while I explain” Out of the wood I will construct an altar
And with love all redeeming set it aflame.
And the knife, my bride, I will file to its sharpest point
Up there, at the peak, on a rough mountain stone.
And who will be offered, you ask me—then listen:
The offerig, my dearest, shall be you, you alone.
A gift of life to the God of All Being,
As Abraham told me, his late-born son:
If you trust in love and love wholly trusting,
Then fear not, nor waver, dear girl, but come.
Though fire will blaze through the wood of the altar,
Flames licking your body, yet you shall see:
The knife will fall from my hand, and a miracle
Will happen to you, as it happened to me.
The river and seas shall sing Hallelujah!
The mountain pines, moved, will give praise to all life,
While the Voice Divine will, with thunder and lightning,
Proclaim me your husband, pronounce you my wife.
So hurry, my girl, the sky is already
Spreading its canopy, preparing the rite.
Come to the blue sacrificial fire—
Your last maiden stroll—to the altar, my bride.”
Thus he spoke. I smiled, then said in a whisper,
My eyes not on him, but fixed on the dark night,
Where another road was tracing its outlines
With the red of my blood, with signals of fright.
Oh leave me, Isaac, you bronzed, sunny man.
This road is not yours, not mine is your day.
I head for those places you never have dreamed of,
Where altars do smoulder with their unwilling prey.
As I spoke a gale swept towards my threshold.
The tempest took hold of my hearth and my house,
Whistling through streets, through the yards of the ghetto,
Hissing with rage: “Juden raus! Juden raus!”
Thus I stepped forward with Abraham, my father,
Who wrapped his arm round me as if with a shawl,
While delicate Isaac, all tremble and flutter,
Pressed his tanned sun-kissed frame to the wall.
You’re frightened, Isaac?” said I.
“I’m your nightmare. Awake and you’re back in your undying scroll,
Where Rebecca, your true betrothed awaits you,
To be taken with joy on her last maiden stroll.
Make haste, return to the Book that shall save thee.
Hide yourself in the Bible’s fairytale land.
For your God Himself walks with me and my father,
Right now, to the altar; with us—to His end.”
Tr. Chava Rosenfarb, Chava Rosenfarb, Exile at Last: Selected Poems, 2013
Yitskhok|s kholem
geshribn donershtog dem 6-tn september 942 u. in teg fun der “geto—shpere”, durkh 10 teg hobn yidn nit getort aroysgeyn fun zeyere voynungen. di daytshn zenen gegangen fun hoyf tsu hoyf, avekgerisn kinder fun mames, tate-mame fun kinder, kranke fun betn. men hot damolt dukht zikh aroysgefirt a 18—20 toyznt yidn. zey zenen ale farnikhtet gevorn in khelmno.
ikh bin shoyn geshtanen tsum vander a greyte,
der rukn geboygn fun veg, vos mikh vart.
hot tir zikh tseefnt, far mir iz dershinen
fun heylikste sforem — zayn broyne geshtalt.
a naketer kerper, meser in gartl,
in veykhe sandaln di bronzene fis.
oyf akslen—holts in a shayter gebundn,
hot er geshmeykhlt yinglish un zis.
gut-morgn, mayn meydl, derkenst mikh nisht libste?
oyf mir hostu tsvantsik yor lang gevart.
dos bin ikh Yitskhok, dayn HTn-basherter.
durkh doyres umendlekh tsu dir kh’hob gegart.
avek varf di kleyder, a tukh nem a vayses
un bind dir di lendn arum.
flekht oyf di tsep un her oyf tsu veynen.
di hant gib mir dayne un kum!
mir veln durkh vegn vandern, libste
lender un yomem umshprayzn on tsol.
biz kh’vel dikh brengen, mayn kale-basherte
ahin inem grinem khasene|-tol.
21
to kum, lomir shpanen, di vaytn, zey rufn,
vos shteystu fartsitert un fremd bay der zeyt?
fregst, vos iz der shayter oyf aksl?
un vos dos blanknde meser badayt?
to kum, mayn gelibte, aroys tsu di vegn,
gib mir dayn hant un kh’zog es dir bald;
fun holts vel ikh shpeter a heylikn shayter
boyen oyf lonke, in vald.
un s’meser, mayn khlh, vel ikh dort shlayfn
dernebn oyf a naketn shteyn,
un ver s’vet der korbn zayn fregstu zikh?
her zhe: der korbn vestu zayn aleyn!
der korbn far got iz dayn korbn fun lebn,
vi s’hot mir gezogt mayn tate avrom.
oyb gloybstu in libe un libstu in gloybn
to hob nisht keyn moyre un kum!
khotsh brenen vet shoyn der hiltserner shayte
r un lekn dos layb dir. dokh vestu zen:
s’vet faln fun hant mir dos blanknde meser.
der nes vet mit dir, vi mit mir dan geshen.
un s’veln undz taykhn dort bayde bazingen,
undz veln baveynen di beymer di tribe
un got vet fun berg mit zayn dunern-shtime
mit heylikn tsiter undz leyenen di ksibe.
to kum zhe, gelibte, kum lomir shpanen
es greyt shoyn der himl a khupe far dir
kum tsu di bloye ekdhshe flamen,
kum oyf dayn letstn meydl-shpatsir.
bin ikh geshtanen un hob nor geshmeykhlt,
ven er hot di hent mir gekusht.
far mir hot a veg zikh a vister getseykhnt
mit roytkayt fun mayn farglivertn blut.
— gey fun mir Yitskhok, du zuniker bokher, gey un loz mikh do iber aleyn.
nit du bist mayn khosn, nit ikh bin dayn khlh. kenstu mikh firn in seyfer arayn?
mit mir vet keyn nes, vi mit dir, nisht geshen khotsh s’libt mikh mayn guter tate eyvrom. khotsh im tsitert di hant, ven er tut mikh bentshn. er gleybt nisht in got — un ikh nisht in im.
mayn tate eyvrom geyt mit mir dernebn,
mir blondzhen beyde, farloshn dos likht
un anshtot davenen viln mir esn, oyf veg tsu akeyde, mayn tate un ikh.
gey fun mir, Yitskhok, ikh gey tsu golgote,
dort vart oyf mir kristus un s’vartn mit im
di likhtike heldn fun revolutsyes. di yidn un goym fun kidesh_hashem.
zey vartn oyf mir un veln mikh grisn fun vaytn mit a varemer hant. zey veln mikh zalbn un veln mikh kroynen
als heylikste in zeyer heylikn land.
zey hobn ale gekemft un gelitn geshtorbn tsu makhn emetsn fray nor ikh bin greser, nor ikh bin hekher
nor in leydn bin ikh nokh raykher fun zey.
oyf khoyshekh-vegn tsu vayter akeyde
hot gleybik a fleml gevandert mit zey
nor ikh bin greser, nor ikh bin hekher
nor in gloybn bin ikh mer orem fun zey.
to, vi kenen haynt geshen mit mir nisem, az s’zenen keyn nisem geshen mit zey vos zey hobn in gloybn gelebt un getfilet un ikh vil not zat zayn in sho fun fargeyn.
to gey fun mir, Yitskhok. mayn veg iz a vistedurkh nekht one tfile, durkh teg one broyt mikh vet fartsikn di viste akeydemikh vet onshtot got --- derleyzn der toyt.
un do hot di tir a shturem tseefnt
a vint hot tsetrogn mayn heym un mayn hoyz
un hot zikh tsefifn in shkheynishe gasn
aroys, tsu dem shayter! aroys!
hob ikh gekukt oyf mayn tatn eyvrom|en.
nor er hot mikh shvaygnd genumen baym hant. un bronzener Yitskhok in angstiktn tsiter geprest hot zayn guf tsu der vant.
— du shrekst zikh gor Yitskhok? ikh bin nor a kholem. dervakh un du bist shoyn tsurik in der heym.
dort vart oyf dir rbkh, dayn emes|e kale,
un ruft in getselt dikh arayn.
ayl zikh tsurik in dayn land fun di nisem
un mikh mit mayn tatn loz iber aleyn.
dayn got geyt aleyn haynt mit undz tsu akeyde, to ayl zikh tsurik in dayn seyfer arayn.
Khave rozenfarb, di balade fun nekhtikn vald un andere
lider, montreol,
THIS WEEK Sholem-aleykhem, לך־לך, Get Thee Out
Miryem Ulinover, חומש־לידער — ב, Biblical Poems
Itsik Manger, אַבֿרהם און שׂרה, Abraham and Sarah
Kadye Molodovsky, פֿרויען־לידער 7, Women-Poems VII
Sholem Aleichem, from “Lekh Lekho,” Tevye der milkhiker
12 1Now the LORD said unto Abram: ‘Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto the land that I will show thee. 2And I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee, and make thy name great; and be thou a blessing.
In a word, what Bible reading are you up to in the synagogue this week, the first chapter of Leviticus? Well, I’m a bit behind, because I’m still back in the third chapter of Genesis. That’s the chapter of Lekh-Lekho, you know, where God shows Abraham the door. Lekh-lekho—get thee out, Tevye —meyartsekho—from your land—umimoyladitkho—and fom the village you were born in and lived in your whole life—el ha’orets asher arekhho—to wherever your eyes will carry you… And when did it occur to the powers-that-be to tell me that? Not a minute before I’m so old, weak, and lonely that I’m a real al tashlikheynu le’eys ziknoh, as it says in the Rosh Hashanah prayer… “Lekh-Lekho,” Teyve the Dairyman, by Sholem Aleichem
Tr. Hillel Halkin
bekitser, vos far a sedre geyt bay aykh itst? Vayikro? bay mir geyt an ander sedre: di sedre lekh-lekho. lekh-lekho — hot men mir gezogt — du zolst aroysgeyn, tevye, martsekho — fun dayn land, umimoladetekho — un fun dayn dorf, vu du bist geboyrn gevorn un opgelebt ale dayne yorn, el hoarets asher arekho — vu di oygn veln dikh trogn!… un ven dermont men zikh tsu zogn tevye|n dem dozikn posek? akurat demolt, ven er iz shoyn alt un shvakh un elnt, vi mir zogn roshe-shone in di tfiles: al tashlikheyni leeys zikno!…
Ulinover, Khumesh-lider B
15 5And He brought him forth abroad, and said: ‘Look now toward heaven, and count the stars, if thou be able to count them’; and He said unto him: ‘So shall thy seed be.’ JPS
טו: 5 און ער האָט אים אַרױסגעפֿירט דרױסן, און האָט געזאָגט: טו אַקאָרשט אַ קוק אױפֿן הימל, און צײל די שטערן, אױב דו קענסט זײ איבערצײלן. און ער האָט צו אים געזאָגט: אַזױ װעט זַײן דײַן זאָמען.
The stars arrange themselves as a chariot in the sky
As I shuffle quietly out of my father’s house today
And with those stars rising at a slant
I want to stop in at the milky way.
Once, in olden days, thousands of years ago
I was, in fact, way up there so far
When God, the great God who made the Jews numerous
Studded the sky with his stars.
God’s soul treasure in starry formation
Glowed from skies so dark
In a lovely, fragrant Ur-Kasdim-night
And quietly laughed down to the patriarch…
From a far-off, lofty garden little flowers of pure gold
I, a tiny one, among them, a place do hold.
What was once, will no longer be.
There comes a time when I feel of longing the great pain,
So I shuffle quietly out of my father’s house,
—The stars arrange themselves in a chariot again,
And to the sky I glance with longing and trust
Climb up onto the starcoach. I must.
Miriam Ulinover
Translation attempt, Sheva Zucker
sadern zikh di shtern in a vogn oys,
shar ikh shtil aroys zikh fun mayn tatns hoyz
un mit yene shtern oysgeshtelte shreg
vilt zikh mir farforn oyfn milekhveg.
eyn mol, tif far tsaytns, far toyznter yor
bin ikh shoyn gevezn oyvn dort, far vor,
ven dos yidn-merung got, der groyser got
far Avroms oygn oysgeshternt hot…
gots neshome-oytser in shtern-geshtalt
hot fun tunk’le himlen mild arayngeshtralt
in a sheyner, duftiker ur-kashdim-nakht
un tsum elter-foter shtil aropgelakht…
gingoldblimlekh fun a vayter, hoykher gertneray…
ikh, a kleyntshikes, tsvishn zey…
vos a mol gevezn, vet shoyn mer nisht zayn,
s’kumt a tsayt, ven kh’fil a groyse benkshaftspayn,
shar ikh shtil aroys zikh fun mayn tatns hoyz,
— sadern di shtern in a vogn oys —
un tsum himl blik ikh benklekh un fartroyt,
kh’vil aroyf zikh khapn oyf der shternboyd.
Miryem Ulinover
Manger, Avrom un Sore
16:1-5 Now Sarai Abram’s wife bore him no children; and she had a handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar. 2And Sarai said unto Abram: ‘Behold now, the LORD hath restrained me from bearing; go in, I pray thee, unto my handmaid; it may be that I shall be builded up through her.’ And Abram hearkened to the voice of Sarai. 3And Sarai Abram’s wife took Hagar the Egyptian, her handmaid, after Abram had dwelt ten years in the land of Canaan, and gave her to Abram her husband to be his wife. 4And he went in unto Hagar, and she conceived; and when she saw that she had conceived, her mistress was despised in her eyes. 5And Sarai said unto Abram: ‘My wrong be upon thee: I gave my handmaid into thy bosom; and when she saw that she had conceived, I was despised in her eyes: the LORD judge between me and thee.’
ט”ז 1 און שׂרי, אבֿרמס װײַב, האָט אים ניט געבאָרן קײן קינדער; און זי האָט געהאַט אַ ִמצרישע דינסט װאָס איר נאָמען איז געװען ָהָגר. 2 האָט שׂרי געזאָגט צו אבֿרמען: זע נאָר, גאָט האָט מיך פֿאַרמיטן פֿון געבערן; קום, איך בעט דיך, צו מײַן דינסט, אפֿשר װעל איך אױפֿגעריכט װערן דורך איר. האָט אבֿרם צוגעהערט צו דעם קול פֿון שׂרין. 3 און שׂרי, אבֿרמס װײַב, האָט גענומען הגר די ִמצרית, איר דינסט, נאָך דעם װי אבֿרם איז געזעסן אין לאַנד ְכַּנַען צען יאָר, און זי האָט זי געגעבן איר מאַן אבֿרמען פֿאַר אַ װײַב צו אים. 4 און ער איז געקומען צו הָגרן, און זי איז טראָגעדיק געװאָרן; און װי זי האָט געזען אַז זי איז טראָגעדיק, אַזױ איז איר האַרינטע גרינגעשאַצט געװאָרן אין אירע אױגן. 5 האָטשׂרי געזאָגט צו אבֿרמען: מײַן עװלה אױף דיר! איך האָב געגעבן מײַן דינסט אין דײַן בוזעם, און װי זי האָט געזען אַז זי איז טראָגעדיק, אַזױ בין איך גרינגעשאַצט געװאָרן אין אירע אױגן; זאָל גאָט משפּטן צװישן מיר און צװישן דיר.
For a biography of the poet Itzik Manger, click here. For a biography of Manger in Yiddish, click here.
אַבֿרהם און שׂרה
„אַװרעמל, װען װעלן מיר האָבן אַ קינד?
מיר זענען בײדע שױן אַלטע לײַט.
בײַ לײַטן אַ פֿרױ אין די יאָרן װי איך
איז שױן דאָס אַכצנטע מאָל אױף דער צײַט.“
“Abraham, when will we have a child?
We’re not getting younger, you know.
Other women my age would have had
Eighteen children by now.”
The Patriarch Abraham puffs at his pipe
And waits, then he says with a smile,
“A broomstick, my dear, can be made to shoot
If the Lord thinks it’s worthwhile.”
“Abraham, love, each night I hear
My body sobbing for life…
Hagar is only your handmaiden
While I am your own true wife.
Often it seems to me that the star
That gleams in the windowpane
Is the soul of my child that’s wandering
Among shadows and wind and rain.”
The Patriarch Abraham puffs at his pipe
And waits, then he says with a smile,
“A broomstick, my dear, can be made to shoot
If the Lord things it’s worthwhile.”
“When I see Hagar’s son playing
With sunbeams in the sand
I find myself caressing him
And grief overwhelms my hand.
And when I take him in my lap
His smile’s so bright and sweet,
I fell my blood turn strangely cold
And then my eyes are wet.
“Abraham, when will we have a child?
We’re not getting younger, you know.
Other women my age would have had
Eighteen children by now.”
The Patriarch Abraham puffs at his pipe
And waits, then he says with a smile,
“A broomstick, my dear, can be made to shoot
If the Lord things it’s worthwhile.”
Tr. Leonard Wolf
Itzik Manger: The World According to Itzik: Selected Poetry and Prose,
Translated and edited by Leonard Wolf, Yale University Press, 2002
Avrom un Sore
“avreml, ven veln mir hobn a kind?
mir zenen beyde shoyn alte layt.
bay laytn a froy in di yorn vi ikh
iz shoyn dos akhtsnte mol oyf der tsayt.”
Avrom ovinu shmeykhlt un shvaygt
un pipket fun zayn lyulke roykh:
“bitokhn, mayn vayb. az der eybershter vil,
shist afile a bezem oykh.”
avreml, du herst, ayede nakht her ikh
vi s’khlipet mayn layb,
un Hoger iz dokh nor dayn dinst
un ikh bin dayn emes|dik vayb.
oft dakht zikh mir, az der shtern in shoyb
iz di neshome fun undzer kind,
vos voglt arum ayede nakht
tsvishn regn, shotns un vint.”
Avrom ovinu shmeykhlt un shvaygt
un pipket fun zayn lyulke roykh:
“bitokhn, mayn vayb. az der eybershter vil,
shist afile a bezem oykh.”
“az ikh ze a mol, vi Hogers kind
shpilt zikh mit der zun in zamd,
un ikh gib im ibern kepl a glet,
vert modne troyerik mayn hant.
un az ikh nem dos kind tsu zikh oyfn shoys
un se shmeykhlt azoy klug un gut,
vern mayne oygn faykht un groys
un s’vert modne troyerik mayn blut.
avreml, ven veln mir hobn a kind?
mir zenen beyde shoyn alte layt.
bay laytn a froy in di yorn vi ikh
iz shoyn dos akhtsnte mol oyf der tsayt.”
Avrom ovinu shmeykhlt un shvaygt
un pipket fun zayn lyulke roykh:
“bitokhn, mayn vayb. az der eybershter vil,
shist afile a bezem oykh.”
itsik manger, medresh itsik, yerusholaim, 1969
Kadye Molodovsky, Froyen-Lider VII
For a biography of Kadye Molodowsky, click here.
For a biography of Kadye Molodowsky in Yiddish, click here.
16:1-5 Now Sarai Abram’s wife bore him no children.
There are the spring nights
When up from under the stone,
a grass blade pushes forth from the earth,
And fresh moss makes a green cushion
Under the skull of a dead horse,
And all of a woman’s limbs beg for the hurt of childbirth.
And women come and lie down like sick sheep
By wells to heal their bodies,
And their faces are dark
From long years of thirsting for the cry of a child.
These are the spring nights
When lightning splits the black earth
With silver slaughtering knives,
And pregnant women approach
White tables in the hospital with quiet steps
And smile at the yet-unborn child
And perhaps even at death.
These are the spring nights
When up from under a stone,
A grass blade pushes forth from the earth.
By permission of Translator, Kathryn Hellerstein, Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky
Translated, introduced and edited by Kathryn Hellerstein, Wayne State University Press, 1999. By permission of translator.
FROYEN-LIDER
VII
In nekht azoyne frilingdike do,
Ven s’vakst unter a shteyn a groz fun dr’erd
Un s’bet der frisher mokh a grine kishn oys
Unter a sharbn fun a toytn ferd
Un ale glider fun a froy betn zikh tsu veytik fun geburt.
Un froyen kumen un leygn zikh vi kranke shof
Bay krenetses oyf heyln zeyer layb,
Un hobn shvartse penemer
Fun langyerikn dorsht tsum kinds geshrey.
In nekht azoyne frilingdike do,
Ven blitsn shnaydn oyf mit zilberne khalofim
Di shvartse erd,
Un froyen shvangere tsu vayse tishn fun shpitol
Kumen tsu mit shtile trit
Un shmeykhlen tsum nokh nit geborenem kind
Un efsher nokh tsum toyt.
In nekht azoyne frilingdike do,
Ven s’vakst unter a shteyn a groz fun dr’erd aroys.
