WEEK 20
Arye Shamri, דאָס ליכט פֿון קאָסעװ און קיטעװ, The Light of Kosev and Kitev Kadye Molodovski, אַ ליד צו מײַן קלײדערשאַנק, A Poem to My Clothes Closet
Miryem Ulinover, לכּבֿוד שבת, In Honor of Shabes
Arye Shamri, Dos lid fun Kosev and Kitev
27: 20And thou shalt command the children of Israel, that they bring unto thee pure olive oil beaten for the light, to cause a lamp to burn continually. 21In the tent of meeting, without the veil which is before the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall set it in order, to burn from evening to morning before the LORD; it shall be a statute for ever throughout their generations on the behalf of the children of Israel.
לײמען — אַ הימל מיט װוּנדער באַגאָסן,
קושן פֿון גאָט אױף יעדערנס פּנים.
איך עפֿן מײַן פֿענצטער — שײַנט מיר פֿון קאָסעװ — —
ביך איך מיט ייִדן מחדש לבֿנה.
THE LIGHT OF KOSEV AND KITEV
On my village — moon from Kosev,
From my village — stars to Kitev.
Green carpets, blue-blue dews,
And the dusty days pass in enchantment.
What was today and what yesterday? The moment’s eternal
The perpetual flame in a hard kindling case
Stars like buttons on a simple fur coat
Towards Kosev and Kitev face.
Grayish — a sky beaded with wonders,
On everyone’s visage God sends his kisses.
I open my window — light shines in from Kosev
Together with Jews, I bless the new moon. Translation attempt — Sheva Zucker
dos likht fun kosev un kitev
oyf derfl maynem —levone fun kosev,
fun derfl maynem — shtern tsu kitev.
tepekher grine, blo-bloe roses,
un di shtoybike teg geyen far|kishef|t.
vos haynt un vos nekhtn? eybik di rege,
neyr tomed brent in a hart kinik heltsl.
fun kosev un kitev shaynen antkegn
shtern gekneplt oyf prost-poshet peltsl.
leymen — a himl mit vunder bagosn,
kushn fun got oyf yederns ponem.
ikh efn mayn fens|terfenster — shaynt mir fun kosev — —
bin ikh mit yidn mekhadesh levone.
Arye shamri
Kadye Molodovski, A lid tsu mayn kleydershank
27: 2And thou shalt make holy garments for Aaron thy brother, for splendour and for beauty.
29: 21And thou shalt take of the blood that is upon the altar, and of the anointing oil, and sprinkle it upon Aaron, and upon his garments, and upon his sons, and upon the garments of his sons with him; and he and his garments shall be hallowed, and his sons and his sons’ garments with him.
ליג איך אַזױ אין דבֿקות
און טראַכט אַרײַן װעגן מײַן ברױנער קאַצאַװײקע.
קאַדיע םאָלאָדאָװסקי, דזשיקע גאַס, װאַרשע 1933, 1936
A POEM TO MY CLOTHES CLOSET
The shadows see-saw on the walls,
And through the window comes gray light.
I lie and cogitate all night
About my brown quilt-peasant jacket.
If I should make a dress from it It will be short, with a tight fit,
Nevertheless—
It’s still worth something, such a dress.
Then I life in devout, ecstatic guilt
And think about my jacket of brown quilt.
Meanwhile the bed gives a push and a pull,
And creaks like an old enemy: Fool,
A dress more, a dress less,
The main thing is, your hair’s a mess.
And the old cat meows with a wide-opened throat:
—Sometimes I, too, change the patches on my coat,
So don’t be such a stingy flibbertigibbet,
And bid farewell to your brown peasant jacket.
Then I life in devout, ecstatic guilt
And think about my jacket of brown quilt. By permission of the translator
Kathryn Hellerstein, Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky, 1999
a lid tsu mayn kleydershank
es hoyden zikh di shotns oyf di vent,
un durkhn fenster kumt a groye shayn.
s’iz nakht. ikh lig un trakht arayn
vegn mayn broyner katsaveyke.
zol ikh makhn derfun a kleyd,
vet zi shmol zayn un vet zayn kurts,
fun dest vegn — — —
a kleyd iz fort a shtikl guts.
lig ikh azoy in dveykes,
un trakht vegn mayn broyner katsaveyke.
git dervayl di bet a ruk zikh un a for.
un s’kripet vi an alter soyne: nar,
a kleydl mer, a kleydl veyniker,
der iker zaynen gor di hor.
un di alte kats myauket mit a breyter kel:
— ikh bayt oykh a mol di lates oyf der fel,
zay nisht aza-o karger dreykop
un zog a gutn tog der broyner katsaveyke.
lig ikh azoy in dveykes
un trakht arayn vegn mayn broyner katsaveyke. kadye Molodovski, dzhike gas, varshe 1933, 1936
Miryem Ulinover, Lekoved Shabes
29: 29 And the holy garments of Aaron shall be for his sons after him, to be anointed in them, and to be consecrated in them.30Seven days shall the son that is priest in his stead put them on, even he who cometh into the tent of meeting to minister in the holy place.
כ”ט: 29 און די הײליקע קלײדער פֿון אַהרֹנען זאָלן זײַן פֿאַר זײַנע זין נאָך אים, אױף צו זאַלבן אין זײ, און צו דערפֿילן זײער האַנט אין זײ. /29:30 זיבן טעג זאָל זײ אָנטאָן דער פֿון זײַנע זין, װאָס װערט דער כֹּהן אױף זײַן אָרט, דער װאָס קומט אין אוֹהל-מוֹעד צו דינען אין הײליקטום.
איז פֿאַרגאַנגען אין געלעכטער
זיך די פֿרעמד, די שלעכטע,
װײַל באַהאַלטן כ‘האָב אױף שבת מיר די זײַט די רעכטע.
מרים אולינאָװער, אַ גרוס פֿון דער אַלטער הײם: לידער, פּאַריז, 2003
IN HONOR OF SHABES
Like the silver atore on my father’skitl
At the seyder
So do your Shabes clothes suit you,
My shtetl.
But sometimes if I’m far from home,
And I’m down to my last dress
And I’ve worn it all week long
Inside out,
That strange and wicked place
Bursts out laughing,
Because I’ve set aside for Shabes The right side. Literal, non-rhyming translation, Sheva Zucker
lekoved shabes
vi di zilberne atore
tsu mayn tatns seyder,
pasn haynt tsu dir, mayn shtetl
dayne shabes-kleyder.
nor az in der fremd geblibn
kh’bin a mol in letstn kleyd
un a gantse vokh getrogn
hob ikh’s fun der linker zayt,
iz fargangen in gelekhter
zikh di fremd, di shlekhte,
vayl bahaltn kh’hob oyf shabes
mir di zayt di rekhte.
Miryem ulinover, a grus fun der alter heym/Un bonjour du pays natal, Pariz, 2003
THIS WEEK
Rivke Basman Ben-khayim, די מתּנה, The Gift
Dovid Hofshteyn, זאָל זײַן דערװײַל די װענט פֿון האָלץ, Let the Walls Be Made of Wood for Now
Sheve Tsuker, דבֿר־תּורה — פּרשת תרומה, Dvar-Toyre on Terumah
25: 1And the LORD spoke unto Moses, saying: 2‘Speak unto the children of Israel, that they take for Me an offering; of every man whose heart maketh him willing ye shall take My offering.
כ”ה 1 און {dn גאָט} האָט גערעדט צו משהן, אַזױ צו זאָגן: /25:2 רעד צו די קינדער פֿון ישׂראל, זײ זאָלן נעמען פֿאַר מיר אַן אָפּשײדונג; פֿון יעטװעדער מאַן װאָס זײַן האַרץ װעט אים באַװיליקן, זאָלט איר נעמען מײַן אָפּשײדונג.
For a biography of Rivke Basman Ben-Haim in English, click here.
For a biography of Rivke Basman Ben-Haim in Yiddish, click here.
די מתּנה
זאָגסט ס’איז אונדזער לעבן
אַ מתּנה,
מיר, פֿאַרבליבן פֿון די שײַטערס און פֿון גרויל,
בין איך מסכּים מיט דײַן מיין, —
וויל דאָך יעדער אַ מתּנה
גאַנץ און שיין. לֹכּבֿוד איך און דו, באַנד 2, תּל־אָבֿיבֿ 2006
THE GIFT
You say: our lives are
a gift,
we survivors of pyres and horror,
and I do agree with your view.—
But everyone wants his gifts
whole and true. Tr. Zelda Kahan Newman, The Thirteenth Hour: Poems by Rivka Basman Ben-Haim/די דרײַצנטע שעה
di matone
zogst s’iz undzer lebn
a matone,
mir, farblibn fun di shayters un fun groyl,
bin ikh maskem mit dayn meyn,—
vil dokh yeder a matone
gants un sheyn. le|koved ikh un du, Band II, Tel-Oviv, 2006
26: 1 Moreover thou shalt make the tabernacle with ten curtains: of fine twined linen, and blue, and purple, and scarlet, with cherubim the work of the skilful workman shalt thou make them. 7And thou shalt make curtains of goats’ hair for a tent over the tabernacle; eleven curtains shalt thou make them 15And thou shalt make the boards for the tabernacle of acacia-wood, standing up.
For a biography of Dovid Hofshteyn in English, click here.
In this poem Hofshteyn, a major Soviet Yiddish writer, sentenced to death by Stalin on “The Night of the Murdered Poets,”August 12, 1952, talks, not about the mishkan, but about a different kind of venerated Jewish space — Birobidzhan, in the Former Soviet Union. In 1928 Birobidzhan was designated as the Jewish homeland and in 1934 as the Jewish autonomous region. Yiddish was, and still is, an official language of the region. Hofshteyn’s poem echoes the optimism surrounding the building of this new land for Jews, a land where Jews will work with their hands and do honest labor, and not have to engage in “swindle” as petty merchants in order to make a living.
Let the walls be made of wood for now,
And of shingles let us make the roof!
We are working, we are proud,
From swindle we remain aloof.
At every trade, or thing we’re tasked
Each one of us must be a model
You farmer, builder, tailor, cobbler
We’re all doing what we’ve been asked.
Record it well and do remember:
For a new life and spirits lifted,
This lovely region has been given,
This new region has been gifted.
Let the walls be made of wood for now,
And of shingles let us make the roof!
We are working, we are proud,
From swindle we remain aloof.
Tr. Sheva Zucker
zol zayn dervayl di vent fun holts,
zol zayn dervayl der dakh fun shindlen!
mir arbetn, mir zaynen shtolts,
mir hobn gornit shoyn mit shvindl.
bay yeder arbet, yeder fakh
a yeder darf do zayn a muster,
du poyer, boyer, shnayder, shuster —
mir ale tuen do eyn zakh.
fartseykhn gut un fargedenk:
far gor a nay un munter lebn
di sheyne gegnt iz gegebn,
di naye gegnt iz geshenkt.
zol zayn dervayl di vent fun holts,
zol zayn dervayl der dakh fun shindlen!
mir arbetn, mir zaynen shtolts,
mir hobn gornit shoyn mit shvindl.
Dovid hofshteyn, birobidzhan—a kant a vayter un a noenter: verk fun sovetishe yidishe shraybers, Moskve, 1984
Sheve Tsuker, Dvar-toyre Parshes Trume
25: 1And the LORD spoke unto Moses, saying: 2‘Speak unto the children of Israel, that they take for Me an offering; of every man whose heart maketh him willing ye shall take My offering.
כ”ה 1 און {dn גאָט} האָט גערעדט צו משהן, אַזױ צו זאָגן: /25:2 רעד צו די קינדער פֿון ישׂראל, זײ זאָלן נעמען פֿאַר מיר אַן אָפּשײדונג; פֿון יעטװעדער מאַן װאָס זײַן האַרץ װעט אים באַװיליקן, זאָלט איר נעמען מײַן אָפּשײדונג.
25: 31And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold: of beaten work shall the candlestick be made, even its base, and its shaft; its cups, its knops, and its flowers, shall be of one piece with it. 32And there shall be six branches going out of the sides thereof: three branches of the candlestick out of the one side thereof, and three branches of the candle-stick out of the other side thereof; 33three cups made like almond-blossoms in one branch, a knop and a flower; and three cups made like almond-blossoms in the other branch, a knop and a flower; so for the six branches going out of the candlestick. 34And in the candlestick four cups made like almond-blossoms, the knops thereof, and the flowers thereof.
Forgive me for indulging myself, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had done a dvar-toyre in Yiddish on this very sedre! It was my farewell speech given when I retired as the Executive Director of the League for Yiddish and the Editor-in-chief of its all-Yiddish magazine, Arn Shvel. At first, I despaired, and wondered what on earth I could do with this parshe but then I discovered how relevant Trume was to my work. I am sharing here parts of the speech relevant to it.
אָפֿט מאָל טראַכט איך מיר, די װעלט ברויזט און זידט אַרום מיר, מענטשן קומען אום, רעגירונגען ווערן אַראָפּגעוואָרפֿן און איך זיץ און זאָרג זיך וועגן אַזעלעכע זאַכן צי אַ פֿיקטיווער האָז האָט געהייסן האָזע־נאָזע, האָזע־באָזע אָדער נאָזע־באָזע, אָדער צי איך דאַרף זיך אײַנשפּאַרן און פּועלן בײַ גיטלען, אונדזער סטיל־רעדאַקטאָר, אַז אַ געוויסער שרײַבער זאָל מעגן ניצן דאָס וואָרט „שילער” און נישט „תּלמיד” אָדער „סטודענט” און איך פֿרעג זיך, צי איז דאָס וויכטיק?
און דער ענטפֿער איז, אַז אין לעצטן סך־הכּל מיין איך אַז יאָ. אין דעם באַלדיקן נומער אויפֿן שוועל, דער לעצטער וואָס איך רעדאַקטיר האָב איך אויסגעקליבן ווי די טעמע „ייִדישע חלומות” און דאָרטן האָב איך זיך געטיילט מיט מײַנע אייגענע חלומות פֿאַר דעם זשורנאַל און אַ סך וואָס איך האָב דאָרטן געשריבן איז שייך צום ענין קפּדנישקייט. „גלײַך פֿון אָנהייב”, האָב איך געשריבן, „האָב איך געוואָלט אַז אויפֿן שוועל זאָל זײַן אַ זשורנאַל װאָס זאָל קענען קאָנקורירן סײַ אין איכות סײַ אין אױסזען מיט די בעסטע אַנגלאָ־ייִדישע און אַפֿילו נישט־ייִדישע זשורנאַלן. זײַן אויסזען זאָל זײַן אַזוי שיין ווי זײַן תּוכן איז אינטערעסאַנט, טיפֿזיניק און טיף ייִדישלעך. די שיינקייט איז נישט געווען קיין צופֿעליקער אָדער זײַטיקער ענין, נאָר דווקא הידור מיצווה (די באַפּוצונג פֿון דער מיצווה) וואָס איז אַליין פֿאַר זיך אַ שטיקל מיצווה. דער אױסזען און אינהאַלט דאַרפֿן זײַן געקניפּט און געבונדן, די אויסערלעכע שײנקײט דאַרף זײַן אַן אָפּשפּיגלונג פֿון דעם אינערלעכן תּוכן”.
צי מע וויל צי מע וויל נישט קען מען נאָר דערגרייכן אַזאַ שיינקייט דורך אַ קפּדניש אָפּגעבן זיך מיט פּרטים. יעדער פּרט באַזונדער זעט אפֿשר נישט אויס אַזוי וויכטיק נאָר צוזאַמען שאַפֿן זיי אַ גאַנצקייט, אַ שלמות וואָס וואָלט נישט רעאַליזירט געוואָרן אָן די אַלע פּרטים. צי וועט דער לייענער ווייניקער געניסן אויב ער לייענט אַן אַרטיקל וווּ סע פֿעלט עפּעס אַ פּרט? איך בין נישט זיכער אָבער אין לעצטן סך־הכּל מיין איך אַז יאָ. און כאָטש דאָס גאַנצע איז גרעסער ווי די סומע פֿון די טיילן, אָן די אַלע טיילן איז נישטאָ קיין שלמות. און דאָס שלמות איז אונדזער תּרומה צום ייִדיש־לייענער און דער ייִדישער וועלט.
איך האָב זיך אַ ביסל געטיילט מיט מײַנע חלומות. די וואָס קומען נאָך מיר וועלן האָבן זייערעאייגענע חלומות און זייערע אייגענע אופֿנים צו ברענגען זייער „אָפּשיידונג”. צום נײַעם רעדאַקטאָר, מרים טרין, — דו האָסט פֿאַר זיך אַ גוואַלדיקע מתּנה, אַ געלעגנהייט צו פֿורעמען דעם זשורנאַל לויט דײַן אייגענעם גײַסט און דער באַוויליקונג פֿון דײַן האַרץ און אים פֿירן אויף נײַע וועגן. ס’איז אַ געלעגנהייט מקיים צו זײַן דײַנע אייגענע חלומות ווי אויך די חלומות פֿון אַ נײַעם דור לייענערס. זאָלסט עס טאָן מיט מזל און מיט ברכה.
Dear Friends, Terumah is the first of the parshes concerned with the building of the mishkan, the portable sanctuary that the Israelites constructed in the desert to serve as God’s dwelling and resting place. Those familiar with the parshe know that it is chock full of details on how the sanctuary was to be built, how high, how wide, with what materials, how long the curtains were supposed to be and how many hooks were needed to hang them, etc. It’s hard to find there what Dr. Chaim Zhitlowsky, the philosopher of secular Jewishness, would have called, “spiritual-national” moments, elevating moments that resonate, even for skeptics, on some deep ethical and emotional level.
As I thought about it I realized that the mishkan was a perfect metaphor for the Yiddish language. It was portable, it accompanied the Jewish people through the desert, just as Yiddish, the ultimate goles–loshn (language of our exile), has accompanied Ashkenazic Jews for over 1000 years serving if not as a dwelling for God’s divine presence, then as a vessel to embody and express the essence of Jewish life. The League for Yiddish has made it its mission to preserve, nurture and further develop the literature and culture associated with this language.
At the very beginning of the portion there is a fragment of a sentence that spoke very directly to me, and that is, “Whose heart is so moved.” ”God spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts; you shall accept gifts for me from every person whose heart is so moved.” I feel myself lucky and blessed, as I think many of us who work in the field of Yiddish do, that my terumah, my contribution to the League for Yiddish as Executive Director and Editor-in-chief of its magazine Afn Shvel has always been according to the will of my heart.
Were there parts of these jobs I didn’t love? Of course, it’s work and it’s life. On occasion writers would drive my crazy with their imprecise answers to my incessant editorial questions (which I’m sure drove them crazy) or with their refusal to address certain questions or criticisms at all.
Yet most of my work for the League for Yiddish/Afn Shvel spoke directly to my heart. As the editor of Afn Shvel I had rare creative and intellectual opportunities. These included the privilege of working with the last writers of the pre-Holocaust generation such as Alexander Spiegelblatt, Yonia Fain, Yechiel Shraibman and Beyle Schaechter-Gottesman. I was also able to support and publish the work of younger Yiddish writers, may their numbers increase, and to select topics that interested me for each issue. Finally I could write when and how much I wanted.
The League for Yiddish also let me choose projects for the organization that moved my heart. Thus we were able to execute our film project Worlds within a World: Conversations with Yiddish Writers directed by the wonderful Josh Waletzky. These films record for posterity four of the most important Yiddish writers of the older generation on this continent. It was a gift to work on this project with the support of our board members: they immediately understood its importance and didn’t focus on the high cost of production or the limited likely audience but just eagerly endorsed it.
The second thing that intrigued me about Terumah was the amount of detail in the descriptions. As I mentioned earlier the details in this parshe do paint a very vivid picture but also seem over the top. Listen to these instructions about how to make the menorah which will be placed in the mishkan, abbreviated by me: (Exodus: 25: 31-34) You shall make a lampstand (menorah) of pure gold… Six branches shall issue from its sides; three branches from one side of the lampstand and three branches from the other side of the lampstand. On one branch there shall be three cups shaped like almond-blossoms, each with calyx and petals, and on the next branch there shall be three cups shaped like almond-blossoms, each with calyx and petals; so for all six branches issuing from the lampstand. And on the lampstand itself there shall be four cups shaped like almond-blossoms, each with calyx and petals. [abridged from Jewish Publication Society translation]
I could go on but that’s enough – you get the point. The question that is begging to be asked and answered is, why does the Torah include so many details in the description of how to build the sanctuary? Why is it so important that there be three cups and not four and that they be shaped like almonds and not figs? We understand that every detail, every branch of the menorah, every pole on which the Holy Ark was carried and every one of the four golden rings into which the poles were placed is important, and that there have to be four rings and not three or five and not of silver or copper but of gold, etc.. We understand that all that is important because this is, after all, God’s dwelling we’re talking about.
As an editor I often found myself wrapped up in the minutiae of a text and wondering if these details were indeed important. Not infrequently, as I went through draft after draft with a writer I felt like a nudnik (annoying bore) and would be reminded of the poet Itsik Manger’s line in the Megile-lider (Songs of the Purim-Megillah), about “Vayesatha the editOR who is a big and crashing bore.”
One humorous incident comes to mind. I was editing an article about Yiddish children’s literature in Hebrew, written by the Israeli Benny Mer, a very fine writer in both Hebrew and Yiddish and a member of our editorial board, for our Translation Issue and Israel was in crisis at the time. (Although Israel is almost always in crisis, this situation was particularly tense.) The Jews of France were reeling from a terrorist attack on a kosher supermarket in Paris that had taken four lives and Israel had to respond somehow. But yet, as this email to Benny written January, 12, 2015 shows, I still had to do my job which meant paying attention to the details despite the greater happenings in the world.
“Dear Benny,” (I wrote),
‘There’s a problem with the sentence about Hoze-Noze, first of all, the name of Kadye’s [Molodowsky] poem was not “Hoze-Noze” but “A Hare with an Elephant’s Nose.” Secondly, the name of the hare was not Hoze-Noze (I’m looking in Kadye’s book, Martsepanes (Marzipan, p. 104)), but in the fourth verse of the poem it’s Noze-Boze and then following that, twice Hoze-Boze (on p. 106). See the verse: “Hoze-Boze, disasters disaster/Hide your nose even faster.” Should we assume that “Noze-Boze” is a mistake and call him “Hoze-Boze or maybe he was just being taunted with the name Hoze-Boze? PS This all seems a bit absurd in light of recent world events, but what can you do, an article is still an article and an editor remains an editor. Warm regards, Sheva’”
To which Benny replied, “Very much agree, and let’s hope for better times.”
Sometimes I think, the world teems and seethes around me, people perish, governments topple and I’m sitting and worrying about such things as whether a fictional hare is named Hoze-Noze, Hoze-Boze or Noze-Boze, or about whether to insist to Gitl, the Yiddish-language editor, that a writer be allowed to use the word “shiler” (pupil) rather than “talmed” (student) or “student” (more adult student) [This argument is difficult to explain here to the uninitiated], and I ask myself, is this important?
Ultimately, I believe it is. For the forthcoming issue of Afn Shvel, the last under my editorship, I chose the topic “Yiddish dreams” and there I shared my own dreams for the magazine. Much of what I say in my editorial relates to the issue of meticulousness. There I wrote, “From the very start I wanted Afn Shvel to be able to compete both in quality and appearance with the best Anglo-Jewish and even non-Jewish magazines and its appearance to be as beautiful as its contents would be interesting, meaningful and deeply Jewish. This beauty was not to be an accidental or secondary matter, but rather hidur mitsvah (the decoration of the mitzvah (commandment; good deed)) which is in and of itself something of a mitzvah. The appearance and the content must be connected, the outer beauty must be a reflection of the inner content.”
Like it or not, this beauty can only be attained by meticulous attention to detail. Details may not seem so important in and of themselves but together they form a shleymes, a whole, something (almost) perfect which could never be realized without these all being in place. Will the reader gain less from reading an article if some small detail is missing? I don’t know for certain, but ultimately I think so. While the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, without the parts there is no wholeness. And this wholeness is our terumah (gift) to the Yiddish reader and to the Jewish world.
I’ve shared some of my dreams; those who come after me have and will have their own dreams and other ways of bringing gifts. To the new editor, Miriam Trinh, you have a wonderful opportunity to shape Afn Shvel in a way that moves your hearts and to lead it onto new paths. It’s an opportunity to realize your dreams in mazlun in brokhe (with luck and blessing).
Sheva Zuckerשבֿע איטע צוקער
THIS WEEK Sholem Aleichem, פֿון „מיר איז גוט — איך בין אַ יתום”, It’s Grand to be an Orphan
Khayiim Grade, די אַלמנה, The Widow
Yankev Glatshteyn, נישט די מתים לויבן גאָט, Not the Dead Praise God (see Week 17)
Sholem Aleichem, “Mir iz gut ikh bin a yosem,” Motl Peyse dem Khazns
22: 21Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. 22If thou afflict them in any wise—for if they cry at all unto Me, I will surely hear their cry— 23My wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless.
For a biography of Sholem Aleichem in English and Yiddish, see Week 3.
פֿון „מיר איז גוט — איך בין אַ יתום”, מאָטל פּייסע דעם חזנס
פֿון זינט איך בין צו מײַן שׂכל געקומען, געדענק איך נישט, איך זאָל זײַן אַזאַ מיוחס, ווי אַצינד. וואָס איז מיט מיר דער ייִחוס? — מײַן טאַטע, פּייסע דער חזן, ווייסט איר דאָך, איז געשטאָרבן דעם ערשטן טאָג שבֿוֹעות, און איך בין געבליבן אַ יתום.
פֿון דעם ערשטן טאָג נאָך שבֿועות האָבן מיר אָנגעהויבן זאָגן קדיש — איך און מײַן ברודער אליהו. ער טאַקע האָט מיך אויסגעלערנט זאָגן קדיש.
מײַן ברודער אליהו איז אַ געטרײַער ברודער, אָבער נישט קיין גוטער רבי. ער איז אַ כּעסן. ער שלאָגט זיך! ער האָט אויפֿגעעפֿנט אַ סידור און האָט זיך אַוועקגעזעצט מיט מיר און אָנגעהויבןמיט מיר שטודירן:
יתגדל ויתקדש שמיה רבה. . . ער וויל, אַז איך זאָל שוין קאָנען אויסנווייניק. ער חזרט איבער מיט מיר נאָך אַ מאָל און נאָך אַ מאָל, פֿון אָנהייב ביזן סוף, און הייסט מיר, אַז איצט זאָל איך שוין זאָגן אַליין. איך זאָג אַליין, אָבער עס גייט נישט.
ביז „ויצמח פּורקניה” איז נאָך ווי עס איז, און קומט צו „ויצמח פּורקניה” פֿאַרטשעפּע איך מיך. דערלאַנגט ער מיר מיטן עלנבויגן און זאָגט מיר, אַז דער קאָפּ איז מיר, הפּנים, ערגעץ אין דרויסן (גלײַך ווי געטראָפֿן), אָדער ערגעץ בײַם קעלבל (גלײַך ווי ער איז געווען דערבײַ) . . . ער פֿוילט זיך נישט און חזרט אײַן מיט מיר נאָך אַ מאָל. איך האָב מיך קוים דערשלאָגן ביז לעילא ולעילא מן כל ברכתא ושירתא תושבחתא” — און ווײַטער נישט אַ טראָט. ער נעמט מיך אָן פֿאַרן אויער און זאָגט, אַז דער טאַטע זאָל אויפֿשטיין און זען, וואָס פֿאַר אַ זון ער האָט! . . .
וואָלט איך פֿאַרשפּאָרט זאָגן קדיש. . .
אַזוי זאָג איך צו מײַן ברודער אליהו און כאַפּ פֿון אים אַ געשמאַקן פּאַטש מיט דער לינקער האַנט אין דער רעכטער באַק אַרײַן. דערהערט די מאַמע און גיט אים אַ פּסק, ער זאָל מיך נישט שלאָגן, וואָרעם איך בין אַ יתום.
—גאָט איז מיט דיר! וואָס טוסטו? וועמען שלאָגסטו? האָסט פֿאַרגעסן, הפּנים, אַז דאָס קינד איז אַ יתום?!
שלאָפֿן שלאָף איך מיט דער מאַמען אינעם טאַטנס בעט — דאָס איינציקע שטיקל מעבל אין שטוב. די קאָלדרע גיט זי אָפּ כּמעט אין גאַנצן מיר.
— דעק דיך אײַן, זאָגט זי צו מיר, און ווער אַנטשלאָפֿן, מײַן טײַערער יתום. עסן איז נישטאָ וואָס. . .
דעקן דעק איך מיך אײַן, אָבער שלאָפֿן שלאָף איך נישט. איך חזר מיר דעם קדיש, אויף אויסנווייניק. איך חדר גיי איך נישט, לערנען לערן איך נישט, דאַוונען דאַוון איך נישט, זינגען זינג איך נישט. פּטור פֿון אַלצדינג.
מיר איז גוט — איך בין אַ יתום.
שלום עליכם, מאָטל פּייסע דעם חזנס
“IT’S GRAND TO BE AN ORPHAN,” THE ADVENTURES OF MOTTEL, THE CANTOR’S SON
Never do I remember having been such a grand and important person as now. What’s it all about? Well, as you know, my father, Peissi the Cantor, died on the first day of Shevuoth, and I was left an orphan.
From the first day after Shevuoth, we began to recite the Kadddish, that is, my brother Eli and I. It was Eli who taught me to say it.
My brother Eli is a devoted brother but a poor teacher. He is an irritable fellow. He smacks me. He opens the prayer book, sits down with me and starts the lesson, “Yisgadal, v’yiskadash shmei rabo . . .’ He wants me to know it all by heart from the very start. He goes over it with me once, and once again from beginning to end, and then he makes me say it all by myself. I say it all by myself, but somehow it doesn’t turn out right. I manage about half of it pretty well, but in the middle I get stuck. Eli treats me to a dig of his elbow and says it’s obvious my head is somewhere out of doors (how did he guess?) or somewhere with the calf (he might have read my thoughts!). Still, he doesn’t lose hope and repeats it with me again. I manage another bit, leyla u’v’layla min kol birkhoso u’shiroso tushb’khoso, and not a step farther. He takes hold of my ear and says that father ought to rise up and see what a son he has!
”Then I wouldn’t have to say Kaddish!” I answer and catch a sound slap on my right cheek from Eli’s left hand. Mother gets wind of this and reads him a sermon: he mustn’t hit me because I’m an orphan.
“God preserve you, what are you doing! Whom are you hitting! Have you forgotten that the child is an orphan?”
I sleep with mother on father’s bed—the only piece of furniture left in the house. She gives me practically all of the quilt.”
“Cover yourself,” she says, “and fall asleep, my poor orphan. There’s nothing to eat.” I cover myself, but I don’t sleep. I repeat the Kaddish by heart. I don’t have to go to school; I don’t have to study: I don’t have to pray; I don’t have to sing. I’m free of everything.
It’s grand to be an orphan!
Tr. Tamara Kahana, Adventures of Mottel, the Cantor’s Son, 1961
“mir iz gut — ikh bin a yosem”.— motl peyse dem khazn|s
fun zint ikh bin tsu mayn seykhl gekumen, gedenk ikh nisht, ikh zol zayn aza meyukhes, vi atsind. vos iz mit mir der yikhes? — mayn tate, peyse der khaznת veyst ir dokh, iz geshtorbn dem ershtn tog shvues, un ikh bin geblibn a yosem.
fun dem ershtn tog nokh shvues hobn mir ongehoybn zogn kadesh — ikh un mayn bruder Elye. er take hot mikh oysgelernt zogn kadesh.
mayn bruder Elye iz a getrayer bruder, ober nisht keyn guter rebe. er iz a kaysn. er shlogt zikh! er hot oyfgeefnt a sider un hot zikh avekgeztst mit mir un ongehoybnmit mir shtudirn: “Yisgadal, v’yiskadash shmei rabo . . . er vil, az ikh zol shoyn konen oysnveynik. er khazer|t iber mit mir nokh a mol un nokh a mol, fun onheyb bizn sof, un heyst mir, az itst zol ikh shoyn zogn aleyn.ikh zog aleyn, ober es geyt nisht.
biz “vayismakh| purkanya” iz nokh vi es iz, un kumt tsu “vayismakh| purkanya” fartshepe ikh mikh. derlangt er mir mitn elnboygn un zogt mir, az der kop iz mir, haponim, ergets in droysn (glaykh vi getrofn), oder ergets baym kelbl (glaykh vi er iz geven derbay) . . . er foylt zikh nisht un khazer|t ayn mit mir nokh a mol. ikh hob mikh koym dershlogn biz “leylo u’v’leylo min kol birkhoso u’shiroso tushb’khoso,” — un vayter nisht a trot. er nemt mikh on farn oyer un zogt, az der tate zol oyfshteyn un zen, vos far a zun er hot! . . .
volt ikh farshport zogn kadesh. . .
azoy zog ikh tsu mayn bruder Elye un khap fun im a geshmakn patsh mit der linker hant in der rekhter bak arayn. derhert di mame un git im a psak, er zol mikh nisht shlogn,vorem ikh bin a yosem.
—got iz mit dir! vos tustu? vemen shlogstu? host fargesn, haponim, az dos kind iz a yosem?!
shlofn shlof ikh mit der mamen inem tatns bet — dos eyntsike shtikl mebl in shtub. di koldre git zi op kemat in gantsn mir.
— dek dikh ayn, zogt zi tsu mir, un ver antshlofn, mayn tayerer yosem. esn iz nishto vos. . .
dekn dek ikh mikh ayn, ober shlofn shlof ikh nisht. ikh khazer mir dem kadesh, oyf oysnveynik. ikh kheyder gey ikh nisht, lernen lern ikh nisht, davnen davn ikh nisht, zingen zing ikh nisht. poter fun altsding.
mir iz gut — ikh bin a yosem.
22: 21Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. 22If thou afflict them in any wise—for if they cry at all unto Me, I will surely hear their cry— 23My wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless.
At midnight the widow awakes
and fearfully lights a candle.
The half-moon
turns its split face
toward her window
and flickers like a lamp on a gate.
The widow looks around the room
and gazes sternly into the mirror.
Her clothes hang on the night-stool
and, as always,
a sad smile hangs
from the corners of her mouth.
Half of her wide double-bed
is untouched—
the corpse lies snow-covered in the grave.
Her body glows at night,
but her breath freezes by day in her veil.
The street shadows merge.
Quickly she flings open her wardrobe—
and jumps back in horror:
two men’s-shoes wait there,
but their owner lies rotting in the grave.
She stretches her hand to the hangar—
the blood drains from her heart.
The dead man, gray and stern,
looks back at her from beneath his hat—
it’s his face, stern and gray.
She closes her eyes in fear
and feels for her wedding-dress.
Now she puts on the dress
and looks vengefully with joy,
at the black silk mourning-veil. Tr. Barnett Zumoff, Songs to a Moonstruck Lady: Women in Yiddish Poetry,
Selected and Translated by Barnett Zumoff, 2005
di almone
halbe nakht vekt zikh oyf di almone
un tsindt on dershrokn a likht.
in ir fenster di halbe levone
kert op ir tseshpoltn gezikht
un tsankt vi a lomp oyf a toyer.
di almone kuk tum zikh in kheyder,
kukt ayn zikh in vantshpigl shtreng.
oyf ir nakhtbenkl hengen di kleyder,
un oykh in ir moylvinkl hengt,
vi shtendik, a shmeykhl fun troyer.
ir geleger, dos shneyike, breyte,
iz biz tsu der helft nit gerirt—
der mes shtumt in grub a farshneyter.
ir layb glit bay nakht, nor es frirt
ir otem bay tog in ir shleyer.
s’farflekhtn di shotns geheyme—
zi rayst oyf dem kleydershrank gikh
un shpringt oyf tsurik ful mit eyme:
dort vartn tsvey menershe shikh,
nor s’foyln di fis funem geyer.
zi shtrekt oys ir hant tsu dem henger—
antloyft fun ir hartsn dos blut.
der toyter, a groyer, a shtrenger,
afer kukt fun hinter zayn hut—
zayn ponem, dos shtrenge, dos groye.
mit shrek shlist zi tsu ire oygn
un tapt on ir khasene-kleyd.
ot hot zi dos kleyd ongetsoygn
un kukt mit nekome un freyd
oyf ir zaydshvartsn tsudek fun troyer. Farvoksene vegn, 1947
di almone
halbe nakht vekt zikh oyf di almone
un tsindt on dershrokn a likht.
in ir fenster di halbe levone
kert op ir tseshpoltn gezikht
un tsankt vi a lomp oyf a toyer.
di almone kuk tum zikh in kheyder,
kukt ayn zikh in vantshpigl shtreng.
oyf ir naktbenkl hengen di kleyder,
un oykh in ir moylvinkl hengt,
vi shtendik, a shmeykhl fun troyer.
ir geleger, dos shneyike, breyte,
iz biz tsu der helft nit gerirt—
der mes shtumt in grub a farshneyter.
ir layb glit bay nakht, nor es frirt
ir otem bay tog in ir shleyer.
s’farflekhtn di shotns geheyme—
zi rayst oyf dem kleydershrank gikh
un shpringt oyf tsurik ful mit eyme:
dort vartn tsvey menershe shikh,
nor s’foyln di fis funem geyer.
zi shtrekt oys ir hant tsu dem henger—
antloyft fun ir hartsn dos blut.
der toyter, a groyer, a shtrenger,
afer kukt fun hinter zayn hut—
zayn ponem, dos shtrenge, dos groye.
mit shrek shlist zi tsu ire oygn
un tapt on ir khasene-kleyd.
ot hot zi dos kleyd ongetsoygn
un kukt mit nekome un freyd
oyf ir zaydshvartsn tsudek fun troyer.
Yankev Glatshteyn, Nisht di meysim loybn Got/Not the Dead Praise God
24: 12 And the LORD said unto Moses: ‘Come up to Me into the mount and be there; and I will give thee the tables of stone, and the law and the commandment, which I have written, that thou mayest teach them.’
12:24און {dn גאָט} האָט געזאָגט צו משהן: קום אַרױף צו מיר אױפֿן באַרג, און זײַ דאָרטן, און איך װעל דיר געבן די שטײנערנע לוחות מיט דער תּוֹרה און דעם געבאָט װאָס איך האָב אױפֿגעשריבן זײ צו לערנען.
I am cross-referencing the poem Nisht di meysim loybn Got/Not the Dead Praise God, by Glatshteyn because it is appropriate in both places. To read the poem go to Week 17 Yitro/Yisre.
We received the Torah at Mount Sinai
and in Lublin we gave it back.
Not the dead praise God —
the Torah was given for the living.
And as we all together
stood in a body
at the Granting of the Torah,
so truly did we all die in Lublin.
The treelike head, the solemn eyes,
the trembling mouth of a Jewish child
I shall marvel into such a dread tale.
For him I shall star a Jewish sky
and speak to him thus:
“The Jewish people is a fiery sun
from Beginning to beginning to beginning.
Repeat it, dear Jewish lad: from beginning to beginning to beginning.”
The entire imagined people stood at Mount Sinai
and received the Torah”
the dead, the living, the yet unborn.
All the Jewish souls responded: We will hearken and obey! And you, the saddest Jewish lad
of all generations,
stood at Mount Sinai, too.
Your nostrils smelled the raisin-almond
scent of each word in the Torah.
You were wrapped in a piece of the mountain
as in a prayer shawl.
it was Shvues, holiday of greens.
Like a songbird, you too sang”
“I will obey and hearken,
hearken and obey,
from beginning to beginning to beginning.
Jewish lad, your life is especially marked
on the starred Jewish sky.
You were never absent,
you dared not be absent.
We hoped and prayed you into being;
always, wherever we were, you too were there.
And when we became nought,
you also vanished
together with us.
And as we all together
stood in a body
at the Granting of the Torah,
so truly did we all die in Lublin.
From everywhere pious souls came flying:
those who had lived out their lives
and the youthfully dead;
the persecuted, those tested in all fires,
he yet unborn.
All the departed Jews,
from Grandfather Abraham on,
were in Lublin at he holocaust.
And all who stood at Mount Sinai
and received the Torah
took upon themselves the sacred deaths.
The souls clamored:
“We want to be dead together with our people.
we want to die once more.”
Mother Sarah and Mother Rachel;
Miriam, and Deborah he Prophetess,
who perished praying and singing;
Moses, who so much did not want to die
when his time came,
died once more;
and his brother Aaron,
and King David,
and the Rambam, and the Vilna Gaon;
the Maharam and the Maharashel,
the Seer and Abraham Eiger. . .
Accompanying each sacred soul
died hundreds of souls
of pious, already departed Jews.
And you, darling lad, were also there,
Especially marked on the starred Jewish skies,
you were there too,
and died together with us.
Sweet as a dove you stretched out your neck
and sang with the fathers and mothers: from beginning to beginning to beginning.
Shut your eyes, beloved Jewish lad,
and recall how the Bal-Shem
rocked you in his arms
when the entire imagined people
perished in the gas chambers of Lublin.
An extinguished desolate Sinai smoked
above the gas chambers
and pious departed souls.
Lad with the treelike head,
solemn eyes and trembling mouth,
it is you after all,
you were the hushed, desolate, returned Torah.
You stood on Mount Sinai
and wept your tears into a dead world — from beginning to beginning to beginning.
And this is what you cried:
“We received the Torah at Mount Sinai
and in Lublin we gave it back.
Not the dead praise God —
the Torah was given for the living.”
Tr. Etta Blum, Jacob Glatstein: Poems, Selected and translated from the Yiddish
by Etta Blum, Tel Aviv, 1970
nisht di meysem loybn got
ditoyre hobn mir mekabl geven baym sinay,
un in lublin hobn mir zi opgegebn.
nisht di meysem loybn got,
ditoyre iz gegebn gevorn tsum lebn.
un azoy tsuzamen vi mir zaynen ale bazamen
geshtanen bay matn-|toyre,
azoy vor zaynen mir ale geshtorbn in lublin.
dem tsetsvaygtn kop, di frume oygn,
dos tsiterdike moyl fun a kleyn yidish kind
vel ikh aynvundern
in aza forkhtik maysele.
kh’vel far im oysshterenen a yidishn himl
un im zogn azoy:
s’yidishe folk iz a fayerdike zun
fun onhoyb, biz onhoyb, biz onhoyb.
lern zhe, yingele, tayer yidish yingele,
funonhoyb, biz onhoyb, biz onhoyb.
s’gantse oysge|kholem|te folk
iz baym barg sinay geshtanen
un mekabl geven ditoyre.
geshtorbene, lebedike, nokh nisht geborene.
ale yidishe neshomes hobn opgeentfert:
mir veln horkhn un hern.
du, dos troyerikste yidishe yingele fun ale doyres,
bist oykh baym barg sinay geshtanen.
dayne nozlekher hobn geshmekt
dem rozhinke-mandl fun yeder vort in der toyre.
bist geven arumgeviklt mit a shtik barg vi mit a tales.
s’iz geven shvues — yontef fun grins.
host vi a zingfoygl mitgezungen:
kh’vel horkhn un hern, hern un horkhn,
fun onhoyb, biz onhoyb, biz onhoyb.
yidish yingele, ongetseykhnt iz dayn lebn
oyfn oysgeshterntn yidishn himl,
host keyn mol nisht gefelt,
host nisht getort feln.
m’hot dikh oysgehoft un oysgebetn,
ale mol ven mir zenen geven, bistu oykh geven.
un ven mir zenen gevorn oys,
bistu mit undz nisht gevorn.
un azoy tsuzamen vi mir zenen ale bazamen
geshtanen bay matn-|toyre,
azoy vor zenen mir ale geshtorbn in lublin.
fun umetum zenen tayere neshomes ongefloygn,
oysgelebte, yung geshtorbene,
farpaynikte, oyf ale fayern oysgeprvute,
nokh nisht geborene,
ale geshtorbene yidn, fun elter-zeydn avrom on,
zaynen geven in lublin baym groysn khurbn.
ale vos zaynen baym barg sinay geshtanen
un mekabl geven ditoyre
hobn genumen oyf zikh di heylike mises.
mir viln mitshtarbn mitn gantsn folk
mir viln nokh a mol toyt vern,
hobn di neshomes geyomert.
di mame sore, di muter Rokhl,
Miryem un Dvore haneviye
zenen mit tkhines un gezangen oysgegangen.
Moyshe rabeynuvos hot azoy nisht gevolt shtarbn,
ven zayn tsayt iz gekumen
iz nokh a mol geshtorbn.
un zayn bruder Arn,
un Doved hameylekh
un der rambam, der vilner goen,
der maharam un maharshal,
der khoyzhe un avrom|ele eyger.
un mit yeder heyliker neshome
vos iz oysgegangen in yesurem,
zenen mitgeshtorbn hunderter neshomes
fun tayere geshtorbene yidn.
un du, geshmak yingele, bist dortn oykh geven.
du, ongetseykhnter oyf dem oysgeshterntn yidishn himl,
bist dort oykh geven un geshtorbn.
zis vi a toyb hostu geshtrekt dayn haldz
un gezungen mit di oves un di imoes.
fun onhoyb, biz onhoyb, biz onhoyb.
farmakh di oygn, lib yidish yingele,
un dermon zikh vi der balshem hot dikh ayngevigt
in zayne orems,
ven s’gantse oysge|kholem|te folk
iz oysgegangen in di gazkamern fun lublin.
un iber di gazkamern,
un heylike geshtorbene neshomes,
hot zikh geroykhert an eynzamer, a farloshener sinay.
yingele mit tsetsvaygtn kop,
frume oygn un tsiterdikn moyl,
dos bistu dokh geven, di shtile, kleyne, elnte,
opgegebene toyre.
bist geshtanen oyfn sinay un geveynt,
arayngeveynt dayn geveyn in a toyter velt.
fun onhoyb, biz onhoyb, biz onhoyb.
un azoy hostu geveynt:
ditoyre hobn mir mekabl geven baym sinay,
un in lublin hobn mir zi opgegebn.
nisht di meysem loybn got.
ditoyre iz gegebn gevorn tsum lebn. Yankev glatshteyn, shtralndike yidn, nyu-york, 1946
Hirsh Osherovitsh, Beyn odem lamokem
Exodus 20:5-6: “You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love …
כ: 5 זאָלסט זיך ניט בוקן צו זײ, און זאָלסט זײ ניט דינען; װאָרום איך יהוה דײַן גאָט בין אַ צערנדיקער גאָט, װאָס רעכן זיך פֿאַר די זינד פֿון די פֿאָטערס מיט די קינדער, מיטן דריטן און מיטן פֿירטן דור פֿון די װאָס האָבן מיך פֿײַנט, 6 און טו חסד מיטן טױזנטסטן גליד פֿון די װאָס האָבן מיך ליב, און פֿון די װאָס היטן מײַנע געבאָט.
For a biography of Hirsh Osherovitsh in English, click here.
אַװדאי ביסטו גרױס,
אַװדאי האָסטו מיך
פֿון אַלע דײַנע אַנדערע באַשעפֿענישן אױסגעטײלט.
פֿאַר װאָס זשע איז דערװידער דיר
מײַן פֿלײַסן זיך צו שטײַגן העכער?
צי איז, אַלמאַכטיקער, דיר טאַקע אַזױ שװער
דאָס מינדסטע ביסל חשיבֿות בײַ אַ צװײטן צו פֿאַרטראָגן?
דו װײסט דאָך, אַז װאָס קלערער איך באַנעם דײַן װעלט,
אַלץ שטאַקער דריקט אױף מיר
די אומאױסשעפּלעכקײט פֿון דײַנע סודות.
פֿאַרגין זשע מיר די מיך דערפֿרײענדיקע כּמו־געװינסן,
און לאָמיר מודה זײַן זיך אײנער פֿאַרן צװײטן:
איך בין מקנא דיר דײַן אומענדלעך יכולת,
און דו ביסט אײפֿערזיכטיק אױף מײַן אומאױפֿהערלעך שטײַגן. הירש אָשעראָװיטש, ייִדיש־ליטעראַטור אין מדינת ־ישׂראל, באַנד 1
BETWEEN MAN AND GOD
So what if I sometimes carry on
A mild flirtation with idols?
If you would speak to me, as to an equal,
I wouldn’t feel so rejected
And wouldn’t look for illicit love affairs.
Of course you are great,
Of course you have singled me out
From among all your other creatures. So then why is my trying to rise higher
Repugnant to you?
Or is it, Almighty, really so difficult for you
To bear the slightest bit of importance in another?
You know, after all, that the more clearly I comprehend your world
The stronger the inexhaustibility of your secrets
Presses upon me.
So don’t begrudge me my cheery quasi-winnings
And let’s confess to each other:
I envy you your endless capacity,
And you are jealous of my incessant rising. Hirsh Osherovitsh
Tr. by Sheva Zucker
beyn odem lamokem
got, zay nit azoy eyferzikhtik!
iz vos, az kh’fir a mol
mit opgeter a laykhtn flirt?
ven volst geredt tsu mir, vi tsu a glaykhn,
volt ikh nit azoy opgeshtoysn zikh geshpirt
un nit gezukht keyn linke libes. . .
avade bistu groys,
avade hostu mikh
fun ale dayne andere bashefenishn oysgeteylt.
far vos zhe iz dervider dir
mayn flaysn zikh tsu shtaygn hekher?
tsi iz, almakhtiker, dir take azoy shver
dos mindste bisl khshives bay a tsveytn tsu fartrogn?
du veyst dokh, az vos klerer ikh banem dayn velt,
alts shtaker drikt oyf mir
di umoyssheplekhkayt fun dayne soydes.
fargin zhe mir di mikh derfreyendike kmoy-gevinsn,
un lomir moyde zayn zikh eyner farn tsveytn:
ikh bin mekane dir dayn umendlekh yekhoyles,
un du bist eyferzikhtik oyf mayn umoyfherlekh shtaygn.
hirsh osher|ovitsh,
THIS WEEK
Kadye Molodovski, IV דאָרשט, Thirst
Yehude-Leyb Teler, צו די פֿיזיקער און כעמיקער, To the Physicists and Chemists Aleksander Shpiglblat, צי דאַרף איך זיך פֿאַרענטפֿערן, Do I Need to Justify Myself
Kadye Molodovski, Dorsht IV
15: 22And Moses led Israel onward from the Red Sea, and they went out into the wilderness of Shur; and they went three days in the wilderness, and found no water. 23And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter. Therefore the name of it was called aMarah. 24And the people murmured against Moses, saying: ‘What shall we drink?’ 25And he cried unto the LORD; and the LORD showed him a tree, and he cast it into the waters, and the waters were made sweet. There He made for them a statute and an ordinance, and there He proved them;
אַ טרוקענער אַ דאָרשטיקער ליגט מײַן קרוג,
און איך גײ אום איבער די גאַסן
און איך זוך אַ טראָפּן װאַסער
און איך גײס אױס
און איך גײ אױס
נעבן מײַן קרוג.
לײג איך מײַנע ליפּן
צו די װאָרצלען פֿון די בײמער,
צי איך זיך מיט אױגן און מיט מױל
צו רעגנס פֿון דעם הימל,
און ביטער איז מײַן צונג פֿון װאָרצלען פֿון די בײמער
און דאָרשטיק איז מײַן מױל,
און מיד זײַנען די אױגן צום הימל קוקן,
און כ’זוך מײַן קרוג,
און ער איז טרוקן. ק. מאָלאָדאָװסקי „דאָרשט“, חשװנדיקע נעכט, װילנע 1927
THIRST IV
My pitcher lies, dry and thirsty,
And I walk through all the streets
Seeking out a drop of water,
And I am spent
Near my pitcher.
I lay my lips
To the roots of the trees,
I stretch with eyes and mouth
To the sky’s rains.
And my tongue is bitter from roots of the trees,
My mouth is thirsty,
And my eyes are tired from looking at the sky.
I seek my pitcher,
And it is dry.
By permission of the translator
Kathryn Hellerstein, Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky, 1999;
dorsht
IV
a trukener a dorshtiker ligt mayn krug,
un ikh gey um iber di gasn
un ikh zukh a tropn vaser
un ikh geys oys
un ikh gey oys
nebn mayn krug.
leyg ikh mayne lipn
tsu di vortslen fun di beymer,
tsi ikh zikh mit oygn un mit moyl
tsu regns fun dem himl,
un biter iz mayn tsung fun vortslen fun di beymer
un dorshtik iz mayn moyl,
un mid zaynen di oygn tsum himl kukn,
un kh’zukh mayn krug,
un er iz trukn.
“dorsht,” Khezhvndike nekht, vilne 1927
Yehude-Leyb Teler, Tsu di fiziker un khemiker
16:4Then said the LORD unto Moses: ‘Behold, I will cause to rain bread from heaven for you; and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day, that I may prove them, whether they will walk in My law, or not.
15And when the children of Israel saw it, they said one to another: a‘What is it?’—for they knew not what it was. And Moses said unto them: ‘It is the bread which the LORD hath given you to eat.
31And the house of Israel called the name thereof Manna; and it was like coriander seed, white; and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.
טז 4 האָט גאָט געזאָגט צו משהן: זע, איך מאַך אײַך רעגענען ברױט פֿון הימל, און דאָס פֿאָלק װעט אַרױסגײן און קלַײבן איטלעכן טאָג די באַדערפעניש פֿון טאָג, כּדי איך זאָל אים פּרוּװן אױב ער װעט גײן אין מײַן תּורה אָדער ניט.
Like those people long ago
From the deserts
You reveal yourselves
From the laboratories
With stuttertongues
With scalded fingers,
With warnings
And with promises.
How are we to differentiate
Between magic and miracle,
Pharoah’s magicians
And YHWH’s slaves?
You, just like them,
Forge us to akeydes,
Call down floods upon us,
Pair us up in arks.
And we weep like the eldest sons
In Egyptian nights.
New commandments
The Reed Sea, Sinai
And manna
Is not for us,
Who are still studying the literal meaning
Ofbond and blood,
A cramp in the heart,
Old-fashioned step,
And every terror
We worship
Like a God unto itself. Literal translation, Sheva Zucker
tsu di fiziker un khemiker
vi yene a mol
fun di midboryes
antplekt ir zikh
fun di laboratoryes
mit shtamltsinger,
mit opgebrite finger,
mit azhores
un haftokhes.
vi zoln mir funandersheydn
tsvishn kishef un nes,
pare|s khartumem,
Un YHVHs knekht?
ir, glaykh vi yene,
kovet undz tsu akeydes,
farbet oyf undz mabl|s,
port undz in teyves.
un mir yomern vi di bkhoyrem
in mitsrisher nakht.
naye dibres,
yam-suf, sinay
un man
iz nit far undz,
vos kneln nokh dem pshat
fun knup un blut,
kram baym harts,
fareltertn trot,
un ayedn pakhed
dinen mir
vi a bazunder got. Yude-Leyb Teler, durkh yidishn gemit, Tel Aviv, 1975
Aleksander Shpiglblat, Tsi darf ikh zikh farentfern
17:3 But the people were thirsty for water there, and they grumbled against Moses. They said, “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”
צי דאַרף איך זיך פֿאַרענטפֿערן
בײַ די װאַסערן פֿון כּנרת,
למאַי איך בענק נאָך אַלץ
נאָך דעם הײמישן ברונעם
װאָס האָט געקילט דעם אומרו
פֿון מײַנע פֿיבער־יאָרן?
דער דאָרשט
נאָך יענעם קרישטאָל־קאַלטן טרונק
האָט אין מיר זיך ניט אױסגעלאָשן,
ניט זאַדושעט געװאָרן אין מידבר־שטױב
אונטער קופּערנע הימלען.
מײַן לשון־קודש־ייִדיש איז אָבער אַן עדות
פֿון אַלע מײַנע בענקשאַפֿטן
און אַלע מײַנע ליבשאַפֿטן.
צי דאַרף איך זיך פֿאַרענטפֿערן? אַלכּסנדר שפּיגלבלאַט, געטונקען אין האָניק־צער, 2009
DO I NEED TO JUSTIFY MYSELF
Do I need to justify myself
By the waters of Kineret,
As to why I still long
For the hometown well that cooled the anxiety
of my feverish years?
The thirst for that crystal-cool drink
Did not die down in me,
Nor was it stifled in the desert dust
Under coppery skies.
But my Holy-tongue-Yiddish is a witness
To all my longings
And to all my lovings.
Do I need to justify myself?
Tr. Sheva Zucker
tsi darf ikh zikh farentfern
tsi darf ikh zikh farentfern
bay di vasern fun kineres,
lemay ikh benk nokh alts
nokh dem heymishn brunem
vos hot gekilt dem umru
fun mayne fiber-yorn?
der dorsht
nokh yenem krishtol-kaltn trunk
hot in mir zikh nit oysgeloshn,
nit zadushet gevorn in midber-shtoyb
unter kuperne himlen.
mayn loshn-koydesh=yidish iz ober an eydes
fun ale mayne benkshaftn
un ale mayne libshaftn.
tsi darf ikh zikh farentfern?
Aleksander Shpiglblat, getunken in honik-tsar, 2009
THIS WEEK
Arn Glants-Leyeles, אין מצרים, In Egypt
Beyle Shekher-Gotesman, ס’איז מצה דאָ,Tha Matsa’s Here
Avrom Sutzkever, צום קינד, To My Child
Arn Glants-Leyeles, In Mitsrayem For a biography of Arn Glants-Leyeles in English, click here.
For a biography of Arn Glants-Leyeles in Yiddish, click here (and scroll to the bottom).
10: 21And the LORD said unto Moses: ‘Stretch out thy hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt.’ 22And Moses stretched forth his hand toward heaven; and there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days; 23they saw not one another, neither rose any from his place for three days; but all the children of Israel had light in their dwellings.
י 21 און גאָט האָט געזאָגט צו משהן: שטרעק אױס דײַן האַנט אַקעגן הימל, און זאָל װערן אַ פֿינצטערניש איבערן לאַנד מצרים, אַז מע זאָל קענען אָנטאַפּן די פֿינצטערניש.22 האָט משה אױסגעשטרעקט זײַן האַנט אַקעגן הימל, און עס איז געװען אַ שטאָקפֿינצטערניש אין גאַנצן לאַנד מצרים דרײַ טעג.
אין מצרים
די פֿינצטערניש קנױלט זיך,
די פֿינצטערניש גליװערט אײַן אין פֿעסטע זײַלן נאַכט.
אין האַרץ פֿון דעם גליװער, סאַמע אין מיטן — אַ געשרײ,
אַ גרױס געשרײ פֿון אײן עק ביזן צװײטן:
אין מיטן די חורבֿות גאַפֿן די שקלאַפֿן,
אין מיטן די חורבֿות שלײַכן זיך שמײכלען,
גליטשן זיך, בלישטשען װי רעטענישן
איבער געדיכטע, פֿאַרצאָגטע, שקלאַפֿישע בערד. אַהרן גלאַנץ־לעיעלעס, בײַם פֿוס פֿון באַרג, ציקאָ, ניו־יאָרק, 1957
IN EGYPT
The darkness swirls,
The darkness congeals into solid pillars of night,
at the heart of the congealed, at its very center — a scream,
a great scream from one end to the other:
Woe to every house,
A terrifying night!
Death strides and slaughters,
Every house — a grave!
A mighty arm moves along,
In the darkness the mighty arm strikes,
Missing neither structure, nor palace, norstall.
in terror, in black madness, the scream rolls
over the whole land.
Hidden, nestled next to each other
Sit the slaves in their holes,
Sit in rags, desolate ruins;
listen to the lamentation from halls and stalls
And wait in dread and foreboding.
They see the mighty arm and nestle closer
The arm inclines gently and draws a sign.
The sign penetrates to the innards of the slaves.
The sign is blinding and they shut their eyes.
The sign is blinding and forces them to look:
Among the ruins in the middle of the night,
It moves like water and glows.
The air quivers anda new world
Emerges and awakens.
Hearts tremble and there unfolds
A sun never seen before.
It becomes holy and awesome and happy,
Revelation begins to awaken like a rose at dawn.
In the midst of the ruins the slaves gape in wonder,
in the midst of the ruins smiles slink about,
Glide, glitter like riddles
Over thick, despondent slavish beards.
Literal translation, Sheva Zucker
in mitsraim
di finsternish knoylt zikh,
di finsternish glivert ayn in feste zayln nakht.
in harts fun dem gliver, same in mitn —a geshrey,
a groys geshrey fun eyn ek bizn tsveytn:
vey tsu yeder shtub,
o, groylike nakht! der toyt shpant un shlakht, yedes hoyz a grub!
es trogt zikh a makhtiker orem,
es shlogt in der finster der makhtiker orem.
er maydt nisht keyn gebay, keyn palats, keyn shtal.
in eyme, in shvartsn shigoen, kayklt zikh dos geshrey
ibern gantsn land.
fartayet, getulyet eyner tsum tsveytn,
zitsn di shklafn in zeyere lekher,
zitsn in shmates, farumerte khurves;
horkhn tsum yomer fun zaln un shtaln
un vartn in forkht un in onung.
zey zeen dem makhtikn orem un tulyen zikh shtarker.
der orem neygt zikh mild un tseykhnt a tseykhn.
der tseykhn dringt in dem ingeveyd fun di shklafn.
es blendikt der tseykhn un zey farmakhn di oygn.
es blendikt der tseykhn un tsvingt zey tsu kukn:
tsvishn di khurves, in mitn der nakht,
es rirt zikh vi vaser un s’helt.
s’tsitert di luft un es sheylt zikh a velt
a naye aroys un dervakht.
s’tsitern hertser un es viklt zikh oys
a nokh nit gezeene zun.
s’vert heylik un forkhtik un freydik derfun,
antplekung nemt zikh vekn vi baginen a hoyz.
in mitn di khurves gafn di shklafn,
in mitn di khurves shlaykhn zikh shmeykhlen,
glitshn zikh, blishtshen vi retenishn
iber gedikhte, fartsogte, shklafishe berd.
Beyle Shekher-Gotesman, S’iz matse do Sung by Lorin Sklamberg on the CD Af di gasn fun der shtot/On the Streets of the City, songs by Beyle Schaechter-Gottesman
For a biography of Beyle Schaechter-Gottesman in English, click here.
For a biography of Beyle Schaechter-Gottesman in Yiddish, click here.
12:14And this day shall be unto you for a memorial, and ye shall keep it a feast to the LORD; throughout your generations ye shall keep it a feast by an ordinance for ever. 15Seven days shall ye eat unleavened bread;
The matsa’s here, kharoyses is here,
And cups of red wne,
After all, it’s Peysekh, it’s seyder, What could be sweeter than that?
There’s kidesh here, and 4 questions here,
Delicious food,
After all, it’s a holiday, it’s spring,
What could be nicer than that?
The afikoymen is here, Elijah the Prophet is here,
Family and good friends.
After all, it’s a holiday, it’s renewal,
What could be better than that?
The hagode is here, the 4 sons are here,
The wise one and the simple,
The one who doesn’t know what to ask
And the one who doesn’t ask at all.
The king is here, the queen is here,
There must also be kneydlekh (matsa balls) and fish,
Bitter herbs and horseradish, of course.
Who could it be otherwise?
The tune is here, Dayeynu is here,
The little goat from the khad-gadyo, God willing, next year,
What could be closer?
s’iz matse do
s’iz matse do, kharoyses do
un koyses royter vayn.
s’iz peysekh dokh. s’iz seyder dokh.
vos ken nokh ziser zayn?
s’iz kidesh do, kashes do,
maykholem mole-tam.
s’iz yom-tov dokh, friling dokh.
vos ken nokh shener zayn? ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay.
afikoymen do, eliyohu-hanovi do,
mishpokhe, gute-fraynd.
s’iz yom-tov dokh, banayung dokh.
vos ken nokh beser zayn?
hagode do, bonem do
der khokhem un der tam,
der vos veyst nisht vos tsu fregn
un der vos fregt nisht stam. ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay.
der meylekh do, di malke do
kneydelekh, fish muz zayn
kraytekhtser un khreyn avade.
vi ken es andersh zayn?
der nign do, dayenu do,
dos tsigele khad-gadyo.
mertseshem leshone haboe
vos ken nokh neenter zayn? ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay.
Avrom Sutskever, Tsum kind
12:12For I will go through the land of Egypt in that night, and will smite all the first-born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the LORD.
29And it came to pass at midnight, that the LORD smote all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh that sat on his throne unto the first-born of the captive that was in the dungeon; and all the first-born of cattle.
יב 12 און איך װעל דורכגײן דורכן לאַנד מצרים אין דערדאָזיקער נאַכט, און װעל שלאָגן יעטװעדער בָכור אין לאַנד מצרים, פֿון אַ מענטשן ביז אַ בהמה; און אױף אַלע געטער פֿון מצרים װעל איך טאָן אַ משפּט; איך בין יהוה.
I was initially drawn to this poem for this parshe because it spoke of the loss of children, painful whether Jewish or Egyptian. After reading the entry from Herman Kruk’s Diary of the Vilna Ghetto I see that this poem would have been much more appropriately placed in last week’s parshe in which Pharoah forbids the birth of male children. I will leave it here for now so that you won’t miss it but will move it later.
From the Togbukh fun Vilner geto (Diary of the Vilna Ghetto) by Herman Kruk,
February 5 [1942]
Today the Gestapo summoned two members of the Judenrat and notified them. “From today on, no more Jewish children are to be born.” The officer, somewhat taken aback himself as he made the announcement, added that he had received the order from Berlin . . .
The impact of the order on the ghetto is indescribable. Everyone cited the first Sedrah in Exodus in which Pharoah had forbidden the birth of male children. The Pharoah of the twentieth century is far more cruel—no births whatsoever!
Tr. David Roskies, Against the Apocalypse, Responses to Catastrophe in Modern Jewish Culture, 1984
At the Military Tribunal in Nuremberg, Sutzkever revealed the tragic circumstances of the birth and death of his son.
Towards the end of December in the ghetto my wife gave birth to a child, a boy. I was not in the ghetto at that time, having escaped from one of these so-called “actions.” When I came to the ghetto later I found that my wife had had a baby in the ghetto hospital. But I saw thehospital surrounded by Germans and a black car standing before the door . . .
In the evening when the Germans had left, I went to the hospital and found my wife in tears. It seems that when she had had her baby the Jewish doctors of the hospital had already received the order that Jewish women must not give birth; and they had hidden the baby; together with other newborn children, in one of the rooms. But when this commission with Muhrer came to the hospital, they heard the cries of the babies. They broke open the door and entered the room. When my wife heard that the door had been broken, she immediately got up and ran to see what was happening to the child. She was one German holding the baby and smearing something under its nose. Afterwards he threw it on the bed and laughed. When my wife picked up the child, there was something black under nose. When I arrived at the hospital, I saw that my baby was dead. He was still warm. As quoted in David Roskies, Against the Apocalypse, Responses to Catastrophe in Modern Jewish Culture, 1984
צום קינד
צי פֿון הונגער, צי פֿון גרױסער ליבשאַפֿט,—
נאָר אַן עדות איז דערבײַ דײַן מאַמע:
איך האָב געװאָלט דיך אײַנשלינגען, מײַן קינד,
בײַם פֿילן װי דײַן גופֿל קילט זיך אָפּ
אין מײַנע פֿינגער,
גלײַך איך װאָלט אין זײ געדריקט
אַ װאַרעמען גלאָז טײ,
פֿילנדיק דעם איבערגאַנג צו קאַלטקײט.
װײַל דו ביסט ניט קײן פֿרעמדער, ניט קײן גאַסט,
אױף אונדזער ערד געבױרט מען נישט קײן צװײטן,—
זיך אַלײן געבױרט מען װי אַ רינג,
און די רינגען שליסן זיך אין קײטן.
קינד מײַנס,
װאָס אין װערטער הײסטו: ליבשאַפֿט,
און ניט אין װערטער ביסטו עס אַלײן,
דו—דער קערן פֿון מײַן יעדער חלום,
פֿאַרהױלענער דריטער,
װאָס פֿון די װעלפֿישע װינקלען
האָסטו מיטן װוּנדער פֿון אַן אומגעזעענעם שטורעם
צונױפֿגעבראַכט, צונױפֿגעגאָסן צװײען
צו באַשאַפֿן דיך און צו דערפֿרײען:—
פֿאַר װאָס האָסטו פֿאַרטונקלט דעם באַשאַף,
מיט דעם װאָס דו האָסט צוגעמאַכט די אױגן
און געלאָזט מיך בעטלערדיק אין דרױסן
צוזאַמען מיט אַ װעלט אַן אױסגעשנײטער,
װאָס דו האָסט אָפּגעװאָרפֿן אױף צוריק?
נאָר איך בין ניט װערט צו זײַן דײַן קבֿר,
װעל איך דיך אַװעקשענקען
דעם רופֿנדיקן שנײ,
דעם שנײ—מײַן ערשטן יום־טובֿ,
און װעסט זינקען
װי אַ שפּליטער זונפֿאַרגאַנג
אין זײַנע שטילע טיפֿן
און אָפּגעבן אַ גרוס פֿון מיר
די אײַנגעפֿרירטע גרעזלעך— — — ווילנער געטאָ 18טן יאַנואַר 1943 די פֿעסטונג, 1945
TO MY CHILD
Whether from hunger,
or great love for you
— only your mother can bear witness to it —
I wanted to devour you, my child,
when I felt your little body cooling down
between my fingers,
as if I’d clasped them
round a glass of warm tea
and felt its slow transition into coldness.
For you are not a stranger, not a guest.
On our earth one gives burth not to another
but to oneself — that self is like a ring,
the ring linking together to form chains.
My child,
in words your name is love.
But not in words alone:
you are the kernel of my every dream,
that third person concealed.
From the contents of the world,
through the miracle of an unseen storm,
you brought together, fused two human beings
to create you and rejoice.
Why have you darkened all Creation
by closing your eyes
and leaving me outside, a beggar,
together with a snowed-up world,
which you have cast behind you?
No cradle has delighted you,
its every rocking movement
concealing in itself the rhythm of the stars.
Let the sun smash itself like glass
since you have never seen its light.
A drop of poison has burnt out your trust.
You thought:
It’s warm sweet milk.
— — — — — — — — —— — —— — —
I wanted to devour you, my child,
to experience the taste
of my hoped-for future.
It might be you would blossom in my blood
as once you did.
I am no worthy, though, to be your tomb,
so I will part with you
and give you to the calling snow
to the snow — my first delight —
and you will sink
like a splinter of the sunset
into its still depths
and greet for me
the frozen blades of grass . . .
Vilna Ghetto
January 10, 1943
Tr. Heather Valencia
זינגט נאָך אַלץ מײַן וואָרט/Still My Word Sings: Avrom Sutzkever
Yiddish and English Edited and translated by Heather Valencia
tsum kind
tsi fun hunger,
tsi fun groyser libshaft,—
nor an eydes iz derbay dayn mame:
ikh hob gevolt dikh aynshlingen, mayn kind,
baym filn vi dayn gufl kilt zikh op
in mayne finger,
glaykh ikh volt in zey gedrikt
a varemen gloz tey,
filndik dem ibergang tsu kaltkeyt.
vayl du bist nit keyn fremder, nit keyn gast,
oyf undzer erd geboyrt men nisht keyn tsveytn,—
zikh aleyn geboyrt men vi a ring,
un di ringen shlisl zikh in keytn.
kind mayns,
vos in verter heystu: libshaft,
un nit in verter bistu es aleyn,
du—der kern fun mayn yeder kholem,
farhoylener driter,
vos fun di velfishe vinklen
hostu mitn vunder fun an umgeze-enem shturem
tsunoyfgebrakht, tsunoyfgegosn tsveyen
tsu bashafn dikh un tsu derfreyen:—
far vos hostu fartunklt dem bashaf,
mit dem vos du host tsugemakht di oygn
un gelozt mikh betlerdik in droysn
tsuzamen mit a velt an oysgeshneyter,
vos du host opgevorfn oyf tsurik?
dikh hot nit derfreyt keyn vig,
vos yeder ir bavegung
bahalt in zikh dem ritem fun di shtern.
es meg di zun tsebreklen zikh vi gloz—
vayl keyn mol hostu nit gezen ir shayn.
a tropn sam hot oysgebrent dayn gloybn,
du host gemeynt” s’iz varem-zise milkh.
______ ____ ______ _____
ikh hob gevolt dikh aynshlingen, mayn kind.
kedey tsu filn dem geshmak
fun mayn gehofter tsukunft.
efsher vestu blien vi a mol
in mayn geblit.
nor ikh bin nit vert tsu zayn dayn keyver,
vel ikh dikh avekshenken
dem rufndikn shney,
dem shney—mayn ershtn yontef,
un vest zinken
vi a shpliter zunfargang
in zayne shtile tifn
un opgebn a grus fun mir
di ayngefrirte grezlekh— — — Vilner geto 18tn yanuar 1943
THIS WEEK Dovid Edelshtat, אין דעם לאַנד פֿון פּיראַמידן, In the Landof the Pyramids
Yankev Glatshteyn, אָן ייִדן, Without Jews
Arn Glants-Leyeles, אחד, Ekhod — One
Dovid Edelshtat, In dem land fun pyramidn, sung by Jane Peppler, on Yiddish: An Introduction to the Language, Literature & Culture, Vol. II by Sheva Zucker
For a biography of Dovid Edelshtat in English, click here.
6: 5And moreover I have heard the groaning of the children of Israel, whom the Egyptians keep in bondage; and I have remembered My covenant.
ו 5 און איך האָב אױך געהערט דאָס קרעכצן פֿון די קינדער פֿון ישׂראל, װאָס די מיצרים פֿאַרקנעכטן זײ, און איך האָב געדאַכט אָן מײַן בונד.
אין דעם לאַנד פֿון פּיראַמידן
אין דעם לאַנד פֿון פּיראַמידן
געװען אַ קיניג בײז און שלעכט,
זײַנען דאָרט געװען די ייִדן
זײַנע דינער, זײַנע קנעכט.
In the land of the pyramids
There once was an evil, wicked king,
There, the Jews were
His servants, his slaves.
Children were mortared into the walls
When a brick was missing.
Who knows how long it would have lasted,
This barren world of slavery —
If, in the land of the pyramids,
A great hero had not come
Who fought for the Jews
With his wisdom and his sword. Tr. Chana and Malke Gottlieb, Yontefdike Teg: Song Book for the Yiddish Holidays, Workmen’s Circle
in dem land fun piramidn
in dem land fun piramidn
geven a kinig beyz un shlekht,
zaynen dort geven di yidn
zayne diner, zayne knekht.
kinder hot men dan farmoyert
ven a tsigl hot gefelt,
ver veyst vi lang es volt gedoyert
ot di viste shklafnvelt—
ven in land fun piramidn
volt nit zayn a groyser held,
velkher hot gekemft far yidn
mit zayn khokhme, mit zayn shverd. Dovid Edelshtat
in dem land fun piramidn
in dem land fun piramidn
geven a kinig beyz un shlekht,
zaynen dort geven di yidn
zayne diner, zayne knekht.
kinder hot men dan farmoyert
ven a tsigl hot gefelt,
ver veyst vi lang es volt gedoyert
ot di viste shklafnvelt—
ven in land fun piramidn
volt nit zayn a groyser held,
velkher hot gekemft far yidn
mit zayn khokhme, mit zayn shverd. Dovid Edelshtat
Yankev Glatshteyn, On Yidn
For a biography of Yankev Glatshteyn in English, click here.
For a biography of Glatshteyn in Yiddish, click here.
6 7and I will take you to Me for a people, and I will be to you a God; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God, who brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.
7 16And thou shalt say unto him: The LORD, the God of the Hebrews, hath sent me unto thee, saying: Let My people go, that they may serve Me in the wilderness; and, behold, hitherto thou hast not hearkened;
913And the LORD said unto Moses: ‘Rise up early in the morning, and stand before Pharaoh, and say unto him: Thus saith the LORD, the God of the Hebrews: Let My people go, that they may serve Me.
ו 7 און איך װעל אײַך נעמען צו מיר פֿאַר אַ פֿאָלק, און איך װעל אײַך זײַן צום גאָט; און איר װעט װיסן, אַז איך בין יהוה אַײער גאָט, װאָס האָט אַײך אַרױסגעצױגן פֿון אונטער די לאַסטן פֿון מצרים.
ז 16 און זאָלסט זאָגן צו אים: יהוה, דער גאָט פֿון די עבֿרים, האָט מיך געשיקט צו דיר, אַזױ צו זאָגן: לאָז אַװעק מײַן פֿאָלק, זײ זאָלן מיר דינען אין דער מידבר; און זע, האָסט ניט צוגעהערט ביז אַהער.
ט 13 און גאָט האָט געזאָגט צו משהן: פֿעדער זיך אין דער פֿרי, און שטעל זיך פֿאַר פּרעהן, און זאָג צו אים: אַזױ האָט געזאָגט יהוה דער גאָט פֿון די עבֿרים: לאָז אַװעק מײַן פֿאָלק, זײ זאָלן מיר דינען.
Without Jews there can be no Jewish God.
if we, forbid! were to leave the world,
the light of your shabby tent would go out.
For ever since Abraham recognized you within the cloud,
you have glowed upon all Jewish faces
and radiated from all Jewish eyes.
Therefore we molded you in our image.
in each land, in each city,
there was a stranger with us, too—
the Jewish God.
And each smashed head
is a desecrated divine shard
for we were your shining vessel,
the token of your tangible miracle.
And now, our dead heads
may be counted in the millions.
The stars are vanishing about you.
The perception of you darkens
and your reign will soon cease.
Burned is all Jewish sowing and tillage.
Dews weep on dead grasses.
Jewish dream and Jewish truth dishonored—
they perish as one.
Entire congregations sleep:
infants, women,
the young and the old.
Even your pillars,
the rooted Thirty-Six Just,
sleep a dead, an everlasting sleep.
Who will vision you?
Who will remember?
Who will negate you?
Who will yearn for you?
Who will move toward you on a nostalgic bridge,
away from you—in order to return?
The night is eternal for a people that is no more.
Heaven and earth are erased.
The light in your shabby tent dims,
the final Jewish hour flickers,
Jewish God, you are scarcely here.
Tr. Etta Blum, Jacob Glatstein: Poems, Tel Aviv, 1970
on yidn
on yidn vet nisht zayn keyn yidisher got.
geyen mir, kholile, avek fun der velt,
farlesht zikh dos likht fun dayn orem getselt.
vayl zint Avrom hot dikh in volkn derkent,
hostu oyf ale yidishe penimer gebrent,
fun ale yidishe oygn geshtralt,
un mir hobn dikh gefuremt in undzer geshtalt.
in yedn land, in yeder shtot
iz mit undz oykh geve a ger
der yidisher got.
un yeder tseshmeterter yidisher kop
iz a farshemter, tsebrokhenen, getlekher top,
vayl mir zaynen geven dayn likhtik gefes,
der vortseykhn fun dayn mamosh|esdikn nes.
itst tseyln zikh in di milyonen
undzere toyte kep.
s’leshn zikh arum dir shtern.
dos gedekhenish fun dir vert fartunklt,
dayn malkhes vet bald oyfhern.
der gantser yidisher farzey un farflants
iz farbrent.
oyf toyte grozn veynen di toyen.
der yidisher kholem un di yidishe vor geshendt —
zey shtarbn in eynem.
s’shlofn eydes gantse,
eyfe|lekh, froyen,
yunge-layt un zkeynem.
afile dayne zayln, di feldzn,
di shtamike lamed-vov,
shlofn a toytn, an eybikn shlof.
ver vet dikh kholem|en?
ver gedenken?
ver vet dikh leykenen,
ver vet dikh benken?
ver vet tsu dir, oyf a farbenkter brik,
avek fun dir, kedey tsu kumen tsurik?
di nakht iz eybik far a toyt folk.
himl un erd opgevisht.
s’lesht zikh dos likht in dayn orem getselt.
s’flemlt di letste yidishe sho,
yidisher got, bist shoyn bald nishto.
Yankev glatshteyn, shtralndike yidn, nyu-york, 1946
Arn Glants-Leyeles, Ekhod
For a biography of Arn Glants-Leyeles in English, click here.
For a biography of Arn Glants-Leyeles in Yiddish, see below, after the poem.
6 2And God spoke unto Moses, and said unto him: ‘I am the LORD;
7. 5And the Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I stretch forth My hand upon Egypt, and bring out the children of Israel from among them.’
ו 2 און גאָט האָט גערעדט צו משהן, און האָט צו אים געזאָגט: איך בין יהוה;
ז 5 און די ִמצרים װעלן װיסן, אַז איך בין יהוה, װען איך װעל אױסשטרעקן מײַן האַנט אױף מצרים, און װעל אַרױסציִען די קינדער פֿון ישׂראל פֿון צװישן זיי.
אחד
דער הימל האָט געטוליעט די ערד.
די ערד האָט געענטפֿערט מיט גלוסטיקן עכאָ:
א——חד!
The sky snuggled up to the earth.
The earth responded with a longed-for echo.
Ekhod. One.
The wind whispered to the flower.
Shyly, at the side its echo gurgled:
E——khod!
The soul entered into the body.
Both trembledwith hymn and with echo.
E——khod!
The soul left the body.
Body to earth, soul to sun both echoed:
E——khod!
Man approached his people:
“Who are you? Who am I? an echo breathed deeply:
E——khod!
The People were exterminated in anguish.
The anguish felt sadly, wept, “Why?”
Quieter than a sigh there echoed an echo:
E——khod!
Tr. Sheva Zucker
ekhod
der himl hot getulyet di erd.
di erd hot geentfert mit glustikn ekhoL
e——khod!
der vint hot gesheptshet tsu der blum.
shemevdik, zaytik hot gerizlt ir ekho: e——khod!
di zel iz arayn in dem guf.
s’hobn beyde getsitert mit himen un mit ekho
e——khod!
di zel iz aroys fun dem guf.
guf tsu erd, zel tsu zun hobn beyde ge|ekhot:
e——khod!
der mentsh iz tsugefaln tsu zayn folk:
“ver bistu? ver ikh?” tif hot geotemt an ekho:
e——khod!
dos folk hot ge|umkumt in payn.
di payn hot ge|umert, geyomert: “far vos?”
Shtiler fun a zifts hot ge|ekhot an ekho:
e——khod! arn glants-leyeles, Bam fus fun barg, 1957
THIS WEEK Avrom Sutzkever, פֿון אַ פֿאַרלוירענער פּאָעמע, From a Lost Poem
Avrom Reyzen, שווימט דאָס קעסטל, The Little Basket Floats
Meylekh Ravitsh, צװעלף שורות װעגן סנה, Twelve Lines about the Burning Bush
Malke Kheyfets-Tuzman, טאַטע זיסער, Sweet Father
Avrom Sutskever, Fun a farloyrener poeme
For a biography of the poet Avrom Sutzkever in English, click here.
For a biography of the poet Avrom Sutzkever in Yiddiish, click here.
1: 22And Pharaoh charged all his people, saying: ‘Every son that is born ye shall cast into the river, and every daughter ye shall save alive.’
FROM A LOST POEM
Mama,
I’m sick,
My soul, scabby, and,
maybe,
even more,
a yellowmadness.
And the heal-all of your kiss
is too holy
even to inspire
the source of my mounds.
But if it’s true
you love me, as always
second only to God,
my last plea and commandment is:
Choke me!
Choke with those very fingers,
motherly fingers,
that played along
mywillow cradle.
Will mean
to me, your love is strong, like death;
will mean
to me, you entrusted your love;
and I will turn
into before-my-birth
and be and not be
like a star
in water.
Vilna Ghetto
Tr. Richard J. Fein, The Full Pomegranate: Poems of Avrom Sutzkever, SUNY Press, 2019 By permission of the translator
fun a farloyrener poeme
mame,
kh’bin krank.
mayn neshome iz kretsik.
un efsher nokh mer:
s’iz a geler shigoenshegoen.
un der zalb fun dayn kush
iz tsu heylik, er zol
mir bahoykhn tsu mol
mayne vundike dnoen.
nor oyb dos iz vor,
az du libst mikh vi shtendik
dem tsveytn nokh got —
iz mayn letster gebet un gebot:
— dershtik mikh!
dershtik mit di mamishe finger
vos hobn geshpilt
oyf mayn verbenem vigl.
vet meynen:
dayn libshaft iz shtark vi der toyt.
vet meynen:
du host mir dayn libshaft fartroyt.
un ikh vel farkern
in eyder-mayn-vern
un zayn un nit zayn
vi a shtern
in vaser. vilner geto lider fun yam-hamoves
Avrom Reyzen, Shvmit dos kestl, sung by Alexander Botwinik, on Yiddish: An Introduction to the Language, Literature & Culture, Vol. II by Sheva Zucker
2:3 And when she could not longer hide him, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch; and she put the child therein, and laid it in the flags by the river’s brink.
The little basket floats on the river
On the great Nile.
The basket floats calmly and smoothly,
The basket floats quietly.
And the waves flow quietly
Flow tenderly and mild;
As if to keep themselves
From hurting the child.
The little basket floats on the river
On the great Nile.
The basket floats calmly and smoothly,
The basket floats quietly.
And the waves flow quietly
Flow tenderly and mild;
As if to keep themselves
From hurting the child.
Oh the waves, you know, are
Not like the evil Pharaoh.
They will not drown
The redeemer of the slaves. Tr. Chana and Malke Gottlieb, Yontefdike Teg: Song Book for the Yiddish Holidays, Workmen’s Circle
shvimt dos kestl
shvimt dos kestl oyfn taykh,
oyfn groysn nil.
shvimt dos kestl ruik, glaykh,
shvimt dos kestl shtil.
un di khvalyes geyen shtil,
geyen tsart un lind,
vi zey voltn hitn zikh
ton a leyd dem kind.
o, di khvalyes zaynen dokh
nisht vi Pare shlekht.
nisht dertrinken veln zey
Meshiekhn fun knekht.
Avrom reyzen, muzik: mikhl gelbart
Meylekh Ravitsh, Tsvelf shures vegn sne
To read a biography of Meylekh Ravitsh in English, click here.
To read a biography of Meylekh Ravitsh in Yiddish, click here.
32 And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush; and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed.
האָב איך טאַקע אומזיסט אין די טעג געהאָפֿט, אין די נעכט געװאַרט?
און דו װעסט ביז דער לעצטער רגע בלײַבן געטלעך־גרױזאַם און האַרט?
דײַן פּנים טױב װי שטומער שטײן, װי קיזלשטײן בלינד־אײַנגעשפּאַרט?
נישט אומזיסט איז אײנער פֿון די טױזנט נעמען דײַנע — דאָרן, דאָרן דו פֿון מײַן גײַסט אוןפֿלײש און בײן,
שטעכנדיק — נישט אױסצורײַסן, ברענענדיק — נישט אױסצולעשן,
אַ רגע נישט פֿאַרגעסן — אַן אײביקײט נישט צו פֿאַרשטײן.
מלך ראַװיטש
TWELVE LINES ABOUT THE BURNING BUSH
What’s going to be the end for both of us —God?
Are you really going to let me die like this
and really not tell me the big secret?
Must I really become dust, gray dust, and ash, black ash,
while the secret, which is closer than my shirt, than my skin,
still remains secret, though it’s deeper in me than my own heart?
And was it really in vain that I hoped by day and waited by night?
And will you, until the very last moment, remain godlike-cruel and hard?
Your face deaf like dumb stone, like cement, blind-stubborn?
Not for nothing is one of your thousand names—thorn, you thorn in myspirit and flesh and bone,
piercing me—I can’t tear you out; burning me—I can’t stamp you out,
moment I can’t forget, eternity I can’t comprehend. Tr. Ruth Whitman, An Anthology of Modern Yiddish Poetry, Selected and translated by Ruth Whitman, Workman’s Circle, 1979
tsvelf shures vegn sne
iz vozhe vet zayn der sof mit undz beydn — got?
vest mikh take lozn shtarbn ot azoy
un take mir nisht oyszogn dem groysn sod?
muz ikh take vern frier shtoyb, vos iz groy, ash, vos iz shvarts?
un der groyser sod, vos iz neenter vi mayn hemd, vi mayn hoyt,
vet alts blaybn sod, khotsh s’iz tifer in mir vi dos same harts?
hob ikh take umzist in di teg gehoft, in di nekht gevart?
un du vest biz der letster rege blaybn getlekh-groyzam un hart?
dayn ponem toyb vi shtumer shteyn, vi kizlshteyn blind-ayngeshpart?
nisht umzist iz eyner fun di toyznt nemen dayne — dorn, dorn du fun mayn gayst un fleysh un beyn,
shtekhndik — nisht oystsuraysn, brenendik — nisht oystsuleshn,
a rege nisht fargesn — an eybikeyt nisht tsu farshteyn. Meylekh ravitsh
Malke Kheyfets-Tuzman, Tate ziser
3: 4And when the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said: ‘Moses, Moses.’ And he said: ‘Here am I.’
And I call him
“sweet father”
although I don’t remember
a father.
Still, I can’t help remembering
something:
a thorn,
a fire,
thunder,
a mountain,
and something like a voice.
When it seems to me
I hear his voice,
I quickly cry out:
“Here I am!
Here I am, sweet Father!”
When a father leaves,
he is still a father.
And I won’t stop missing him
and crying out
“Here I am!”
until he hears,
remembers,
and calls my name,
speaking to me
through fire. Tr. Marcia Falk, With Teeth in the Earth: Selected Poems of Malka Heifetz Tussman, Translated, edited, and introduced by Marcia Falk, Wayne State University Press, 1992.
tate ziser
un ikh ruf im
tate ziser
khotsh ikh gedenk nit dem tatn.
dokh epes gedenkt zikh:
a dorn,
a fayer, a duner,
a barg
un epes a kol.
ven mir dakht zikh
ikh her zayn kol
bald shray ikh:
do bin ikh!
do bin ikh, tate ziser!
az a tate farlozt
iz er alts nokh a tate
un ikh vel nit oyfhern benken
un shrayen
“do bin ikh”
biz er vet derhern,
vet zikh dermonen
un rufn mayn nomen
un reydn tsu mir
durkh fayer.
Malke Kheyfets-tuzman
THIS WEEK
Itsik Manger, יעקבֿ אָבֿינו האָט עגמת־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
Itsik Manger, Yankev Ovinu hot games-nefesh fun zayne kinder
For a biography of the poet Itzik Manger, click here.
For a biography of Manger in Yiddish, click here.
All of chapter 49 in which Yankev blesses his son is appropriate but particularly the following verses:
3Reuben, thou art my first-born,
My might, and the first-fruits of my strength;
The excellency of dignity, and the excellency of power. 4Unstable as water, have not thou the excellency;
Because thou wentest up to thy father’s bed;
Then defiledst thou it—he went up to my couch. 5Simeon and Levi are brethren;
Weapons of violence their kinship. 6Let my soul not come into their council;
Unto their assembly let my glory not be not united;
For in their anger they slew men, And in their self-will they houghed oxen. 7Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce,
And their wrath, for it was cruel;
I will divide them in Jacob,
And scatter them in Israel 8Judah, thee shall thy brethren praise;
Thy hand shall be on the neck of thine enemies;
Thy father’s sons shall bow down before thee. 9Judah is a lion’s whelp;
From the prey, my son, thou art gone up.
He stooped down, he couched as a lion,
And as a lioness; who shall rouse him up?
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, Kh’hob shoyn mer kin Taynes
47: 29And the time drew near that Israel must die; and he called his son Joseph, and said unto him: ‘If now I have found favour in thy sight, put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh, and deal kindly and truly with me; bury me not, I pray thee, in Egypt.
48: 21And Israel said unto Joseph: ‘Behold, I die; but God will be with you, and bring you back unto the land of your fathers.
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
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
44:27 Your servant my father then said to us, You know that of the two my wife bore me, 28 one is gone from my side, and I said, “Surely He’s been ripped to shreds.” I haven’t seen him to this day.
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
Rokhl Korn, A briv fun Uzbekistan
R-L: Montreal writers Rokhl Korn, Maza and Kadya Molodowsky
Gen 45:6 For these two years the famine (hunger) has been in the land: and there are five years yet to come, in which there will neither be sowing nor harvesting.
47: 19 Why should we die before your eyes, both we and our farmland? Buy us and our farmland for food, so that we and our farmland will be slaves to Pharaoh, and give [us] seed, so that we live and not die, and the soil will not lie fallow.”
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 un tsemorshtshet 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,
ay, 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, March 1942
For a biography of Arye Shamri in English, click here.
For a biography of Kadye Molodowsky in English and Yiddish, see Weeks 3, 5 or 11.
