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.
THIS WEEK H. Leyvik, אויף די וועגן סיבירער, On the Roads of Siberia
Yehude-Leyb Teler, מבול, Flood
Aleksander Shpiglblat, מיגלעך, It’s Possible
Eli Basse, איך בין אַ ליטוואַק, זי איז אַ גאַליץ, I’m a Litvack and She’s a Galitz
Leyvik Af di vegn sibirer
7: 4 For yet seven days, and I will cause it to rain upon the earth forty days and forty nights; and every living substance that I have made will I blot out from off the face of the earth.’ 5 And Noah did according unto all that the LORD commanded him.
6And Noah was six hundred years old when the flood of waters was upon the earth. 7And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives with him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood. JPS 1917
8: 18 And Noah went forth, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives with him; JPS, 1917
What must it be like to leave a place, even a place of confinement or imprisonment, and wonder whether a trace of you will be left behind? The first time I read this poem I read it as a question, then I noticed that it was not a question but a statement. I think both interpretations work. In 1906 Leivick was a arrested for Bundist anti-tsarist activity and was then sentenced to four years of forced labor and then exile for life in Siberia. In 1912 he reached Siberia and excaped in 1913 making his way to America. Siberia and was freed.
אױף די טײַכן סיבירער
קען עמעץ נאָך איצטער געפֿינען אַ צײכן, אַ שפּענדל
פֿון מײַנס אַ דערטרונקענעם פּליט;
אין װאַלד—אַ פֿאַרבלוטיקט־פֿאַרטריקנטן בענדל,
אין שנײ—אײַנגעפֿרױרענע טריט.
ה. לייוויק
ON THE ROADS OF SIBERIA
Even now
on the roads of Siberia
you can find
a button,
a shred of one of my shoelaces, a belt,
a bit of broken cup,
a leaf of Scripture.
Even now
on the rivers of Siberia
you can find
some trace:
a scrap of the raft
the river swallowed;
in the woods
a bloodied swatch dried stiff;
some frozen footprints
over the snow.
Tr. CynthiaOzick, PenguinBook of YiddishVerse,1987
oyf di vegn sibirer
oyf di vegn sibirer
ken emets nokh itster gefinen a knepl, a shtrikl
fun mayns a tserisenem shukh,
a rimenem pas, fun a leymenem krigl a shtrikl,
a bletl fun heylikn bukh.
oyf di taykhn sibirer
ken emets nokh itster gefinen a tseykhn,
a shpendl fun mayns a dertrunkenem plit;
in vald—a farblutikt-fartrikntn bendl,
in shney—ayngefroyrene trit.
Teler Mabl
7: 17 And the flood was forty days upon the earth; and the waters increased, and bore up the ark, and it was lifted up above the earth. 18And the waters prevailed, and increased greatly upon the earth; and the ark went upon the face of the waters. 19And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the high mountains that were under the whole heaven were covered. JPS, 1917
The brain—cut off
From the land.
The flesh flows
Floods
And shackles
As with water-ropes
The ankles, the knees,
The groin
of the last
Clear thought.
Streams assemble
And rise
To the brain:
The flesh
Dismembers us
Sense from sense
And drains us out
To the sea.
Our frightened voice
Ducks
Like a sail
Between the water-crests.
The day is thin as glass;
A cloud bleeds
In the beak
Of the sun.
Tr. B. and B. Harshav, American Yiddish Poetry:
A Bilingual Anthology, UC Press, 1986
mabl
der moyekh iz shoyn opgeshnitn
fun yaboshe.
dos layb
fleytst
farfleytst
un pentet
vi mit vaser-shtrik
di knekhlekh, di kni,
un di dikh
fun letstn
klorn gedank.
di shtromen zamlen zikh
un shtaygn tsum moyekh:
dos layb tsenemt undz
zin bay zin
un shvenkt undz aroys
tsum yam.
undzer farshrokn kol
tikt zikhtsvishn di vaser-kamen.
der tog iz din vi gloz;
a volkn blutikt
inem shnobl fun der zun.
Yehuda-Leyb Teler
Shpiglblat Miglekh
9: 11 And I will establish My covenant with you; neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of the flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.’ 12 And God said: ‘This is the token of the covenant which I make between Me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations: 13 I have set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between Me and the earth.
װיל ער אפֿשר,
כּבֿיכול,
פֿון דער אײביקײט פֿאַרלעשן
די קאָליריקע הבֿטחה
פֿון בראשית ט, י”א?
מיגלעך,
מיגלעך.
אַלכּסאנדר שפּיגלבלאַט, געטונקען אין האָניק־צער, תּל־אָבֿיבֿ, 2009
IT’S POSSIBLE I have set my bow in the cloud. Genesis 9:13
It’s possible that
God, as it were, might soon
With a sponge cloud
Wipe His hand over
His seven heavens
And wipe out the palette
of the rainbow,
As one erases, for example,
The writing
On a black slate.
Does He perhaps want to
As it were,
Extinguish for all eternity
The colorful covenant
Of Genesis 9:11?
It’s possible,
It’s possible.
Alexander Spiegelblatt
Tr. Sheva Zucker
miglekh
miglekh,
kavyokhl zol bekorev
mit a volknshvom
a vish ton
iber zayne zibn himlen
un farmekn di palitre funem regn-boygn,
vi me mekt, a shteyger, oys dos geshrift|s
fun a shvartsn tovl.
vil er efsher,
kavyokhl,
fun der eybikeyt farleshn
di kolirike havtokhe
fun breyshes t, yud”allef?
miglekh,
miglekh.
aleksander shpiglblat
Eli Basse , איך בין אַ ליטוואַק, זי איז אַ גאַליץ I’m a Litvak and She’s a Galitz sung by Hy Wolfe, new musical arrangement by Herbert Kapaln, on Yiddish Songs for the Soul, available from cycobooks@aol.com.
11: 7 Come, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech.
For a biography of Eli Basse click here. (There may be a paywall).
I’m a Litvak and She’s a Galitz/, איך בין אַ ליטוואַק, זי איז אַ גאַליץ
From my wife I’ve got such aggravation,
She’s driving me out from mine wits.
She’s from a different denomination:
I’m a Litvak and She’s a Galitz.
We’re happily married,
I don’t want to squawk,
We understand each other completely,
Except when we talk.
I say muter,* zogt zi miter.* mother
S’iz mir biter.* Things aren’t going well
Ikh zog puter, zogt zi piter.* butter
What’s the difference
Muter/miter,
Piter, oy how I shvitz.
Cause I’m a Litvak
And she’s a Galitz.
She’s driving me crazy
What a marriage such umglikn,* misfortunes, calamities
She don’t even know a chick’n is a tsikn.
She keeps kick’n how I’m speak’n,
Says I put on the Ritz
‘Cause I’m a Litvak
And she’s a Galitz.
I love my darling, there is no one finer,
In Minski or Pinsk or even Carolina.
But when I call her sheyne zogt zi shayne* pretty one, she says pretty (in Galitsyaner dialect)
Aza modnem Yidish redt men nor in China!* Such a strange Yiddish is spoken only in China
So vos teyg es, * she says toyg es, What’s the use?
Every time that I breygez she gets broygez* angry
I’ll call it quits—
‘Cause I’m a Litvak
And she’s a Galitz.
I say gey, zogt zi gay* I say go, she says go (in Galitsayner dialect)
I say shtey, zogt zi shtay* I say stand she says stand (in Galitsayner dialect)
I say oy, zogt zi ay
Oy vey, ay, vay vay
Vay did I ever get married, huh?
I say groz, zogt zi grus,* I say grass, she says grass (in Galitsyaner)
I say voz, zogt zi vus,* I say what, she says what (in Galitsyaner)
I say bloz, zogt zi bluz,* I say blow, she says blow (in Galitzaner dialect)
I say, do me a favor
Zol dir bluzn di nuz… May your nose blow.
How’s she’s talkin’ don’t mean not’n
Such a language is forgot’n
I say rutn, she says ratn* advise
Zog ikh ruakh in tatns tatn.* The devil take your father/damn your father.
So vos teyg es, she says toyg es, Every time that I get breygez angry
she gets … angry. So vos teyg es,
breygez, broyges, I’ll call it quits
‘Cause I’m a Litvak
A plain, simple Litvak
And she’s, she’s epes* fun another voyld somehow from another world
Yes she’s a Gana na na na…
She’s a Galitz.
Words and music Eli Basse
THIS WEEK —Aleksander Shpiglblat מעשׂה־בראשית The creation of the world —Avrom Sutzkever מײַן יוגנט־חבֿר לייבעלע Just before his bar-mitzvah a boyhood friend of mine —Itsik Manger חווה ברענגט אָדמען דעם עפּל Eve Brings Adam the Apple —H. Leyvik קין און הבֿל Cain and Abel
Shpiglblat — Mayse breyshes
Genesis 1:31 And God saw all that He had made, and behold it was very good, and it was evening and it was morning, the sixth day.
2:2 And God completed on the seventh day His work that He did, and He abstained on the seventh day from all His work that He did. 3And God blessed the seventh day and He hallowed it, for thereon He abstained from all His work that God created to do. Chabad.org
di eynzamkeyt hot dikh mistome getsvungen tsu vern a got fun nekome! Aleksander Shpiglblat, in geln tsvishnlikht fun erev regn
Sutzkever — Mayn yugnt-khaver Leybele
3:2 And the woman said to the serpent, “Of the fruit of the trees of the garden we may eat.3:3 But of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, God said, “You shall not eat of it, and you shall not touch it, lest you die.'” 4 And the serpent said to the woman, “You will surely not die. 5 For God knows that on the day that you eat thereof, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like angels, knowing good and evil.” Chabad.org
2: 16 And the Lord God commanded man, saying, “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat. 17 But of the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat of it, for on the day that you eat thereof, you shall surely die.”
Just before his bar-mitzvah a boyhood friend of mine, Leybeleh, tried to hang himself. No one knew if he was serious or joking. Maybe the boy thought: Hanging oneself is a good deed—a mitzvah! But his angel cut him down from the belt and rescued him from hanging.
And Leybeleh grew up overnight. He fled to Paris, fled torpor and stricture.
When we met, a mirror grew startled: Instead of a Leybeleh an old man, suddenly turned up, with quite a name in the secrets of atoms.
Something was itching me to ask what made him hang himself back then: A girl? First love?
And when later on I accompanied him to the plane, that curiosity shot out from my mute tongue. And that boy and famous man answered: “Back then the beginning of a drama was hatching in me, a passion to catch a glimpse of death—my very first unique atomic encounter.” Avrom Sutzkever Tr. Richard J. Fein, The Full Pomegranate: Poems of Avrom Sutzkever, SUNY Press, 2019 By permission of the translator
mayn yugnt-khaver leybele hot erev zayn bar-mitsve gepruvt zikh hengen. keyner veys nit: ernst oder shpasik. s’ken zayn, der yingl hot getrakht: zikh hengen iz a mitsve! zayn malekh hot im ober opgeshnitn funem pasik un oysgeleyzt fun hengenish.
un leybele iz oysgevaksn iber nakht. er iz antrinen keyn pariz fun hinerplet un engenish.
beshas mir hobn zikh bagegnt hot a shpigl zikh dershrokn: anshtot a leybele poyavet plutsem zikh a zokn un gor a vazhner nomen in di soydes fun atomen.
s’hot ver getsoygn mir di tsung tsu fregn im di sibe fun zayn amolikn hengen zikh: a meydl? ershte libe?
un az ikh hob im shpeter tsu bagleyt tsum eroplan, aroysgerisn hot zikh fun mayn shtumer tsung di fregenish.
un s’hot geentfert mir der yingl un barimter man: s’hot yemolt zikh gepikt in mir der onheyb fun a drame: a tshuke tsu derzen dem toyt—mayn same ershtmolikste atomishe bagegenish. Avrom sutskever, tsevaklte vent, 1996
Manger — Khave brengt Odemen dem epl
3:6 And the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes, and the tree was desirable to make one wise; so she took of its fruit, and she ate, and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate. Chabad.org
און ס’ציטערט דער עפּל אין איר האַנט און פֿינקלט װי שאַרלעך רױט און ס’שאָטנט אױס די דעמערונג די תּאװה און דעם טױט.
אָדם הראשון פֿיבערט און קאָן באין־אופֿן נישט פֿאַרשטײן, פֿאַר װאָס איר קול איז צוקער־זיס און זי איז מלא־חן.
ער שטרעקט מיט אַ ציטער אױס די האַנט. „וואָס טוסטו, אָדם, האַ?“ די נאַכט לעשט בײדע געשטאַלטן אױס און פּתח שין מאַכט —שאַ. איציק מאַנגער, מדרש איציק, ירושלים, 1969
EVE BRINGS ADAM THE APPLE
The first man, Adam, lies in the grass, And spits at a passing cloud, Humbly, the cloud says, “Adam, “Please, would you cut that out.”
But Adam sticks out his tongue And says to the cloud, “Too bad,” Then spits a slender stream of spit And says, “There more of that.”
Wiping the spittle from his sleeve The cloud grumbles angrily, That’s what comes of nothing to do, And lying about all day.”
The first man, Adam, laughs and laughs, His teeth make a fine display Just as Mother Eve comes back From her walk in the apple allée.
“Where have you been, oh Eve, my wife, My dear, where have you been?” “Strolling about in the plum allée And chatting with the wind.”
“You haven’t been to the plum allée, It’s a lie; you’ve not been there. Your body smells of ripe apples And there’s apple smell in your hair.”
“It’s true, I’ve been in the apple allée— What a poor memory I have; You’ve guessed it at once, my dear husband, God bless you, my darling love.”
“What did you do in the apple allée, My dear, where have you been?” “I was chatting with the serpent About a blessed-sin.”
The apple trembles in her hand, Gleaming scarlet red, Foreshadowing, as she holds it, Twilight and passion and death.
The first man, Adam, is puzzled by The sweetness in her voice. And he simply cannot understand Her strange new loveliness.
Trembling, he puts his hand out— “Stop, Adam. You’re making me blush.” The night extinguishes their shapes— H,U,S,H spells “Hush.”
Itzik Manger
Tr. Leonard Wolf The World According to Itzik: Selected Poetry and Prose, Translated and edited by Leonard Wolf, Yale University Press, 2002
Khave brengt Odemen dem epl
odem Harishn ligt in groz un shpayt tsum volkn aroyf. bet zikh der volkn takhnunim|dik: “odem|shi kroyn, her oyf!”
shtelt im odem aroys di tsung: “khmare, kapare, abe!” un s’flit a diner shtral—a shpay— “un na dir, nem un ze!”
der volkn visht mit der lape op dem shpay un brumt far kas: “az me tut nisht gornisht gantse teg un me geyt um pust un pas!”
odem harishn lakht un kaykht un shtshiret di vayse tseyn, kumt fun der griner epl-aley di muter Khave tsu geyn.
“vu bistu geven, eva mayn vayb, vu bistu geven, mayn kind?” “ikh bin geven in der floymen-aley un geploydert mitn vint”.
“du bist nisht geven in der floymen-aley, du zogst mir a lignt gor, se shmekt dokh mit epl fun dayn layb un mit epl fun dayne hor”.
“kh’bin take geven in der epl-aley, sara shvakhn zikorn ikh hob; host take getrofn, adam mayn man, a lebn oyf dayn kop”.
“vos hostu getun in der epl-aley, eva mayn goldenes kind?” “ikh hob geploydert mit der shlang mekoyekh der mitsve zind”.
un s’tsitert der epl in ir hant un finklt vi sharlekh royt un s’shotnt oys di demerung di tayve un dem toyt.
odem harishn fibert un kon beeyn-oyfn nisht farshteyn, far vos ir kol iz tsuker-zis un zi iz mole-kheyn.
er shtrekt mit a tsiter oys di hant. “vos tustu, odem, ha?” di nakht lesht beyde geshtaltn oys un pasekh shin makht — sha. itsik manger, Medresh itsik, Yerusholaim, 1969
Leyvik — Kayen un Hevl
4:8 And Cain spoke to Abel his brother, and it came to pass when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother and slew him.
Abel lies in the field, killed. Cain eats with his snout in the pot, a bear after sweets.
Noon, the sun is afire. A dry waste field— only a patch is tilled, and no sower.
Face up, the killer lies gorged. His steely body swells as he snores.
His fingers are tangles of thorns. Red hairs on his temples whorl like horns.
Beasts come. Weak and numb they turn and creep from that fearful sleep.
They crawl to the other, who never stirs face down in the furrow on all fours.
Abel lies still, earth in his mouth: over him at evening the lion’s mane dangling.
Over Abel’s head the lion roars for marrow and meat. Sweating Cain snores and grinds his teeth.
The lion bides his time till Cain’s grunts wane and stars gleam on the pot’s rim.
He sinks into Abel’s limbs, his hatred foams. Abel with his mouth down keeps kissing the ground.
Cain rouses and yawns— The lion runs. Cain wants his brother’s love again: sparse are his remains.
A head. A foot. Bits of rib. Cain howls into his pot. The head in the evening light smiles— face up. H. Leivick Tr. Cynthia Ozick A Treasury of Yiddish Poetry, Eds. Irving Howe and Eliezer Greenberg, 1969
Kayin un Hevl
Hevl ligt oyfn feld dermordet, ץun Nayin zitst iber a top un est er shpart in top arayn tif zayn morde, vi a ber dem shnuk in a binennest.
s’iz halber tog. di zun—tseflakert, di erd—fartriknt, shteynik vist; a kleyn shtik feld nor vos tseakert, es vart oyfn zeyer—vart umzist.
er frest zikh on, der merdersher bruder, un git zikh a vorf mitn ponem aroyf, er shnorkhet ayn, un in shnorkh-geruder tsevakst zikh nokh mer zayn shtolener guf.
vi ongenodlte tseflokhtene derner ale zayne finger farvarfn zikh krum, un iber zayn shtern roythorike herner zayne beyde shleyfn dreyen arum.
es kumen khayes un shleng im tsukopn un blaybn geleymt, gepleft fun shrek, vos s’varft oyf zey on dos hilkhike khropen, zey dreyen zikh um un krikhn avek.
zey krikhn avek tsum bruder tsum tsveytn, vayl yener ligt shtil, on mindstn rir, mitn ponem arop tsvishn glibes fun beytn, an umgevorfener oyf ale fir.
Hevl ligt shtil mitn moyl arunter, vi eyner vos kusht fun der erd dem shtoyb; un ven ovnt kumt un di zun geyt unter— tsevigt zikh iber im di grive fun leyb.
der leyb tsebrumt zikh iber Hevls tsukopn, er vil shoyn arayn in Hevls gebeyn— ven Kayin, fargosn mit shveysike tropn, git vider a khrop un a krits mit di tseyn.
der leyb vart iber, biz s’vert tsetrogn iber ale roymen Kayins khrop. biz shtern heybn on mit likht tsu shlogn iber di randn fun leydikn top.
der leybt zingt arayn in Hevls glider mit shoymikn has tsu toyter royb,— un Hevl—er ligt zikh mitn moyl in nider un kusht on oyfher fun der erd dem shtoyb.
fun shlof khapt zikh oyf der bruder, der Kayin, er git a genets—antloyft der leyb; der Kayin vil brudershaft vider banayen— iz ober fun Hevlen farblibn nor droyb.
a kop. a fus. tsebreklte ripn. der Kayin voyet in top arayn; un Hevls kop—itst aroyf mit di lipn— ligt shtil un shmeykhlt in ovntshayn. h. leyvik, ale verk fun h. leyvik, ershter band: lider un poemes 1914- 1940, 1940
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, Shlof, mayn tayerer, in ru; Voyl iz dem vos hot a mamen Un a vigele dertsu.
Altsding ken men nokh gefinen, Altsding krigt men dokh far gelt; Nor a mame – zi iz eyne, Mernisht eyne oyf der velt.
Shlof mayn tayerer, mayn liber, Makh di oygn tsu un ru. Gut iz dem vos hot a mamen Un a vigele dertsu.
Dos iz dokh a gots matone, Vemen es iz nor bashert. Vey iz dem, vos hot keyn mame Oyf der groyser vister erd.
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, Vi der tsar zol zayn nisht groys, Tomid ken men im farvign In der mames shtiln shoys.
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, Vi di zind zol zayn nisht shver, Opvashn vet tomid kenen Zi – der mames reyne trer.
Shlof, mayn tayerer, mayn liber, Makh di oygn tsu un ru!… Voyl iz dem vos hot a mamen Un a vigele dertsu.
Dear Friends, My mother’s second yortsayt just passed. This is my last post (although I reserve the right to post again should I be so inspired). For this last week I have chosen two poems that have great personal meaning for me. The first “Only a Mother” was sung in the Yiddish schools of North America which both my mother and I attended as children. We would often quote it, especially the line, “But a mother – she is one, / There is only one in the world.“ Although I don’t think it’s the greatest poem in the world it is both moving and true and I read it at my mother’s funeral. I have posted two sung renditions up above.
The second poem, “I Will Take with Me” by Rokhl Korn, is not about mothers per se but it is about dying and living and was read at my mother’s unveiling. It makes me think of the beautify and fragility of life that we feel so strongly when someone dies.
Thank you for sharing these poems with me, for your reading, for your comments, and for your support. Sheva Zucker
David Eynhorn (1886-1973) was born in Karelitch, then Russia, into an aristocratic family. He received a religious Jewish education in kheyder and then in a Vilna yeshivah. At the age of 13 he began writing Hebrew poems but he soon became close to the Bund and began writing poems in YIddish. In 1909 his first collection of poems Shtile Gezangen (Quiet Chants) was published in Vilna; an expanded edition came out in Warsaw in 1910. His poems were well received by both the public and the critics. Because of their intimate lyricism, their national romantic mood, their wavering between hope and sadness, and their hovering between the past and the undetermined future the critics Sh. Niger and Bal-Makhshoves designated Eynhorn’s writing a turning point in modern Yiddish poetry. In 1912 Eynhorn was arrested for his revolutionary ties and after a half year in a prison in Vilna he was forced to leave Russia. He settled first in France and then in Switzerland. At the end of World War I he settled in Warsaw and continued even more intensely to devote himself to Bundist publications such as Lebns-fragn (Life issues), Arbeter-luekh (Worker’s Calendar), Undzer Grus (Our Greeting), etc. In 1920 he settled in Berlin and joined the editorial staff of the Forverts, NY. Throughout this time he also worked on translating parts of the Bible which were published in Vayter-bukh (Further-Book) and Der Onheyb (The Beginning), 1922. He became the editor of the latter and there he also published his translation of Elsa Lasker-Schuler’s Der Vunder-rov fun Bartselona (The Wonder Rabbi of Barcelona). After that he lived in Paris where until the war he edited the Bundist Paris daily newspaper Undzer Shtime (Our Voice).When the Nazis neared Paris in 1940 he fled and came to New York where he lived until his death. His writings which appeared in bookform (which were only a small portion of his oeuvre) are: Shtile Yugnt (Quiet Youth), Warsaw, 1920, Gezamlte Lider (Collected Poems), Berlin, 1925, Violet (Violet), Paris, 1930, Fun Berlin biz San-Francisco (From Berlin to San Francisco), Warsaw, 1930, Av Harakhamim (Father of Compassion), New York, 1943, Gezamlte Lider 1904-1941 (Collected Poems), New York, 1952. He also wrote many children’s stories. Those that were published can be found in A Mames Trern (A Mother’s Tears), A Mayse fun Zibn Shtume Feygelekh (A Story of Severn Mute Little Birds), Vilna, 1917, Korn-Shvesterlekh (Rye Sisters), Kiev, 1917, etc.
ONLY A MOTHER
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, Sleep peacefully, my child, Happy is she who has a mother And a cradle too.
Everything can still be found, For money everything can still be gotten; But a mother – she is one, There is only one in the world.
Sleep, my dear one, my beloved, Close your eyes and rest. Fortunate is he who has a mother And a cradle too.
This is, after all, a gift from God, For those to whom it is destined. Woe to the child who has no mother On this vast and desolate earth.
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, No matter how great the sorrow, It can always be rocked away In mother’s tranquil lap.
Ay-li, lyu-li, ay-li, lyu-li, No matter how heavy the sin, It can always be washed away By mother’s pure tear.
Sleep, my dear one, my beloved, Close your eyes and rest!… Happy are those who have a mother And a cradle too. Tr. Sheva Zucker
רחל (האַרינג) קאָרן (1898־1982) איז געבױרן געװאָרן לעבן דאָרף פּאָדליסקי, מיזרח־גאַליציע אױף אַ גוט. איר ליבע און קענטעניש פֿון דער נאַטור װערט קלאָר אָפּגעשפּיגלט סײַ אין איר פּאָעזיע סײַ אין איר פּראָזע. איר דערציִונג איז געװען אױף פּױליש און אָנגעהױבן שרײַבן האָט זי יונגערהײט אױף פּױליש. װען די ערשטע װעלט־מלחמה איז אויסגעבראָכן איז זי מיט דער משפּחה פֿאַרװאָגלט געװאָרן קײן װין. אין 1918 זײַנען זײ צוריק קײן פּױלן און געלעבט אין פּרעמיסלע ביז 1941. קאָרן האָט דעבוטירט אױף פּױליש אין 1918 אָבער צוליב די רדיפֿות אױף ייִדן אין פּױלן נאָך דער מלחמה איז זי אַװעק פֿון פּױליש און האָט באַשלאָסן צו שרײַבן אױף ייִדיש כאָטש זי האָט זיך געדאַרפֿט לערנען רעדן, לײענען און שרײַבן די שפּראַך. איר מאַן, הערש קאָרן, מיט װעמען זי האָט חתונה געהאַט אין 1920, האָט זי אױסגעלערנט. איר ערשט ייִדיש ליד איז אַרױס אין לעמבערגער טאַגעבלאַט אין 1919.
Rokhl (Haring) Korn 1898-1982) was born near Podliski, East Galicia on a farming estate. Her love and knowledge of nature is reflected both in her poetry and prose. She was educated in Polish and started writing poetry at an early age in Polish. At the start of the First World War, she and her family fled to Vienna, then returned to Poland in 1918 and lived in Przemysl until 1941. Korn’s first publications were in Polish in 1918 but pogroms against the Jews of Poland after the war led her to write in Yiddish, though she had to be taught to speak, read and write the language by her husband Hersh Korn whom she married in 1920. Her first Yiddish poem appeared in the Lemberger Tageblatt in 1919.
In 1941 Korn fled to Uzbekistan and then to Moscow, where she remained until the end of the war. Her husband, her mother, her brothers and their families all perished in the Holocaust. She returned to Poland in 1946 and in 1948 immigrated to Montreal, Canada where she lived and remained creative until her death. She was a major figure in Yiddish literature and in 1974 she won the prestigious Manger Prize.
Korn was extremely prolific. Her works include: Dorf, lider (Village, poems). Vilna: 1928; Erd, dertseylungen (Land, stories).Warsaw: 1936; Royter mon, lider (Red Poppies, poems). Warsaw: 1937; Heym un heymlozikayt, lider (Home and Homelessness, poems). Buenos Aires: 1948; Bashertkayt, lider 1928–48 (Fate, poems 1928–48). Montreal: 1949; Nayn dertseylungen (Nine Stories). Montreal: 1957; Fun yener zayt lid (On the Other Side of the Poem). Tel Aviv: 1962; Di gnod fun vort (The Grace of the Word) Tel Aviv: 1968; Af der sharf fun a rege (The Cutting Edge of the Moment). Tel Aviv: 1972; Farbitene vor, lider (Altered Reality, poems). Tel Aviv: 1977. The wonderful bilingual edition Paper Roses: Selected Poems of Rokhl Korn, A Bilingual Edition, ed. and trans. Seymour Levitan. Toronto: 1985 offers a fine selection of her work in English translation.
Kh’vel mitnemen mit zikh di lonkes grine Un fun mayn tatns sod dem reyekh fun vaynshltsvit, Di shmole stezhke tsvishn tvue-lanes, Vos gedenkt nokh mayne kinderishe trit.
Kh’vel mitnemen di pukhik vayse khmares S’zol veykher zayn dem kop avektsuleygn Un mayn mames midn, oysgetsertn shmeykhl Er zol zayn tsukopns fun dem groysn shvaygn.
Kh’vel mitnemen mit zikh dem otem funem vort In zayn loyterstn troyer un shtilstn farkler – Kh’vel mitnemen mit zikh mayn ershte libe Un mayn letste trer.
I WILL TAKE WITH ME
I will take with me the green meadows And from my father’s orchard, the scent of cherry blossoms, The narrow path between the fields of wheat, That still remembers my childish footstep.
I will take the fluffy white clouds To rest my head more softly And my mother’s pinched and weary smile To lay at the head of the great silence.
I will take with me the breath of the word In its purest grief and most quiet reflection – I will take with me my first love And my last tear. Tr. Sheva Zucker
צו װאָס פֿרעגן? זאַכן לעבן װעדליק זײער נאַטור ― װאַסער דורך איר פֿלוס, און דורך זײַן האַרטקײט ― אַ שטײן ― כ’װיל בלױז אױסגעפֿינען די פֿונקציע פֿון קרבנות און צי די װעלט קען זיך אָן זײ באַגײן. דער פֿינפֿטער זמן
Artwork from A Tlie unter di shtern/Gallows under the stars
BAY MAYN VIGL
Bay mayn vigl “Mayn zun, s’iz tsayt zikh uftsukhapn”, Hot mayn tate gezogt Ober di mame hot oysgemurmlt: ,,Loz im, nokh a rege, vayter kholemen”. Di velt vet nit antloyfn”.
Ven ikh hob zikh in mitn nakht fun bet ufgerisn Un tsum fentster tsugelofn, Kh’hob derzen az mayn shtibl Vert fun tseshoymte khvalyes getrogn Un s’vet bald untergeyn.
Un kh’bin durkhn fentster aroysgeshprungen Un in a shvimendikn boym zikh ongekhapt, Un mayn mames verter zaynen far mir ufgegangen, ,,Loz im, nokh a rege, kholemen”. Un kh’bin zikher geven az kh’vel Tsu a gutn breg dershvimen. Der finfter zman
BAY NAKHT
Bay nakht ver ikh Mit tate-mame Fun daytshishe soldatn Tsum umkum getribn. Bay tog gefin ikh op mayn veg Tsurik aheym.
Kh’freg mer nit mit vos Hot mayn tate, a farklerter geyer, A lerer fun matematik un fizik, Un mayn fargleybte mame, Vos hot zikh on a gast Tsum tish zetsn nit gekent – Di germanishe historye farshemt.
Tsu vos fregn? Zakhn lebn vedlik zeyer natur – Vaser durkh ir flus, Un durkh zayn hartkeyt – a shteyn – Kh’vil bloyz oysgefinen Di funktsye fun korbones Un tsi di velt Ken zikh on zey bageyn. Der finfter zman
Self-portrait
Yonia Fain (1914-2013) was one of those unique figures whose life story encapsulates a piece of Jewish history. Born in 1914 in Kamentsk-Podolsk, he left it in 1924 at age 10 when his father, a Menshevik, took the family first to Warsaw and then to Vilna to escape war and political unrest. It was here, in the secular Yiddish school where his father taught mathematics, that Yonia learned Yiddish. From his youth Fain has expressed himself both as an artist and a writer. Both his art and writing which focus on the anguish and injustice of the 20th century have been shaped by his deep personal and political commitments. As a young man living in Warsaw, he worked for the Jewish Labor Bund as it sought to build a resistance against the Germans and the fascist Poles. During the war Fain sought refuge in Kobe, Japan, and then in Shanghai, China for six years. There he painted and wrote poetry. His first volume A tlie unter di shtern (A gallows under the stars) came out shortly after he emigrated to Mexico in 1947. In Mexico he taught Yiddish literature and attracted the attention of the artist Diego Rivera, who arranged an exhibit of his paintings at the prestigious Palacio de Bellas Artes. Fain’s mural dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust still hangs in the Pantheon Israelita in the Ashkenazic cemetery in Mexico City. In 1953 Fain married his wife Helen, an American journalist, and the couple moved to New York where he became a professor of art at Hofstra University. He also achieved great prominence as a Yiddish writer, publishing two volumes of poetry: Gute orkhim (Good guests; 1983) and Der finfter zman (The Fifth season; 2008), and a collection of short stories, Nyu-yorker adresn (New York Addresses, 1995). He has published widely, both poetry and prose, in major Yiddish journals such as Di goldene keyt, Undzer tsayt and Di tsukunft which he edited for many years.In 1991 he won Israel’s coveted Manger Prize for Yiddish Literature. Thus far, to my knowledge, only one of Fain’s stories, “The Hotel”, has appeared in English translation. It was translated by myself and published in the Pakn Treger, the magazine of the National Yiddish Book Center, Fall 2000. A film Yoni Fain: With Pen and Paintbrush in Yiddish with English subtitles, directed by Josh Waletzky, will be released by the League for Yiddish in 2014.
Illustration to “The Hotel” by Y.F.
AT MY CRADLE
My son, it’s time to wake up,” My father said But my mother murmured: “Let him, for another moment, keep dreaming, The world will not run away.”
When in the middle of the night I awoke from my bed with a start And ran to the window, I saw my house Being carried by frothy waves Soon to disappear.
And I jumped out of the window, And grabbed onto a floating tree, And my mother’s words rose up before me, “Let him, for another moment, keep dreaming.” And I was certain that I would Make it to a safe shore. Tr. Sheva Zucker
AT NIGHT
At night I find myself With my father and mother Driven to extermination By German soldiers. By day, I find my way Back home.
I no longer ask how My father, a pensive walker, A teacher of mathematics and physics, And my trusting mother Who could never sit down at the table Without a guest – Had been an embarrassment to Germanic history.
But why ask? Things live according to their nature – Water through its flow, And through its hardness – a stone – All I want to find out is The function of victims And whether the world Can not manage without them. Tr. Sheva Zucker
I Es veln di froyen fun undzer mishpokhe bay nakht in khaloymes mir kumen un zogn: Mir hobn in tsnies a loytere blut iber doyres getrogn, Tsu dir es gebrakht vi a vayn a gehitn in koyshere kelers Fun undzere hertser. Un eyne vet zogn: Ikh bin an agune geblibn ven s’zenen di bakn Tsvey roytlekhe epl af boym nokh geshtanen, Un kh’hob mayne tseyner di vayse tsekritst in di eynzame nekht fun dervartung. Un ikh vel di bobes antkegngeyn zogn: Vi herbstike vintn yogn nokh mir zikh Nigunim farvelkte fun ayere lebns. Un ir kumt mir antkegn, Vu di gas iz nor tunkl, Un vu s’ligt nor a shotn: Un tsu vos ot dos blut on a tume S’zol zayn mayn gevisn, vi a zaydener fodem Af mayn moyekh farbundn, Un mayn lebn an oysgeflikt blat fun a seyfer Un di shure di ershte farrisn?
II
Tsu dem vel ikh kumen, Ver s’hot der ershter mir mayn froyenfreyd gebrakht Un zogn: man, Kh’hob nokh eynem mayn shtiln blik fartroyt Un in a nakht lem im mayn kop geleygt, Ersht hob ikh mayn tsar, Vi binen ongeshtokhene arum mayn harts gebrakht Un hob keyn honik nit oyf lindern mayn vund. Un s’vet der man mikh nemen farn tsop, Vel ikh aniderbrekhn zikh oyf beyde fis Un blaybn oyfn shvel vi di farshteynerung fun Sdom, Ikh vel di hent aroyfheybn tsum kop, Vi s’flegt mayn mame baym bentshn likht, Nor s’veln mayne finger shteyn vi tsen getseylte zind.
III
A mol iz a shteynerner trep azoy zis vi a kishn, Az kh’leyg zikh anider lengoys oyf zayn kaltkayt, Ven kh’kon nisht dertrogn tsum shtok tsu dem dritn, Mayn kop mit di dine fartriknte lipn. Kh’bin demolt a shtile farkhaleshte meydl, Vos shart zikh on dr’erd mit fargliverte glider, Un blaybt ergets lign Aleyn ba der nakht oyf di shteynerne shtign. 1924
IV
Dem shpigl muz ikh opkern, Es zol mayn ponem itst in shtiler nakht Af mir nit kukn mit shtayfe lipn: Ikh vel shoyn nit barekhenen vos kh’hob biz itster nit barekhnt. Shokl ikh dem kop antkegn vant, Vi tsu a lebedikn mentshn vos badoyert, Vi tsu an altn gutn-fraynd. In shtilkayt fun der nakht iz gants egal Tsi kh’bin gerekht tsi umgerekht, Es zaynen mayne bremen shver un nokh nit oysgelodn, Un s’tsien zikh di glider mayne tsu der erd, Af shtumer onfartroyung tsu ir uraltn gevisn.
V
Lang un mild zaynen di tomuz-ov|ike baginens, Ven kh’halt mayn kop dem vakhn Oyf a broyner opgebrenter hant: Man, Ikh hob len\m zikh far dir an ort an opgehitn, Far mir hob ikh nit opgehit keyn ru un ort. Durkh tsugemakhte oygn faln langzamer un varemer di trern, Un shtilkayt leygt zikh oys, Vi hezlekh drimlendike arum bet, Ot vet der tog an ershtn ruf ton Un ale veln zikh tseloyfn Un ikh vel oyfshteyn tsu a shvern langn veg. 1926
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.
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 er’erd aroys.
VIII
In nekht ven ikh bin vakh, Un s’kumen tsu mir teg mayne fargangene Zikh far di oygn shteln, Kumt far mir mayn mames lebn. Un ire oysgedarte hent In tsniesdike arbl fun nakhthemd ayngehilt Vi a gotsforkhtike shrift in vayse gvilim Un s’beyzern zikh verter fun Hamapl, Vi fayerdike koyln geloshn fun ir shtil gebet Un oysgetriknt ir dos moyl Vi a fardarte floym. Un s’kumen ire trern vi a karger-eyntsik-tropndiker regn, Un ersht, az kh’bin aleyn a froy Un gey in broynem zayd gekleydt Mit bloyzn kop Un naket haldz, Un s’hot der umglik fun mayn eygn lebn mikh deryogt Un vi a kro, Af a kleyn hindele arufgefaln, Iz oft baloykhtn hel mayn tsimer in di nekht, Un kh’halt di hent iber mayn kop farvorfn Un s’zogn mayne lipn a shtiln eynfakhn Gebet tsu Got Un s’kumen trern, vi a karger-eyntsik-tropndiker regn. Kheshvndike nekht (Nights of the month of Heshvan). Vilna, 1927
National Library of Israel, Schwadron collection
Kadya Molodowsky (1894-1975) was born in Bereze Kartuskaya, White Russia in 1894. Although a girl, she studied Khumesh (Pentateuch) with her father, a melamed, a teacher, and later both Gemore and Russian with private tutors. In the 1920’s she settled in Warsaw and worked by day as a teacher in a socialist Yiddishist Tsisho school, and in the evenings in a Hebraist community school. Herself a fervent Zionist, she married a Communist, the historian and literary critic Simkhe Lev, and they lived, from 1935 on, for the most part, in America, with a three year interval in Israel. The couple had no children. Generally considered the foremost female writer in modern Yiddish literature, and a first-rate and prolific poet by any standard, she published eight volumes of poetry, a collection of short stories, several novels, and also edited a literary journal Svive in New York. Molodowsky’s work reveals a woman striving to reconcile the opposing forces of religion and modernity, a realist and a skeptic who longed for miracles, a philosophic thinker who tempered deepest tragedy with irony and humor, and a spiritual seeker who despaired in God and humanity. Paper Bridges (1999), translated and edited by Kathryn Hellerstein, offers a comprehensive selection of her best poetic work in English and was voted one of the 100 best Jewish books by a panel at the National Jewish Book Center.
Previously, in Week 8, I posted Songs ! and VIII. Now I am posting the whole poem so that readers can appreciate this wonderful piece of literature. Songs VI and VII related directly to mothers.
Women-Poems
The women of our family will come to me in dreams at night and say: Modestly we carried a pure blood across generations, Bringing it to you like well-guarded wine from the kosher Cellars of our hearts. And one woman will say: I am an abandoned wife, left when my cheeks Were two ruddy apples still fixed on the tree, And I clenched my white teeth throughout lonely nights of waiting. And I will go meet these grandmothers, saying: Like winds of the autumn, your lives’ Withered melodies chase after me. And you come to meet me Only where streets are in darkness, And where only shadows lie: And why should this blood without blemish Be my conscience, like a silken thread Bound upon my brain, And my life a page plucked from a holy book, The first line torn.
II I will come to the one Who first brought me woman’s delight, And say, Husband, I trusted someone else with my quiet gave, And one night laid my head down near him. Now I bring my sorrow Like bees stinging around my hear, And have no honey to soothe the hurt. And when my husband takes me by the braid, I will drop to my knees And remain on the doorsill like the petrifcation of Sodom. I will raise my hands to my head As my mother used to, blessing the candles, But my fingers still stand up like ten numbered sins.
III A stone is sometimes as sweet as a pillow, If I stretch my whole body the length of its coldness, When all the way up to the third floor, I cannot Carry my head with its lips thin and arid. I am, then, a swooning girl, fainting and silent, Who, shuffling across ground on limbs numb and stiffened, Stops somewhere and lies down In the night on these stone stairs, alone. 1924
IV I must turn the mirror aside, So that now in the still night, my face Does not look at me with prim lips: I’m not going to solve what I haven’t yet solved. I nod my head to the wall, As if to a living person who feels sorry, As if to an old, good friend. In the still of the night, it is all the same Whether I am right or wrong. My brows are heavy and still not unburdened, And my limbs gravitate to the earth In mute trust of her primordial conscience.
V Long and mild are the dawns of Tammuz and Av, When I hold my wakeful head On a brown, sunburned hand: Husband, I have a place for you near me, a cherished place, But I have not kept any peace of place for myself. Through closed eyes, my tears fall slow and warm, And stillness spreads, Like drowsy hares around my bed. Soon the first cry of day will sound, And they will scatter, And I will rise to a long, hard way. 1926
VI For poor brides who were servant girls, Mother Sarah draws forth form dim barrels Pitchers of sparkling wine. To those so destined, Mother Sarah Carries a full pitcher with both hands. And for those so destined, Mother Sarah’s Tears fall into the tiny goblet. And for streetwalkers Dreaming of white wedding shoes, Mother Sarah 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.
VII 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.
VIII
Nights when I’m awake And one by one my past days come To place themselves before my eyes, My mother’s life come to me. And her emaciated hands Wrapped in modest nightgown sleeves Are like a God-fearing script on white parchment And the words of Hamapil are angry Like fiery coals quenched by her quiet plea, And they shrivel her mouth Like a withered plum. And her tears come drop by drop like a stingy drizzle.
And now that I myself am a woman, And walk, clad in brown silk With my head bare And my throat naked, And now that my own life’s misfortune has hunted me down Like a crow falling upon a chick, Often my room is lit up all night, And I hold my hands, reproaches, over my head, And my lips recite a quiet, simple Plea to God. And tears come drop by drop like a stingy drizzle. 1925 Tr. Kathryn Hellerstein, Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky, Translated, introduced and edited by Kathryn Hellerstein, Wayne State University Press, 1999
For a biography of Chava Rosenfarb click here.
