"Dear
home, my heart leads me only to you,
Only you always taste sweet to me,
Beloved home, I long to gaze at you.
You are special to me, I never forget you,
Your clean and shining streets
Where I used to walk with my friend,
Yes, that's the way it was,
How good it was in my home..."
--excerpt from the song "Yas", words & music by M.
Kleter
As a second-generation Jewish-American growing up
in New York, I had relatively little exposure to
the Yiddish language. I heard Yiddish
spoken at my grandparents' apartment in Brooklyn (especially
when they didn't want me to know what they were
saying),
when they played the occasional recording of
Yiddish music on the Victorola (the first song I
ever learned was "Shein Vi Di Levone"), and perhaps
some Yiddish conversation in the shul. I have never taken a class in
Yiddish, though I do try to study it a bit
on my own from time to time.
For most of my life then, I have had no true Yiddish
speakers in my family. All I ever heard during
this time from
Yiddish and non-Yiddish speakers alike is how sad it
was that there were so few Yiddish speakers left,
that the language would eventually die out. Some
did take pride in the fact that they could speak a
few phrases in Yiddish or could understand a
little when it was spoken. Others would have a
sentimental connection to Yiddish, especially when they heard Yiddish songs, e.g. "My Yiddishe
Mame." Certainly, once their Yiddish-speaking
parents passed away and the number of Yiddish
speakers that they were exposed to diminished,
their knowledge of Yiddish diminished too. Even
in Eretz Israel, where there are still many Yiddish
speakers, the
preferred spoken language is Hebrew.
Yiddish was one of the few pan-European languages
spoken before the second World War. It imbued
nearly every aspect of Jewish life and culture.
For this reason alone, such a
loss of language and culture would seem like a shanda
(disgrace) to anyone with a deep appreciation
of
Jewish history, and that the history of the
wonderful world of Yiddish life is worth saving.
"My child,
precious one, you are going away,
Please be a good son to me.
My plea is filled with tears and fears,
Your mother loves you, your mother dotes on you.
You are going my only son
Across the far-off seas,
Arrive in your destination, safe and sound
And do not forget your mother,
May you leave in peace and return in peace
And write me every week
Fill your mother's heart with pleasure, my son..."
--excerpt from "Send a Letter to Mother"
("A Brivele der Mammen")
Yiddish is also the language that most Jews spoke
in the country of their birth, predominantly the
Ashkenazi. It is the
language that filled the many tearful letters written
between the homesick immigrant and the family
members they left behind. Many who had made the United
States their new home could neither read nor write
English, but they could probably write Yiddish and read the
daily Jewish Forverts (the Forward, the
paper written ostensibly in Yiddish) or one of the
other Yiddish-language newspapers. These
newspapers represented one of the few means by
which the immigrant could learn news of what
was happening around the world, especially in the
region of Europe from where they had come from. Like the
Yiddish theatre and cinema, reading a Yiddish newspaper
acted as a lifeline across the Atlantic Ocean, giving
the Yiddish soul some comfort and relief from
the daily grind.
And what of the great Yiddish writers, playwrights
and musical works? What shall become of their works
if the Yiddish language is forgotten? Surely
they should not be stored away in some archive
gathering dust, relegated to relative obscurity. It is said that
Yiddish theatre began in the fifth century when
Purim plays (shpiele) were performed. This
begat the Yiddish theatre that would eventually
develop and flourish in Eastern Europe. There it would thrive and give voice to
such beautiful and rich Jewish creativity and expression. Yiddish theatre
would eventually be exported to many countries
throughout the world such as the United States in
the late nineteenth century, England and Canada.
Live Yiddish theatre, at least until World War II, provided a
wonderful means for the Jewish immigrant to forget
about his or her troubles by attending plays
performed in their native tongue, or they might
have heard
music that reminded them of their
hometown, the families that they left behind, and
the
Jewish culture that they were so accustomed to. Like the Yiddish newspaper, the
Yiddish theatre was a way for Jews to stay connected to a
culture that was so much a part of their lives,
something of great value that nourished their Jewish
soul. Such a history of Jewish creativity and
thought is certainly worth fostering
and preserving.
One of the aims of the Museum of Family History is
to keep the Yiddish language and culture alive. How
wonderful it would be to remind in some small way
many of those who were born into Yiddish-speaking
families once again of the beauty of the Yiddish
language and culture. Perhaps though, it is even
more important to make newer generations aware of
what role Yiddish played in Jewish life. Making
people aware is perhaps all we can do as
individuals. In the absence of a multitude of Jewish
communities that speak Yiddish, without the hard
work of many who could talk about the Yiddish
language to their children and grandchildren or
speak publicly to Jewish groups about the importance
of preserving Yiddish culture, the forecasters of
the extinction of the Yiddish language may be right.
All we can do however is try, from the depth of our
Jewish souls, each in our own unique and heartfelt
way.
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