Teacher, Lecturer and Yiddishist

Moishe Melnik

Speaking about Our Yiddish Folk Treasury

Thursday, January 13,  2011 at 7:30 p.m.

In the David Familian Chapel at Adat Ari El

Phone: (818) 766-9426

Members, and those under 21: Free

Guests: $5.00

FOR MORE INFORMATION PLEASE CALL:

Izzy Levy (818) 892-6092 or

Sally Greenberg (818) 895-0175

The Vortsman, meaning "man of his word," brings you the story of a different Yiddish word or phrase each month.

Written by Hershl Hartman, long-time Yiddishkayt Board Member and Education Director at the Sholem Community

Two recent inquiries, one day apart, dictate this month's topic: di ongeveytikte frage-the tortuous, or torturous, matter-of daytshmerizmen: Germanisms in Yiddish.

We'll take the queries themselves first, then venture gingerly into linguistic history.

Susan, a reader whose email address indicates a worthy position in New York State government (di hoykhe fenster-see below), handed off to the Vortsman an inquiry she had received from a relative, Lorraine:

"...we have a picture of grandma that says in English 'A Happy New Year" and then in Yiddish Gluck und SEGEN zum Neuen Yahr.' What does SEGEN mean...?"

The short answer is that "segen" is a purely German word that was never adopted or adapted into Yiddish, meaning "blessing" or "benediction." Yiddish uses brokhe (from Hebrew) for the former and bentshn (from Italian!!) for the latter.

The entire phrase in grandma's picture is barely Yiddish. It's daytshmerish and attempts to convey "luck and blessings for the New Year."

A day later, Richard asked about a phrase (a shriek, he says) that often emerged from his Viennese, non-Yiddish speaking mother when her brood of five proved less than manageable: "Himmel, donner vetter, nach einmal!" (Heavens, stormy-weather, once again!)

Richard wondered whether this might be a Yiddishism. The short answer: no way! An equivalent Yiddish imprecation would start with got in himl (god in heaven) and end with nokhamol or videramol (once again).

Okay, now for the soundbite version of the origins of daytshmerizmen:

In every part of the Diaspora, Jewish communities created languages for daily use (later, for literature) based upon or related to the languages of the surrounding cultures, incorporating Hebrew/Aramaic roots and written in Hebrew letters. Thus, Jews in Spain developed Ladino; in Arabic-speaking North Africa, Judeo-Arav; in Eurasian Georgia, Farsi-Tat, based on ancient Persian, etc.

In Western Europe, most scholars agree, a Jewish language-Jüdisch or Yiddish-developed, adapted from Middle-High German, at around the same time as English was developing from similar roots. Yiddish and English are cousins. Neither one can be accurately described as "versions" of German, since the one is heavily influenced by Hebrew/Aramaic/Slavic and the other by Anglo-Saxon and Latin via French.

For example, the German "wir" became mir in Yiddish and "we" in English.

However, the heaviest influence of daytshmerish came relatively recently, with the Enlightenment (haskole) and the rise of secular Yiddish journalism and socio-political treatises. Since German figured so importantly in modern sciences, the Enlighteners (maskilim) and their successors in the Socialist and Zionist movements often substituted "sophisticated" Germanisms for good Yiddish words. One telling example: the world's largest-circulation Yiddish newspaper was named (and remains) forverts instead of foroys; the former is daytshmerish and the latter, Yiddish. (Similarly, I guess, a "sophisticated" English speaker might refer to Weltantschauung rather than world-view.)

There's one other aspect of daytshmerizm that continues to plague Yiddish: the spelling of Yiddish words in English letters, using Germanic standards. Thus, German for a male deer (stag) is Hirsch; in Yiddish, hirsh. However, the diminutive in Yiddish is totally different: hershl. That doesn't keep folks who should know better from spelling it as though it were a German word: "Herschel." Oy.

Oh-about di hoykhe fenster, literally, the high windows. While each word has a Germanic equivalent, the phrase itself is pure Yiddish, meaning "the seat of power...higher authority." All the foregoing, of course, emanates from those windows...