מענדעלע

I have a Compact Disc, The Yiddish Dream, A Heritage of Jewish Song. The number of the disc is VCD-715/716, and is put out by Vanguard Records. Selection #16, is listed as Anniversary Waltz on the disc, and as Chasseneh Valtz on the included brochure. It is sung by Jan Pierce, in Yiddish. (The words are by Chaim Tauber).

I regret that I am not as fluent in understanding as Jan Pierce is in singing, and the words are not included in the brochure.

Als kind hub ich gegangen in, vus yetst hayst di borscht circuit, uber in yenem tsayt (1924-1925) is geven an intelectuale medine. Maud's Summer Ray, in Callicoon Center hut di hotel zach geruft, un mayn tate flegt forlayenen mayses fun Sholom Aleichem un andere Dacht sich az ich gedenk oychet a shreiber, Leon Kobrin.

Jacob Goldberg

In answer to Michael Steinlauf's query (7.041) how to translate into English the Yiddish expression "az me lebt, derlebt men," Michael Krantz made several general suggestions (7.047,1), all of which are based on the premise that bad, inappropriate behavior will ultimately bring forth an appropriate consequence.

That is not necessarily the only, or even the main meaning of the expression.

"Az me lebt, delebt men" conveys a notion of hope that in the final accounting _yoysher_ [justice] will preval and that things will yet turn around for the better. While this, of course, includes the idea of a consequence for past bad behavior, it also carries a factor of consolation and hope.

If an adolescent, for example, acted in a rebellious and spiteful way, to the chagrin and exasperation of his parents, and, years later, suddenly turned around mending his ways, it would be appropriate to say "az me lebt, derlebt men."

The brevity of the Yiddish expression Is charming. Since there is no equivalent verb in English for "derlebn" -- the prefix /der-/ connotes the passage of _future_ time -- a translation into English will consequently be longer, and sound somewhat clumsy.

My suggestion: "Let's live long enough, and we will surely see the wished for idea, or thing, happen, and such-and-such occurrence will certainly take place."

Zellig Bach

Lily Elyon writes how much she was impressed with "Chana Mlotek" ! at the Yiddish concert in Jerusalem. I am sorry to say that Chana Mlotek did not sing in Jerusalem nor does she sing anywhere and if she did sing, such praise would definitely not be forthcoming. The wonderful singer Lily Elyon heard is Adrienne Cooper Gordon. Adrienne's Jewish name is also Chana and she is sometimes called Chana Gordon; "Chana Gordon" is Chana Mlotek's maiden name. Is that clear? Vi borsht? Is that from whence the misunderstanding arose? Anyway, I'm honored to have been mistaken for the beautiful singer and interpreter Adrienne Cooper.

Chana Eleanor Gordon Mlotek

Rivke Friedman (7.047,2) enumerates the many _tsertl nemen_ [endearing names] in English that one can readily apply to one's "significant other," and seems to lament the paucity of such terms in Yiddish.

She refers to the word "tsutsek" that she encountered in Singer's book with the meaning of endearment.

"Tsutsik," with an /i/ in the final syllable, literally means a little yapping puppy. This word, as well as some other words normally considered pejorative, for example _mazik_ [mischievous child], or _mamzer [bastard], may be turned into endearments depending on the context, tone, and way it is spoken.

But Yiddish is in no way lacking in _tsertl nemen_, to the very contrary -it is a language of heart and affection.

As I pointed out on another occasion in a post in _Mendele_ about diminutive names, Yiddish given (first) names lend themselves beautifully to expressions of closeness, warmth, endearment, and love.

Take the Hebrew-Yiddish name Yoysef, for instance. As a small child he is called Yoske, Yosele, Yosenyu, Yosenyununu, Tatele, Zeydele (the latter two are expressions of hope that he will grow up to be a father and grandfather), and so on.

Another example: the name "Ber." By means of a variety of suffixes an entire gamut of nuances can be achieved: Berl, Berele, Berke. Berkele, Bertshik, Bertshinke, Berish, Berishl, etc. (The examples of the Ber diminutives with their various suffixes are cited from Max Weinreich, _Yivo Bleter_, Vol. III, p. 358., 1979.)

Since English does not have this richness of suffixes, it must resort to the use of appropriate adjectives, such as 'little,' 'sweet,' and so on.

So if your "significant other" bears an Anglo-Saxon monicker, let say "Jeffrey," nothing much can be done with it as a form of endearment, unless it is changed to Yosl, or some other lovely name in Yiddish...

Zellig Bach

For a wild guess: Efsher ken es zayn 'lekhene' ( little shoes with holes!)

Mendy Fliegler

In regard to Michael Steinlauf's query about an English equivalent for the Yiddish proverb/cliche "az me lebt, derlebt men" Ive told Michael that when people deal with a foreign language they tend to read more into idioms,proverbs, and cliches than is actually in them--since the dead image seems so fresh and novel to the non-native speaker.

"az me lebt, derlebt men" is fairly equivalent to the English cliches "live and learn" and "well, you live and you learn..." and in some contexts "what won't they think of [up] next!!!?" Or even: "Whoda thunk!?" in a smaller number of connections.

The tight-lipped and laconic German equivalent is: "Man lernt nie aus!"

Sermonizing German proverbs such as "Wie man sich bettet, so liegt man" are not equivalents of the Yiddish phrase, which usually expresses some degree of surprise at yet another new experience and an overall degree of wonder at the infinite resources of life.....

A major problem in dealing with foreign proverbs is that American English, unlike British English as well as Yiddish, German, etc., is very bristly about proverbs and idioms--and generally dismisses them as cliches/ this applies even to bland expressions like "hand in hand" as in: "The economic crisis came hand in hand with a change in the weather." Americans react badly to the moribund metaphor of hand-holding. Recently an editor actually challenged my use of the phrase "All in all"--calling it a cliche.

Yiddish, by contrast, revels in idioms, proverbs, commonplaces--they add zest, spice, and salsa to both the spoken and the written language, even when used by the pickiest stylists. Max Weinreich in his History used certain standard phrases such as "Di goldene keyt" {of Jewish tradition, etc.}. An equivalent American stereptype would be condemned as banal. A good exception is Bergelson's style: Bergelson tends to avoid cliches, idioms, proverbs, no matter how banal his characters may be: instead, he characterizes them with the use of leitmotif phrases that he invents and then runs into the ground to demonstrate the banality of the people he writes about.

These are just some of the difficulties in translating Yiddish into American English.

Joachim Neugroschel

My grandfather used to call me "Boychik" and "Boyala." He called my sister "Meidela," and sometimes called both of us "monkela."

A. Joseph Ross Boston, MA

Al Grand asked about M. Litvine, Paul Verlaine's Yiddish translator, and about other translations from Verlaine [7.047, 7.050]. A small selection of Verlaine's poems was translated by Simkhe Shvarts (I would love to find some information about him) and published in _Tsen lider fun Bodler un Verlen_, Tshernovits: Seminar far Yidishe literatur, 1936. There are some translations in Verlaine's biography in Yiddish: Malka Locker, _Pol Verlen_, Tel-Aviv: Farlag Y.L. Perets, 1976.

M. Litvine was born in 1903 in Lublin(?). In 1952 edited _Dos bukh fun Lublin: zikhroynes, gvies-eydes, un materyalen ibern lebn, kamf, un martirertum fun Lubliner Yidishn yishuv_ (with M. Lerman). In 1990 he delivered the eighth annual Avrom-Nokhem Stencl Lecture in Yiddish Studies in Oxford "Translations into and from Yiddish". His _Frantseyzishe poezye_ (Pariz: Unzer Kiyem, 1968, 462 p.) is the only large anthology of French poetry in Yiddish.

Iosif Vaisman

With regard to _leykene shikhlekh_ [Joachim Neugroschel, 7.050]: _laika_ is Russian for kid-skin, used for making fine gloves and shoes. Etymologically related to the homonymic breed of Eskimo dogs. Apparently poor animals served not only as a means of transportation.

Iosif Vaisman