Yiddish is Alive

Back in Encinitas for 2 weeks, I’m farm-watching and pet-sitting in exchange for free rent. Since the sun didn’t come out today, I decided to get historical insight by attending the monthly Yiddish-speaking meeting at Dad’s retirement village. This is a social club where more than 50 people used to belong; now it’s down to 5 participants. Those who can converse in their childhood language are dwindling. Klezmer, the Yiddish-inspired loopy music that thrived in Eastern Europe for centuries and was almost decimated by the Holocaust, is being revived by survivors’ grandchildren. Yiddish talk, however, is not enjoying the same attention other than a few words mainstreamed by Jewish comedians (e.g., putz, schlemiel, kvetch).

I learned more than I expected. Applying the theme of Father’s Day, everyone described their parents in Yiddish and English. “My father was a tailor.” My father was a butcher.” “My father was a businessman and a rabbi’s son.” “My father was a watch maker.” “My father was an author.” Then each person added a postscript: “He died because the Nazis killed him.” “He died young in a Polish ghetto.” “He liked to sing but only lived to be 37.” “He was funny and philosophical.” They turned to me next. I said “My father is about to turn 94 and is enjoying his new life. He was the first person in his family to attend college. His father was a truck driver in Brooklyn.” They all nodded.

With their pin-curled hair and compression socks, these elders deserve my respect. I feel very fortunate to have been raised with freedom and privilege. Yiddish is a darkly comic language. “Abi gezunt dos leben ken men zikh ale mol nemen.“ Roughly translated this means “Stay healthy, because you can kill yourself later.” Oy gevalt.