Yiddish Folk Songs

Noah Pryłucki

1910–1911

In this volume I have made a selection of religious and holiday songs.

Actually, they constitute a single group, since in reality it is hard to draw a sharp dividing line between the first group and the second. The religious songs are mostly sung during rest times, that is, on the Sabbath and holidays. The specifically holiday songs, with the exception of a small category of jolly, lighthearted Purim songs, likewise are infused with a clear religious tone.

What is particularly interesting about the aforementioned group is the fact that it represents the fruit of original Yiddish folk creation. The other categories are not as independent: we find in them many themes that we have taken over from other peoples.

In the Yiddish religious and holiday songs, the student of our folk psychology can find a great deal of important characteristic material.

You undoubtedly remember the prayer:

Ein ke-eloheinu, ein ka-adoneinu, ein ke-malkeinu, ein ke-moshieinu
Mi khe-eloheinu, mi kha-adoneinu, mi khe-malkeinu, mi khe-moshieinu?
Nodeh le-eloheinu, nodeh la-adoneinu, nodeh le-malkeinu, nodeh le-moshieinu . . .
There is none like our God, there is none like our Lord, there is none like our King, there is none like our Savior.
Who is like our God, who is like our Lord, who is like our King, who is like our Savior?
Let us thank our God, let us thank our Lord, let us thank our King, let us thank our Savior . . .

And so forth.

From this passionately selfless song of praise was fashioned a highly joyous and exalted folk song:

There is no God
Like our God:
Ein ke-eloheinu!
There is no King
Like our King:
Ein ka-adoneinu!

And so forth.

That is a splendid rebuttal of the widespread prejudice that the Jew’s prayer is always mechanical, that he never understands the words of the prayer that he simply rattles off, like a wound-up music box.

It is true that for more than one Jew, worship is no more than a habit, even a meaningless burden. But the truly pious Jew, the sincerely religious Jew, feels every word of the liturgy deeply; every letter is filled with bliss—“sweet as sugar”—and he absorbs it to its very depths, to its inaudible echo, to its hidden shadow.

In moments of great exaltation, the familiar expressions of the beloved prayer become too narrow. A need is felt to make them broader, so the Hebrew passages are translated into the living language, into the language of intimate life. The laconic Hebrew is given a new poetic form in the mouth of the people:

Yismakh Moyshe b’matnas khelkoy!
Yismakh Moyshe b’matnas khelkoy!
Un vos iz er geven?
Ki eved ne’emon koroto loy.
Moses rejoiced in the gift of his portion
And what was it?
That you called him a faithful servant.

And so forth

[The devout Jew] becomes intoxicated with God by means of one or another of these similar verses, those with a long chain of repetitive, monotonous rings.

Jewish religious sentiment is highly conscious, intense, and exalted. How else could it have brought forth hundreds of such lofty and boldly enthusiastic folk songs, clear as crystal, perfumed like Sabbath spices:

Who else is such a God
Like our God?
Mi ke’eloheinu?

That is mostly sung at Simḥat Torah.

And danced to.

And how it is danced to!

With the hands and with the feet, with the head, the eyes, and the lips. Every muscle moves, every vein pulses to the beat, absorbing the holy contents of the words, creating in the whole organism the spirit that unites a human being with the divinity.

When the rapture, the communion with God, is at its highest, the limits of one language become too narrow. For that reason, most of the macaronic folk songs, that is, those whose words are a mix of two languages, belong to the category of religious and holiday songs:

Lovely roses smell divinely
That means they’re Jacob’s children.
They were standing and observed
The miracles that saved us.

That is how the Jew sings [in Yiddish] at the Purim feast, and right away he repeats the same thing in Polish:

Beautiful roses—Jacob’s children
Their fragrance wafts from afar.
They all stood by and they all watched
As Haman died by hanging.

For the inspired singer, this unusual translation seems like something fresh, something with a brand-new flavor.

Some of these multilingual folk songs are permeated with the most delicate and elevated poetry.

I never cease enjoying, for example, the following ode, which I provide in its purely Yiddish form:

As I walked in the deep forest,
   In the deep forest,
I heard a little bird in the forest,
   A little bird in the forest,
The little bird sang: ro, ro, ro,
   Ro, ro ro.
Adir oyom vi-noro!1
As I walked in the deep forest,
   In the deep forest,
I heard a little bird in the forest,
   A little bird in the forest,
The little bird sang: li, li, li,
   Li, li, li.
Godur pirtsas heykhali!2

That seems to me the most beautiful pearl in the rich strand of our folk songs!

Translated by
Solon
Beinfeld
.

Notes

[“Mighty, terrible and dreadful!” A Hasidic song traditionally recited during melaveh malkah, the post-Sabbath meal.—Trans.]

[“Repair the breech in my Temple!” This is the fourth line of the Adir oyom vi-noro song.—Eds.]

Credits

Noah Priłucki, Yidishe folkslider: Gezamlt, derklert un tsuzamengeshtelt [Yiddish Folk Songs] (Warsaw: Bikher far ale, 1910/11), pp. vi–ix.

Published in: The Posen Library of Jewish Culture and Civilization, vol. 7.

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