Audiobook: The Yiddish Radio Project


It's been a little while since NPR produced The Yiddish Radio Project -- 14 years precisely, as the show debuted in 2002. In that time, we've lost a few of the voices from the show. Clara Bagelman, better known as one of the Barry Sisters, passed away in 2014. Actor  Eli Wallach, who provided the English-language versions of some of the Yiddish excerpts, died the same year. Herta Freiberg, one of the interview subjects for the show, died in 2007. So I feel like I'm coming to the project a little late, although, thankfully, the program still has its website up. 

It was a project that seemed designed to produce satellite projects. I could listen to an entire show about Rabbi Rubin's Court of the Air, which sounds like a primitive version of Judge Judy with a slightly more reasonable judge (Rabbi Shmuel Aaron Rubin) and a considerably more emotional litigants. Instead of being a succession of court cases about unpaid cell phone bills, the disputes were rooted in the experience of being a collection of poor, recent residents of a new world, and the conflicts that develop with neighbors, friends, and especially family. The Yiddish Radio Project played an excerpt, and it was a decidedly farklemt fellow explaining that he wasn't supporting his mother financial because the woman was in a dispute with his wife. He had a thick New York accent and a strained quality, as though the whole experience had just left him frazzled, and Rabbi Rubin, chastising him in Yiddish, insisted he pay his mother, but also advised her to be nicer to her daughter-in-law.

A lot of the shows sound like they were dramas of the everyday experience, amped up to somewhat hysterical levels, which is an experience many Jews will know all too well from their own domestic experiences growing up, where little nothings could quickly turn into screaming matches. There were the soap operas of Nahum Stutchkoff, which traded in shame, betrayal, and often seemed to end with people screaming and sobbing. There was C. Israel Lutsky, the Jewish Philosopher, who, at least in temperament, also calls to mind Judge Judy, as we would often respond to letters by angrily shouting at the letter-writer.

I mean, I'd listen to more of this, if it had been made available. I suppose one day, when my Yiddish is better, I will have to camp out at the YIVO archives, or wherever there are stacks of transcription records from Yiddish radio, and just listen.

What's available is a lot of fun, though, even if it is necessarily brief. The show is as obsessed with the novelty song "Joe and Paul" as I am, and offers a detailed breakdown of its origin, as well as translating the song's machine-gun Yinglish. They spend some time with the still-popular Barry Sisters, nee Bagelman, who were the longest-lasting and perhaps only legacy of the popularity of "Bei Mir Bistu Shein" when it was recorded as a swing version by the Andrews Sisters. The Barrys demonstrated just how easily traditional Yiddish music could be revised as tight-harmony popular jazz, and vice versa, and I imagine there were plenty of Barry Sister knockoffs, but have not found any. Here, too, I want more, and more is not forthcoming. 

The closest we have is Seymour Rexite, who performed rather stripped-down, pleasingly crooned versions of popular standards, translated into Yiddish, and there were apparently thousands of his songs recorded -- in his house, and he'd play them for you if you went by. Rexrite also died, in 2002, and what happened to those recordings? He even released albums, but they have not, as far as I can tell, been digitized. You can hear some snippets of him singing on the Yiddish Radio Project's website, but, as far as I can tell, that's it, but for some things on YouTube. Here's his version of Misirlou, and it's just marvelous.

I know where this is leading, but I'm not ready to go down that path yet. I can't expect others to do the work for me. If I want to listen to Yiddish-inflected jazz, I am going to have to start to scour record stores and eBay for records, and they I am going to have to digitize them myself. Whatever my curiosity about Yiddish, if I continue down this path, it's going to turn me into an archivist and documentarian, because if not me, who?

But I've been at this three months. I can barely string a sentence together in Yiddish. It's a little early to ask me to commit my life to rounding up party records by Jewish comics, novelty records by Yiddish bands, and swing albums by Yiddish singers.

But the demand is there. It isn't overt, but it's there nonetheless. It's implicit, and it is implicitly saying: You like this? Go find some more of it.

All right, all right, stop bullying. I give. Sheesh.

Week 12: Dirty Yiddish Flipbook


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 86 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 38 hours
I have reviewed 1,129 individual flashcards
Correct learning: 70.28%
Correct young: 76.68%
Correct mature: 79.94%

I had a strange experience yesterday morning. When I woke up Yiddish words and phrases were just popping into my head. It was like my memory had just chosen to dump all of these words into another place and was cycling through them. This went on for about an hour, and it made me feel a little bit like a machine, albeit a machine that is trying to teach itself Yiddish.

I also noticed a sudden leap forward in my ability to learn words. When I started, it usually took me a little while before I could remember a new word. Now I see it once and it usually sticks for a while. This has not yet started to happen with anything else -- memorizing an entire sentence is still a lot of work for me, for example, and I still struggle to remember older words. But I feel like my brain is starting to teach itself how to learn a language.

I've experienced this before. I was a dance instructor years ago, and when I started, it would take hours of practice for me to learn new steps. Then, after a few months, I just started picking them up. I'd see a dance move and could duplicate it, and did not struggle to remember it. I've also done some theater, and, at the start, it was very hard for me to learn dialogue, and then, after a while, I just started to absorb the dialogue. Despite my having studied language quite a bit in the past, I don't recall ever having the experience of just seeing a new word and having it automatically enter my vocabulary.

We will see, though. One of the things that the Anki flashcard system does well is track what percent of words you remembered correctly, for words you are newly learning, words that you have studied for a while, and words that have been pushed to the back of the deck because you've demonstrated a comfort with (categorized as "learning," "young," and "mature" respectively.) I have added these stats to the top of the page, and, if I am genuinely learning how to learn a language, we should see the percent going up in each category.

Next week will be the end of my third month of studying Yiddish, and I will be curious to gauge my progress. I fond myself understanding a lot more of the headlines in the Yiddish Daily Forward, and I listened to an audio recording of a Sholem Aleichem story last night and was started to discover that, while I could not really follow the story, I got a sense of some of its shape -- who the characters were, where they were, how they related to each other, etc. A month ago it was all just babble.


A quick note: I have started work on one of my side quests, learning Yiddish curse words. I have plugged in about 30 words from "Talk Dirty Yiddish" by Ilene Schneider, which was an interesting process. Firstly, like a lot of American books about Yiddish, it uses Roman characters, and so it took me quite a while to figure out what the actual words were in Yiddish characters. A number of Yiddish curses come from Hebrew, such as "ben kalba," which literally means "son of a bitch." Additionally, Yiddish speakers tend to pronounce Hebrew a little idiosyncratically, so a word like "am ha'aretz," which means "people of the land" in Hebrew, becomes "amoretz" in Yiddish. So there was more than a little detective work required to create flashcards for these words.

Additionally, I wound up with a lot of words for obscene things, albeit treated a bit gingerly in Yiddish: words for women's privates include "down there" and "knish," the latter being a food. But you try to find appropriate images for the flashcard. So it is that an entire section of my Yiddish flashcard has essentially become a dirty flip book.

Week 11: Dress British, Think Yiddish


 The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 79 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 35 hours
I have reviewed 1,028 individual flashcards

I bought a new iPod on Friday. I have been using a relatively old iPhone for my studies, and it was not ideal. The memory was rapidly filling up, while the battery inevitably went kaput after a short while. The programs I used weren't happy with the phone's operating system or speed. I knew I was going to reach the end of what the phone could do relatively quickly, and so it was time for something new. I chose an iPod because, without all the space required for the phone, the device is able to make use of an enormous amount of memory, and it's a pleasure to use -- it just speeds along through all my tasks.

I suppose the project should now be called iPod Yiddish, but, honestly, the device doesn't matter. And I might change the name down the road anyway to something else as this project evolves. The first name I give a blog always seems like a placeholder for an eventual name I must give it.

I also bought a FitBit, which is neither here nor there, except that I can now track how much I walk. But the result of the FitBit is that I will be walking more, and so I will be listening to audiobooks. I took an hour-long walk last night and listened to several chapters of "The Yiddish Radio Project: Stories from the Golden Age of Yiddish Radio." I will write about that when I finish the book, and will be glad to -- this blog was never intended to simply be a description of the process of learning Yiddish, but, more broadly, a document of my engagement with the language.

But, in the meanwhile, I spent some time last week gamifying my learning. It's a rough draft just now, and I will continue to adapt and add to it as I continue my studies, but for now this is what I have planned:


QUESTS

A prize for every one of these completed

1. Learn first 625 words
2. Learn 1000 most common words
3. Learn entire grammar book
4. Learn entire Yiddish crash course
5. Go through entire dictionary, learning cognates and useful words

SIDE QUESTS COLLECTION ONE

A prize for the completion of all of these

1. Learn 20 swear words
2. Learn 20 Yiddish phrases
3. Learn 20 Yiddish songs
4. Do 20 blog entries

MINI GAMES

Some with prizes, some without

1. Read 10 books about Yiddish (prize)
2. Convert cell phone to Yiddish (no prize)
3. Label objects around house (no prize)
4. Watch five Yiddish movies (no prize)
5. Play three Yiddish games (no prize)
6. Tell the time in Yiddish 100 times (prize)
7. Learn the vowel names (prize)

I have not yet really figured out how to make use of leveling up in the way games do it, which isn't surprising, as we do not level up in life the way we do in games. We don't win a certain number of points, and then divvy them up, suddenly claiming new knowledge and abilities. Yiddish is not a spell I can suddenly perform because I have earned enough experience points to buy it.

But I don't want to abandon the concept of leveling up; I'm just not sure how to apply the concept to the real world. I will continue to think about it, though, as I think it is useful to mark when you have accomplished enough to move up to another level. Perhaps it is as simple as taking the language test to determine level of fluency.

Games also mark accomplishments in another way: When you achieve certain things, you get prizes, often in the form of little medals. I have decided to give myself prizes for accomplishment, and, in fact, have already given myself one as a reward for having completed the first 625 word of Yiddish.

I ordered myself an old button that says "Dress British, Think Yiddish." As I understand it, this was a fairly popular Madison Avenue expression back in the 60s, and translated as "dress mainstream, think nonmainstream." It's also a perfect button for me, as my genetic background is from Ireland and Great Britain and I tend to dress like it, but I'm very much a product of my Jewish upbringing. More than that, thanks to this project, I genuinely am starting to think in Yiddish.

Week 10: Mini-missions


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 72 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 31 hours
I have reviewed 950 individual flashcards

There doesn't seem to be anything nowadays that can't be gamified, and language learning is no different. So a lot of language blogs use phrases drawn from the world of video games to describe their progress, and one especially popular term is "leveling up."

I presume you have played video games in the past, as you are a human in the 21st century, but if not, here is what it means to level up: It generally means that you have reached a new level of accomplishment, and, with that, you generally gain increased abilities, or new abilities.

It seems likely that the first person to use the phrase in language learning was a fellow named Moses McCormick, who is responsible for a series of videos where he goes out and locates strangers who speak a language he is studying and then engages them in conversation. It's his version of leveling up that you most often find on blogs, but it isn't very useful to me. There just aren't that many places in Omaha where I can go and find someone who speaks Yiddish and then start talking to them.

But I am in the thick of the grind right now, which, come to think of it, is another word stolen from video games. In the game word, "grinding" is any repetitive task required to move forward. It's notoriously a little dull and frustrating, because it feels like forward momentum has halted. And that's very much how I feel now.

Mostly I'm just adding new words to my flashcards, and bit by bit adding to my vocabulary, and am adding sentences from a grammar book, and so am bit by bit learning how Yiddish constructs sentences. The end goal of this is to be able to say whatever I want in Yiddish, and understand what I hear and read. And that's a really long-term goal.

But a well-designed game has a few things built in to keep players from getting bored, and I think I am going to borrow one of these: The mini-mission, or mini-game. These are tasks that can be accomplished relatively quickly and are meant to be fun.

I mean, right now I have a learning program that has very few major objectives: Learn the 1,000 most common words, learn everything from a grammar book, learn a hundred or so common phrases, and then keep adding to my vocabulary, presumably forever. I have a sense of various stations of language competence, about what you need to know to reach those stations, and about how long it typically takes to get there, and that's it.

But there is a lot more to language than simply reaching certain levels of fluency. I've already gestured at one of these: wanting to understand Yiddish songs. And I have broken down a few songs into their constituent parts and started to learn them, and this is a pretty enjoyable mini-mission. It's not necessarily useful -- songs tend to be written differently than people speak, and so a line from a song might not work that well in spoken language, especially the more tortuous lyrics that bend over backwards to make a rhyme. But songs are they way I primarily interact with Yiddish just now, and so I'd like to understand them.

There is something else I have always wanted to do with language, and I think I will turn this into an occasional mini-mission: I want to be able to complain in Yiddish. More than that, I want to be able to cuss and curse in the language, which it is famously good at. Again, this is not necessarily something useful, as these are the sorts of thing you mutter under your breath, and even if I shouted them at someone else, they probably won't understand. But I like the idea of Yiddish as a private language to grouse in.

I will think of similar mini-missions in the next few weeks. When the grind starts to get a bit exhausting, it will help to have these.

I would also like to think about my own approach to leveling up. Because right now I am not working with easily identifiable levels, but instead this sort of endless continuum of fluency. But there are things I want to be able to do with language, and I need to identify those things, and then identify how I will know when I can do them. I've actually already accomplished a few of these sorts of things without planning to: I can name every day of the week, every month of the year, the four seasons, and all four cardinal directions.

I know that people are suffering from a sort of gamification exhaustion, as the term became so popular, and then was so misapplied, that for a while everything seemed to have been gamified in a manipulative and decidedly unfun manner. But I think the essential tools are still sound, and, at the very least, I hope to be able to use them to keep language learning entertaining and recapture the sense of forward momentum I had when I started this.

Week 9: ESL and language acquisition


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 65 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 27 hours
I have reviewed 846 individual flashcards

It's the grind all right. I continue to add to my Yiddish without gaining any appreciable understanding of the language. I suppose, like everything else worth doing, language acquisition is a discipline, and the discipline is that you continue to do it when the benefits aren't obvious.

There are stages of language acquisition. ESL teachers divide it up into four stages, as summarized by me below with the amount of time they average it takes.

1. Pre-production: (Six months) This is when you have so little language as to not be able to communicate in it as all, although you might have as many as 500 passive words that you understand. Thankfully, I am passed this stage.

2. Early production: (six months to one year) This involves an active vocabulary of about 1,000 words, and learners can speak short, one- or two-sentence phrases. They also have memorized chunks of language for everyday use. This is very much where I am now.

3. Speech emergence: (one to three years) This involves a vocabulary of about 3,000 words, and learners can communicate short stories, ask simple questions, engage in short conversations, and follow easy-to-read stories. I feel like I am close to reaching this point.

4. Intermediate fluency: (three to five years) This involves a vocabulary of about 6,000 words, and learners are able to construct more complex sentences, including expressing opinions. They can ask clarifying questions.

5. Advanced fluency: (five to seven years) Students at this stage are at near-native levels of fluency.

In the next few weeks, I'll have acquired about 1,000 words, which means I can expect to have a vocabulary of between 4,000 and 5,000 words by the end of my first year.

If I were in an ASL class, I would barely be in the pre-production stage, and would have four more months, on average, before I reached speech emergence. But I am certainly well past that point -- I have a detailed argument with myself about what accent I should be using the other day, and the argument was entirely in Yiddish, albeit almost certainly in broken Yiddish.

Nonetheless, this means I am well into the early production stage, and starting to tip toward the speech emergence stage, none of which is expected for another four months to a year. So, credit to this approach to learning language -- it does work quite quickly, even if it feels like it is crawling just now.

Of course, I can't actually know how well I am learning the language until I test it in actual communication. Once I reach a thousand words, I think I shall have to start seeking some sort of mechanism of communication. There are online sites designed specifically for this, such as conversation exchange, but I'm not finding much by way of Yiddish on these sites. I'll start looking into it in earnest this week.


Week 8: Leap Day and a Six-Month Goal


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 58 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 23 hours
I have reviewed 743 individual flashcards

Because weeks go into months so oddly, this is both the end of my seventh week of studying Yiddish and the end of my second month. At least I am not using the Jewish calendar, with its lunar cycles and occasional intercalary months. I've never been able to quite figure out how the Jewish calendar figures anything out, by, by my reckoning, I would now be finished with my third day and my 18th month.

I suspect I have entered a period of study that I call the churn, and am familiar with from other things I have studied. This is a long period where you just continue to study and study and study and don't seem to be progressing at all. There is this long gulf between just starting to know things, which is exciting, and knowing enough for it to meaningful, and that long gulf can be frustrating.

That's certainly how it feels just now. I know that I am gaining incremental knowledge, much of it useful. As an example, I have started to recognize parts of compound words, and there are a lot of them in Yiddish, and they are pretty fun. There's a Yiddish word, unter, and it means under. So it gets used in rather obvious ways -- an undershirt is made by combining the Yiddish words for under and shirt: Unterhemd.

But it's also used in surprising ways. "To sign," like when you give an autograph, is unterscribn, literally "underwriting." If you're going to bribe someone, the word is unterkoifn, or "underpaying." I expect being able to recognize this sort of thing will be useful down the road, as a lot of words are built out of combining parts from others words.

I've also realized that plural nouns are going to be a bit of a trick. Yiddish has many ways to make a noun into a plural noun, and they don't necessarily follow any easily remembered rules. Sometimes, Yiddish just sticks an s on the end of a word, as we often do in English. Sometimes, they add an n. Some words are the same whether they are singular or plural. And sometimes the inside of the word changes, as it does in English when we change a mouse into mice.

So the only way to learn the plural for Yiddish words is just to memorize it. I'm not going to start doing that yet, but I'm going to have to at some point.

Another thing I learned this week: When you affix the word "the" in front of a word, the sort of "the" you stick there depends both on the gender of the noun and whether it is plural or not, and it gets a little crazy here. If there's only one of something, and the noun is masculine, you say "der" for "the." If it's feminine, "the" becomes "di." And if it is a neutral noun, "the" is "dos." And you just need to know the gender of a noun, because there are no hard and fast rules for this either. A beard, as an example, is feminine. An ovary, in the meanwhile, is masculine. The mouth is neutral, which is not my experience with mouths at all.

But when it becomes plural, both the masculine and the neutral noun become dem, which I like, because it sounds like a street tough is saying "them." But a female noun becomes der. Which I have to assume was a decision made a thousand years ago by people who just thought this might be funny, because it means that when a female noun becomes plural, it takes the form of "the" that we otherwise use for singular male nouns. I'd read some subtle sexism here -- it's as though the language has decided that more than one female nouns are the same as one male noun. But, frankly, it's just too convoluted to be effective as sexism, although that's never stopped something from being sexist in the past.

So I have learned these sorts of grammatical rules, but just learning a rule is next to useless. You need to know how to apply it, and I don't know what the plural for any word is yet, and it will be a while before I learn it. And even if I did, you can't speak a language by building it out of grammatical rules you have memorized. Otherwise, trying to construct a sentence consists of desperately trying to remember the language equivalent of math problems, and that's a slow way to speak.

So this is the grind. It's the time between when you have learned something, the time when you can quickly recall it, and the time when you can make use of it without having to think about it.

And it's not just grammar. This is true with the words I have learned, where I still struggle to remember what they mean. It's true of the sentences I have started to learn, where I barely have the sentences themselves memorized, and am not at the point where I really understand the separate parts of it, or how to take it apart and build a new sentence using the pieces.

I know, I know -- I'm only two months in. The average 3-year-old child has about 1,000 words they can use, and I don't even have that yet. And 4-year-olds know 5,000 words. 8-year-olds know 10,000 words, and have you ever read a book written for an 8-year-old? Not exactly Proust.

Newspapers tend to be written at an 9th grade level, and those 14-year-olds know somewhere in the area of 25,000 words. At the rate I'm going, it would take me 240 plus weeks to learn that many words, or more than 4 1/2 years.

I know I do this too often -- this sort of back-of-the-envelope breakdown of words, ages, and months. I don't expect it makes for thrilling reading, and it's really just a way for me to try to understand the benchmarks to learning, and how much time I can expect it to take.

And, of course, as I have mentioned before, there are different ways to judge proficiency than trying to talk like a 14-year-old. There is something called the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFR), which divides proficiency into three groups, with two levels per group.

So there is A1, as an example, which sounds pretty good, as in America if you're A number 1, you're just about as good as you can be. But Europeans don't care for American English phrases, and so A1 in the CEFR test means you are a beginner. Here's what a beginner can do:

  • Can understand and use familiar everyday expressions and very basic phrases aimed at the satisfaction of needs of a concrete type.
  • Can introduce him/herself and others and can ask and answer questions about personal details such as where he/she lives, people he/she knows and things he/she has.
  • Can interact in a simple way provided the other person talks slowly and clearly and is prepared to help.
I should note that I'm not even able to do this yet, so I am somewhere below beginner on this test. The person who is at an A1 level generally has a vocabulary of somewhere between 1200 and 1500 words, so when I have doubled my vocabulary, I'll see how I feel about this.

The highest rating on the CEFR is C2, also defined as mastery or proficiency, and those folks can do the following:

  • Can understand with ease virtually everything heard or read.
  • Can summarize information from different spoken and written sources, reconstructing arguments and accounts in a coherent presentation.
  • Can express him/herself spontaneously, very fluently and precisely, differentiating finer shades of meaning even in the most complex situations.
The person at this level generally has a vocabulary of  somewhere between 3500 and 5000 words. Presumably they make due with less words than a 14-year-old because 14-year-olds need to many words to describe dreamy pop stars and to badmouth each other on social media.

So that's a much more reasonable goal -- one that can even be accomplished in a year!

And there's an even more reasonable goal, and it will be my first one. I have never completed my college language requirement, and would like to be able to test out of it. In order to do this, I must be fluent in a language to the point where I can read and listen at the Intermediate-High level and write and speak at the Intermediate-Mid level. At my college, these levels are defined using a different scale, one developed by the  American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages, or ACTFL.

At the risk of getting too wonky, here's the basic definition of Intermediate high level:

Intermediate High speakers are able to converse with ease and confidence when dealing with the routine tasks and social situations of the Intermediate level. They are able to handle successfully uncomplicated tasks and social situations requiring an exchange of basic information related to their work, school, recreation, particular interests, and areas of competence.

I can't find anything that gives a sense of how many vocabulary words this might require, but it does roughly line up with the the B1 level of the CEFF. And that's somewhere between 2,700 and 3,000 words.

That's about 7.5 months, not counting the month I have already completed. So there, after some protracted and probably hideously misconceived math, I have reached my first testable goal: B1 level of CEFF, or the equivalent, in another six months or thereabouts.

And how do I demonstrate my level of competence? Well, the NYU school of professional studies offers a proficiency test in Yiddish. The test is not cheap, and I may have to go to New York to take it, so I won't take it until I feel confident that I have reached the level I want to reach. But I'm going to shoot for six months, and am glad to have a clear goal, and a testable one.
Intermediate High speakers are able to converse with ease and confidence when dealing with the routine tasks and social situations of the Intermediate level. They are able to handle successfully uncomplicated tasks and social situations requiring an exchange of basic information related to their work, school, recreation, particular interests, and areas of competence. - See more at: http://www.actfl.org/publications/guidelines-and-manuals/actfl-proficiency-guidelines-2012/english/speaking#intermediate
Intermediate High speakers are able to converse with ease and confidence when dealing with the routine tasks and social situations of the Intermediate level. They are able to handle successfully uncomplicated tasks and social situations requiring an exchange of basic information related to their work, school, recreation, particular interests, and areas of competence.
Intermediate High speakers can handle a substantial number of tasks associated with the Advanced level, but they are unable to sustain performance of all of these tasks all of the time. Intermediate High speakers can narrate and describe in all major time frames using connected discourse of paragraph length, but not all the time. Typically, when Intermediate High speakers attempt to perform Advanced-level tasks, their speech exhibits one or more features of breakdown, such as the failure to carry out fully the narration or description in the appropriate major time frame, an inability to maintain paragraph-length discourse, or a reduction in breadth and appropriateness of vocabulary.
Intermediate High speakers can generally be understood by native speakers unaccustomed to dealing with non-natives, although interference from another language may be evident (e.g., use of code-switching, false cognates, literal translations), and a pattern of gaps in communication may occur.
- See more at: http://www.actfl.org/publications/guidelines-and-manuals/actfl-proficiency-guidelines-2012/english/speaking#intermediate

Week 7: Joe and Paul


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 51 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 20 hours
I have reviewed 639 individual flashcards

Had I studied nothing but the original 625 words I started with, I would be done with all 625 right now. Instead, I got bored and plugged in a few phrases, a few words I particularly like, and some song lyrics, and so here I am -- I'm at the letter X, and will probably be done tonight, a day later. It's not as tidy as I would like, but this is what happens when you get bored.

In fact, I am feeling the lack of tidiness. I have an additional 250 flashcards I have created, and they're all mishmash. I know a lot of words, but I have no real clue as to how I might turn them into a sentence. I need grammar, and I need it badly.

Additionally, I'm starting to see the value in these words lists, which I will detail in a moment. It's like the Yiddish world is a blur, but it is coming into focus. This will happen a lot faster if I focus on the most frequently used words, but that's not what I'm doing. I'm adding words in almost at random, and I don't intend to stop completely, but I am desperate to start really understanding the language.

So I downloaded a Yiddish grammar book called "Grammar of the Yiddish Language" by Dovid Katz (available here) and found a list of the most frequent 1,000 words in Yiddish (available here). These will be my primary study tools, although I intend to keep adding phrases from my Berlitz book as well.

Let me tell you, I was suspicious of the whole "learn 1,000 words" thing, because, for a long time, I was accumulating vocabulary but couldn't understand anything. Now I've past the 500-word mark, and I'm getting tantalizing glimmers of comprehension. I listen to a lot of Yiddish music, which, for a long time, has been a series of "buh buh yai di dais" and little else, and now words are popping out all over. While I do not understand individual sentences, the shape of the songs are starting to form, as well as their subjects. I'll listen to a song and suddenly realize the singer is singing of fish in the sea, or of various rabbis doing the twist, or of millionaires on Delancey Street.

There is a song I have gotten obsessed with. It's called "Joe and Paul" and was by Borscht Belt comedians The Barton Brothers, although apparently it was originated by Red Buttons. The song is a parody of an actual Yiddish radio commercial by Brooklyn clothing store magnate Paul Kofsky (there was no Joe; he made his partner up). The song is a relentless Yinglish melange, a machine gun blast of slangy Yiddish and English pronounced like Yiddish, and it seems like it's the summit of Yiddish study for me.

If ever there was a piece of comedy stripped of context, it is this one. There is no Joe and Paul any more, no Yiddish radio, no commercials, no Borscht Belt, and few Yinglish speakers. Worse still, the song is done in a Poylish accent, so I couldn't understand it even if I understood it.

Except I do. I'm not sure when it happened, but it all sort of clicked last week. There are stretches I don't understand, admittedly, but more that I do. Maybe if you were raised with Jewish humor, as I was, this sort of thing works on an intuitive level, because I seem to be following the song about the twisting rebbes pretty well too. (It's a real song, by the way: "Der Chassidcher Twist" by Mike Burstyn, which will probably be the subject of a future post.)

Whatever is going on, it's hard not to want more.

Week 6: Book: Born to Kvetch


The stats:

I have studied Yiddish for 45 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for a total of 17 hours
I have reviewed 549 vocabulary words

I don't have a lot to say about my Yiddish studies this week, except that I am starting to plug in a lot more phrases, and it's a trickier proposition. A lot of Yiddish is idiomatic, and Google Translate seems fairly oblivious to Yiddish idioms, instead providing maddening literal translations of phrases like "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" As a result, I need to just type the phrases into my cell phone myself. I do this with the aid of a program called Keyman, which makes it relatively simple to type Yiddish.

I also briefly did an experiment where I translated a Yiddish nursery rhyme and plugged it into my flash cards, but I quickly discovered that I lack both the vocabulary and the grammar to do so effectively, so that's a project I will return to when I have bolstered both. At this point, my flashcard creation consists of new vocabulary words from a themed list of 1,000 words, Yiddish sentences from "Der Yiddish Lerer" intended to teach me rudimentary vocabulary, and useful phrases from Berlitz.

I alternate between a page of each, and I have just started to see to my first sentences from them showing up when I go to study my flashcards. I have a feeling that when I have done a hundred or so sentences and know a hundred or so basic phrases, I'll feel a lot more grounded in Yiddish.

In the meanwhile, I read a book called "Born to Kvetch," which was a surprise bestseller for author Michael Wex when it debuted in 2005. The book is a tour through Yiddish words, phrases, proverbs, and slang, roughly grouped into sections based on themes -- sex, for example, gets an entire section to itself.

The book also offers an introduction to the history of Yiddish, which is necessarily condensed but nonetheless informative. I started studying this language with very little formal knowledge of it, and so I knew there were different accents, but didn't know how many or if they were mutually intelligible. I also didn't know what accent I was learning or how it differs from others. As it turns out, the accent I am learning is based on the Litvish accent. This was the dialect of Yiddish spoken by Jews in the northeastern Pale of Settlement. Literally, Litvish means Lithuanian, but in practice versions of the dialect were spoken in a variety of places, including Belarus, where my grandmother came from. The version of the accent I am learning, as well as its vocabulary and sentence structure, was codified by a group called YIVO, the Yiddish Scientific Institute, which began in 1925 in Poland and is currently in New York.

From what I understand, the Litvish dialect is seen as being somewhat dry and academic, and the YIVO version even more so. It's main competitor is called the Poylish dialect, which literally mean Polish, but as with Litvish it was spoken in a variety of places; since it is the accent favored by Hasidim, it is one of the most common in the United States. The accents are quite a bit different from each other -- almost every vowel is pronounced differently. There were other accents as well -- the accent used for Yiddish theater was the Ukrainian accent, and I have no idea what that was like.

It is easiest for me to learn YIVO Yiddish, because that's what most Yiddish instruction offers, but it also sounds like that results in a lifetime of people telling you that you are pronouncing things wrong. I'm not really sure what dialect would be the most appropriate for me, as, along with my Belorussian grandmother, I had ancestors from Romania, Poland, Russia, Moldova, and possibly Ukraine, as well as relatives in Western Europe. I can claim almost any Yiddish accent as my own. The YIVO accent is actually probably the best one for me, since YIVO is now an American institution and theirs is the accent taught to non-Hasidic American Jews, so I'll just stick with what I am learning, but with an awareness that it may be a long time before I recognize or understand the other accents.

"Born to Kvetch" is a terrifically interesting book, but also, by virtue of its structure, a terrifically limited one. I might not know Yiddish well enough to offer a real critique of the book, but I am a former yeshiva bokher, and so can spot one a mile off, and author Michael Wex has the perfume of the yeshiva all over his writing. As a result, his book is heavily informed by the culture of traditional Jewish education; Wex particularly likes to discuss Yiddish phrases that have their origins in Biblical passages or comments from the Talmud, and he details a variety of phrases that rise out of Orthodox Jewish life in Europe.

There is a larger world hinted at in his book, but never examined in as much depth. I may not be a scholar of Yiddish, but, in my time, I was a scholar of Jewish life in Europe, and I know that it was a vast, complicated, and frequently contradictory world. There were an awful lot of Jewish criminals -- a story that has mostly gone untold, probably out of embarrassment -- and they had their own cant, which makes an appearance here and there in this book. There was an enormous amount of folk superstition, and my reading of history suggests that a lot of the Judaism of Israel was folk Judaism, rather than academic Judaism. Hints of this appear as well.

Wex also presents Yiddish as a language that betrays a deep conflict with European Christianity, noting all the little potshots the language takes at Christian faith and practice. I am suspicious that this masks a more complicated story. When Yiddish turns a mocking eye toward Christianity, it often shows a surprising familiarity with the world of Christians, and of course it does. Jews may have had a unique culture and language in Europe, but they did so in a profoundly Christian world, and they interacted with Christians constantly -- even in the bedroom. I grew up with a lot of Russian Jews who were redheads, and there is a part of Russian that has 10 times as many redheads as typically appears in the population. DNA studies of Jews have shown that the average Jew has about 30 percent European ancestors, and there was one study that argued that 80 percent of the maternal ancestry of European Jews comes from European women, suggesting that the early Jews who settled Europe took European women as wives.

There is a term coined by Sigmund Freud that I always try to remember in these circumstances, the "narcissism of small differences," in which you highlight minor points of contention for the sake of minimizing how similar you are. Jews often paint a portrait of themselves as an alien people in Europe, and European people will offer a mirror reflection of that painting, but, if Jews were aliens, there were aliens who had extraordinary familiarity with their new world, and the people in it, to the point of sharing children with them. I suspect that Yiddish often deliberately magnified differences, for the same sort of reasons we still see nowadays: An attempt to battle assimilation, an attempt to highlight what is unique about Judaism, an attempt to take small differences and make them the things that define us, to help create a border around the question of what is a Jew and what isn't.

This may be especially interesting to me, because I live on that border. I am a secular, atheist Jew who was raised in the Reform tradition, but educated by Orthodox Jews. I was adopted, and my biological family is Irish Catholic, and as a result I have a blended identity -- I absolutely see myself as Jewish, but I also absolutely see myself as Irish, and I investigate and live both heritages. I went to a Jewish high school, and was a Jewish studies major in college, and so I know how firmly the ultra-religious side of Judaism tries to build fences and then fences around fences. But I also know how interesting things are when you hop over the fences, and how much authentic Judaism can be found outside spaces that the ultra-religious would circumscribe.

And so I find myself drawn to the parts of Wex's book that touch on those uncircumscribed worlds more than the parts of the book that reflect a yeshiva bokher's contained sense of the world. In fact, one of the book's central ideas -- and I think it's most interesting -- comes more from the superstitious world of folk Judaism that the stuffy world of the kheyder. Wex argues that European Jews saw themselves in a demon-crowded world, constantly surrounded by invisible monsters that would seize any opportunity to create mischief. So they developed habits to ward off these monsters, and one of those habits was to develop ways of speaking that would not invite demonic jealousy. As a result, there is an awful lot of the world that Judaism refuses to describe, instead using tortured circumlocutions to gesture at what they mean, and sometimes saying the exact opposite of what they mean just to be extra careful.

(I'll quickly note that Yiddish is not unique in this. The English word bear literally means "brown," because, for whatever reason, some of our linguistic ancestors refused to use the actual word for the animal, ursa, and just called them a color instead.)

Wex believes that this causes a culture in which irony is an essential tool, as Yiddish-speaking Jews must suss out the meaning of a phrase that refuses to be explicit, and often says exactly the reverse of what it means. And any people with irony embedded so deeply in their language are necessarily going to develop a world-class sense of humor, which the Jews famously did. The book's title, "Born to Kvetch," suggest that Jews are not merely notorious complainers, which they are, but that their complaints are often an extraordinarily ironic interaction with the world, expressing, well, almost everything. Our humor rises out of our complaints, because the complaints give us the ironic language for humor.

I think Wex is right about this. I will eventually get around to memorizing the hundreds of Yiddish phrases his book offers, but it might be a while before I do so. In the meanwhile, that insight alone has made reading the book worthwhile.

Week 5: Pidgin Yiddish


All right, first the stats:

I have now studied Yiddish for 37 days
I have studied Yiddish flashcards for 13 total hours
I have reviewed 429 vocabulary words

So I am about two-thirds of the way through the initial 625 words and almost halfway through the first thousand. I haven't mastered all of these new vocab words, of course. On review, I typically get about 75 percent of my answers right, although that's including 15 new vocabulary words that I am not likely to know. So the number of Yiddish words I comfortably know is, oh, maybe 320, doing some back-of-the-envelope math. Maybe a little more -- the words I know really well have been pushed to the back of the deck, so I see them infrequently.

It feels a bit like a jumble in my head. Random Yiddish words will pop up over the course of the day and I can't remember what they mean. I find myself fighting to remember the same half-dozen words, and forgetting what they are, day after day. Because the Anki flashcard system puts the words you have trouble with in front of you more often, Yiddish has started to feel like a language I am having trouble with, instead of a language I am learning. Perhaps I am unique in experiencing this, but, at the moment, the flashcard system gives a stronger illusion of failure than of success.

It doesn't help that I have this growing bank of words but no real way of using them. I know this is something that I just need to be patient about. In two weeks I will have completed my initial 625 words, and then I will start learning sentences. Earlier, even, because I started plugging in sentences pretty early on, and have something like 100 waiting in the deck for me to get to them, and in 15 days I will probably have added another hundred or so.

I don't know how useful it is for people to read about my progress in such a granulated form, but if you're like me, it might be worth noting that in your first month of studying using this process, you're going to feel like you're learning a lot very quickly, which is exciting, and in your second month you're going to feel like you have no idea what to do with what you're learning, which is confusing. Were I to do this again, I would probably alternate new vocabulary words with sentences from a phrase book, just so that I had a very basic ability to communicate, instead of a growing number of words I don't know how to use.

I should say, though, that sentences are starting to form in my head. I don't know that they are good Yiddish -- they probably aren't -- but they are a sort of pidgin. Additionally, my reading skills continue to develop apace -- but for new Yiddish words, which I must still sound out, I am able to read fairly quickly. And I find myself understanding a lot more. I'd say that I am able to figure out, oh, maybe 20 or 25 percent of the Jewish Forward headlines that I read, which is sometimes enough to suss out what the story is about.

I know that five weeks is a very short time, and I know it will seem even more compressed to anyone reading this, because in just five posts I have gone from speaking almost no Yiddish to knowing roughly 1/16 the total number of words used in the King James Bible (there are about 8,000 total words used there, ignoring proper nouns.) But nothing ever feels fast when you're doing it, especially projects that take months and then years, especially when you're at the start and know how much you have yet to do.

This is especially true if you are impatient, and I am impatient.

Week 4: The aunt has a knife


Last night I completed creating the flashcards for my first 625 words. The process is time consuming, but has gotten to be sort of meditative. When I get bored, I'll make a few flashcards. When I can't get to sleep, or wake up early, I'll make a few flashcards.

It will be at least another month until I have learned all these flashcards, or even seen them all. I've worked my way through 324 flashcards, so only about half as many as I have created. You sort of get obsessed with these statistics, like baseball fans, and the Anki flashcard system offers a lot of statistics. According to the flashcard program, I am now 30 days into studying the cards, and have spent an average of 20.8 minutes a day studying the cards for a total of 623 minutes.

I don't really know what to do with any of these facts. You sort of want to graph them in order to predict your language development, to know where you are in the process. I did discover that I was accidentally only learning 10 new words per day, so I upped it to 15. It doesn't seem like that many, but when you consider that you constantly have to revisit cards, and that each new word equals two cards (you're quizzed on both the front and the back of the card), it means that the number of cards I must review daily has jumped quite a bit. But I felt like I was learning Yiddish slowly, and now I feel it's going at a comfortable pace.

So, it's a week later and about 100 new words. I'm approaching the minimum number of words an average 3-year-old speaks (about 500), and we know how chatty 3-year-olds can be. I don't feel especially chatty, but I find myself able to construct some very basic sentences, albeit with terrible grammar, I am sure. I have reached the point where I can see things in the world and point at them and name them, like children do. It doesn't feel like much, but I've only been at this for a month, which is considerably less time than it takes children to get to this point.

At least I can always congratulate myself for doing things faster than a 3-year-old.

I will say that my additional 100 words has had a noticeable effect. When I listen to spoken Yiddish, words are starting to pop out that I recognize, and there have been a few instances where I have found myself following an entire sentence or two. It's still mostly gobbledygook to me, but it isn't the gormless gobbledygook of a few weeks ago. The shapes of sentences are starting to feel like they make sense to me, in that even if I don't know the specifics of a sentence, it feels as though I am hearing nouns verb other nouns, and adverbs adverbing away, and finding places where numbers have attached themselves to words, and that sort of thing. That's about all I can do with Hebrew, and I studied that language for most of the first half of my life -- daily for more than five years.

In about another month I will have completed all these cards, and I am already preparing for going forward from there. I am creating the next collection of flashcards from two sources. The first is the Berlitz phrase book I mentioned a week or two ago -- although it started to be useless without the accompanying PDF, and so I managed to track one of those down. You may not be able to have very sophisticated conversations from what you find in a phrase book, but it is important to be able to say hello, goodbye, where you come from, and that you would appreciate the vegetable medley rather than the steak.

Additionally, these basic phrases contain a lot of words that are otherwise hard to represent on flashcards. Wiktionary lists the top 600 Yiddish words culled from Yiddish publications, and the first 10 are these, translated:
  1. The (feminine form)
  2. And
  3. From
  4. In
  5. The (masculine form)
  6. A
  7. Says
  8. Is
  9. Itself
  10. The (accusative)
These are mostly very hard to put on flashcards where a word is represented by an image, rather than a direct translation, and, besides, just knowing zeyr means, approximately, "itself" gives no indication how it's used.

So, as I mentioned last week, I just create flashcards with the complete sentence on one side and the sentence with a word dropped out on the other. One side might read "He wants a drink," and the other side will read "He wants __ drink," and I have to learn that "a" is the word that fits into that spot.

The idea is that our brains have a strong intuitive grasp of sentence construction. If we've memorized a few examples, we can extrapolate other examples, and so even if we don't necessarily know that "from" is a preposition used to indicate time or location, we do know it's the word that gets stuck in this sentence "___ Here to Eternity."

But common phrases are often idiosyncratic and often aren't even complete sentences. So I am supplementing this by creating flashcards from my favorite Yiddish instruction book, H.E. Goldin's "The Yiddish Teacher," available as a PDF from Archive.org, thanks to the Yiddish Book Center.

This is the book I used when I started learning Yiddish, and I love it, because it is hard to escape the feeling that Goldin was preparing Yiddish speakers to participate in a German expressionist film. One of the first flashcards I created from his lessons is "The aunt has a knife," and it's just going to get weirder. But his sentences are short and well-constructed, and so, putting aside the considerable entertainment offered by Goldin's deranged sentence construction, the book should teach me some basic grammar.

Week 3: Not Enough Words to Understand Anything


At this moment, by my count, I have studied 230 new words of vocabulary, which is more than a third of the initial 625 words I am setting out to learn, and is about the number of words an average 2-year-old knows. I get conflicting information about how much vocabulary you should have in order to be able to generally understand your language -- some say 1,000 words will allow you to understand about 70 percent of anything you read, others say that the most common 1,000 words are used in 89 percent of everyday writing, and others say we can't hope to be able to understand new words from context until we can understand 95 percent of the words used commonly in writing, which is about 3,000 words.

I suppose I won't know with Yiddish until I get there, and, if I keep up at this rate, I'll have a thousand words under my belt in a couple of months, and be up to 3,000 words in about a year of study. I'll tell you this: 230 words isn't enough to understand anything. I can figure out maybe 10 percent of headlines from The Yiddish Forward, which I have subscribed to on my Facebook page -- although, in fairness, that's about 10 percent more than I understood three weeks ago.

I have been reading a new book on learning language that insists that constant exposure to the spoken language is essential, even when you don't understand what is being said, because it teaches you the prosody, or the unique sounds and rhythms of patterns of a language. And so I recently started listening to MP3s of short stories written in Yiddish, available in MP3 form online.

Doing so has mostly communicated how very, very little I understand, and it's not a surprise, as I certainly didn't expect to understand the language after three weeks. But when you're starting with a language, you necessarily suffer from a bit of the Dunning-Kruger effect, in which you tend to overestimate your competence because you have no idea what real competence is. It's a little bit like climbing a mountain that is shrouded in clouds, and you think, if I can just get to the cloud line, I'll have gotten to the top of this mountain. But then you reach the clouds, and climb through them, and look up, and the peak is still miles above you, and the climb is going to get harder and harder as you continue.

I'm well below the cloud line now, and so I have no idea how much climbing this mountain of Yiddish is going to require. And there are different stopping points on the mountain -- after memorizing just a few dozen phrases and a few hundred words, someone can reasonably get along ordering food or asking directions. Multiply that by ten and they can get along in a lot of concrete, day-to-day interactions. Multiply it again and they can have complicated, abstract conversations. Each marker is an area of accomplishment, a place in which a certain degree of fluency has been reached. But if I know my Dunning-Kruger, each place is also a cloud line, and when you're reached it, you can see that more of the mountain still towers above you.

One thing I have noticed in the past week is that my ability to read Yiddish has advanced appreciably. I'm not fast, per se, but I am faster, and words that I have already learned I have started to recognize quickly, which is important -- otherwise you end up sounding out every single words syllable by syllable, and that's a slow process.

And I'll just mention that I have started to add in Yiddish phrases to my flashcards, which is a bit of a different process. The phrases come from an old Berlitz recording of basic Yiddish phrases, which is available now via iTunes and is missing all the supplemental printed material that originally came with it. This isn't so bad, as it means I must actively listen to what the phrases are and then figure them out. It takes some real effort, as Google translate is rather bad with idioms, and a lot of these are idioms. "Bon voyage" the English speaker will say, as though that's an English phrase. "Gay Gezunt," the Yiddish voice will answer, and that means "Go in health," which isn't what bon voyage means at all, and Google Translate refuses to help me with this. On the other hand, because I have to figure out the idioms on my own, they seem to stick more.

I'm adding the phrases in because even though I am only 230 words in, I can't stand not being able to say anything at all. Additionally, the flashcards, according to the word list I have been using, leave out parts of speech like "with" and "very" and "to," and you need these to be able to create sentences. It's very hard to represent these parts of speech the way I do flashcards, in which a concrete image represents the word, rather than the English translation.

The solution, according to Gabriel Wyner, is to write down entire phrases on a flashcard (often with a little image that sort of represents the phrase), and then drop the meaningful word. In English, you might have a phrase like "I went to the fair." You would create a flashcard that, on one side, had the complete phrase, and on the other you write "I went __ the fair." In this way, you learn that "to" is the word that fits in the absent space between the sentences, and you also learn a sentence, and both are useful. In this way, you start picking up grammar through usage, rather than spend years puzzling over declension charts and the like.

I haven't actually gotten to any of these flashcards yet. I've only learned about half of the flashcards I have created, so I won't eve start seeing these phrases for a few weeks, until I catch up on my vocabulary. So we'll see how it works then.

This is a break in the program, somewhat. Wyner likes people to learn vocab first and then move on the phrases taken directly from grammar books. But Benny Lewis, author of "Fluent in 3 Months," likes to get people talking as soon as possible, and recommends starting with phrase books meant for travelers, as they give people a lot of immediately usable sentences. So I have sort of merged Wyner and Lewis' approach, and we'll see how that goes. 

I've also added in a few vocab words of my own, even though they are relative uncommon words, but they are words that describe me and my life, and so I will need them sooner rather than later. I am a vegetarian, so I threw that in. I was adopted, and my biological family is Irish, so I added in the words for Irish and Ireland. I am a playwright, so I tossed that word in. I'll continue doing this when I think of words I need, regardless of whether they are among the most common 1,000. 

We'll see how this goes. I suspect the most effective language course is whatever language course gets you communicating, but maybe that's just the Dunning-Kruger speaking.

Why Yiddish?


I used to feel bad for Yiddish. It was, for somewhere in the vicinity of 1,000 years, the secular language of European Jews, and it had millions of speakers before they were wiped off the earth by the Holocaust. There have been dire predictions about the death of the language ever since, with every Yiddish speaker who dies seen as being one less person who speaks the language, never to be replaced.

With the exception of some Hasidim, who often still speak Yiddish, religious Judaism didn't do much for Yiddish. It wasn't taught in my Hebrew school, or at my summer camps, or at the Jewish high school I attended, or at the Jewish Studies program I studied in college. We did not sing Yiddish songs, we did not watch Yiddish films, and Yiddish theater was nonexistent in Minneapolis, as it was in most of America.

Still, I grew up with a lot of Yiddish. My father speaks some -- mostly curse words, which he makes free and ample use of. When I was young, there was still a pervasive use of Yiddish as a cultural marker among Jews, so we would shlep, and we would oy vey, and we would gevault. It was a great language for complaining, or, at least, spicing up complaints, which we called kvetching. It was still easy to find copies of Leo Rosten's "The Joys of Yiddish," and people read it and borrowed from it. There was also the trailing influence of comedian Lenny Bruce, who used Yiddish often and freely, inventing himself as a Jewish hipster and reinventing Yiddish as the language of the Jewish hipster.

And Yiddish then had a strange cultural cache in Hollywood, so you would hear everybody, even non-Jews, toss around Yiddish phrases. "The whole megilla" could be heard from an actress on Carson while "meshuggeneh" was later said by a comic on Letterman. But the last gasp of this, as far as I can tell, was Mike Myers' "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" sketches on Saturday Night Live, inspired by his mother-in-law, who was actually named Linda Richman. It's still the impression of Jews speaking Yiddish that I hear the most, even though much of it is nonsensical ("shpilkis in his genechtagazoink"?) To put this into perspective, people who recite this impersonation to me are doing a 25-year routine about a woman who is now about 77-years-old -- not exactly the most contemporary reference.

In the meanwhile, Hollywood's new Jewish comics don't seem to do much with Yiddish. I recently saw "The Night Before," a Christmas movie by a Jewish filmmaker with a largely Jewish cast that took great pleasure in actor Seth Rogen's unmistakable Jewishness. And yet I don't think there was a single Yiddish word in the whole film. I'm not sure why this is. The cast is also a decade or thereabouts younger than me. Perhaps they were raised in a world with much less Yiddish in it, or perhaps Yiddish seems dated or cliched. Maybe there is no conscious decision-making going on, and they just have so little experience with Yiddish that it's not a comic tool in their toolbelt.

And so it's is easy to feel bad for Yiddish and think that it's a great tradition that is on its way out. I think that's why I initially became interested in the language, years ago. I felt like something was slipping away, and it wasn't something small, but instead the language of a people, and not just of a people, but my people, my family, who spoke Yiddish when they came to America.

I'm not so discouraged now. There is an active Yiddish community in America, both among the Hasidim and among Jews who have just taken an interest in the language, like me. There may be more attrition than new growth, in the sense that more old Yiddish speakers die than new ones are born or educated, but that's not quite the same thing as extinction. It seems to me now that there will always be a cult of Yiddish. More than that, thanks to the same technological developments that inspired this project, it is no longer prohibitively difficult to learn at least some Yiddish. I mean, I don't know how long I intend to keep this project going, but I plan to come out of it a lot more familiar with the language than I am now.

But the question I asked in the headline for this post is a simple one: Why Yiddish? And I suppose my answer is just as simple. It's a Jewish language, and I'm Jewish. It's the language my family spoke, and I'm part of my family. It has become a cult thing, and I like cult things. It seems like fun, and I like fun. So, why not Yiddish?