Yiddish Literature in America 1870–2000: Volume 1

YIDDISH

LITERATURE IN

AMERICA 1870-2000

Volume 1

Selected, Edited, and with an Introduction by

Emanuel S. Goldsmith

Translated by

Barnett Zumoff

with

Shane Baker, Emanuel S. Goldsmith, Chava Lapin, and Jeffry Mallow

Copyright © 2016 by Barnett Zumoff.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920934

ISBN: Hardcover     978-1-5144-3652-3

Softcover     978-1-5144-3653-0

eBook     978-1-5144-3654-7

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Rev. date: 12/30/2015

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CONTENTS

Preface

By Barnett Zumoff

For the Love of a Culture

By Emanuel Goldsmith

Introduction: American Yiddish Literature and Jewish Continuity

by Emanuel S Goldsmith

Dovid Edelshtat

In Battle

Wake Up!

My Will

Elyokum Tsunzer

Return to Zion

Yoysef Bovshover

A Song to the People

Avrom Mikhl Sharkanski

Old Nekhama

Ab Kahan

I Go to Visit the Belzer Rebbe

Moris Vintshevski

Three Sisters

Yankev Gordin

Mirele Efros

Moris Rozenfeld

A March Of Exile

Kaddish

My Little Boy

My Resting Place

In the Catskill Mountains

Sholem Aleichem

The Four Questions Of An American Boy

The Parting Of The Reed Sea

Khayim Zhitlovski

What Is Assimilation?

Avrom Lyesin

Yiddish

Kalmen Marmor

The Beginning of Yiddish Literature In America

Avrom Reyzen

Our Song

Yiddish

A Man

I Envy Them

The Prayer

From Home

I And The World

Ordinary Jewish Girls

A Little Negro Boy

When I Kindle The Khanike Light

Yehoyesh

A Song for the Sabbath Day

Folk Motif

A Kiss For Mother

Marjorie

Sholem Ash

Jewish Eyes

H. Royzenblat

So Much Sorrow

The Song of the Small Letter

Fradl Shtok

Serenade

On the Ocean Shore

A Contemporary Motif

Avrom Koralnik

The ‘Square Script’

Yoysef Rolnik

As If Before My Eyes

From Our Love No Offspring Remains

Dovid Ignatov

Literature and Writings

Ruvn Ayzland

We Are Both Old

Still-Lifes

To Zisho Landoy

Twenty-Five Years Later

Yoyel Slonim

Yiddish In America

Zisho Landoy

I’m The Man Of Song

Until

For Our Destroyed Jewish Life

Ana Margolin

Mother Earth

Full of Night and Weeping

Avrom Moyshe Dilon

Our Song Is Not Of Today

Our Word

Dovid Eynhorn

We’ll Stay in Shul

Binyomin Yankev Byalostotski

The Torah Lad

Zalmen Shneyer

A Song to America

Lamed Shapiro

Word-Sounds

Tsilye Drapkin

My Mother

To A Young Poetess

For A Game

Moyshe Nadir

New York

Cities

My Uncle Itsik

My Uncle’s House

My Uncle Goes Away

My Uncle Comes Back

Mani Leyb

Stiller, Stiller

A Sonnet

Dove-Silent

Great Loneliness

To The Gentile Poet

Rhyme

Yiddish

Ayzik Raboy

Out West

Moyshe-Leyb Halpern

Memento Mori

Our Garden

Zlotshev, My Home

Women

H. Leyvik

Somewhere Far Away

Stars

New York In Beauty

A Poem About Myself

Mima’amakim

Forever

Lay Your Head

Menakhem Boreysho

There’s A Story Going Around

A Prayer

Yoysef Opatoshu

Judaism

President Smith

Yisroel Yankev Shvarts

I Love The Earth

Kentucky

Parting

Bronx

Legacy

A. Lutski

How Many Persons Make A People?

A Poem About Writing

A Mother Frog

A Good Poem

Berish Vaynshteyn

For You, Poetry

On Your Soil, America

Melekh Ravitsh

On The Day Of Judgment

Y. L. Perets

Shmuel Niger

Bilingualism

Kadye Molodovsky

Women’s Songs

What If

The Evening Sky

The Song of Sabbath

Borukh Rivkin

It’s Precisely America That Is Making Yiddish Literature Jewish

Yankev Yitskhok Sigal

New-Old Song

The Wisdom of Yiddish

Arn Glants-Leyeles

The Madonna In The Subway

To You, Yiddish Poets

Seward Park

Ecstasy

Nokhem Borekh Minkov

Perets In America

Yankev Glatshteyn

My Brother Benjamin

Good Night, World

Without Jews

Naftoli Gros

The Cemetery On Chatham Square

Yosl Klezmer

Volf Yunin

Hear How The Grasses Grow

For The Choir-Master

Eliezer Grinberg

Old-Fashioned Words to the Astronauts

A Guest On Second Avenue

Rashel Veprinski

Snowflakes

My God

Efrayim Oyerbakh

To Creative Maturity

Avrom Tabatshnik

Tradition and Revolt in Yiddish Poetry

Alef Kats

Yiddish Poem

Yisroel Yehoyshua Zinger

Yegor

Yehude Leyb Teler

The Song Of My Family

New York Through the Jewish Soul

Nokhem Bomze

O, Friends of Mine in Big Noisy New York

Sunset In The City

Arn Tseytlin

Song of the Good Deed

The Jew in Me Weeps

Faith

Cosmic No

The Secret: Man

The Mystery of Yiddish

Shloyme Shvarts

Chicago

Hallelujah

Itsik Manger

Since Yesterday

The Song of the Golden Peacock

Near the Road Stands a Tree

Dora Teytlboym

The Last Road

People, My People

Abel and Cain

Martyrs

Khayim Grade

Colorado

In the Synagogue

Reyzl Zhikhlinski

And Always When The Sun Goes Down

My Story Is Your Story

Ibn Dagan of Andalusia

Small Autumn Squares

In Times Square

The Knife

What Wall

The Kind Hand

Malke Kheyfets-Tuzman

A Letter to My Son at War — 1945

Like an Esrog

Breakfast

But I Can’t Sing

Rokhl Korn

On the Other Side of the Poem

You

I’d Like to Meet Your Mother One Day

Khava Rosenfarb

First Letter to Abrasha

Beyle Shekhter-Gotesman

My Home, New York

Rock-And-Roll Music

Leyb Borovik

All My Paths

The Forest

Yoni Fayn

The Closed Door

Quite Simply

Yitskhok Bashevis Zinger

The Psychic Journey

PREFACE

By Barnett Zumoff

In the year 1999, Emanuel Goldsmith published, in Yiddish, his massive and definitive anthology, Yiddish Literature in America: 1870–2000, a comprehensive two-volume collection of representative works by the Yiddish writers who published any of their works in America (which is the great majority of all Yiddish writers, a fact that is not widely known even among lovers of Yiddish literature). It seemed appropriate to me at the time to create an English translation of this work so that the treasures of Yiddish literature would be available to those who unfortunately cannot read Yiddish. In 2009, I published an excerpt of the poetry and prose from both the original Yiddish volumes; that first volume of a projected three volumes contained approximately one-third of the material from the original two-volume Yiddish collection, representing the best-known and most significant works of thirty-four of the forty-eight writers anthologized in the first Yiddish volume and thirty-seven of the forty-nine writers anthologized in the second Yiddish volume.

The current volume, volume 1 in the new English translation series, is a reprint of the 2009 volume, and will be followed by Volumes 2 and 3 of the new series, which will contain translations of all the rest of the works published in the original 2-volume Yiddish publication.

With the publication of these three volumes of English translation, the entire two-volume Yiddish anthology, 815 items by ninety-seven authors, will be available to those who can read English but not Yiddish.

I’d like to point out to those readers who read Yiddish fluently and will have noticed it themselves, that a number of the poems that I have translated in rhyme are slightly free translations rather than literal word-by-word translations; this is unavoidable in making a rhymed translation (and is one of the reasons that most modern poets eschew rhymed poetry, both in original and in translation). Where I have done this, it is because I think that the rhyme adds something quite valuable and is worth the slight distortion. (This is especially true for some of the translated poems that have been set to music in the original Yiddish, where my rhymed translations maintain their singability to the same tunes.)

Hopefully these English publications will be a helpful tool in the constant and ongoing struggle to keep the glories of Yiddish literature alive for the coming generations instead of leaving it as only a faint, fading memory that no one can read anymore. I and all other translators recognize that providing an English translation is not a fully adequate substitute for having people read the original Yiddish, but it is the least we must do for our current-day Jewish people. Readers—read and enjoy! If you get a picture of what was, that will be thanks enough for me; if you are also stimulated to learn to read the original Yiddish, my cup will overflow with pride and joy.

For the Love of a Culture

By Emanuel Goldsmith

Seventy years ago, the poet A. Almi described Yiddish culture as an empire of scattered, beautifully blossoming islands… cutting through the great ocean of peoples and cultures/ and its tongue — the beautiful, tender, mellifluous Yiddish/ resounding proudly in the chorus of tongues. To aficionados of Yiddish, the revival of interest in the language today is nothing less than a miracle. The demise of Yiddish has been predicted with regularity for several centuries, the great centers of Yiddish culture were brutally destroyed in our time, and the younger generation in America, Israel, and elsewhere is largely unfamiliar with the language.

Nevertheless, the fact of the matter is that Yiddishism — an ideology that came to the fore at the time of the First Yiddish Language Conference in Czernowitz, Bukovina, in 1908 — is far from dead. As a matter of fact, the two major events of modern Jewish history, the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel, have made Yiddishists more determined than ever to secure a future for the beloved mother tongue. In the words of Golda Meir, Once it was assumed that Yiddish represented the Diaspora and anti-Zionism, while Hebrew represented Israel and Zionism… There is no longer a battle between the languages… The spirit of the murdered millions lives in Yiddish culture. We dare not commit the offense of not having provided our youth with a deep attachment to those millions and to the great cultural treasures they created.

In 1939, eleven million Jews, scattered throughout the world and constituting some 65-70 percent of the world Jewish population, spoke the language that originated with French and Italian Jewish settlers in the Rhine valley between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries. Yiddishism consciously attempted to secure a position of primacy for Yiddish and Yiddish culture at the dawn of the twentieth century. Yiddishists generally viewed the emergence of Yiddish as the most significant manifestation of Jewish vitality in the modern world. They saw the Yiddish language as the living bond that united Jewry and thwarted the corrosive effects of dispersion, minority status, and assimilation.

The Yiddishists in America and elsewhere have remained the only organized Jewish trend to publicly acknowledge the incontestable value of the Yiddish language and literature as depositories and wellsprings of Jewish peoplehood and Jewish values in modern times. With all our respect for Hebrew and its ability to link us with ancient glories, and with all our admiration for the revival of spoken Hebrew, we must assert again and again that the creativity of the Jewish people did not cease in the Biblical or Rabbinic periods. We must also remember that the attempt to revive Hebrew included more than a little self-deprecation and desire to sever ties with what were considered to be the despicable Jews of the galut and their culture. Yiddish, on the other hand, is indeed what Hyman Bass called the fullest, most complete, and most faithful path to our people, because it represents the most complete development of the creative forces in Jewish life; because it brings us the sincere love of Jewish generations that yearned and struggled; because Yiddish connects us with Jews of other communities; and because Yiddish is the vehicle of the historical experience of a thousand years of Jewish life.

In Yiddish literature, perhaps even more than in Hebrew literature, we can discover the full richness of Jewish life throughout history and in all parts of the globe. Yiddish literature, according to Mordkhe Shtrigler, is the only place where all Jewish life-styles have been preserved. Neither modern Hebrew literature nor latter-day rabbinic writings have preserved the breath of life and the complete picture of hundreds of years of Jewish existence. Whoever wishes to know the Jew of many generations and to read the biography of his people will be unable to do so without Yiddish literature.

Yiddish literature has bestowed a rich heritage upon the Jewish people. As Yudl Mark puts it: It gave us the Jewish person in all his incarnations and transmigrations. It gave us the monologues of the Jewish person with himself as well as his dialogues with his own soul. Here the Jew was absolutely honest with himself. He spoke about both light and shadow, about his healing faith and his wounding, burning doubt. Modern Yiddish literature is the long road of the Jew to himself. ‘Know yourself’ and ‘reveal yourself’ are its commands… Modern Yiddish literature is a deeply national Jewish literature. It is more national than Jewish literature of any other period or of any other language ever used by Jews.

Today, more than ever, Judaism needs Yiddishism. Now, more than ever, the survival of the Jewish people requires openness and responsiveness to all Jewish generations and to the totality of our heritage. Once again, the stone that the builders of Israel rejected must become the chief cornerstone. As Yehoyshua Rapoport reminds us: The life that took place in the Yiddish language has in large measure disappeared. But that life survives in the language itself. That is why Yiddish must now be cherished and protected even more than when it was alive. Yiddish must be preserved so that the cultural treasure which it possesses in the liveliest and most contemporaneous format does not disappear.

Even the secularism or anti-clericalism of Yiddishism, despite its misreading of Jewish history, has a role to play in the present. It can serve to remind modern Jews, who tend to see authentic Eastern European Jewry in one-dimensional religious terms, of the complexity of European Jewish society. Jewish pluralism was already in the making in Eastern Europe in the nineteenth century, and new forms of Judaism were aborning. Tshuve, return to Judaism, can legitimately take many forms.

Even since the Emancipation and the Enlightenment, the Yiddish language and literature have helped sustain Jewish identity and have helped bring new life and new hope to our people. Now Yiddish and Yiddish literature must call upon all organs of Judaism and the Jewish people to rally to their aid and help preserve the culture that has given life to generations of the dry bones of our people the world over. When Judaism needed Yiddish, Yiddish was there. Now, when Yiddish needs Jewry and Judaism, they must be there for it. The task of Yiddishism today must be to get all sections and branches of our people to help support Yiddish language and culture. Yiddish linguistic and cultural content must become part of the educational program of all Jewish schools, organizations, and social agencies. Yiddishism must no longer content itself with being a trend — it must become part of the Jewish consciousness of every Jew. Speaking Yiddish and reading Yiddish can no longer be the primary goals of Yiddishism. Only the recognition of Yiddish culture as an essential component of Jewish identity for all Jews will suffice.

The goal of a revitalized Yiddishism can be nothing less than the fulfillment of the Prophet’s words: Your sons shall build once more the ancient ruins, and old foundations you shall raise again. You shall be called the repairer of ruins, the restorer of wrecked homes. (Isaiah 58:12)

Introduction: American Yiddish Literature and Jewish Continuity

by Emanuel S Goldsmith

Throughout the ages, imaginative writing played a major role in shaping the Jewish self-consciousness of most Jews. The Jewish self-image was traditionally the projection of poets and philosophers, artists and dreamers. It was the construction of ba’aley aggada, masters of Jewish lore — the weavers of parable, metaphor, paradigm, and myth. In modern times, the role of the ba’aley aggada and the later paytanim, or liturgical poets, was assumed by the poets and fiction writers of our people, particularly those who did their work in Yiddish and Hebrew.

One of the major functions of literature is to convey the historical meaning of a civilization by crystallizing its self-expression. For one hundred and thirty years, Yiddish literature in America escorted, comforted, and inspired American Jewry on its adventure in freedom. It captured the changing image of the Jewish people all over the world, both because of the centrality of American Jewry in Jewish life of the past century and because the Yiddish writers of America overwhelmingly remained faithful to the mission of Yiddish literature as a whole: to responsibly mirror, interpret, and advance the life of the Jewish people.

Creative writing in Yiddish in America was always a social act fraught with both nationalistic and spiritual overtones, no matter how vocally such links were denied. Just as modern Hebrew, with its biblical and religious echoes, compels its writers to confront a legacy they may consciously seek to disavow, so Yiddish, with its deep Jewish associations and nuances, forbids spiritual and national amnesia or anonymity. It is not surprising that in his attempts to liberate American Jews from traditional Judaism, the Yiddish-writing philosopher and political activist Khayim Zhitlovski, at the turn of the century, advocated writing Yiddish in the Latin rather than in the Hebrew alphabet.

Yiddish has no more been able to liberate itself from the implications of its role as the language of traditional Torah instruction and the God of Abraham prayer regularly recited by Jewish women at the conclusion of the Sabbath than modern Hebrew has been able to disassociate itself from its role as leshon hakodesh, the language of the sacred texts and prayers of Judaism. The conscious bastardization of the Yiddish language by the American Yiddish press was no more successful than the similar attempts of Soviet bureaucrats to strip the language of Jewish associations and have it serve communist aims. The deeper levels of meaning in Yiddish words, phrases, and idioms continued to haunt both American and Soviet Yiddish writers and draw them ever closer to the inner needs of the Jewish people.

The Pioneers

Elias Shulman, Kalmen Marmor, and other historians of Yiddish literature in America trace its origins to the writings of Yankev Tsvi Sobel, who published a slim volume of Hebrew and Yiddish poems in 1877. Sobel was also the author of The Three Principles of the Torah in verse, subtitled A World of Confusion. In the latter poem, he warned his people against the dangers of assimilation. The Torah’s three principles, he said, were: abstention from superstition, the practice of tolerance and humanism, and the elimination of poverty. If Jews would but unite, abandon fanaticism, and drive poverty from their midst, no enemy could ever defeat them.

Both Sobel and Elyokum Tsunzer, the badkhn or wedding rhymester, who came to America in 1889, were traditionalist Jews who had become maskilim, advocates of the modernization of Jewish life. Both preached agrarianization, both were influenced by Hebrew-writing socialist such as Shmuel Liberman and Moyshe-Leyb Lilienblum, and both bewailed the lot of the Jewish peddler in America. Tsunzer was the better poet, his poems representing the transition from primitive folk rhyme (set to his own music) to poetry. The work of these early writers was associated with the conservative wing of the American Yiddish press, which sought to preserve traditional Judaism in America and was obsessed with Jewish identity and ahavas yisroel, themes to which Yiddish poets far removed from the world of tradition would return half a century later.

N. B. Minkov estimated that in the 1880s and 1890s there were one hundred and fifty Yiddish poets in America. They wrote about nature and love, on the one hand, and about poverty and protest on the other. It was the social motif and the revolutionary outlook, however, that dominated this poetry. Radical freethinkers, socialists, anarchists, and others conveyed to the Jewish masses, in verse as well as in prose, their message of a working-class solidarity that transcended all national and religious divisions. Jewish labor proclaimed the Yiddish poets its spokesmen and transformed them into culture heroes. The wealthy Jews and the observant traditionalists, who joined together in cynically accusing the union organizers of being tools of the Christian missionaries, could not but be envious that the better poets always seemed to be found in the radical camp.

The socialist and labor poets, however, were not devoid of Jewish national feeling. Despite their conscious disavowal of Jewish nationalism and religion, there were striking conscious as well as subconscious allusions to the Jewish heritage and the Jewish plight in their poems. What good is life beneath the whip of tyrants, without freedom or rights? chanted Dovid Edelshtat. How long will we continue to be homeless slaves? In his My Will, the poet, who died of tuberculosis in 1892, at the age of twenty-six, asked his comrades to bury him beneath the red flag of freedom, sprinkled with the workingman’s blood:

O, dearest friend, when I have left this world,

bring to my grave our flag of red —

the freedom flag, the flag unfurled,

besplotched with blood of workers dead.

And there beneath the banners hanging,

sing me my song, my freedom-song,

my song that rings with fetters clanging,

the song of slaves, of human wrong.

The greatest of the Yiddish labor poets was Moris Rozenfeld (1862–1923). A poet of the working class, Rozenfeld was also an intensely Jewish poet. The national motif and religious sentiments expressed themselves in some of his best- loved poems. His social and national poems were both reactions to Jewish homelessness and suffering. In his poem Di Royte Behole on the fire in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company in New York in 1911, in which 146 workers, most of them young Jewish girls, lost their lives, he wrote:

Kindle the yortsayt candles in the Jewish streets.

This catastrophe is the catastrophe of the Jewish masses,

of our benighted and pauperized masses.

The funeral is ours, and ours the graves.

Language Consciousness

Rozenfeld wrote of Jewish wandering, of life in the ghetto, of the solidarity of the Jewish people, and of the dream of Zion restored. His poems dealt with Jewish sorrows and Jewish hopes. He wrote of Moses and the prophets, and of Theodor Herzl, who had just come on the scene.

Many of the Jews who came to America from Eastern Europe did so with the hope of escaping the narrowness of shtetl civilization. Often this meant severing all links with Jewishness. Together with Rozenfeld and the poet and Bible translator Yehoyesh, Avrom (Walt) Lyesin (1872–1938) kindled Jewish pride and helped forge the national identity and self-awareness of the American Jewish community. Arriving in America in 1897, he became the outstanding Jewish national poet in the Yiddish tongue. In his poem Yidish (1922), Lyesin reached heights of prophetic exaltation. At a time when the language seemed doomed to extinction in America, he had a vision of its luminous significance in the heritage of generations:

I come to you, my child, from the silent exile,

from crowded, sealed-off ghettos.

I possess only the beauty of pious prayers,

I have naught but the loveliness of martyrdom.

And if I have no lightning-flashes that blind one,

or flaming sun-like words that perform miracles,

I do have the sparkle of starry legends,

the precious moonlight of the spirit.

From Worms, from Mainz, from Speyer,

from Prague and Lublin to Odessa,

one fire continued to burn,

one miracle continued to glow.

Wherever mortal enemies lay waiting

and death was ready nearby,

there, alone and in sorrow

I accompanied your parents.

For hundreds of years together,

we faced every danger.

I forged through the generations

the wonder of willpower and woe:

to live for sacred teachings

and die for them with strength.

If pure holiness

reflects only from torture and pain,

then I my child, am the one for you,

I am your holiest one.

(Yidish)

Although he was already well-known in Europe, it was after his arrival in the United States in 1908 that Avrom Reyzen (1876–1953) came to be acknowledged as one of the leading Yiddish poets and short-story writers. Reyzen, whose writing went through several fascinating metamorphoses, made Jewish poverty a symbol of the universal condition, and made Yiddish poetry the recorder of the full gamut of Jewish and human experience.

In our noisy land,

on roads without end,

we go about silently,

pensive and longing.

Some suppress their woe,

but it is suppressed anyway.

In his heart each

has brought his home along.

In the tumult and confusion,

each sees above himself

his own bit of sky.

(In Undzer Land)

Rebel Spirits

Homesickness and longing for the old country were also expressed in the work of Moyshe-Leyb Halpern (1886–1932), the greatest rebel of American Yiddish literature.

Joy blessed by God reigned at home and in the street.

Children played with their fathers’ long beards.

Over ancient tomes, singing and always in deep thought,

sat gentle young people day and night.

Young girls sewed phylactery-bags of gold and silk

and all the girls looked as pure as stars.

(In Der Fremd)

Halpern’s stature has continued to grow since his untimely death at the age of forty-six. His influence on Yiddish poets everywhere has been enormous because he brought a new, liberated diction and style to Yiddish poetry. This, together with his strong individuality and his powerful, earthy Jewishness, made him one of the leading Yiddish poets of all time. Halpern could also be devastatingly critical of the old country and the old way of life — and this too is highly characteristic of American Yiddish literature and of the American Jewish community as a whole.

Halpern was one of Di Yunge, the young rebels who after 1905 brought a new sophistication and refinement to Yiddish writing in America. Di Yunge, writes A. Tabatshnik, "were not so much exponents of a new ideology as of a new psychology. Something took place in Jewish life at that time, something matured socially and culturally that made the rise of poets like Di Yunge inevitable. They felt differently, saw differently, heard differently."

In the poetry of the sensitive and lyrical Mani Leyb (1883-1953), a new type of person emerges in Jewish life. The individualism of Mani Leyb, and of Di Yunge generally, was based on a very intensive, more acute way of feeling — on a highly refined sensibility and openness to experience.

In poor houses there is so much beauty;

faith ennobles hungry lips.

In its abject smallness, the hand that is beaten

keeps all doors open for an even poorer neighbor.

Beside the cold fire of the dying coals,

around the table, heads leaning on elbows,

ears perked and old greybeards speaking

words of wisdom, sorrow, and imagined miracles.

And above all heads — the silent one, the liberator.

He emerges from the talk and sits in their midst.

The thin coals flicker with new fire

and redden all the heads and beards carved out of the fire.

(In Hayzer Oreme)

Mani Leyb’s enduring historical accomplishment for Yiddish literature was the purification of the dialect of his tribe. He established boundaries for Yiddish poetry that helped lift it to new levels of aesthetic accomplishment and refinement. In Tabatshnik’s formulation, he purified Yiddish poetry of prosaisms, jargon, and poor taste.

Jewish survival and the preservation of Jewish religio-cultural distinctiveness were major concerns of Y. Y. Shvarts (1885–1971), another member of Di Yunge. Shvarts translated numerous masterpieces of medieval and modern Hebrew literature into Yiddish and wrote narrative verse about America and the American Jewish experience. His skillful poems about the American landscape, about Jews and Blacks in Kentucky, and about his Lithuanian childhood assure his place among the outstanding Yiddish writers of America.

Poet of Accountability

Another early member of Di Yunge, who was to become a central figure in the history of Yiddish literature and in the culture of the Jewish people, was H. Leyvik (1888-1962). Leyvik, who inherited the mantle Y.L. Perets had worn in Europe, became the poet of ethical sensitivity and moral responsibility in Yiddish literature. His poems and plays revolve around the themes of guilt and forgiveness, accountability and humanity, messianism and mission as individual, collective, and universal experience. What is sorrow? he asked, and answered: Sorrow is responsibility for everything, for everyone, for all times. The very first poem he wrote in America (in 1914) already contained motifs to which he continued to return throughout his life. In January 1940, when reports of Jews compelled to wear yellow armbands in Europe reached America, images from that first poem came back to haunt the poet:

The first snow fell today

and children are sledding in the park.

The air is filled with joyful shouting.

Like the children, I too love white snow.

Most of all, I love winter days.

(Somewhere far, somewhere far,

a prisoner lies alone.)

True God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,

punish me not for this old love of mine.

Punish me for not shaping

a Moses from the meager New York snow,

for not making a Mount Sinai from the snow

as once I did in distant years of childhood.

(Someone wanders in the snow

strewn all about.)

Punish me for not actually wearing

the six-towered Star of David and

the round emblem of the yellow badge

to strengthen Israel in the hangman’s land,

to praise and glorify

the arm that wears the honor of this ancient seal

in every country of the world.

(Lider Vegn der Geler Late)

After the Holocaust and years of struggle with self-incrimination and guilt for not having been in Treblinka with his martyred brethren, the original vision helped Leyvik search for meaning in his people’s suffering.

In Quest of Modernity

The rebellion of Di Yunge sparked another rebellion — that of the Inzikhist or Introspectivist-Imagist writers of the 1920s and 1930s. Where Di Yunge had taken Russian, French, and German poets as their models, the Inzikhists took American poets, and especially Walt Whitman, as theirs. To the Inzikhists, it also seemed that Di Yunge, despite their outstanding achievements in developing Yiddish poetry, had limited themselves to traditional form and content. The time was ripe, they felt, for more experimentation and more outspoken individuality than Di Yunge, in their quest for delicacy and refinement, had permitted themselves.

The chief theoretician of the Inzikhists, and a major voice in American Yiddish literature, was Arn Glants (1889-1966), whose pen name was A. Leyeles. Even before the organization of the Inzikhist group, Leyeles had published a volume of experimental poems with the telling title Labyrinth. In the 1930s, he created the persona of Fabius Lind, the poet’s alter ego, whose very name symbolized the mature, intellectual, sensitive and activist, modern Yiddish writer, alive to both the modern world and his traditional culture. What is especially exciting about Leyeles’ poetry is the fact that it was always on the move — probing, feeling, experimenting. It is the poetry of the modern Jew in quest of the totality of modernity while loyal to his people, his culture, his faith, and himself.

Leyeles’ poems record the entire adventure of Yiddish literature in twentieth-century America, and they reflect and ponder the odyssey of the Yiddish language the world over in modern times.

Our poem of a sevenfold heaven,

our poem — nourished with the dew and poverty of every land,

can it not once again irrigate every soil?

Behold, we have gone far beyond A, B, and C.

Our poem — a blade of grass, a little flower yesterday,

is now a rare and lovely growth.

(Tsu Aykh Dikhter Yidishe)

Yankev Glatshteyn (1896-1971), an early colleague of Leyeles’, was the twentieth-century poet of Judaism par excellence. There was no aspect of modern Jewish experience that did not find expression in his deeply thought poems. Glatshteyn brought to Yiddish poetry complete self-identification with Judaism and the Jewish people, humanitarianism, wisdom, humor, and genius. His work is a culmination of all that is admirable in modern