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My SukkalehA Yiddish Song of Succot |
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And now for
the personal story behind the poem. Some years ago, my wife and I were
visiting Prague. On the second day of Sukkot, we attended services at the
the Jubilee Synagogue on Jerusalem Street,-- a beautiful impressive edifice
in the traditional European house of worship style, with as many as perhaps
a thousand seats. There was just about a minyan men and a few women for the
holiday service. Among them, and I don't recall whether he was counted for
the minyan, was a non-Jew who introduced himself as playwrite who was
working on the Schindler List, on the way to Israel. There was a kiddush in
the sukkah following the service. We were seated around the table with the
leaders of the community present, when a woman, not known to the others,
asked permission to sing a Yiddish song appropriate for the occasion. She
was of course welcomed, and in a plaintive, somewhat broken voice, she
rendered this song, which I then heard for the first time. She was a
holocaust survivor. |
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Yiddish:A sooke a klaine Foon bretlech gemaine Hob ich koim mit tzores gemacht; Gedekt dem dach, mit a bisele schach Un ch'zitz in der sooke bai nacht. Mit farzorgten gezicht Dos ershte gericht Es trogt mir mein veib bald arein; Zi shtelt zich avek Un zogt mit shrek Der vint varft dee sooke bald ein! Fun vint dem kaltn Vos blozt duch di shpaltn Mein lichtele leshn zich veel Doch mach ich mir kiddush Un -- zet nor dem chidush-- Mein lichtl brent roo-eek oon shteel. Version: A sukkaleh, quite small, Wooden planks for each wall; Lovingly I stood them upright. I laid thatch as a ceiling And now, filled with deep feeling, I sit in my sukkaleh at night. A chill wind attacks, Blowing through the cracks; The candles, they flicker and yearn. It's so strange a thing That as the Kiddush I sing, The flames, calmed, now quietly burn. In comes my daughter, Bearing hot food and water; Worry on her face like a pall. She just stands there shaking And, her voice nearly breaking, Says "Tattenyu, the sukkah's going to fall!" Dear daughter, don't fret; It hasn't fallen yet. The sukkah's fine; banish your fright. There have been many such fears, For nigh two thousand years; Yet the sukkeleh's still standing upright. Version:
My Sukkahleh is small, not fancy at all,
The wind was a cold one, the
cracked walls were old ones,
My sweet little daughter sensing
the danger,
Fear not my child, it's been
quite a while, Version:
A
Sukkaleh, quite small,
wooden planks for each
wall; A chill wind
attacks, blowing through the cracks; In comes my
daughter, bearing hot food and water; Dear daughter,
don't fret; it hasn't fallen yet. |
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| Now I'm looking
through my music for the manuscript.
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