Now that we are well into our reading of Genesis, and as the autumn darkness compels me toward introspection, I have been giving a little thought to how some of the characters of Genesis continue to have a distinct impact on Yiddish cultural thinking, often in rather unexpected ways.
Adam has been particularly fruitful as a character (and not simply because he was the progenitor). Reference to many Biblical characters is often accompanied by standard traditional epithets. “Móyshe rabéyne” is Moses our Teacher; “Dóvid haméylekh” is David the King; “Elyóhu hanóvi” is Elijah the Prophet, and so forth. Adam is usually referred to as “Ódem hórishn,” namely Adam the First. But of course, being the primordial inhabitant of the world, he generally appears in the state of nature. As a result, “ódem-náket” means stark naked, and “in ódems kléyder” (literally, in Adam’s clothes) is how one would say “in one’s birthday suit.”
One interesting set of associations has to do with the long ago and the far away. If you remember from earlier columns, there are various ways of referring to “the days of yore” or “a long time ago.” Some are historical, as in “fun méylekh Sobétskis tsaytn” (from the days of King Sobieski) or “fun Napoleóns tsaytn” (from Napoleon’s times), while others are Biblical, such as “Mesushelekhs tsaytn” (the days of Methusaleh) or, as you may have guessed by now from the pattern, “ódem hórishns tsaytn” (the days of Adam). But Adam has come to refer not just to the distant past but to a great physical distance. For example, referring to a place very far away one might say “ódem hórishn iz dort nit gevén” (Adam wasn’t there). But in a rather more crass vein (I hope you’ll forgive me) one could say “ódem hórishn hot dortn nit gepísht” (Adam didn’t pee there). Here I’m reminded of the humorous send up of the old real estate ad phrase “George Washington Slept Here,” to wit, “George Washington’s Horse Peed Here.”
The word “ódem” (Hebrew “adam”) is not only the name for Adam but also one of the Hebrew words for “man.” It is rarely used on its own in that sense in Yiddish except in certain phrases and sayings where context makes the distinction clear. An example is the nearly philological expression: “ódem iz a mentsh, un ish iz a mentsh, un énesh iz a mentsh, un géyver iz a mentsh.” Each of these elements—adam, ish, enosh, gever — refers to a Hebrew word for “man.” Literally, one could render it: “ ‘Adam’ means ‘man,’ and ‘ish’ means ‘man,’ and ‘enosh’ means ‘man,’ and ‘gever’ means ‘man’.” Which is a long way of saying “not all people are the same.”
Adam of course brings us to Eve. She, too, gets an epithet: “múter Kháve” (mother Eve). The attitude regarding women in traditional Eastern European society accounts for some of the expressions regarding Eve. “Farn toyt,” goes one such, “hot ódem óngezógt: gleybt nit kháven” (literally, before his death Adam warned ‘don’t trust Eve’). This brings up a tangential grammatical point but one which is, to my mind, quite fun. Unlike German, say, Yiddish marks personal names for grammatical case (accusative, dative, and genitive). That’s why in the above expression Eve’s name has an “n” at the end. “I see Adam,” for example, would be “Ikh ze ódemen.”
Returning to our topic, though, Eve’s great mythological claim to fame was her temptation to eat the fruit. Her curiosity is a recurrent theme not only in Jewish but also in Western literature. Curiosity in Yiddish is “tshikáves” and the adjective for curious is “tshikáve.” Given an apposite rhyme, one will encounter the expression: “tshikáve vi múter Kháve” (as curious as mother Eve).
It wasn’t too long ago that we read the story of Noah. So I will end on one of my favorites. Noah (Yiddish, Nóyekh) himself was an upright person and generally enjoys a good reputation in Yiddish folk culture. There is an association with his name, however, that is distinct from that positive repute. Noah’s name in Hebrew is among the very shortest in the Bible, consisting of only two letters. To refer, therefore, to a truly stupid individual one can say “er shraybt nóyekh mit zibn grayzn.” That is, “he writes the name Noah with seven mistakes.” Now that takes real effort.
As always, “léyent gezúnterhéyt” — read it in good health.
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