My eldest son is a budding and enthusiastic Latinist, a noble and edifying interest if I do say so, and his dedication is testament to the notion that “labor omnia vincit.” (Though I am more the embodiment of “errare humanum est.”) So I thought I’d poke around and see how the Roman world made its way into Yiddish.
We need first to make an historical distinction. Given where and how Yiddish first developed, a small but important group of words entered the language from both the Romance languages the Jews had been speaking and those of other Jews they were in contact with. (The Romance languages all being effectively the modern forms of spoken Latin dialects.) This is what I am going to be talking about. More modern additions — for example, if I were to ask “Bonzhú mesyé, vos hert zikh?” (Bonjour Monsieur, how are you?) — will be left for another time.
The best place to begin is with the name itself. The most straightforward word for Latin is (unsurprisingly) “latáyn” (the adjective is “latáynish”). And a scholar of Latin language and culture is a “latáyner.” But as the expression goes: “az men zogt af latáyn iz do a tsore derayn” — when someone starts talking Latin, something bad’s coming.
The other significant word for Latin is “gálkhes.” This comes from a Hebrew root meaning to shave. The later Hebrew word “galach” came to be used for a Christian priest (presumably because of the association of Christian clergy with the tonsure). As a result, in Yiddish “gálekh” (pl. “galókhim”) is a priest, usually Catholic (a “pop” is a specifically Orthodox one). “Gálkhes” has several meanings. It can refer to priests in general; it can refer to the Latin language; and it can refer to the letters of the Latin alphabet.
One of the more noticeable areas where the influence of Latin can be felt is in some older (sometimes more antiquated) Yiddish names. Personal names can sometimes be harder to decipher because the pronunciations can vary and change quite considerably, and because of a tendency to folk etymologize when the actual origin has become obscure. (Think “chaise lounge” where the actual word is “chaise longue.”) “Grúnem,” for example, may come ultimately from Hieronymous. “Fáyvus” may come from Fabius, or possibly Vivus; “Béndet” from Bendetto, and that from Benedict; and “Tódros” from Theodore. Finally, the name “Shnéyur” derives ultimately from the same root as Senior. Traditionally this designates the older child. One can also read in it the exact Germanic counterpart, “Álter.” This name was often given to a sickly child to ward off the “eynhóre,” the Evil Eye. (Remember, the Evil Eye is powerful and attracted to precious things; but it is also stupid, so easily put off the scent.)
It is quite interesting that two of the most common words for prayer in the Yiddish world both derive from a Latinate root. The first, “bentshn,” means to recite a blessing, especially the blessing after the meals. It derives ultimately from Latin “benedicere” (to bless). The other is only found in West Yiddish, where the verb for praying is “orn.” This comes from Latin “orare” (to pray). The East Yiddish equivalent is “dávenen.” Unfortunately no truly satisfying etymology of this word is yet available, but it is possible that it, too, was birthed in Latinity.
Another very important and common word to arrive in Yiddish via Latin is “léyenen,” which is the unmarked verb for reading. This word came to Yiddish from Latin “legere” (to read). One can also use the verb “lezn” (see German, “lesen”), but this is a rather more old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy. A less common Latinate verb in Yiddish is “plánkhenen,” which originally comes from “plangere” (to lament or bewail). It has two attested meanings, which are in the same semantic field, but at two ends of the spectrum. It can mean to whimper, but it can also mean to bawl or wail with tears.
Then there is a relatively uncommon word for girl, namely “piltsl.” One doesn’t encounter it very often, but it has a pleasant and interesting etymology. It likely derives either from “puellicella” (a diminutive of “puella”) meaning girl; or from “pullicella” (a diminutive of “pullus”) meaning a chick (as in a baby chicken). The French word “pucelle” also has the same derivation. There it means either a girl or a maiden. “La pucelle d’Orléans” (the Maid of Orleans) is one way of referring to Joan of Arc, made famous by Voltaire’s somewhat scandalous poem of that name. Interestingly, the word “pucelle” is also an archaism with the same meaning in English. What a language!
Given an historical antipathy of Jews to Roman culture, Yiddish does not bear a deep Roman impression. Perhaps the single most famous Roman example in Yiddish is “títes” — the emperor Titus. Since it was he who destroyed the Second Temple, Yiddish singles him out for particular opprobrium, putting him in the company of: “páre” (Pharaoh), “amólek” (Amalek), and “hómen” (Haman). To call someone “shlekht vi títes haróshe” (as bad as Titus the Wicked) is pretty strong language. There is also a famous Talmudic legend in which God punished Titus for destroying the Temple by sending a gnat up through his nose and into his brain, driving him mad for seven years. In the Yiddish idiom the gnat becomes a fly, but having a “títes-flig” is to have a real bee in one’s bonnet.
Valete omnes. And as always, “léyent gezúnterhéyt”—read it in good health.
Please send Yiddish questions to: yiddishcolumn@americanisraelite.com.
