I’m not one given to thinking much about God, nor am I one of those people who groove on theology. That said, when studying traditional Yiddish culture, God is something of an occupational hazard. Never a pithier distillation of a people’s interaction with the divine than: “der mentsh trakht un got lakht” (man thinks and God laughs). We can tie it, perhaps, to the pithy English version of a medieval Latin bon mot, “Man proposes, but God disposes.” While the latter may accurately describe the power dynamic, it doesn’t really capture the attitude of the divine within the relationship. What a wonderful enigma laughter can be! A different version runs “der mentsh trakht untn un got pórket oybn” (man thinks below, while God putters above), but I think that weakens the impact, let alone the humor, of the assessment.
The word for God in Yiddish, as you can see from the foregoing, is “got.” (It is also the word for a god or a divine being, in which case the plural is “géter.”) And it appears in all the theologically appropriate terminology you can think of: “gótsforkhtik” (God-fearing, pious); “gótloz” (Godless, impious); “er hot got in hartsn” (literally, he has God in his heart, meaning compassionate). What’s more, given the theology of God’s mastery over the world, mention of good things require recognition of the cause: “a dank got,” “dánken got,” “got tsu dánken” (thank God!), “gelóybt tsu got” (God be praised), or in a more Hebraic vein, “borekh-hashém” (blessed be God). On the flip side, mention of negative things needs to be accompanied by a desire for God to dispel them: “zol got óphitn” (God forbid). I will say in passing that in researching this month’s column, I found in one of the great thesauri of Yiddish the following bit of very opinionated folk wisdom, which I include simply to give you a sense of the color and attitude that inhere in Jewish geography: “got zol óphitn far bardítshever negídim un far umáner khsídim, far konstantínover meshórsim un far mohlíver apikórsim, far kaménetser khodatáyes un far adéser hultáyes” — God protect us from wealthy folk from Berdychiv and hasidim from Uman, from servants from Konstantinov and freethinkers from Mogilev, from petitioners from Kamianets-Podilskyi and scoundrels from Odessa.”
Not surprisingly — but still unlike much of the rest of Yiddish’s playful love of synonymy — the direct Hebrew “names” for God are not generally used. Instead, all manner of other options are deployed. “Ribóyne-shel-oylem” (master of the universe) emphasizes the almightiness of the divine, whereas “der éybershter” (literally, the one on high) is more like English “the Lord” or “the good Lord.” “Der bóyre” and “der bashéfer” both mean “the Creator,” the former Hebraic in origin, the latter Germanic. In more religious contexts, one will often encounter “hakodesh-bórekhu” (the Holy One, blessed be He) or “hashém-yisborekh” (the Name, blessed be). One of my favorites is “kavyókhl,” which literally means something like “as if it were even possible.” In this sense it is used as a way of speaking about God anthropomorphically but inoculating oneself against the charge of anthropomorphizing the deity (God forbid!).
The most intimate of words, however, is “gótenyu,” adding the endearing slavic diminutive suffix. This versatile word can be used as an exclamation, “dear God!” or “good Lord!” But it can be used as a term of address as well. Much folk wisdom comes out of the close personal terms in which eastern European Jewry communicated with the divine. Nothing better summarizes that intimacy than this form of address. (To give you a sense, if “máme” is mom, then “mámenyu” is mommy; and if “táte” is dad, then “tátenyu” is daddy. Therefore in the current context I shudder to suggest “Goddy,” but you get the point.) Of course, one outcome of a chummy relationship with the divine is that sometimes it is taken a little too far. If one were to say, for example, “er ret mit got” (literally, he speaks with God), what one means is the guy’s a little gung-ho with the God-talk.
The Biblical narrative describes the numerous interventions of the divine in the lives of its characters, sometimes unexpectedly, for some in an opportune way (and for others, inopportune, depending on one’s perspective). Such was also the case in ancient Greek theater. One of the Gods was often made to appear on stage by a mechanism of stagecraft in order to resolve some difficulty or create a sense of surprise. Such is the origin of the phrase “deus ex machina” (God out of the mechanism). In a similar way, if one is telling a story, one can say “vos-zhe tut got?” (literally, So what does God do?), which effectively means: “You’ll never believe it. Just guess what happened next!” Similarly, a “gótzakh” (literally, God-thing) is an unforeseeable circumstance or chance outcome; so one might felicitously define “gótzakh” as “deus ex machina.”
Yiddish has hundreds, if not more, idioms, expressions, aphorisms, and the like that deal in one form or another with God, certainly far too many to undertake any systematic overview here. Instead I will leave you with one Litvak expression, which, being a Litvak myself, I am fond of. Litvaks were known for their intellectual acumen and studiousness, so it makes perfect sense to say “ver es hot seykhl dém iz got meykhl.” That is, God forgives the one who has brains.
So, while it feels that common sense might be a gótzakh these days, it is my strong hope that it prevails in the coming year. And as always, “léyent gezúnterhéyt” — read it in good health.
Please send Yiddish questions to: yiddishcolumn@americanisraelite.com.
