{"id":33510,"date":"2016-01-02T18:00:28","date_gmt":"2016-01-02T16:00:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.reunion68.se\/?p=33510"},"modified":"2016-01-01T15:04:33","modified_gmt":"2016-01-01T13:04:33","slug":"03-00-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.reunion68.se\/?p=33510","title":{"rendered":"How Much Polish Is There in Yiddish (and How Much Yidddish Is There in Polish)?"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>How Much Polish Is There in Yiddish (and How Much Yidddish Is There in Polish)?<\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/h5>\n

Miko\u0142aj Gli\u0144ski<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

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For centuries, Yiddish was the language of the Ashkenazi Jews of Eastern Europe. Nowadays it is rarely spoken, but lives on in the texts of Yiddish literature and the minds of Yiddish scholars who have strived to analyze its complex composition.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

This article is an introduction to Yiddish\u2019s complicated linguistic relation with Slavic languages in general and with Polish in particular.<\/span><\/p>\n

With its German grammatical structure and the bulk of its vocabulary coming from German, Yiddish is usually classified as a Germanic tongue. But being a \u2018mixed\u2019 language, Yiddish has also had a couple of other languages impacting its structure and vocabulary \u2013 the most important components being Hebrew and the Slavic languages. Among the latter Polish may have played a key role. Here\u2019s how and why.<\/span><\/p>\n

How much Polish is there in Yiddish?<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

While the idea of a mixed language may be itself a bit controversial (every language is a mixed language in a way \u2013 those versed in the history of the English language know it best) Yiddish was to a much greater extent subject to influences from other languages. Additionally the very character of it being a mixed language goes further than in the case of many other languages (as you’ll see below).<\/span><\/p>\n

In regard to Yiddish vocabulary it is estimated that the Germanic element makes up some 70-75 percent of the overall lexicon. The remaining 15-20 percent words come from Hebrew, while the Slavic element is estimated at 10-15 percent (an additional couple of percent is of early Romance origin).<\/span><\/p>\n

While the German and Hebrew could have been there right from the start (note: early Yiddish developed from Middle High German dialects) the impact of the so-called Slavic component comes later and obviously couldn’t have started before Jews began migrating to the east. This migration took most of the Jewish nation to Poland. It is precisely there, around the 14th century, that the Yiddish language as we know it took shape.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yiddishland<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

During the time of the massive influx of Jewish people from Germany in the late Middle Ages, Poland served as a departure point for further Jewish migrations to the east. This helps to explain the huge range of Polonisms across the whole area of Eastern Yiddish (the so-called Yiddishland) regardless of the dialect spoken of the area. (In Eastern Europe, Yiddish is generally divided into 3 major dialects: Polish, Litvish, and Ukrainian \u2013 each of them reflecting the characteristic features of the local substrate language). That\u2019s why many of the Slavic words, constructions, etc in Yiddish can be identified ultimately as Polish, in contrast to other possible Slavic sources: that is Czech, Belarusian and Ukrainian (the influence of Russian on Yiddish comes much later, only in the 19th century). In fact, the influence of those languages on Yiddish was usually limited to the local variant of the language. To put it simply, Yiddish\u2019s contact with Polish was the earliest and lasted for the longest time.<\/span><\/p>\n

Where to look for Polish in Yiddish?<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Linguists have identified certain cultural areas where Polish (and Slavic in general) is to be found in Yiddish. While the German component covers the most basic vocabulary and the Hebrew loanwords are reserved primarily for the areas of ritual, morality, religious and mental aspects of life as well as social conditions of Jewish life, Slavic loanwords are present in an altogether different context.<\/span><\/p>\n

They come usually in connection with household items and activities, immediate surroundings of the dwelling, family and professional life, as well as emotional states. Compare words like: bulke (bun), smetene (sour-cream), bieda (poverty), shpilke (pin), kopite (horse’s hoof), khlipen (to sob), muchen zich, and nebekh.<\/span><\/p>\n

Polish words in Yiddish<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

While the above selection represents words that came to Yiddish from Slavic languages in general, linguists have also attempted to pinpoint words that came to Yiddish directly from Polish. Here’s a sample list of words identified as of Polish origin by the famous Yiddishist Max Weinreich:<\/span><\/p>\n

blondzen, blonken<\/strong> (Pol. b\u0142\u0105dzi\u0107, b\u0142\u0105ka\u0107 si\u0119) \u2013 stray
\n<\/span>gombe\/gembe<\/strong> (Pol. G\u0119ba) \u2013 chin
\n<\/span>glomb<\/strong> (g\u0142\u0105b) \u2013 stalk
\n<\/span>demb<\/strong> (d\u0105b) \u2013 oak
\n<\/span>drong<\/strong> (dr\u0105g) \u2013 pole
\n<\/span>vontse<\/strong> (w\u0105sy) \u2013 moustache
\n<\/span>vend<\/strong>(k)e (w\u0119dka) \u2013 fishing rod
\n<\/span>temp<\/strong> (t\u0119py) \u2013 dull
\n<\/span>khromske<\/strong> (< chrz\u0105stka) \u2013 cartilage
\n<\/span>lonke<\/strong> (\u0142\u0105ka) \u2013 meadow
\n<\/span>parondkes<\/strong> (porz\u0105dki) \u2013 cleaning
\n<\/span>parentsh<\/strong> (por\u0119cz) \u2013 railing
\n<\/span>plonte<\/strong>(r)n (pl\u0105ta\u0107) \u2013 to confuse
\n<\/span>penten<\/strong> (p\u0119ta\u0107) \u2013 to fetter
\n<\/span>penkher<\/strong> (p\u0119cherz) \u2013 bladder
\n<\/span>prent<\/strong> (pr\u0119t) \u2013 rod
\n<\/span>kurtshente<\/strong> (kurcz\u0119 \/ pl. kurcz\u0119ta) \u2013 [dial.] hen
\n<\/span>rond<\/strong> (rz\u0105d) \u2013 row<\/span><\/p>\n

You’ve probably noticed that many of these Yiddish words feature some combination of -en-, -on-, -em-, or -om- which all reflect the nasal sounds of -\u0105, and \u0119 in the Polish original. This often serves as the ultimate proof that a word was introduced into Yiddish through Polish, as it’s the only Slavic language which retained the ancient Slavic nasal vowels.<\/span><\/p>\n

According to Professor Ewa Geller some of the most frequent Polonisms in Yiddish include: tate, mame, bobe (grandma, Pol. babcia), zeyde (grandpa \u2013 Pol. dziadek), khapn (grab), kachke (duck), drimlen (snooze, Pol. drzema\u0107), as well as particles: ci (czy), take (indeed), chocz (cho\u0107).<\/span><\/p>\n

But which Yiddish?<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

However the question of how much Polish is in Yiddish begs another question, namely: which Yiddish? The Yiddish language in Eastern Europe differed not only geographically. The language varied heavily depending on the register of the language and its immediate context. These to a great extent defined the amount of Slavisms (Polonisms) included in a given text. As Professor Ewa Geller suggests, the register of Yiddish where the number of Slavic loanwords was the highest was the spoken colloquial Yiddish. The Slavic element also came to the fore in the language of the press, poetry and folk songs.<\/span><\/p>\n

However, in other discourses and registers the number of Slavisms could have been very low, concludes Geller. As a result, there are registers of Yiddish that would have very little Slavic elements \u2013 for example poetry, especially in its high, religious, or elevated manifestations, would have been very likely devoid of any Slavic elements.<\/span><\/p>\n

At the same time, there were writers, like Yitskhok Leybush Peretz, whose work was much dependent on the Polish idiom. Based in Warsaw and considered the father of modern Yiddish literature, Peretz very much relied on Polonisms in his style. As Natalia Krynicka suggests, Peretz’s readers not familiar with the Polish language have always had a hard time understanding some of the linguistic peculiarities in his work.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yiddish morphology, or the ultimate mixed language<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Though words may be the most conspicuous element of a language, they are by far not the most important element of language system. Apart from vocabulary, the Slavic element has also influenced Yiddish grammar and morphology. And ways in which it did so really justify the term \u2018mixed\u2019 language \u2013 and have made linguists scratch their heads talking of interlingual interferences, transferences, loanshifts, borrowings, and contaminations. But one could also say here\u2019s where Yiddish is at its most creative \u2013 or, for that sake, at its most Polish.<\/span><\/p>\n

Contamination<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

One of the characteristic features of Yiddish morphology is the so-called morpheme contamination, which means that Yiddish words are often made of different elements coming from different languages (heterogenic is the proper scientific term). Compare such word formations as:<\/span><\/p>\n

sosnewald (pine forest) \u2013 which combines the Slavic word sosne (pine tree) + Ger. wald (forest)<\/span><\/p>\n

or<\/span><\/p>\n

golmeser<\/strong> (razor) \u2013 Pol. goli\u0107 (shave) + Ger. Messer (knife)<\/span><\/p>\n

tempkeyt \u2013 which means ‘dumbness’ (but is much more expressive), combines Slavic root temp- (< Pol. t\u0119py = dumb) and the German sufix -keyt.<\/span><\/p>\n

The same as with the word:<\/span><\/p>\n

tupenish \u2013 which means \u2018scurry (of footsteps)’; the word combines of Slavic root ‘tup’- (Pol. tupa\u0107 – patter, scurry) and German suffix -‘nisch’<\/span><\/p>\n

The mixed character of Yiddish makes it at times extremely hard to define the derivation of the original elements of a Yiddish word. One good example is the word:<\/span><\/p>\n

pameylekh \u2013 slowly; This word is usually explained as combining German allm\u00e4hlich or gem\u00e4chlich (both mean gradually) and Polish word poma\u0142u (slowly)<\/span><\/p>\n

or<\/span><\/p>\n

pomeshaf \u2013 dishwater; this word combines the Polish word pomyje and the German suffix -schaft<\/span><\/p>\n

baych \u2013 whip; is an even more complicated case as it combines Polish bicz and German Peitsche, forming a perfect synthesis.<\/span><\/p>\n

Of course a contamination can pertain to other languages too, like Hebrew and Slavic:<\/span><\/p>\n

tamewate \u2013 dumb; Hebr. tame (stupid) + Slavic adj. suffix -waty.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yiddish even has what Yiddishists call artificial loanwords. This means that the word which you borrow and which enters the language doesn’t actually exist in the original language. Take for exaple:<\/span><\/p>\n

tate-mame – this is the Yiddish word for ‘parents’. While these two words, taken separately, are Slavic words for mum and dad (tata, mama), there’s no such phrase as tate-mame (tata-mama) in Polish or any Slavic language.<\/span><\/p>\n

Contaminated Verbs<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

And now for verbs. A more complicated case of contamination may be:<\/span><\/p>\n

nochshladeven \u2013 this verb (meaning to imitate) looks like a contamination of German nachahmen or nachmachen and Polish na\u015bladowa\u0107 (all of them basically sharing the same meaning of imitating). [The linguistic term for the latter example would be a hybrid construction (loanblend)]<\/span><\/p>\n

As you can see Yiddish is quite liberal in mixing roots coming from different languages. Take for example the Yiddish verb:<\/span><\/p>\n

unterganvenen \u2013 (pod-kra\u015b\u0107) this verb is built with German praefix unter (under) and Yid. verb ganvenen (to steal) which itself is a contamination made up of Hebrew root gnv and German -en infinitive suffix. While on the morphological level this word mixes two languages (Hebrew and German), the sense of unter- is likely influenced by the semantic field of the Polish prefix pod- (compare – podkra\u015b\u0107)<\/span><\/p>\n

The same goes for:<\/span><\/p>\n

araynganvenen zich \u2013 while all morphemes of this word should suggest German and Hebrew as original tongues, the overall sense of the word meaning sneak\/slip into points to Polish as the source for its semantic development (Comp. Pol. wkra\u015b\u0107 si\u0119)<\/span><\/p>\n

Another case of words identified as Slavisms in Yiddish are verbs: rateven \u2013 to save, rabeven \u2013 to loot, mordeven \u2013 to kill. Although the word roots may suggest German at first (retten, robben, morden), they all came into Yiddish from Slavic languages (possibly Polish). This is plain when one compares Polish words: ratowa\u0107, rabowa\u0107, mordowa\u0107.<\/span><\/p>\n

The same kind of -ow-\/-ew- infix can be found in pure Slavisms (or Polonisms), like:<\/span><\/p>\n

pratseven \u2013 to work (pracowa\u0107)<\/span><\/p>\n

shaneven \u2013 to respect (szanowa\u0107)<\/span><\/p>\n

…and even Hebraisms, like:<\/span><\/p>\n

balabetewen – to run a household, which mixes Heb. balebos + Slavic -ew- + Germ. verb infinitive suffix -en<\/span><\/p>\n

Slavic Interferences, or German Mistakes<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Interference is another linguistic term that could help to explain what\u2019s happening within Yiddish words \u2013 in fact, what\u2019s happening between languages. The process of interference may seem at first similar to that of a mistake which one makes while trying to speak a new language. Usually, learning a new language one would simply bring along the characteristic linguistic features of one\u2019s own native tongue and incorporate them into the new language. But while in a language class this would be considered a mistake, in Yiddish constructions which resulted from such interferences have gained the full right of existence. More than this, they even came to epitomize the unique character of the language.<\/span><\/p>\n

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  • shpiln zikh \u2013 a verb which in Yiddish means to play. In German spielen is not a transitive verb, and it doesn\u2019t come with sich. Yid. shpiln zich arose as an interference with Polish bawi\u0107 si\u0119. The same goes for:<\/span><\/li>\n
  • ich dershrek zich \u2013 I’m scared (the interfering Polish phrase is: boj\u0119 si\u0119).<\/span><\/li>\n
  • In lakhn fun (laugh about something) or greser fun (bigger than) the usage of fun results from interference with Polish phrases which use different particles than German: \u015bmia\u0107 si\u0119 z czego\u015b (lachen ueber etw) and wi\u0119kszy od (Ger. groesser als).<\/span><\/li>\n
  • Professor Geller suggests that such constructions may be reminiscent of mistakes made by Poles – and Slavs in general – learning German.<\/span><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

    Also the traditional popular way to say \u201cWhat’s up?\u201d in Yiddish \u2013 Vos hert zikh? – appears to be an interference drawing on Polish Co s\u0142ycha\u0107?<\/span><\/p>\n

    In other verbs you can observe how the German prefix takes on the sense of the Slavic prefix to form a new word. These are called calques by linguists, which means that they are word-for-word (or root-for-root) translations from one language into another. One good example is:<\/span><\/p>\n

    iberbetn \u2013 this Yiddish word means ‘to apologize’, the German equivalent would be “sich entschuldigen” which makes clear that iberbetn has nothing to do with the German substrate; but it has a lot to do with Polish przeprosi\u0107 which it imitates (or nachshladevet, to use the Yiddish word). Linguists would call it a loanshift.<\/span><\/p>\n

    Yiddish Slavic Syntax<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

    If you thought transference is reserved for morphology only, here’s a look at how it can shape also the very syntax of a language (this is called syntactical transference):<\/span><\/p>\n

    Unlike German, Yiddish has participle constructions which closely follow the model of the Polish\/Slavic participle:<\/span><\/p>\n

    Jakub hot geredt nisht gloybendik di eigene verter (Jacob spoke not believing in his won words)<\/span><\/p>\n

    In the above example the participle has the power of adverb \u2013 this mimics the way participle can be used in Slavic languages.<\/span><\/p>\n

    You might have heard of Slavic double and multiple negation. Here’s how it looks in Yiddish:<\/span><\/p>\n

    Ich vil nit keyn epl \u2013 I don’t want an apple (Germ. Ich will kein Apfel)<\/span><\/p>\n

    The following is a more complicated case:<\/span><\/p>\n

    Ober Gershn hot zich far keynem nisht ibershrokn \u2013 (Eng. Gershn wasn’t scared of anyone; Ger. Gerschon hat sich von niemandem erschrocken; Pol. Gerszon nie ba\u0142 si\u0119 nikogo)<\/span><\/p>\n

    The same goes for negation in imperative sentences. For example one could say in Yiddish:<\/span><\/p>\n

    Nit zuch mich! (Don\u2019t look for me!) \u2013 which looks like a perfect literal translation from Polish (or other Slavic Language)<\/span><\/p>\n

    By now you won\u2019t be surprised to learn that Yiddish uses Slavic constructions for \u2018playing piano\u2019 or \u201cinviting someone to the wedding\u2019: shpilen oyf fortepian or farbetn oyf khasene.<\/span><\/p>\n

    In both cases oyf is taken straight from Slavic rection. But note also farbetn: As you sure know by now it\u2019s an obvious calque \u2013 comp. Pol. za-prosi\u0107 (far-betn) \u2013 invite.<\/span><\/p>\n

    Yiddish also translated whole Slavic phrases which would have been otherwise extremely difficult to understand, like:<\/span><\/p>\n

    vi keyn mol gornisht \u2013 which is a way to say in Yiddish “As if nothing had happened” \u2013 if you wondered about the sense of the words in Yiddish phrase compare Polish \u201cjakby nigdy nic\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

    Particles \u2013 those little Slavic words<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

    Those little unaccented words that you attach to words and phrases in Slavic languages are called particles \u2013 and Yiddish likes them a lot, especially Slavic to and zhe which it uses for expressive effect. In fact even the harshest commands in Yiddish can be softened by appropriate insertion of the unstressed Slavic-derived particles to and zhe, for example:<\/span><\/p>\n

    To k\u00fam-zhe \u2013 which can be translated as \u201cThen come, won\u2019t you please now?\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

    Another little Slavic word Yiddish likes a lot is abi (Polish aby). When used in a popular phrase like “Abi gezunt” it is usually translated as “As long as you’re healthy [you can be happy].”<\/span><\/p>\n

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