An original Aramaic-language “meturgeman piyyut” for Simḥat Torah and the reading of v-Zot haBerakha. I’m working on creating a seder meturgeman liturgy, akin to those for day 7 of Pesaḥ and for Shavuot, to be recited on Simḥat Torah. Mostly incorporating older Aramaic poems, I’ve also decided to write some originals myself. This is one of them, in praise of Moshe, to be recited after Deut. 34:11. In an atbash structure, it celebrates the great actions that Moshe did in the senses of Israel, using the ten names of Moshe listed in Vayikra Rabba 1:3:3.

A new introductory piyyut-meturgeman serving as a reshut for the targum of the haftarah. This genre used to be very popular, especially among the old French paytanim, but nowadays the only one still recited is Yetsiv Pitgam, said in some communities on the second day of Shavuot — although the targum is no longer. I think that’s a shame, so I wrote a new one. I’m probably one of the first people to write one of these since the expulsion of 1394. So of course, it’s meta as all get-out, being a reshut not just for the targum of the haftarah but for the custom of reading the targum of the haftarah with a reshut at all.

A text of the Qaddish using feminine language for God and for the rabbis and their students. Inspired by Rabbi Debi Shoua Haim of the Reform congregation Kol HaNeshama in Jerusalem, who, in a conversation about feminine-language versions of liturgical texts, challenged me to write a feminine Qaddish variant.

An original Aramaic-language “meturgeman piyyut” for Simḥat Torah and the reading of v-Zot haBerakha. I’m working on creating a seder meturgeman liturgy, akin to those for day 7 of Pesaḥ and for Shavuot, to be recited on Simḥat Torah. Mostly incorporating older Aramaic poems, I’ve also decided to write some originals myself. This is one of them, in praise of Moshe, to be recited after Deut. 34:10.

A liturgy for counting the fifty days of consolation or comfort between Tishah b’Av and Rosh haShanah (non-inclusive), in the style of the liturgy for the omer.

A Passover seder haggadah containing the traditional form of the text as well as other lesser known forms from across Jewish history and the Jewish world.

This is a macaronic poem for Yom Meturgeman. Macaronic poetry is poetry in multiple languages at once. In this case, the languages reflected are Hebrew, Aramaic, Judeo-Arabic, Yiddish, Ladino, and English, with a repeated Hebrew refrain. Each language is meant to rhyme with the colloquial Hebrew as it would be read — i.e. though the Yiddish doesn’t rhyme with the modern Hebrew pronunciation, it rhymes with the traditional Ashkenazi one.

I find it important to remind myself, when there is an opportunity to do so in Jewish liturgy, that there are six matriarchs of the children of Israel recognized together as the “shesh imahot” in rabbinic sources: Sarah, Rivqah, Leah, Raḥel, Bilhah, and Zilpah. This is important to me because it is important to recognize that while the Jewish people are famously endogamous, we must also remain open, honest, and respectful of our ancestors who connected to our people through exogamous relationships.

There are all sorts of customs associated with weddings in Judaism. But one custom that has been practiced for a long time and deserves a comeback is the additions to the Torah reading for Shabbat Kallah. Shabbat Kallah, the Shabbat in the “Sheva Berakhot” week after the wedding, is in many Sephardic communities preferred over Shabbat Ḥatan, the aufruf Shabbat before the wedding. And in all sorts of communities across the Jewish world, there have been customs for specific readings for Shabbat Kallah, treating it as a Special Sabbath in its own right. Traditionally this special maftir and haftarah would recited by the groom (along with an Aramaic translator interpolating for the maftir). The maftir is from the story of Abraham’s servant tasked with finding a wife for Isaac, and the haftarah is from the book of Isaiah and compares a groom and bride to the relationship between God and Israel.

This Tikkun for Erev Yom Kippur is an assortment of texts, beginning with Torah and its targum, continuing with the Writings, then prophetic and psalmodic works, each accompanied by related Mishnaic passages from Tractate Yoma and surrounded by petitionary prayers in the manner of a traditional tikkun. It is meant to be studied in the nightly period after Kol Nidrei, either as a community or alone.

Some people think of this as a magic formula that turns ḥamets into dust. It really is a legal formula that means that you renounce ownership of any ḥamets still in your space or your domain, so that it no longer has any value to you. But is it true that dirt is valueless and ownerless? We certainly act like we own the dirt, the soil. Developers take good land, build houses on it, and truck the topsoil away to sell to other people—thereby doubling profits and doubling damage to the earth. We act like the soil can be renewed and replaced at will, poisoning its microbial communities with pesticides applied even more strongly on our GMO corn and soy, while we replace the nutrients they create with petroleum-based fertilizers. We send the soil downstream and into the ocean along with vast quantities of agricultural runoff, creating algal blooms and anoxic dead zones. In that sense we do treat the soil like it is both ownerless and valueless. But our lives are almost entirely beholden to the soil. If it is ownerless it is because it belongs to all of us, or more precisely, as the story of the rabbi deciding between claimants goes, “The land says it doesn’t belong to you or to you, but that you belong to it.” Like the dirt of the earth, the ḥamets inside your house becomes what at Burning Man we call “MOOP” (Matter Out Of Place). Finding out where it belongs means finding out that it doesn’t belong to you or to us. Returning it to the soil means tilling our stuff back into the earth, where it can become renewed, where it can become sustenance for new life.

A paraliturgical English translation of an abridged mourner’s ḳaddish by Rabbi Daniel Brenner set side-by-side with the (amended) Aramaic text.

Variations of the original three lines culminating with “…walk beside me…” first appear in high school yearbooks beginning in 1970. The earliest recorded mention we could find was in The Northern Light, the 1970 yearbook of North Attleboro High School, Massachusetts. In the Jewish world of the early to mid-1970s, a young Moshe Tanenbaum began transmitting the lines at Jewish summer camps. In 1979, as Uncle Moishy, Tanenbaum published a recording of the song under the title “v’Ohavta” (track A4 on The Adventures of Uncle Moishy and the Mitzvah Men, volume 2).

Originally written by Aaron Zeitlin for the Yiddish play “Esterke” in 1940, ‘Dona Dona’ is a popular song the world over, having been adapted to many languages — often not preserving the original, deeply Jewish context. The gist of the original lyrics, which never state their metaphor outright, is: a calf is bound to a wagon being dragged to the slaughterhouse. It looks up and sees a swallow flying around. The farmer shouts at it, saying “it’s your own fault for being a calf and not a bird!” The implication being: the people telling the Jews it’s our own fault we’re persecuted are the ones driving the wagon. Gentiles will murder Jews, the song implies to us, and then say Jews are to blame because of how murderable our Jewish face is, so maybe we should get a less murderable and more goyish face. But the whole time they’re the one with the knife. Here included is the original Yiddish text (in the Ukrainish theatre dialect), as well as new translations into Ladino and Aramaic.

A “Prayer for the University” found in the Seder ha-Tefilah (Order of Service) arranged by the Jewish community of Oxford, England in 1931 at a special event celebrating the centenary of the scholar and librarian at the Bodleian Library, Dr. Adolf Neubauer (1831-1907).

This is the Aramaic source of Leah Horowitz’s teḥinah imahot, a teḥinah for Shabbat Mevorkhim, also known in its Yiddish translation (also by Leah Horowitz) as the “Teḥinah fun Sarah, Rivqah, Raḥel, vəLéah” as found in the manuscript: National Library of Israel (NLI), R41A460, vol. 6, no. 2.

The text of the popular Passover song “Who Knows One?” in Hebrew set side-by-side with an Aramaic translation.

This is the translation of Ḥad Gadya into Judeo-Valyrian with a Hebraicization schema for Valyrian by Isaac Gantwerk Mayer.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout Arda, and in many communities it was read in translation. This translation into Quenya is necessary for any good Lothlórien sedarim. But to be serious, Quenya was one of several languages developed by J.R.R. Tolkien. It serves as the sacred ancestral language of the Noldorin elves in the Middle-Earth legendarium. The editor here has developed this adaptation of the well-known seder table-song Ḥad Gadya into Quenya, as well as a home-brewed transcription system into Hebrew script included here (PDF | ODT). This translation uses several fan-made terms, such as cuimacir for “butcher” and luhtya- for “extinguish”, as well as one original neologism, yacincë for “kid-goat.”

A translation of Ḥad Gadya into Esperanto by Erin Piateski with a Hebraicization schema for Esperanto by Isaac Gantwerk Mayer. Piateski’s translation first appeared in her כוכב ירוק הגדה של פסח | Verda Stelo Hagado de Pesaĥo (2010).

A revolutionary socialist, Yiddish adaptation of Ḥad Gadya in Aramaic, with Yiddish and English translations.

This is a German translation of the Passover table-song Ḥad Gadya as translated by Paul Christian Kirchner in 1717.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish quadrant, and in many communities it was read in translation. This adaptation into the language of the Na’vi is very useful when celebrating liberation from the tyrannical RDA.

In our timeline, the Kaifeng Jewish community had originally spoken Persian as their lingua franca, before adopting the Kaifeng dialect of Mandarin that their neighbors spoke. But just change a little and all of history could be different! This is a translation of Ḥad Gadya in a timeline where Judeo-Aramaic was a little more prevalent in eastern Persia all those years ago. In this timeline, instead of speaking Judeo-Persian before adopting Chinese, the Kaifeng Jews spoke Aramaic. And this dialect of Aramaic, like many other languages spoken in the greater Chinese cultural sphere, underwent tonogenesis!

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, seeing as it was written more than five hundred years after the Tocharian language family went extinct. But maybe, in an alternate timeline, some of the Radhanites who traded along the Silk Road in the heyday of the Tocharians ended up settling in the Tarim Basin (in present-day Xinjiang/East Turkestan), and in this timeline where Tocharian survived the Jews of that region might sing something like this at their sedarim. This is a Tocharian B translation and Hebrew-script transcription of Ḥad Gadya. Unicode does not currently have Tocharian-script coverage, but in the event that it is ever introduced I’ll type it up!

A Luganda translation of Ḥad Gadya. Luganda is the vernacular language of the Abayudaya Jewish community of Uganda. Also included is a system for Hebrew transliteration of Luganda texts!

This is a translation of Ḥad Gadya into Guaraní, a vernacular language in Paraguay and central South America.

This is “Had Gadiâ | Un Cabri: La Légende de l’Agneau (Poésie chaldaico-provençale, chantée a la table de famille les soirs de Paques),” a translation of Ḥad Gadya into French by Dom Pedro Ⅱ (1825-1891), emperor of Brazil, as published in Poésies hébraïco-provençales du rituel israélite comtadin traduites et transcriptes par S. M. D. Pedro Ⅱ, de Alcântara, empereur du Brésil (1891), pp. 45-59. A note on the last page indicates the translation was made in Vichy, France on 30 July 1891.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. The Caribbean island of Curaçao is home to the oldest Jewish community west of the Atlantic, and its local creole language of Papiamentu has substantial Jewish influence. This is a translation of Ḥad Gadya into Papiamentu, along with a transcription into Hebrew according to a new methodology for Papiamentu in Hebrew.

A Judezmo/Ladino translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Judeo-Berber translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Judeo-Tajik translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Judeo-Tajik translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Čveneburuli (Judeo-Georgian) translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Yevanic (Judeo-Greek) translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Judeo-Tunisian translation of Ḥad Gadya, as performed by Nathan Cohen in this recording.

A Judeo-Arabic translation of the popular Passover song, Ḥad Gadya.

A Judeo-Moroccan Arabic (Darija) adaptation of the Passover seder song, Ḥad Gadya, as found in Mahzor Moȝadé Hashem.

An Arabic translation of Ḥad Gadya in its Syrian Jewish Damascus variation.

A translation of Ḥad Gadya into Hulaulá (Trans-Zab Jewish Neo-Aramaic), the Aramaic dialect of the Jews of Sanandaj. Largely based on the translation of Alan Niku (found here), with a few minor changes, and with the transcription altered to the scholarly transcription of Geoffrey Khan in his analysis of the dialect. Also featuring a transcription into Hebrew script.

This is the translation of Ḥad Gadya into a dialect of Aramaic in Zakho, a/k/a Lishana Deni (Zakho Jewish Neo-Aramaic) by Isaac Gantwerk Mayer.

A translation of Ḥad Gadya into Judeo-Provençal, largely based on a recording made by Eliane Amado Levi-Valensi (ca. 1972).

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, since the earliest evidence of Jews in England dates back to 1070, by which point Middle English was already on its way to development.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one, but who knows? While there’s no known community of Jews who spoke Gothic or any other East Germanic language, there certainly were Jews who came into contact with it, such as the communities of Crimea (where variants of Gothic continued to be spoken until the 18th century). In any case this translation of Ḥad Gadya follows the grammar of Wulfila’s 4th-century Gothic translations.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, since there is very little evidence of any Jews having lived in the Nordic countries before the Spanish expulsion, long after the end of the Old Norse era.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, seeing as it was written almost a thousand years after the Sabaic language became extinct. But Sabaic, a South Semitic language somewhere between Arabic and Ge’ez, is worth studying for any Jewish scholar because of the light it sheds on the history of the Semitic languages and the Middle East as a whole. (Not to mention that it was a lingua franca of the Yemenite Jewish kingdom of Himyar!) This is a Sabaic translation, transcription, and hypothetical vocalization of Ḥad Gadya.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, seeing as it was written over a millenium after Akkadian became extinct. But in my opinion there ought to be a representation of the East Semitic language family in the canon of Ḥad Gadya translations. Also included is a transcript of the Akkadian text into Hebrew script, since Judeo-Cuneiform doesn’t exist… yet. Eh, Aramaic script was invented in the places Akkadian was spoken anyway, it’s fine. A hearty thanks to Dr. Janine Wende at the University of Leipzig for proofreading and editing the Akkadian translation!

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. Probably not this one though, seeing as it was written over two millenia after the Ugaritic language became extinct. But Ugaritic, closely related to the Canaanite language family of which Hebrew is a part, is worth studying for any Jewish scholar because of the light it sheds on the history of the Western Semitic peoples. So I’ve attempted a Ugaritic translation of Ḥad Gadya.

Ḥad Gadya has a place in Seder tables throughout the Jewish world, and in many communities it was read in translation. This Middle Egyptian translation was almost certainly the one that Moshe Rabbeinu himself sang at his seder table that fateful night in Egypt! …Not really. Ḥad Gadya postdates Middle Egyptian as a written language by about three millennia. But it’s fun and Pesaḥ-appropriate to sing this song in the language of that dagnabbed Pharaoh himself. Also included is a transcript of the text into Hebrew script, since Judeo-Hieroglyphics don’t exist… yet. Eh, the alphabet was adapted from hieroglyphics from the start. It’s fine. You could even say it’s an improvement. For reading out loud I’ve also included the standard Egyptological pronunciation system. If you’re stuck in a time machine be careful, it’s an artificial convention that should not be mistaken for how Egyptian was pronounced at the time. But personally I think “Tutenkhamen” is easier to say than *Təwā́təʾ-ʿā́nəkh-ʾamā́nəʾ, so sue me.

Making sense of Ḥad Gadya beyond its explicit meaning has long inspired commentary. For me, Ḥad Gadya expresses in its own beautiful and macabre way a particularly important idea in Judaism that has become obscure if not esoteric. While an animal’s life may today be purchased, ultimately, the forces of exploitation, predation, and destruction that dominate our world will be overturned. Singing Ḥad Gadya is thus particularly apropos for the night of Passover since, in the Jewish calendar, this one night, different from all other nights, is considered the most dangerous night of the year — it is the time in which the forces of darkness in the world are strongest. Why? It is on this night that the divine aspect of Mashḥit, the executioner, is explicitly invoked (albeit, only in the context of the divine acting as midwife and guardian/protector of her people), as explained in the midrash for Exodus 12:12