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“Just Walk Beside Me” (לֵךְ פָּשׁוּט לְצִדִּי | امشي بجانبي | נאָר גיין לעבן מיר), lines from an unknown author circulating in 1970; Jewish adaptation with translations in Aramaic, Hebrew, Yiddish, and Arabic
Contributed by: Moshe Tanenbaum, Unknown, Aharon N. Varady (transcription), Aharon N. Varady (translation), Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (translation)
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). . . .
🆕 דאָנאַ, דאָנאַ | Dona, Dona — a song by Aaron Zeitlin for the Yiddish play Esterke (1940), with Ladino and Aramaic translations by Isaac Gantwerk Mayer
Contributed by: Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (translation), Aaron Zeitlin
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. . . .
אֵין כֵּאלֹהֵֽינוּ | A Polyglot Version of Ein kEloheinu
Contributed by: Unknown, Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (transcription & naqdanut), Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (translation)
The mantra-like piyyut “Ēin k-Ēlohēinu,” a praise of God’s attributes and uniqueness featuring incremental repetition, is found in siddurim as far back as the siddur of Rav Amram, and may date back to the Hekhalot literature. Many versions of it have been compiled in different languages, most famously Flory Jagoda (zç”l)’s Judezmo variant “Non como muestro Dyo.” Here the editor has compiled traditional Yiddish and Ladino translations, as well as developed new Aramaic and Arabic translations for this piyyut. The post-piyyut verses used in both the Ashkenazi and Sephardic rites have been included. . . .
💬 הַפְטָרָה לְחַג הַפַּאי | Haftarah for the Festival of π (I Kings 7:23-26 and 8:54-66), the twenty-second day of the seventh month (which falls on Shemini Atseret)
Contributed by: Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (transcription & naqdanut), Isaac Gantwerk Mayer (translation)
Shmini Atseret is a strange festival. In some ways part of Sukkot, in some ways its own thing, it occupies an equivocal place in the yearly cycle. But one thing that is completely true: Shmini Atseret is on Pi Day. Well, Pi Approximation Day — the twenty-second day of the seventh month. Inspired by my friend and math enthusiast Aryeh Baruch (may he have a long life), I’ve compiled this altered form of the haftarah for Shmini Atseret in the diaspora, including the description of King Solomon’s “molten sea,” as well as an Aramaic “reshut” poem with a numeral acrostic of the first few digits of pi. . . .
