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. . . .

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 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. 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. 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 . . .

An original version of Ḥad Gadya which has been fully Aramaicized, with all the Hebrew words removed and the verbs conjugated properly. . . .

A Ladino translation of Brikh Shmei d’Marei Alma. . . .

The Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Holy Children, one of the apocryphal Additions to Daniel, is an interpolation into the third chapter of the book of Daniel. The editor has here included a new vocalized and cantillated edition of the Aramaic text preserved in the 12th century Divrei Yeraḥmiel (Oxford Bodleian Heb d.11 transcribed by Rabbi Dr. Moses Gaster). The language of this passage is an odd synthesis of Targumic, pseudo-Biblical Aramaic, and even some Syriac forms, so the editor’s vocalization is aiming for a happy medium of all the possibilities. . . .

Azalat Yokheved is part of a whole genre of midrashic works suggesting Yokheved lived to see her son die — a concept even found in the Ethiopian literature. With repeated refrains, it emphasizes the desperate search of a mother trying to find her son, retracing all her steps and desperately asking everyone she can. But just as Moshe’s journey to the Promised Land ends without a conclusion, so too Yokheved never finds her Moshe. It’s been translated preserving monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity (2018), it is presented here vocalized with an original translation. . . .

Azalat Bekhita, is probably incomplete, extending only to ḥeth in known manuscripts. It features multiple people, places, and things important in Moshe’s life taking turns to eulogize him. It’s been translated preserving the acrostic and monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity (2018), it is presented here vocalized with an original translation. . . .

Amar Kiris l-Moshe, is a midrashic narrative of Moshe going to Adam to ask why he cursed humanity with death. It’s been translated preserving the acrostic and monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s “Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity,” it is presented here vocalized with an original translation. . . .

A unique Nusaḥ Erets Yisrael variant of the Qaddish found in the Cairo Geniza, most well known for including the names of the leading rabbis of the community in its text. . . .

The critical text of Megillat Antiokhus in its original Aramaic, prepared by Menaḥem Tsvi Kaddari and translated into English by John C. Reeves. . . .

The Megillat Antiochus was composed in Palestinian Aramaic sometime between the 2nd and 5th century CE, likely in the 2nd Century when the memory of the Bar Kochba revolt still simmered.. The scroll appears in a number of variations. The Aramaic text below follows the critical edition prepared by Menaḥem Tzvi Kaddari, and preserves his verse numbering. The English translation by Rabbi Joseph Adler (1936) follows the Hebrew translation in the middle column, the source of which is a medieval manuscript reprinted by Tzvi Filipowsky in 1851. Adler and Kaddari’s verse ordering loosely follows one another indicating variations in manuscripts. Where Aramaic is missing from Kaddari’s text, the Aramaic version from Adler’s work is included in parentheses. Adler also included a Yiddish translation which we hope will be fully transcribed (along with vocalized Hebrew text, a Hungarian translation, and perhaps even a Marathi translation from South India) for Ḥanukkah 5775 , G!d willing. . . .

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. . . .