Where Gillian is very untactful
How do I explain to the several non-Jews who are being very supportive of my Jewishness by using much Yiddish in my presence that there are cultural differences between Jews? That Yiddishkeit is more important in Australia than my particular cultural background, and that I've had to learn some Yiddish because of this, but that it's kinda telling me "Look, your culture isn't that important to me" when you use that Yiddish for anything other than the normal way you, personally, would use Yiddish words? There's no tactful way of doing it. This means that today I'm going to be rude and untactful.
It's like the conversation I had on this very blog, some time ago, when we were talking about someone who said (as so many people do) that I'm not a native speaker of English because I speak 'Jewish." I mostly try to get them to realise that there are many Jewish languages, but now I realise that the problem is more fundamental.
For everyone who hasn't realised it (which is very few of you, but obviously I'm feeling it today), my native language is English. My second language is French. My languages-for-praying are Hebrew and Aramaic, but I do not speak them. My language-of-learning (the one that marks me as educated) is Latin. My Jewish culture (except for the cake culture and a few other remnants) is from England and chips are one of my favourite foods. The language of my Judaism is... English. Except when I pray. I do not pray in Yiddish, ever. I only discovered Yiddish women's prayers as an adult doing research into the history of books, specifically, Arthurian books, and I discovered popular Yiddish literature by chance.
If someone wants to show me how erudite they are in facets of my culture, those are the languages to fling at me and the circumstances in which they'll work. If the same someone wants to show me that I'm an inferior Jew from a minority that's dying out (the latter is true, but my branch of Judaism is neither superior nor inferior, it's just... English) then keep flinging Yiddish at me.
I learned a bit of spoken Yiddish as an adult (self-taught). I learned more because my nephews were schooled in Yiddish (and when they were being cheeky I had to know how to respond) and I'd studied German at high school. Because I pick up languages fairly easily I can follow some conversations in Yiddish and even say a few words. I can do the same in a number of languages, but I don't get them used at me as if using the words will create a special bond. Just Yiddish.
Yiddish is not a language of my childhood. Neither of my parents spoke it (and Mum still doesn't - if Dad does, I'd be surprised but I'm willing to tell you where his grave is, if you want to find out for certain) and my culturally-dominant grandparent didn't speak it. Nor did her mother, nor any of the ancestors beyond that, as far as I know.
I have Yiddish-speaking ancestors. They didn't pass that heritage down, because of the nature of Australian Jewish culture in the early 20th century, and because my family never seems to have been part of the Kadimah crowd. There is therefore cultural baggage in the fact that I'm not Yiddish-speaking, and I was made to feel that as a child.
When someone uses Yiddish at me, it doesn't bond me with that person. To use common parlance, it's not the act of an ally, but of someone who doesn't quite get what it means to be an ally. It reminds me that I didn't quite belong in most Jewish circles when I was younger, in fact, for their families had suffered the Shoah and mine escaped so early that when it married into an Anglo family, it anglicized. When someone uses miscellaneous words of Yiddish to impress me with their warmth and willingness to meet my culture halfway, it reminds me of my childhood advantages in school (look! I speak the language! look, I can read at the same level as any other kid with my intelligence and eyesight!) and my childhood disadvantages at bar-mitzvahs ("You're nice, but not one of us.").
I am a culturally-literate Jew: I know Yiddish. I also read Ladino, however, and no-one flings Ladino at me. Actually, once, someone did ( a Spanish-speaker) and I so impressed her by understanding that she gave me a Sefardi cookbook (which I love and use). My experiences with Ladino therefore, are limited but very positive.
My experiences with Yiddish are of long-duration and rather complex and not always positive. And no-one has *ever* given me a cookbook in Yiddish. Some people are more impressed that I speak English than that I can understand a little Yiddish. Learning one's native language is, after all, a lot harder than picking up a foreign one.
There is a stereotype that all Jews understand Yiddish. We don't. It's a modern language (my era-of-expertise as a historian actually predates it) and the Jews who know it come from a particular background. They are most of modern Jewry, due to an evil history of persecution and etc, and, due to the same evil history of persecution and etc they're working very hard to maintain their cultures*. This is all wonderful, and one of the reasons I keep my mind open to learn about them. It and my nephews are the two reasons I have any Yiddish at all. I don't have much, though. Hardly any.
I have many friends who come from Yiddish backgrounds. I, however, do not. And my background has been safe on the "death to all Jews" front but diminishing because it's not the culturally dominant one in Australia. Before World War II when Jews married in Australia they were pressured to create children of my background. Since World War II the pressure has gone the other way.
This means that when non-Jews use Yiddish at me, they're reminding me that I'm culturally invisible.
Usually, what they're trying to do is remind me that my Jewishness is important to them. Only it's not my Jewishness that's important, it's a universal Jewishness, and that's one of those stereotypes that get us all into trouble.
It's an odd piece of baggage to carry by a compassionate person who takes the trouble to learn a word or twenty of a language and makes the effort to use it. This is why I'm writing this post, despite it being wildly offensive. It's not the action of an ally to make someone feel defensive about themselves and their background, but sometimes, when people don't realise the baggage they carry, they say things that niggle. Then they demand cookies for using the language, for they've reached out and supported me. Three times this fortnight this has happened and three times this fortnight I've had to remind myself that just because someone assumes I come from a culture, that doesn't change the very strong and very interesting culture I actually come from. I don't give the cookies. In fact, I become annoyed that they've been demanded.
My dominant culture is a mere footnote in the footnotes of Jewish history, but it's mine own and I want to hang on to it, please. I want the scones and the jam and the cream and the committees and the silver tea-set and I want my native language.
This post was brought to you in Jewish, my native language. It has not been translated. All Yiddish terms are entirely the way I would use them in my native language. Mensch, for instance, I use the Yiddish for, because this whole post has been about being a mensch.
* even Yiddish-speakers don't have a monolithic culture
It's like the conversation I had on this very blog, some time ago, when we were talking about someone who said (as so many people do) that I'm not a native speaker of English because I speak 'Jewish." I mostly try to get them to realise that there are many Jewish languages, but now I realise that the problem is more fundamental.
For everyone who hasn't realised it (which is very few of you, but obviously I'm feeling it today), my native language is English. My second language is French. My languages-for-praying are Hebrew and Aramaic, but I do not speak them. My language-of-learning (the one that marks me as educated) is Latin. My Jewish culture (except for the cake culture and a few other remnants) is from England and chips are one of my favourite foods. The language of my Judaism is... English. Except when I pray. I do not pray in Yiddish, ever. I only discovered Yiddish women's prayers as an adult doing research into the history of books, specifically, Arthurian books, and I discovered popular Yiddish literature by chance.
If someone wants to show me how erudite they are in facets of my culture, those are the languages to fling at me and the circumstances in which they'll work. If the same someone wants to show me that I'm an inferior Jew from a minority that's dying out (the latter is true, but my branch of Judaism is neither superior nor inferior, it's just... English) then keep flinging Yiddish at me.
I learned a bit of spoken Yiddish as an adult (self-taught). I learned more because my nephews were schooled in Yiddish (and when they were being cheeky I had to know how to respond) and I'd studied German at high school. Because I pick up languages fairly easily I can follow some conversations in Yiddish and even say a few words. I can do the same in a number of languages, but I don't get them used at me as if using the words will create a special bond. Just Yiddish.
Yiddish is not a language of my childhood. Neither of my parents spoke it (and Mum still doesn't - if Dad does, I'd be surprised but I'm willing to tell you where his grave is, if you want to find out for certain) and my culturally-dominant grandparent didn't speak it. Nor did her mother, nor any of the ancestors beyond that, as far as I know.
I have Yiddish-speaking ancestors. They didn't pass that heritage down, because of the nature of Australian Jewish culture in the early 20th century, and because my family never seems to have been part of the Kadimah crowd. There is therefore cultural baggage in the fact that I'm not Yiddish-speaking, and I was made to feel that as a child.
When someone uses Yiddish at me, it doesn't bond me with that person. To use common parlance, it's not the act of an ally, but of someone who doesn't quite get what it means to be an ally. It reminds me that I didn't quite belong in most Jewish circles when I was younger, in fact, for their families had suffered the Shoah and mine escaped so early that when it married into an Anglo family, it anglicized. When someone uses miscellaneous words of Yiddish to impress me with their warmth and willingness to meet my culture halfway, it reminds me of my childhood advantages in school (look! I speak the language! look, I can read at the same level as any other kid with my intelligence and eyesight!) and my childhood disadvantages at bar-mitzvahs ("You're nice, but not one of us.").
I am a culturally-literate Jew: I know Yiddish. I also read Ladino, however, and no-one flings Ladino at me. Actually, once, someone did ( a Spanish-speaker) and I so impressed her by understanding that she gave me a Sefardi cookbook (which I love and use). My experiences with Ladino therefore, are limited but very positive.
My experiences with Yiddish are of long-duration and rather complex and not always positive. And no-one has *ever* given me a cookbook in Yiddish. Some people are more impressed that I speak English than that I can understand a little Yiddish. Learning one's native language is, after all, a lot harder than picking up a foreign one.
There is a stereotype that all Jews understand Yiddish. We don't. It's a modern language (my era-of-expertise as a historian actually predates it) and the Jews who know it come from a particular background. They are most of modern Jewry, due to an evil history of persecution and etc, and, due to the same evil history of persecution and etc they're working very hard to maintain their cultures*. This is all wonderful, and one of the reasons I keep my mind open to learn about them. It and my nephews are the two reasons I have any Yiddish at all. I don't have much, though. Hardly any.
I have many friends who come from Yiddish backgrounds. I, however, do not. And my background has been safe on the "death to all Jews" front but diminishing because it's not the culturally dominant one in Australia. Before World War II when Jews married in Australia they were pressured to create children of my background. Since World War II the pressure has gone the other way.
This means that when non-Jews use Yiddish at me, they're reminding me that I'm culturally invisible.
Usually, what they're trying to do is remind me that my Jewishness is important to them. Only it's not my Jewishness that's important, it's a universal Jewishness, and that's one of those stereotypes that get us all into trouble.
It's an odd piece of baggage to carry by a compassionate person who takes the trouble to learn a word or twenty of a language and makes the effort to use it. This is why I'm writing this post, despite it being wildly offensive. It's not the action of an ally to make someone feel defensive about themselves and their background, but sometimes, when people don't realise the baggage they carry, they say things that niggle. Then they demand cookies for using the language, for they've reached out and supported me. Three times this fortnight this has happened and three times this fortnight I've had to remind myself that just because someone assumes I come from a culture, that doesn't change the very strong and very interesting culture I actually come from. I don't give the cookies. In fact, I become annoyed that they've been demanded.
My dominant culture is a mere footnote in the footnotes of Jewish history, but it's mine own and I want to hang on to it, please. I want the scones and the jam and the cream and the committees and the silver tea-set and I want my native language.
This post was brought to you in Jewish, my native language. It has not been translated. All Yiddish terms are entirely the way I would use them in my native language. Mensch, for instance, I use the Yiddish for, because this whole post has been about being a mensch.
* even Yiddish-speakers don't have a monolithic culture
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