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Bosnian Jews mourn Moris Albahari, one of Sarajevo’s last Ladino speakers
(JTA) — Moris Albahari, a Holocaust survivor, former partisan fighter and one of the last Ladino speakers in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s dwindling Jewish community, passed away at the age of 93 last month.
It is believed that he was one of four native Ladino speakers remaining in a country where the Judeo-Spanish language once flourished and was spoken by luminaries like Flory Jagoda, the grande dame of Ladino song, and Laura Bohoretta, the founder of a uniquely Sephardic feminist movement in Bosnia.
Bosnia’s small Jewish community — with barely 900 members throughout the country, 500 of whom live in Sarajevo — are mourning the loss of a living link to communal memory as well as a dear friend.
“From you, uncle Moco, I learned a lot about Judaism, about life, about nature and especially about people. About both the good and the evil,” Igor Kožemjakin, the cantor of the Sarajevo Jewish community, wrote in a memorial post on Facebook, referring to Moris as “Čika,” or uncle, a term of endearment in Bosnian.
“It is a terrible loss, especially for Sarajevo. Our community is very small, especially after the Holocaust,” Eliezer Papo, a Sarajevo-born Jew and scholar of Ladino language and literature at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We’re not speaking just in terms of prominent members of the community, we’re speaking in terms of family members. Everyone is like a family member.”
When Albahari was growing up in the 1930s, the Jewish community of his native Sarajevo numbered over 12,000. Jews made up more than a fifth of the city and it was one of the most important centers of Jewish life in the western Balkans.
In his youth, the city was part of what was then the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Formed out of the borderlands between the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires, it was a multiethnic state composed of Croats, Serbs, Bosniaks, Slovenians, Macedonians, Hungarians, Albanians and more. Among them were many Jewish communities both Ashkenazi and Sephardic.
The unique mix of of Muslim, Jewish, Catholic and Orthodox Christian communities, with their mosques, synagogues and churches defining Sarajevo’s skyline, earned the city the nickname “Little Jerusalem.”
Speaking in a 2015 documentary made by American researchers, “Saved by Language,” Albahari explained that his family traced their roots back to Cordoba before the Spanish Inquisition, and through Venice, before settling in what would become Bosnia when it was part of the Ottoman Empire.
“We didn’t want to ‘just’ write an article about Moris or Sarajevo; we wanted [the audience] to see what we saw and hear what we heard,” Brian Kirschen, professor of Ladino at Binghamton University, who worked on the documentary with author Susanna Zaraysky, told JTA. “This resulted in a grassroots initiative to create the documentary.”
In the film, Albahari takes the researchers and their viewers on a tour through what was Jewish Sarajevo, giving glimpses of the thriving Ladino speaking community in which he was raised and explaining how ithe language would save him many times, when the Nazis and their Croat allies, the Ustaša, came to shatter it.
“In sharing your story of survival during the Holocaust, you opened doors that remained closed for decades,” Kirschen said in a memorial post on Facebook. “Some of your stories were even new to members of your family, but each survivor has their own timeline. While you experienced great pain during your life, from your story, we also learn about moments of kindness and heroism. Through your story, you also taught us about the power of language.”
Albahari wasn’t yet a teenager when, in 1941, Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy invaded Yugoslavia. The Nazis occupied the eastern portion of the country, including what is now Serbia, while they raised up a Croat fascist party, known as the Ustaša, to administer the newly formed “Independent State of Croatia” — often known by its Serbo-Croatian initials, NDH — in the western regions that included the modern-day Bosnia and Herzegovina.
The Ustaša collaborated in the Nazis’ genocidal plans for Europe’s Jewish and Roma comunities, and they had genocidal designs of their own for the Orthodox Serb communities living in the NDH.
To that end they established the Jasenovac concentration camp, which would become known as the Auschwitz of the Balkans. By the war’s end it had become the third largest concentration camp in Europe, and behind its walls the overwhelming majority of Sarajevo’s Jews — at least 10,000 — were massacred. Including Serbs, Jews, Roma and political dissidents of Croat or Muslim Bosniak background, as many as 100,000 people were killed in Jasenovac.
Albahari was 11 years old when the Ustaša came to deport him and his large family to Jasenovac. A former teacher working as an Ustaša guard in the town of Drvar, where the train stopped, warned Albahari’s father, David, about their destination, and he was able to help his son escape from the train.
The teacher helped guide the young Moris to an Italian soldier named Lino Marchione who was secretly helping Jews.
This was the first case when Albahari’s Ladino came in handy. Ladino is largely based on medieval Spanish, with a mixture of Hebrew, Aramaic, Turkish and other languages mixed in. For speakers of Serbo-Croatian, a Slavic language, it’s entirely incomprehensible. But for a speaker of another Romance language such as Italian, it’s not such a stretch to understand, and Moris was able to converse with his Italian savior.
With his family gone, he was taken in by a Serb family, and changed his name to Milan Adamovic to hide his Jewish identity. Still, by 1942, it became clear that neither as Adamovic nor Albahari would he be safe in the town. So he fled to the mountains.
“If there was [a battle] I took clothes from a dead soldier to wear, I lived like a wolf in the mountains, you know. Visiting villages [asking for something] to give me for eating, it was a terrible time,” Albahari recalled in “Saved By Language.”
He would only feel safe in villages under the control of partisan forces. Yugoslavia was the only country in Europe to be liberated from Nazi rule by its own grassroots resistance.
During his time in the mountains, Albahari joined up with a partisan unit aligned with the movement of Josip Broz Tito, who would lead Communist Yugoslavia after the war. By the war’s end, Tito’s partisans numbered over 80,000 and included more than 6,000 Jews, many in prominent positions, such as Moša Pijade, who would go on to serve as vice president of the Yugoslav parliament after the war.
Moris was out on patrol as a partisan when he came upon a group of American and British paratroopers. They raised their weapons at him, thinking he was an enemy. Moris tried to communicate, but he spoke no English.
When he asked the soldiers if they spoke German or Italian, they shook their heads. When he asked about Spanish, one perked up: a Hispanic-American soldier by the name of David Garijo.
In Ladino, Alabahari was able to explain that he was not an enemy but could lead them to a nearby partisan camp where they would be safe.
“Ladino saved my life in the war,” Albahari recalled in the documentary.
At the partisan camp, Morris received even bigger news: The family that he had assumed had all perished after he left the train were in fact alive. The former school teacher and Ustaša guard who had warned his father had met them at the next train junction to help them escape. Furthermore, around half of the Jews in the train car were able to escape using the same hole Moris used during his initial escape.
Ultimately the family all survived the war, unlike so many other Jews of Sarajevo.
“Where is Samuel, where is Dudo, where is Gedala? They never came back,” Albahari lamented, listing missing neighbors while walking through Sarajevo’s old Jewish neighborhood in the documentary. “Maybe we are happy because we are alive after the Second World War, but also unlikely because every day we must cry for these dead people.”
When Moris returned to Sarajevo, it was an entirely different place from the bustling Jewish community he had once known.
Gone was the sound of Ladino in the streets and alleyways of Bascarsija, the market district where so many of Sarajevo’s Jews had once lived. Gone were the synagogues — only one of the many synagogues that had existed before WWII still functions. Gone was the robust Jewish life that was once a central part of Sarajevo.
Moris was still only 14 by the war’s end, so he returned to school and ultimately graduated at the top of his class. He became a pilot and later director of the Sarajevo Airport.
In this new world, Ladino was spoken, if at all, only in the home.
“Always, when I hear Spanish, I hear my father and mother, and all the synagogues, prayers in Ladino and rabbis who spoke Ladino. But that is in the past,” Albahari says in “Saved by Language.”
Eliezer Papo, who is a generation younger than Albahari, recalled that in his youth Ladino had long been reduced to a language of secrets.
“Mostly, Ladino was used when the elders didn’t want youngsters to understand,” Papo said.
Only later, in the 1980s, did community members realize what was being lost and begin to gather to maintain their language, recount what Jewish Sarajevo had been like and share their wartime stories of survival.
“He never took his story to the places of revenge, but he took it and his life experience to a place of ‘Never again,’ not just ‘Never again for Jews’, but never again for anybody,” said Papo.
Like many Sarajevans, World War II would not be the last major conflict Albahari would see. Less than 40 years later, war would once again come to Sarajevo with the break-up of Yugoslavia.
From 1992-1995 the city remained under constant siege by Bosnian Serb forces looking to break away from what would become Bosnia and Herzegovina. Moris joined with other Jews of Sarajevo in working to provide aid to their fellow Sarajevans during the harsh period.
Sarajevo’s synagogue was turned into a shelter and a soup kitchen. The community ran a network of underground pharmacies and a message service allowing Sarajevans to get word to family and friends outside of the city during what became the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare.
“Moris was an inspirational persona to many members of Jewish community and La Benevolencija,” Vlado Anderle, the current president of that local Jewish humanitarian organization told JTA. “He was a man with such inviting spirit and energy.”
When the dust settled on the breakup of Yugoslavia, and the new Bosnian state rose from its ashes, Moris found himself once again in a new role.
During the communist era in Yugoslavia, religious activity was discouraged. Sarajevo’s Jews emphasized the ethnic character of Jewish culture rather than the religious one. In the new Bosnia and Herzegovina, that was no longer true. So the community worked to reconnect with their religious identity as well.
“Everybody looked up to the people who had Jewish upbringing before the Second World War,” Papo recalled. “This doesn’t mean that they were rabbis. Just that they knew it better than anyone else.”
Moris, whose formal Jewish education ended in his preteen years, was appointed president of the community’s religious committee.
As such it often fell on him to represent Judaism to the Bosnian society at large, often in a very creative way, according to Papo, who in addition to being a scholar of Ladino is ordained as a rabbi and serves the Sarajevo community as a rabbi-at-large from Israel.
In one case, while being interviewed on a major Bosnian television station, Moris was asked why Jews cover their head with a kippah or other hat during prayer. Moris’ response, or rather creative interpretation, as Papo called it, was made up on the spot.
Moris’ interpretation began with the ancient temple in Jerusalem where Jews once had to fully immerse in a ritual bath before entering.
“Since the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed it was reduced to washing the uncovered parts of the body only, before entering a synagogue, similarly to Muslims: the feet, the head, the hands…” Papo recalled him saying. But in Europe, as Moris’ answer went, they began to cover more and more of their body. “In Europe they started wearing shoes, so the feet were not uncovered anymore, and then they started wearing a hat, not to have to wash their head… you know it’s Europe, one could catch a cold if going out with wet hair…”
“A few months later, I came to Sarajevo, and found that everyone has heard this explanation and is talking about it, not just people in the community, but in the street,” Papo said. “And you know, I let it pass, I couldn’t correct them, it was just so beautiful. That was his genius.”
“Identity is all about telling stories. And Moris was one of the great storytellers of the community,” Papo added. And through his stories he expressed an identity which was “made of the same contradictions that Sephardic Judaism is made of, that Sarajevo is made of, that Bosnia and Herzegovina is made and that Yugoslavia was and is made of and that the Balkans are made of.”
Albahari is survived by his wife and a son.
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Helen Mirren criticizes Israel at film festival after being called ‘evil Zionist’ in viral video
(JTA) — British actor Helen Mirren criticized Israel at a film festival in Italy, in her first public comments since security footage of a November incident where she was accused by a stranger of being an “evil Zionist b—h” went viral late last month.
“Evil forces are rising everywhere, even in a country like Israel,” Mirren said in an interview with journalists at the Taormina Film Fest in Sicily, according to reports in entertainment media. “How could you possibly repeat the actions of what was done to you as people to other people? Crimes against humanity, it’s called.”
The Academy Award-winning actor, who is 80, is being honored with a lifetime achievement award from the festival on Friday. Her many roles have included playing former Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir in the 2023 biopic “Golda,” which she premiered in Jerusalem.
Mirren is not Jewish but has a long history of connection to Israel, dating back to 1967, when she traveled with a Jewish boyfriend to work for a month on a kibbutz in the country’s north.
She referenced that period in her comments at Taormina.
“I saw it from the inside and I saw some things that disturbed me from the inside in Israel at that time,” she said, according to Deadline. “I’m talking about six months after the Six Day War.”
Mirren has previously criticized the Israeli government. While promoting “Golda” in early 2023, she said she believed that Meir would be “utterly horrified” by Israel’s current leadership, which she referred to as a “dictatorship.”
But she also spoke favorably about Israel during the promotional events, which shortly preceded the Hamas attack that began the war in Gaza.
“I believe in Israel, in the existence of Israel, and I believe Israel has to go forward into the future, for the rest of eternity,” she told the country’s Channel 12 in August 2023. “I believe in Israel because of the Holocaust.”
During the November incident, the person who accosted Mirren and her husband Taylor Hackford appeared to reference those comments, saying, “She said Israel should last forever because of the Holocaust, and she was very happy that Palestinians’ houses were gone.”
Hackford responded, “F–ck off,” and Mirren did not say anything in the video.
At Taormina, the actor offered a more nuanced characterization of her beliefs while also praising Israel’s creative and intellectual communities.
“I grew up in Europe post-Second World War and the realization in my parents’ generation of what had happened in the Holocaust was so profound, so important,” Mirren said. “Therefore, the creation of Israel was a very important moment, although maybe it was done in completely the wrong way, in the wrong place, I don’t know. But something had to happen after the horror.”
According to Variety, she also said, “The evil is always lurking, waiting to take over, even in a place like Israel. I played Golda Meir and worked in a country that was the idealistic Israel, and I always thought it was a country that would never do wrong, but of course they were doing wrong, even then.”
About the viral video showing her being accosted, Mirren told journalists at the festival she believes she was “attacked by mistake by a man who was maybe a little over passionate or maybe mentally not quite stable.”
She added, “I don’t know whether he read things on the Internet or thought he read something which he hadn’t read, I don’t know.”
Though London’s Metropolitan Police initially said it was possible for an incident to be investigated as an antisemitic hate crime even if the victim is not Jewish, it will not be investigating further, as Mirren and Hackford have decided not to press charges.
The post Helen Mirren criticizes Israel at film festival after being called ‘evil Zionist’ in viral video appeared first on The Forward.
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After dozens of Jewish girls get lost in NY creek tunnel, antisemitic comments follow online
(JTA) — When dozens of Jewish girls emerged from a storm drain in Nyack, New York, Wednesday after becoming lost on a school trip, local officials described the episode as a fortunate ending to a potentially dangerous situation.
On social media, however, the incident quickly drew a slew of antisemitic comments.
“They can’t help it. Roaches and rats love the sewers,” wrote one Facebook user on a post by the Rockland Daily.
“Those tunnels were promised to them 3,000 years ago,” another user wrote, referencing the common online antisemitic phrase ridiculing the Jewish connection to Israel.
Many of the comments also referenced the 2024 incident at the Chabad-Lubavitch movement’s world headquarters in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, in which a group from the movement attempted to dig an unauthorized tunnel beneath the building.
“From the tunnels in Brooklyn to the tunnels in nyack! The black coats never disappoint 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣,” one user wrote. “There drawn to tunnels. Natural instinct😂,” another wrote.
The girls, students from the Toras Emachu school in Monsey, New York, had been visiting Nyack Memorial Park on a school trip when they entered a large drainage culvert located in the park, according to the Orangetown Police Department.
While walking through the tunnel system, the students got lost but were heard by individuals in the town who alerted police, according to Nyack Mayor Joseph Rand.
“First responders immediately came to the scene and located all the girls at various points in Nyack,” Rand wrote in a post on Facebook. “Technically, none of the girls were ‘rescued,’ because they all came out in their own power, but everyone’s lucky that the authorities responded and figured out where all the girls were as quickly as they did.”
Rand said that roughly 70 students were on the trip, and there were no serious injuries beyond some “cuts and scrapes.”
Nyack Village Administrator Andy Stewart told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that the school group had not been given a permit to host a field trip in the park Wednesday, and while there was “definitely concern over the violation of that law,” he wasn’t sure how the local government would follow up with the school.
“This is a group that did not have a permit, and so we didn’t know they were there, and they made no plans with the village,” Stewart said.
The Toras Emachu school did not respond to numerous requests for comment from the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
But while local town officials handle the response to the incident, for some Jewish groups, the online response underscored how an innocuous incident can become a vehicle for antisemitic rhetoric.
“Unfortunately, internet comment sections have become havens for antisemitic memes and conspiracies, and commenters emboldened by relative anonymity will jump at any opportunity to demonize Jews,” Nate Wolfson, the communications director for the Nexus Project, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency about the incident. “In this case, a story of dozens of children getting lost on a field trip is appallingly used to spread stereotypes about Jews, including comparing them to rats.”
Wolfson added that the references to the Chabad tunnel incident had been “especially troubling,” adding that the story had been “routinely used by antisemites to spread truly vicious and dangerous conspiracies about child sex trafficking.”
Some Nyack residents also called out the spate of antisemitic comments about the incident online.
“This was not hard to find. It was not buried. It was not one bad comment from one bad actor. It was thread after thread of people in this county saying the same old bullshit about Jewish people like it was nothing,” wrote one resident in a post on Facebook alongside a series of screenshots of antisemitic comments. “If all it takes is one local news story for your contempt to come spilling out, the contempt was already there.”
The post After dozens of Jewish girls get lost in NY creek tunnel, antisemitic comments follow online appeared first on The Forward.
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The battle between tradition and revolution in Soviet-Yiddish culture
די סאָװעטיש־ייִדישע קולטור איז געװען עסטעטיש אָדער אידעאָלאָגיש פֿילזײַטיק, לכל־הפּחות אין משך פֿון די ערשטע פּאָר צענדליק יאָר. דאָס איז דער עיקר־טעזיס פֿון דער װאָגיקער שטודיע „רױטע ייִדן: דער ייִדיש־סאָװעטישער קולטור־פּראָיעקט“ פֿון דער ליטעראַטור־פֿאָרשערין דאַריע װאַכרושאָװאַס (אוניװערסיטעט פֿון מינכען).
דער ציל פֿון דער פֿאָרשונג איז צו לאָזן דעם הײַנטיקן לײענער הערן די פֿאַרשײדענע שטימען אינעם אַלגעמײנעם כאָר פֿון סאָװעטישע ייִדישע ליטעראַטן, קינסטלער און כּלל־טוער.
ווי האָבן אָט די פֿיגורן פֿאַרשטאַנען די צוקונפֿטיקע ייִדישע קולטור? װי אַזױ האָבן זײ בדעה געהאַט צונױפֿצוברענגען ייִדישקײט און סאָװעטישקײט? װוּ שטײט די סאָװעטישע ייִדישע קולטור אױף דער ייִדישער װעלטמאַפּע? דאָס זײַנען די פֿראַגן, װאָס װאַכרושאָװאַ באַהאַנדלט.
זי גיט זיך ספּעציעל אָפּ מיט לינגװיסטישע פּרטים — טערמינען, מעטאַפֿאָרן, אימאַזשן — װאָס מען האָט גענוצט אין די קריטישע װיכּוחים פֿון יענער תּקופֿה. דערבײַ באַטראַכט זי ניט נאָר די מער באַקאַנטע ליטעראַרישע טעקסטן, נאָר אַ ברײטערן פֿאַרנעם פֿון מקורים פֿון צײַטונגען.
װאַכרושאָװאַ פּרוּװט צו אַנטפּלעקן די פֿילשטימיקײט פֿונעם סאָװעטיש־ייִדישן קולטורעלן פּראָיעקט. זי איז ספּעציעל פֿאַראינטערעסירט אין פֿאַרשײדענע װיזיעס פֿון דער צוקונפֿט פֿון ייִדיש אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, װאָס מען האָט אַרומגערעדט אין די 1920ער יאָרן.
דאָס בוך באַשטײט פֿון דרײַ טײלן. אינעם ערשטן באַטראַכט װאַכרושאָװאַ כּלערלײ עסטעטישע מאַניפֿעסטן און קינסטלערישע פּראָגראַמען פֿון ייִדישער קולטור, װאָס מען האָט אַרױסגעגעבן נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה אין קיִעװ, מאָסקװע, לאָדזש, װאַרשע און בערלין.
דער צװײטער טײל איז געװידמעט דעם נסתּרס זאַמלונג רײַזע־פֿאַרצײכענונגען „דרײַ הױפּטשטעט“(1934). דער לעצטער חלק אַנאַליזירט די סטיליסטישע און לינגװיסטישע אַספּעקטן פֿון סאָװעטישע ליטעראַרישע איבערזעצונגען אױף ייִדיש פֿון רוסיש און אײראָפּעיִשע שפּראַכן.
די יאָרן נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה זײַנען געװען אַ בלי־תּקופֿה פֿון ייִדישן אַװאַנגאַרד אין ליטעראַטור און קונסט. אין װאַרשע זײַנען דערשינען די זשורנאַלן „רינגען“, „אַלבאַטראָס“, „כאַליאַסטרע“, „די װאָג“; אין בערלין — „מילגרױם“; אין קיִעװ — דיאַלמאַנאַכן „אײגנס“ און „אױפֿגאַנג“. לרובֿ האָבן די דאָזיקע פּובליקאַציעס ניט לאַנג געדױערט, אָבער זײ האָבן געמאַכט דרײסטע פּראָקלאַמאַציעס װעגן דער רעװאָלוציע אין דער ייִדישער קולטור.
למשל, אינעם ערשטן נומער פֿון דער סאָװעטישער קאָמוניסטישער צײַטונג „דער עמעס“ דעם 7טן נאָװעמבער 1920 האָט פּרץ מאַרקיש פֿאַרעפֿנטלעכט אַן אַרטיקל „אױף די װעגן פֿון ייִדישער דיכטונג“. עס איז מערקװירדיק, באַמערקט װאַכרושאָװאַ, װאָס דער דאָזיקער מאַניפֿעסט פֿון דער נײַער סאָװעטישער ייִדישער פּאָעזיע פֿאַרמאָגט ניט קײן מאַרקסיסטישע קאָמוניסטישע מליצה.
אַנשטאָט דעם רעדט מאַרקיש װעגן טיפֿע איבערלעבונגען, װאָס פֿאַרכליניען דעם מענטשן אין דער צײַט פֿון דער רעװאָלוציע. די רעװאָלוציע האָט גורם געװען אַן איבערבראָך אין דער טראַדיציע, „און טאַקע דערפֿאַר קאָנען די דיכטער פֿון אונדזער נײַער שטורעמדיקער תּקופֿה ניט שאַפֿן קײן מאָנומענטאַלע װערק, זײ זײַנען קױלן־גראָבערס […] פֿאַר נײַע תּקופֿות, פֿאַר קומעדיקע דורות,“ שרײַבט מאַרקיש.
אָבער מיט פֿיר יאָר שפּעטער האָט מאַרקיש זיך באַרעכנט װעגן דער המשכדיקײט פֿון דער ייִדישער קולטור. אין אַ רעפֿעראַט אין װילנע אין 1924 האָט ער געזאָגט, לױטן באַריכט אין דער װילנער צײַטונג „טאָג“: „ניטאָ קײן צװײ ליטעראַטורן, ס’זײַנען בלױז פֿאַראַן צװײ ליטעראַרישע עפּאָכעס, מיט פֿאַרשײדענע פֿאָרמעס, אָבער מיט אײן גרונד־ליניע, אײן ענדציל.“
דאָ האָט מאַרקיש פּראָקלאַמיט די המשכדיקײט צװישן די קלאַסיקער װי מענדעלע, שלום־עליכם און פּרץ און דער נײַער ליטעראַטור, װי מאַרקיש אַלײן, װאָס איז אַנטשטאַנען נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה.
אָט די צװײ קעגנזײַטיקע דעות װעגן דער ליטעראַרישער אַנטװיקלונג — אַן איבערבראָך אָדער המשכדיקײט — האָבן באַשטימט צװײ שטרעמונגען אין דער אַלװעלטלעכער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה, סײַ אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, סײַ אין פּױלן און סײַ אין אַמעריקע.
אין אונטערשייד צו דער הײַנטיקער אַמעריקאַנער שיטה אין ייִדיש־פֿאָרשונגען, װאָס פּרוּװן כּסדר צופּאַסן ייִדישע טעקסטן צו דער הײַנטיקער מאָדע אין ליטעראַרישער טעאָריע, איז װאַכרושאָװאַס מעטאָד דער עיקר אַ פֿילאָלאָגישער.
זי באַזירט אירע אױספֿירן אױף אַ גרונטיקן אַנאַליז פֿונעם שפּראַכלעכן סטיל פֿון ייִדישע מקורים. אַזאַ צוגאַנג מאַכט אירע אַרגומענטן גלײַכצײַטיטק מער װאָגיק און מער ניואַנסירט. זי דערװײַזט פּינקטלעך, װי אידעיִשע און עסטעטישע חילוקי־דעות צװישן ייִדישע ליטעראַטן האָבן זיך אַנטפּלעקט דורך שאַטירונגען אין זײער זאַצבױ, װאָקאַבולאַר, אינעם אױסקלײַב פֿון גערמאַנישע, סלאַװישע און לשון־קודשדיקע קאָמפּאָנענטן.
װאַכרושאָװאַ באַמערקט, אַז כּסדר שאַצט מען אָפּ די פּאָזיציעס פֿון סאָװעטישע שרײַבער, אַזעלכע װי מאַרקיש און דוד בערגעלסאָן, פֿונעם שפּעטערן שטאַנדפּונקט, װען מען איז שױן געװױר פֿון זײער טראַגישן אומקום. זי פּרוּװט, להיפּוך, לײענען זײערע טעקסטן דורך דעם מיטצײַטלערישן שפּאַקטיװ. זי ברענגט דעם לײענער אַרײַן אינעם סאַמע ברען פֿון קריטישע װיכּוחים פֿון די 1920ער יאָרן.
אַן אינטערעסאַנטער בײַשפּיל פֿון דעם, װי אַזױ מען האָט זיך געפּרוּװט צופּאַסן צו די נײַע סאָװעטישע באַדינגונגען, זײַנען דעם נסתּרס פֿאַרצײכענונגען װעגן די שטעט כאַרקעװ, לענינגראַד און מאָסקװע אינעם זאַמלבוך „הױפּטשטעט“. דאָס איז געװען זײַן פּרוּװ אַריבערצוגײן פֿונעם סימבאָליסטישן סטיל פֿון זײַנע פֿריִערדיקע דערציילונגען צו דעם רעאַליסטישן סטיל פֿונעם זשאַנער פֿון רײַזע־פֿאַרצײכענונג.
װאַכרושאָװאַ האַלט, אַז דער נסתּר האָט בכּװוּן אָפּגעהיט עלעמענטן פֿון זײַן סימבאָליסטישן סטיל – אַזעלכע װי ריטמישע איבערחזרונגען פֿון די אײגענע װערטער אין אײן זאַץ, דער שװערלעכער דײַטשמערישער זאַצבױ, דער ניט־פֿאַרלאָזלעכער נאַראַטאָר – כּדי אונטערצורײַסן די פּאָזיטיװע שטימונג, װאָס עס האָט געפֿאָדערט די אָפֿיציעלע סאָװעטישע ליטעראַטור. „הױפּטשטעט“ איז אַ דאָקומענט פֿון דעם נסתּרס אַנטױשונג אינעם פּראָיעקט פֿון אױפֿבױען די ייִדישע קולטור אינעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, פֿאַרסך־הכּלט װאַכרושאָװאַ.
װי אַ צאָל אַנדערע ייִדישע און ניט־ייִדישע מחברים, װאָס זײַנען געשטאַנען אױף די ראַנדן פֿון דער אָפֿיציעלער סאָװעטישער ליטעראַטור, האָט דער נסתּר געפֿונען אַ מקום־מקלט אין איבערזעצערישער אַרבעט. ער האָט איבערגעזעצט אויף ייִדיש די װערק פֿון די רוסישע קלאַסיקער לעװ טאָלסטאָי, פֿיאָדאָר דאָסטאָיעװסקי, איװאַן טורגענעװ, און פֿון אַ היפּשער צאָל דײַטשישע, פֿראַנצײזישע און אַנדערע שרײַבער.
איבערזעצונגען פֿון דער רוסישער און אײראָפּעיִשער בעלעטריסטיק און דיכטונג, פֿון פּאָליטישער און װיסנשאַפֿטלעכער ליטעראַטור אױף די סאָװעטישע מינאָריטעט־שפּראַכן זײַנען געװען אַ װיכטיקער עלעמענט פֿון דער סאָװעטישער קולטור־פּאָליטיק, און ייִדיש איז ניט געװען קײן אױסנאַם. דערצו איז דאָס געװען אַ מער־װײניקער סטאַבילע פּרנסה, װײַל די האָנאָראַרן האָבן באַצאָלט מלוכישע פֿאַרלאַגן.
דװקא די איבערזעצונגען האָבן אַ סך בײַגעטראָגן צו דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿונעם אײגנאַרטיקן סאָװעטישן נוסח פֿון ייִדיש. איבערזעצונגען זײַנען אויך געװאָרן אַ װיכטיק ליטעראַריש פֿעלד פֿאַר שפּראַכלעכע עקספּערימענטן, בפֿרט װען די פּאָליטישע באַדינגונגען זײַנען אין די 1930ער יאָרן געװאָרן אַלץ שװערער, פֿאַרסך־הכּלט װאַכרושאָװאַ. אַזױ האָט זיך די ייִדישע שפּראַך װײַטער אַנטװיקלט, ניט געקוקט אױף דעם פּאָליטישן דרוק.
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