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Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway.
LVIV, Ukraine (JTA) – The rabbis sat around a breakfast table, discussing Russia’s war on the country where they work in a mixture of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. They named their hometowns as Lugansk, Lvov and Dnepr, the Russian names for Ukrainian cities that have vaulted into international headlines since Russia invaded Ukraine in February.
Although they were focused on Ukraine’s progress in the fighting, the rabbis uttered not a single word in Ukrainian. How could they? Like the vast majority of Jews in Ukraine, none of them speaks the country’s official language.
Russian has long been the first language for a wide swath of Ukrainians, including the majority of the country’s Jews. But after the Russian invasion, many Ukrainians decided they wanted to speak less Russian and more Ukrainian. Many Jews, similarly horrified by the sight of thousands of Russian soldiers pouring over Ukraine’s borders and wishing to demonstrate their Ukrainian bonafides, have made the same choice — even as it means disrupting a long linguistic tradition.
So when the rabbis’ successors meet for pancakes and sour cream, they will be far more likely to introduce themselves as the rabbis of Luhansk, Lviv and Dnipro, the Ukrainian names for their hometowns that have become the standard in English. They will also likely be able to hand their students and congregants Ukrainian-language versions of central Jewish texts that simply do not exist now.
“Many of my friends say that they are embarrassed to use Russian as a language. They say that we are Ukrainian Jews, and that Russia is a terrorist country fighting us and that we shouldn’t use their language,” said Rabbi Meir Stambler, from Dnipro. “Others say that [Russian president Vladimir] Putin doesn’t own the Russian language. It is an issue.”
He added, “This is something that people are discussing all the time.”
A decade ago, half of Ukrainians said they spoke Russian as their native language. That number has declined to 20%, fueled in part by resentment over Russia’s aggressions in Crimea, a contested region that it annexed by force in 2014. But Jews have remained predominantly Russian-speaking, even in parts of western Ukraine where Ukrainian has long been the dominant language. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, but their speakers cannot understand each other.)
Russia’s war on Ukraine has Ukrainian Jews playing catchup. Stambler, who heads the Federation of Jewish Communities, a body affiliated with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement that operates a network of 36 synagogues around Ukraine, offers a stark prediction: “Within 10 years, every Jew in Ukraine will speak Ukrainian.”
The dominance of Russian among Ukraine’s Jews, who numbered in the tens of thousands before the war, has deep roots.
“The historical trajectory of Jews in what is now Ukraine led them in the 19th century to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian,” says historian Natan Meir, a professor of Judaic studies at Portland State University. “That was because Ukrainian was perceived as a peasant language that did not have any high culture associated with it, and because there were no economic advantages to adopting Ukrainian at the time.”
Now, the upside of switching to Ukrainian — demonstrating a national allegiance during a time of war — couldn’t be clearer.
“Jews feel quite integrated into Ukrainian society, but a shift, even if it is a gradual shift, to Ukrainian is going to make that more tangible than ever,” Meir said, calling the Russian invasion “absolutely game-changing” for Ukrainian Jews. “They will be perceived even more strongly than they have been as being wholly Ukrainian and part of the fabric of Ukrainian society.”
Most Ukrainian Jews, especially those educated since the collapse of the Soviet Union, can now speak some Ukrainian. But their ability often depends on where they grew up: Many Jews in traditionally Russophone cities such as Odesa, Dnipro or Kharkiv can struggle with the language, while their grandparents often cannot speak it at all.
Books in both Hebrew and Russian sit on a bookshelf at Medzhybizh. (Jacob Judah)
“Not more than 20% were Ukrainian-speaking at home,” says Stambler. “Take President [Volodymyr] Zelensky. He knew Ukrainian, but he didn’t speak it at home, and he had to polish it up when he became president.”
It will not be simple for the Jewish community to suddenly switch to Ukrainian, the most widely spoken European language without a standardized translation of the Torah.
Two years ago, a team of translators working in Israel, Austria and Hungary began working to produce Ukrainian-language Jewish texts. But before the Russian invasion, the effort had so far produced only a Ukrainian book of psalms, or tehillim.
In May, two months into the war, a decision was made to accelerate work on a daily prayer book. A Torah could follow.
“The chumash is difficult,” said Stambler, who oversees the half-dozen-strong team of translators from his base in Dnipro, using the Hebrew word for the printed form of the Torah. “We are working on it.”
While translating sacred texts can take years, other changes have come faster. The leaflets, brochures and calendars that are a fixture at any Jewish center in Ukraine were quickly swapped out Russian for Ukrainian, at least at the federation’s headquarters. Before February, these had often been produced and printed by Russian Jewish communities and shared with those in Ukraine, for simplicity’s sake.
“This differentiation from Russian Jewry is going to be huge,” said Meir, the historian. “Up until this point they have essentially formed one linguistic and cultural space that all Jews, whether they were in Ukraine, Russia or Belarus could move freely between.”
Now, the ties between those communities are both logistically complicated to maintain — trade routes have been ruptured — and also potentially a liability at a time when anyone in either Russia or Ukraine showing an affinity for the other country can face suspicion or penalties.
“This shift, if it actually happens, is going to be marking out a totally new cultural space for Ukrainian Jews and almost a declaration of independence,” Meir said “Or at least that is the aspiration, because there is so much of their heritage which is still based in the Russian language that it is going to be a long time before they can fully separate.”
That separation process, which began to take shape most clearly after 2014, has quickened. “We started doing things ourselves,” said Stambler. “We used to do about 20% in Ukrainian for the Jews in western towns like Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk and Uzhhorod, but we are making a much stronger push now.”
He estimates that some 75% of material being distributed to Ukrainian Jewish communities by the Federation of Jewish Communities was in Ukrainian by September, up from 20% to 35% in January.
Young rabbis who come from the United States or Israel to serve small Jewish communities across Ukraine now say that they have had to add Ukrainian alongside their Russian classes.
“I began with Russian,” said one of those rabbis who works in Vinnitsya, until he decided over the summer that he had to learn Ukrainian. “I realized that I had to learn Ukrainian because I needed it on the street. I needed it to speak with the government and with the media.”
Signs in a synagogue in Ukraine are written in both Ukrainian and Russian. (Jacob Judah)
Some Ukrainian Jews are voting with their voices.
“My whole life, I spoke only Russian,” said Olha Peresunko, who before the war lived in Mikolaiv in southern Ukraine. “But after the 24th of February I am speaking only Ukrainian.”
Peresunko was speaking outside a Lviv synagogue this fall, where she and other refugees were waiting for food parcels. She had fled Mikolaiv, which has sustained repeated assault by Russian troops, for Lviv with her mother and two children while her husband is on the frontlines.
Her children are finding it hard to adjust to the exclusive Ukrainian environment in Lviv, but she is confident that they will make the shift. “They will speak Ukrainian as their first language,” Peresunko said.
Exactly how much the shift to Ukrainian will change local Jewish communities is a matter of debate. Rabbi Shalom Gopin, who fled to Kyiv in 2014 from his home community in Luhansk, an overwhelmingly Russophone city seized by Russia-backed separatists at that time, said he, too, believes that Ukrainian will displace Russian as the lingua franca of Ukrainian Jewry.
A Ukrainian woman displays her Ukrainian-language Jewish calendar as a source of pride, September 2022. (Jacob Judah)
“They are starting to slowly speak Ukrainian,” he said. “It is no problem. There are lots of Jews in America who speak English. We live here, and we speak the languages of the places that we live. It is normal.”
But Gopin said the linguistic shift “means nothing” amid other issues facing Jews in Ukraine, where Russia’s war is threatening to undo 30 years of Jewish community building, largely though not exclusively led by Chabad, Gopin’s Orthodox movement.
“The problem for the Jews of Ukraine is not language,” he said. “It is about how much they are going to synagogue, or how many children are going to Jewish schools, not about what they are speaking.”
Natalia Kozachuk, 45, a Jewish businesswoman in Lviv, sees only upside to shedding Russian, her native language. She has started to speak to her children only in Ukrainian.
“It will be hugely positive if Jews speak more Ukrainian,” Kozachuk said. This is the only way that Jews can truly “learn more about the Ukrainian people,” she said, “about their history and the positive qualities and strengths of Ukraine.”
“Only good can come of it,” she added. “We will understand each other better.”
—
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Four seasons in five sonnets
אָסיען
דאָס צאַרטע ביימל צערטלדיק
צעוויגט זיך אויפֿן ווינט
שוין לאַנג אין אירע בלעטעלעך
קיין זומערפֿרייד מער ניט גרינט
די בלעטלעך טאַנצן גאָלדענע
צום טאַקט פֿון לופֿט וואָס רינט
פֿון קאַנטן פֿון פֿאַרוואָלקנטע
מיט קילקייטס שטאַרן דין
די בלעטעלעך, די בלעטעלעך
זיי מאָנען גאָרניט כּלל
בלויז פֿאַרן סוף קאָקעטעלעך
זיי טענצלען מיט אַ שטראַל
אַזוי עס קלאַפּט אַ הערצעלע
וואָס ווערט פֿון אַלטקייט יונג
אַזוי דאָס לידל ס׳לעצטיקע
קלאָר לייגט זיך אויף דער צונג
און מיטן ווינטל פֿרישינקן
צעזינגט זיך פֿראַנק־און־פֿרײַ
בלײַב, וועלטל מײַנס, פאַֿרכּישופֿטע,
געזונט, אַדיאָ, גוד־בײַ
2021
•
ווינטער
ביים גיין פֿאַרביי דעם אַלטן וואַלד
דערשפּירסטו: אים איז ביטער קאַלט:
די צווײַגן ציטערן פֿאַר קעלט,
די שטאַמען בייגן זיך פֿאַרקוועלט.
און אַלע חיות פּלוצים אָפּ,
און פֿייגל אַלע ווי אָן קאָפּ.
מערניט א שפּערל שפּרינגט זיך דרייסט…
ווי קומט ער גאָר פֿון שטאָט? ווער ווייסט…
גיסטו דעם שפּערל גלײַך אַ וווּנק:
„דער וואַלד איז אַלט און דו ביסט יונג!“
נאָר ער גאָר מאַכט זיך קעלאָיאָד,
אויף דרערד אַלץ שפּרינגט ער, נישטערט דאָרט…
דו קלערסט בײַם גיין פֿאַרביי דעם וואַלד:
זאָל עקן זיך דער ווינטער באַלד!
2018
•
צישן סוף און אָנהייב
דו ווייסט, דער ווינטער וועט פֿאַרגיין
באַלד
און אַלץ באַנײַט זיך: פֿעלד. בוים, שטיין,
וואַלד
און ס׳נעמט אַלץ שפּיגלען זיך אין דיר —
בלום
און בין, און פֿייגל אָן אַ שיעור, —
קום,
שטיי אויף פֿון ווינטער דרעמל און
שײַן!
אַוועק עס וועט פֿון אונטער זון
פּײַן,
דײַן שמייכל ווידער — פֿרײַ און יונג
שפּרייט
די פליגל איבער קינד־און־קייט
ברייט,
דײַן גאָב איז גרויס, און מײַן געזאַנג —
קלאַנג
טויכט אויף, אין יעדן אות געפֿאַנגט —
דאַנק
2019
•
פֿרילינג
די צאַרטע גרינקייט
פֿון ערשטע בלעטלעך
קומט שטענדיק
ניט צו פֿרי,
ניט שפּעטלעך.
ס׳קומט תּמיד ממש
צו דער צײַט
און גרינג,
פֿון בייזע פֿרעסט
באַפרײַט
ס׳הייבט אָן
די גרויסע פֿרייד
צו שוועבן
ווײַל ס׳ווערט באַנײַט
דאָס גרינע לעבן
פֿאַרקוואַרטע ביימער
ווערן לײַט
2024
•
דער זומער איז אַן עקשן
דער זומער איז אַן עקשן, ער וויל ניט, וויל ניט קומען
הגם אויף בייטן וואַקסן צעקווייטיקט שוין די בלומען
הגם די ביימער אויכעט זיך שאָקלען שטאַרק צעגרינטע
דער זומער איז זיי חושד, וויל זיך פֿון דאַן אַהין טאָן
וואוהין אַהין? — טוסט פֿרעגן און ס׳ענטפֿערן די ווינטן:
צו סאַמע קוואַל פֿון רעגן, צום וויכערס אורקוואַל בלינדן…
דער זומער זיך פֿאַרטײַעט, ער וויל זיך ניט צעבליִען
פֿאַרציטערט מענטש און חיה באַלד גרייט פֿאַר אים זיך מיִען
נאָר ער טוט אַלץ זיך הײַען, מיט שטראַלן טוט ניט בריִען
דער פֿרילינג שוין פֿאַרבײַ איז און נאַט אײַך — אָסיען פֿריִער!
פֿאַרחושכט גרינע וועלדער מיט פּוסטע שטעט און שטעטלעך —
בײַ גרויע שטיינער עלנטע, נעפּלדיק פּאַנדעמלעך…
נאָר ער, ער מוז דאָך קומען, אָנקומען סוף־כּל־סוף און
צעקושן זיך מיט בלומען, אויסהיילן גרויל מיט האָפֿונג
ווײַל ניט אומזיסט די ביימער צעגרינטע זיך צעוויגן —
אָט־אָט מיט טויזנט חנען צעוויקלט זיך זײַן ניגון!..
דערווײַל זשע בלאָזן ווינטן, צעיושעט זיך דער רעגן
בעת דער פּאַנדעמער ווינטער וויל מערן זײַן פֿאַרמעגן
2020
•
פֿיר צײַטן פֿון אַ גאַנץ יאָר
ס׳טוט דער פֿרילינג אַלץ זיך בעטן
ביז אין ווינטער נעכט אין שפּעטע
„פֿעלט־וועלט־וואַלד, רק ניט פֿאַרגעסט מיך —
ס׳איז ניט סתּם וואָס כ׳הייס אויך — וועסנע!..“
און דער לאַנגער, כמורנער אָסיען —
רײַסט אַראָפּ אַלץ, דרעשעט, קאָסיעט…
מ׳רופֿט אים ניט אומזיסט אויך האַרבסט, —
ר׳סטראַשעט דעם ווינטער: ״אויך דו, שטאַרבסט!״
און דער שטרענגער, שאַרפֿער ווינטער
ווייסט שוין ניט וואו ר׳זאָל אַהינטער
צי פֿון וואַנעט ר׳זאָל אַרויסעט,
ווײַל ער האָט מער ניט קיין עתיד.
שיקט ער ליבע־בריוו דעם זומער,
נאָר פֿון היץ ווערט יענער — שטומער —
ביז די פֿייגל בויען נעסטן
לשם וועסנע, לשם וועסנע…
2017
•
פֿינעף סאָנעטן
1. און אפֿשר האׇט ער רעכט
און אפֿשר איז גערעכט דער מעכטיקער פּאָעט:
דער עכטיקער איז ער, די איבעריקע זאַנען
אַן ערבֿ־רבֿ פֿון שטיקלעך גראַפֿאָמאַנען
בעת ער באַשאַפֿט פֿון טאָיוּ־וואָיוּ אַ סאָנעט?
און אפשר האָט ער רעכט, דער מײַסטער פוֿן קופּלעט,
וואָס דויערט, ברויזט און קלינגט איבער אַ טויזנט ימען,
בלויז ער, רק ער אַליין לסוף געווינען וועט
די קרוין די איינציקע פֿון ליד דעם סאַמע־סאַמע?
נו יאָ, ווער ווייסט, ווער קאָן דאָס משפּטן אַצינד,
צווישן אַפּנים, מעגלעך, אפֿשר און מסתמא,
צי וועט דען איבערבלײַבן מיטן גײַסט פֿון ווינט
דער וועלטבאַשאַף פֿון ניסימדיקע גראַמען?
טאָ וואָס זשע דען? — מערניט, אַ שטילער עפּיטאַף:
אין ליד זײַנס חנדלט זיך אויך פּראָסטער ערבֿ־רבֿ
2017
•
2. „לידער, לידער, לידערליי“
אַ לידער־קלעטער, צי אַ לידער־פֿלי
צו־מאָל אין שפּעטסטער שפּעט
ווען ס׳ווערט שוין גראָד גאַנצפֿרי
צו־מאָל אינמיטן גאַנג פֿון גיכן טאָג
וואָס זשאַלעוועט אַ גלעט
קיין צײַט ער ניט פֿאַרמאָגט
אַ ליד אַ וווּנדער, צי אַ ליד אַ וווּנד
אַ פלֿאַם אַ קוועלכל וועקט
אַ הימל גרייכט צום גרונד
אַ לידער־אָטעם, צי אַ לידער־גרוס
אין יעדן וואָרט עס שטעקט
די מעגלעכקייט פֿון מוז
אַ ליד־געזאַנג, צי גאָר אַ ליד־געשריי
פֿון טיפֿער פֿרייד, פון וויי
2018
•
3. אַ ליבע־גרוס
דער ווינטער ווי קאַלט ר׳זאָל ניט ווערן
די וויוגע די בייזע, דער פֿראָסט —
זיי וועלן ניט קענען צעשטערן
די ליכט וואָס צו מיר דו דערטראָגסט
די שטערן, קאָן דאַכטן, געהערן
ניט מיר און ניט דיר, און פֿאַרדראָס
וויל אונדזער ממשות פֿאַרשטערן
און פֿאָרט ס׳איז פֿאַר דיר — יעדער אות
וואָס כ׳טו פֿון מײַן האַרצן אויסשרײַבן
מיט זוניקן שטראַל אויפּֿן שניי
און כ׳ווייס אַז די אויפֿשריפֿט וועט בלײַבן
וועט אויסשטיין דעם גרעסטן זאַוויי
דער ווינטער אַלץ שאַרפֿער און שאַרפֿער
נאָר אים איבערלעבן באַדאַרף מען.
2019
•
4. ביימער
דערהערן דעם זיכּרון פֿון די ביימער
וואָס שטייען וואַך יאָרהונדערטער, צי מער
און בלײַבן דאָ מיט זיי איינער אַליינער
כּל־זמן עס קומט ניט קיינער ניט אַהער
זיך שאָקלענדיק צום טאַקט פֿון זייער תּפֿילה
דערשפּירן יעדן רינג און רונג אין זיי
מיט יעדן שאָרך און בייג פֿון צווײַגן פֿילע
מיט פֿרייד פֿון פֿרילינג און מיט אָסיען־וויי
מיט אומגעהײַער זאַפֿטיקייט פֿון גרינקייט
אום רײַפֿן זומער ווען אַלץ זשומט און בליט…
אום פֿראָסטיק קאַלטן ווינטער מיט זײַן פֿלינקײַט —
צעכראַסטעטעטע זיי שטייען אויפֿן ווינט
דערהערן דעם זיכּרון פֿון געדויער
פֿון קיוּם און פֿון ווידערקום ביסט לאָער
2022
•
5. פּאַנטאַריישיתדיקס
.
שוין צײַט דו זאָלסט וויסן דער טאָג איז פֿאַרבײַ
דער אָוונט איז יונג נאָך, די נאַכט איז נאָך פֿרײַ
די שטערן נאָך שלאָפֿן, דער ווינט איז נאָך לינד
די בערן פאַֿרשלאָפֿן דעם ווינטער געשווינד
און אַלץ וואָס קאָן טרעפֿן, וועט טרעפֿן געוויס:
דער בונד ווערן לויז און דער גזר ווערן ברית
דער אומרו פֿון אָנמאַכט וועט דויערן לאַנג
בעת דו טוסט צעוויקלען דײַן ניגון און קלאַנג
געשוועסטער, געברידער — געמיינזאַמע לײַט —
די זון גייט באַלד אונטער פֿון יעטווידער זײַט
זי בעט זיך פּאַטעטיש: פֿאַרגעסט זשע מיך ניט
די האָפֿענונג לעצטע צום אין־סוף דערפליט
נאָר אַלץ וואָס וועט ווערן, וועט גרייכן דעם צוועק
בעת גלגל החוזר זיך דרייט אָן אַן עק
2026
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My university is enabling the Trump administration’s worst fallacies on antisemitism
The Department of Justice has filed its second lawsuit of the year alleging rampant antisemitism at UCLA, where I teach.
The suit is a repetition of the same old string of allegations that President Donald Trump’s administration first made in the summer of 2025, when it froze $584 million in research funds and then tried to extract an additional $1.2 billion from UCLA. Those assertions are based on a mix of self-reporting and hearsay, assembled to make the case that the UCLA campus is awash in antisemitism.
A small number of the allegations I know or believe to be true. But the overarching claim made in the federal complaint is so partisan and partial as to be comical.
The new suit alleges that UCLA tolerated antisemitic expression and acts on campus — especially at a short-lived pro-Palestinian encampment that took place in April 2024.
It accuses UCLA of tolerating an “appalling hostile educational environment against its Jewish and Israeli students.” The fact that UCLA’s chancellor, Julio Frenk, has made the fight against antisemitism one of the pillars of his administration — and makes constant reference to the recent recommendations of a campus Initiative to Combat Antisemitism — seems not to have registered. The feds are clearly suffering from a bit of UCLA Derangement Syndrome.
This latest federal suit against UCLA succumbs to the Trumpian instinct to alter the facts to fit one’s political proclivities. In this worldview, every instance of support for Palestinians or criticism of Israel is cast as antisemitic; there can be no legitimate form of pro-Palestinian expression.
Even more remarkably, there can be no admission that the greatest display of violence that unfolded on our campus amid pro-Palestinian protests was not against pro-Israel students. Instead, it was perpetrated by pro-Israeli hooligans against the pro-Palestinian encampment activists on the evening of April 30, 2024.
Yet true to form, the complaint describes the events of that night as a battle between equals: “the occupiers and counter-protestors attacked each other with pepper spray, blunt objects, and even fireworks.” In fact, what took place was a vicious assault by one group against another — those in the encampment — that went on for more than four hours without police intervention.
This reshaping of truths seen as inconvenient betrays a tendency by Trump and his associates to adopt an exceptionally narrow lens of observation that allows for shameful distortion and denial. That tendency showed up in a farcically named 2025 executive order, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History,” which sought to erase any trace of racial prejudice from the annals of this country. And it continues to be present in Trump’s astounding revisionist account of January 6, 2021, which casts the violent insurrectionists as American heroes betrayed by their country.
Sadly the Justice Department’s misrepresentations in its latest complaint are founded not only on Trumpian denialism, but also on UCLA’s own antisemitism initiatives.
Both the taskforce and a subsequent action group charged with investigating on-campus antisemitism have advanced a decontextualized and one-sided story of what took place at UCLA. They have failed to acknowledge the relational nature of anti-Israeli and anti-Palestinian expression; blurred the distinction between hate speech and legitimate, albeit harsh, political expression; and left the concerns of the pro-Palestine side almost entirely unrecognized.
Paradoxically, the singular focus on antisemitism dilutes the very effort to combat it by ignoring the wider ecosystem of hate in which antisemitism operates.
I know members of the taskforce and the action group, as well as Chancellor Frenk. They are colleagues and friends of mine. But I disagree with the way they have gone about the work of combatting antisemitism at UCLA.
To begin with, none of the six UCLA scholars who hold chairs in Jewish studies and whose work touches on antisemitism — myself included — were part of the taskforce that issued its report, or the action group that followed in its wake. Some were initially invited to be part of the taskforce but chose to step down because they did not feel in sync with its direction.
Why?
Because that direction was grounded in a flawed equation of antisemitism with anti-Zionist and anti-Israel expression.
The UCLA action group’s most recent recommendations call for the adoption of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, which largely advances this understanding. The recommendations give lip service to the assertion that not all criticism of Israel is antisemitic, but neither the taskforce nor the action group has ever indicated when, if ever, criticism of Israel is not anti-Israel — a category so capacious as to leave little room for criticism of any sort.
An additional concern: many of the recent action group recommendations focus on “time, place, and manner” restrictions on campus debate. While ostensibly intended to promote a safe campus environment, in practice they seem to be largely aimed at inhibiting pro-Palestinian forms of expression.
What about an alternative strategy that leverages what we do best at universities: education?
Restricting conversation has never led to positive social change. What could is a major new educational effort devoted to a multi-disciplinary analysis of antisemitism, perhaps alongside Islamophobia. The university could investigate more deeply the interconnected nature of hate in our time by supporting research efforts like those of the UCLA Initiative to Study Hate — which, full disclosure, I direct.
A more expansive tack like this stands a better chance of being effective in bringing various campus stakeholders, including students, into the fight against identity-based hate — which includes but is not restricted to antisemitism. That, rather than narrowing space for free speech, should be the goal.
Unfortunately, our own campus’ efforts to combat antisemitism move in another direction, a choice the Trump administration is working hard to reinforce with their ill-intentioned weaponization of antisemitism. I fear that UCLA will suffer for this — and that, at the end of the day, little will be done to reduce hatred and prejudice against Jews.
The post My university is enabling the Trump administration’s worst fallacies on antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
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How ‘Hacks’ botched its Yiddish line
In the most recent episode of HBO Max’s critically acclaimed comedy-drama Hacks, Robbie Hoffman, who plays Randi, an ex-Hasidic assistant to agents who represent stand-up comedian Deborah Vance (Jean Smart), says a line in Yiddish. Unfortunately, as any fluent Yiddish speaker will confirm, it’s grammatically incorrect.
In the episode, “The Garden” — referring to Madison Square Garden — Vance’s nemesis Bob Lipka (played by Tony Goldwyn) manages to ruin the comedian’s dream performance at the renowned venue. Luckily, her crew succeeds at securing their boss a stage in Central Park (albeit with free tickets) but they have only a couple of days to convince people to fill the seats. They spread out into the streets of New York City handing out fliers, desperate to get people to come to the ad hoc performance.
Randi does her part by returning to her former community — an apparently Hasidic neighborhood in Brooklyn — and hands out fliers to the pious passers-by. Since Haredi Jews eschew secular performances of any kind, Randi’s attempts are sure to be futile but it’s a funny scene, so I get it.
Yet, when Randi tries to convince them in Yiddish to “come see Deborah Vance in Central Park,” the verb she uses is grammatically incorrect. For you grammar nerds out there, here’s what the error was: Instead of using the command form, “kumt zen Deborah Vance,” “come see Deborah Vance,” she uses the infinitive, “kumen tsu zen Deborah Vance.”
It’s as if she were to say, in English: “To come to see Deborah Vance.”
Surprisingly, as was reported in Alma, Hoffman had called her mother Connie, who, she says, actually writes plays in Yiddish, to run the line by her. If her mother is indeed a fluent Yiddish speaker, we can only conclude that she may have mis-heard the sentence.
Unfortunately, badly translated or mispronounced Yiddish lines are all too common in TV series and films, from the 1992 film A Stranger Among Us with Melanie Griffith to the 2019 mini-series Unorthodox. Interestingly, the Israeli show Shtisel, produced in Israel, did a much better job of getting the Yiddish right.
In any case, the correct way for professional studios to get lines translated into a foreign language is not to wing it, but to hire a professional interpreter who can actually come onto the set and rehearse the lines with the actor. It may raise production costs a bit but at least then, the Yiddish dialogue will sound authentic.
The post How ‘Hacks’ botched its Yiddish line appeared first on The Forward.