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For many Jewish teens, COVID broke the synagogue habit
This article was produced as part of JTA’s Teen Journalism Fellowship, a program that works with Jewish teens around the world to report on issues that affect their lives.
(JTA) — Jordy Levy, 18, remembers sitting at the table with his family, enjoying a relaxed Shabbat dinner at his Atlanta home during the pandemic. There was no hassle of getting dressed up, no schlep to synagogue, just hanging out and spending time with his family. In the background, a Facebook livestream of his congregation’s Friday night services played.
This is a scene that has become largely familiar over the course of the pandemic. COVID-19 forced many synagogues to close their doors and move their services and programs to virtual platforms. Many synagogues saw overall engagement grow as a result of this shift.
And yet for many Jewish teens, Levy’s experience was the exception. The technology, which in some ways made connecting with synagogues more convenient, caused a loss of connection among teens that has lingered even now that most congregations are back in person.
“I know a lot of kids just stopped going to synagogue outright because with COVID-19 they were so used to not going,” said Jill Mankosky, 18, a member of the Conservative Agudas Achim Congregation in Alexandria, Virginia. “This year when the High Holiday services were in person again, I noticed a lot of my classmates who would have been there previously pre-COVID-19 were just not there anymore.”
Congregations are now at a crossroads, determining which direction they want to move in next as the world slowly transitions away from the pandemic.
“Return back to normal is a bad way to phrase it because there is really no normal,” said Maya Kamenske, 16, a member of Agudas Achim.
Especially for Conservative congregations like Kamenske’s, the switch to online prayer was a significant one. In 2001, the Conservative movement’s Jewish law committee prohibited counting someone participating in an online manner towards the prayer quorum, or minyan needed for communal prayer. Virtual services initially breached this decision, although the ruling was soon amended to allow virtual Shabbat services during the pandemic.
Teens Jaqui Drobnis, left, and Max Gordon, right, lead a Tu Bishvat seder with a group of first graders at Agudas Achim Congregation in Alexandria, Virginia. (Courtesy of Chaya Silver)
Virtual services increased accessibility by making it simpler for people who would otherwise struggle to be at the congregation to still participate. For example, Jonah Golbus, 17, said that there were times when he was unable to find a ride to his synagogue, Rodef Sholom in San Rafael, California. Now, he does not have to worry about that. Virtual services allow people more flexibility for participation, and can be squeezed more easily into schedules.
“Having [online] High Holiday services as an option for those who [either] can’t or don’t feel up to coming in person is a really good addition that I’m glad we’ve kept,” said Mankosky. “I’m hoping it continues because, for example, when I’m in college, I can’t come back for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services, but I’d still like to attend the services of [my] synagogue. Having an option to do them on Zoom from my dorm or something would be really helpful.”
Many synagogues saw a definite spike in participation and engagement of their members overall after implementing virtual services made participation simpler. This was not the case for teen programs, though. Many teens interviewed for this article reported that engagement dropped when it went digital.
Kira Rodriguez, a senior in high school and member of the Rodef Sholom congregation, tried to stay involved after Rodef Sholom went virtual, and attended a number of virtual activities for the first few months. Eventually, it just became too much.
“I was just so mentally exhausted from always being on Zoom,” said Rodriguez. “I couldn’t take another two hours of it [for the teen activities].”
Golbus, who struggled to find rides to Rodef Sholom, said that he was never really engaged on Zoom, so he did not attend any of the virtual programming during the pandemic. Now that he has friends who are in-person again, he has become more active in his congregation. Still, the events look different than they used to.
“It’s not as crowded as it used to be,” said Golbus. “There’s less people I know, so there’s less of an incentive on my end to go to these [activities].” He said that it is just less of a habit to go to temple now than it used to be before the pandemic, even if people are slowly reverting back to how it was.
The pandemic-related loss of in-person interactions damaged teens’ social connections within their congregations. While some teens returned to their congregations as they began to open back up, others never did.
Mankosky also blames the decline in participation to her and her peers starting high school and becoming increasingly busy. What is normally a period fraught with change for teens became, in many instances, even more challenging as COVID-19 took its toll. She is not alone in feeling more disconnected from her peers.
Teens from Congregation Rodef Sholom in San Rafael, California enjoyed a kayaking trip as a way to spend time together outdoors. (Courtesy of Rudy Brandt)
“I remember there was a really communal aspect to the congregation before. My religious school class [and I] were really really close. We often invited each other to our birthday parties outside of religious school, even though most of us didn’t even go to class together,“ said Jacob Bensen, 15, about Agudas Achim. ”It was almost like having a second family.” Now, he says, this has fallen to the wayside as the class has mostly lost touch since COVID-19. Most people haven’t put in the effort to reconnect since returning in-person.
Mila Einspruch, 16, had a different experience with Zoom during the pandemic. Prior to COVID-19, she said that she was on the track towards dropping all involvement with her congregation, Temple Sinai, in Oakland, California. With virtual school, Einspruch was unable to hang out with people as she had before. Her Reform congregation had a monthly Zoom club for eighth graders aimed at engaging and conversing. It was such an enjoyable experience that she became more involved in her congregation after it opened back up.
Yet even for those like Einspruch who returned, the community still feels different than it used to.
“Now, everything’s a little bit more fragmented,” said Einspruch. “The biggest thing that’s blocking people from coming [to temple] is just [that] those [social] connections are gone.”
Despite all of this, Rodriguez saw a spike in attendance following COVID-19 at her Reform congregation, Rodef Shalom, as there was a lot of initial excitement to be back in the building together. She said that faded within a couple of months as the initial novelty wore off. Now, there are odd gaps in ages between the teens. There are few freshmen and sophomores that show up, whereas the upperclassmen, like herself, are more likely to participate in activities. A few teens weighed in on why this is happening.
“It feels like there’s this gap of time where I would have started to get more involved after eighth grade into freshman year where there’s this transition of becoming older and going to those activities [beyond religious school], but then that’s when COVID-19 hit for me,” said Adina Golbus, 17, belongs to Rodef Sholom with her brother Jonah. “COVID-19 I think had a part in [me not going to as many activities] because it kind of prevented that transition period.”
All of the trips and activities planned to ease this transition were canceled, exacerbating the rate at which teens stopped being active members in their congregations. Einspruch had a similar experience with the lack of structure.
“Straight out of our bar and bat mitzvahs, there would have been some scaffolding and structure [to motivate teens] to join the teen program,” Einspruch said. COVID-19 dismantled that.
However, Rodriguez said that the number of middle schoolers, particularly seventh graders, has shot up. Einspruch saw the same at Temple Sinai. Neither could point to a reason for the engagement.
Rudy Brandt, the director of youth engagement at Congregation Rodef Sholom, said that the pandemic was particularly tough for teens, so her goal was to design a no-pressure model of youth engagement where teens were able to engage when and how they wanted. To do this, she offered activities across the spectrum, from Get Out the Vote efforts on Zoom to movie conversations to cooking. Much of this is still the case even in-person.
Rodriguez, who also belongs to the Rodef Sholom congregation, said that these programs were particularly successful with the younger teens, and could be a part of why there were so many of them. Despite this, the revamped programming has not seen the same effects with the older kids. In an attempt to communicate and connect more with teens, Brandt and her colleagues have grown their social media footprints.
“[It’s] just kind of meeting teens where they are, trying to put, you know, what’s happening in our spaces in their faces via social media,” Brandt said.
This greater presence has been somewhat successful at encouraging teens to participate in their various youth programs.
“There have been some events that I didn’t go to when I saw [the posts on social media] it was like, I kind of wish I went to that. Maybe I’ll go to the next one,” said Golbus.
Rodef Sholom is not the only congregation that has changed their youth programs to see more engagement. Chaya Silver, the youth director at Agudas Achim Congregation in Alexandria, Va., is currently working on developing a hybrid program for the religious school at her congregation, with the goal of making it more inclusive and flexible for students and their families.
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The post For many Jewish teens, COVID broke the synagogue habit appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Jewish authors object to scheduling of a Chicago literary festival on Rosh Hashanah
Jewish writers say they are dismayed to learn that one of the nation’s largest free outdoor literary festivals is scheduled to take place during the two days of Rosh Hashanah, September 12 and 13.
Printers Row Lit Fest, an outdoor book festival that draws thousands of authors and book lovers to the streets of Chicago’s South Loop, announced the festival’s dates in April. But only recently, amid rising concerns about antisemitism in the publishing world, did some Jewish authors realize the schedule conflict. This year’s Rosh Hashanah begins at sundown on Friday, Sept. 11 and ends at sundown on Sunday, Sept. 13.
Brian Berg, a spokesman for Printers Row, said that scheduling difficulties caused the overlap with Rosh Hashanah.
“As someone who is Jewish and involved with the festival, I wish there had been an option that avoided a conflict with the High Holy Days,” Berg told the Forward. “After weighing alternatives, the weekend that was picked was really the most practical balance of financial, operational and scheduling realities.”
Chicago-based Jewish novelist Lisa Barr, who participated in a Printers Row panel last year about “Holocaust Literature in the 21st Century,” said she likely will miss at least one day of the festival this year to attend worship services and host family for the Jewish New Year.
Barr said the scheduling forces an unnecessary choice between honoring an important religious and cultural tradition and participating in one of Chicago’s signature literary events.
“Scheduling a major literary festival on such a sacred holiday sends a deeply painful message—whether intentional or not—that Jewish authors, readers, booksellers, and members of the literary community were not fully considered,” Barr told the Forward. “I can’t help but wonder: Given the climate of hate and antisemitism — was this an accident or purposeful?”
S.L. Wisenberg, another Jewish author in Chicago, explained that upon learning of the conflict, she assumed it was a scheduling mistake. “I don’t think it’s an anti-Jewish action,” she said. Still, she says, “it’s unfortunate.”
According to Berg, the other weekends in September also had conflicts: the first was Labor Day, the third had Yom Kippur, and the fourth might have been too cold. Yim Kippur begins at sundown on Sunday, Sept. 20.
Turi Ryder, a podcaster and novelist from Chicago, was unsatisfied by this explanation, after communicating with conference staff. She told her social media followers, “FILE UNDER, “WE KNOW BUT WE DON’T GIVE A RAT’S PATOOTIE ABOUT YOUR JEWISH HOLIDAY.”
Ryder pointed out that if they had held the festival the following week, there would not have been significant overlap with Yom Kippur, which begins at sundown on Sunday, Sept. 20. Berg explained that Sunday may still have been difficult for those observing the holiday, since they may have needed to spend the day spending time with family and preparing to go to synagogue.
The festival had been held every June for almost 40 years, but in 2021 organizers postponed the events until September to adjust for the COVID-19 pandemic. What was intended to be a temporary schedule change became permanent. Until then, the High Holidays had never been an issue.
The post Jewish authors object to scheduling of a Chicago literary festival on Rosh Hashanah appeared first on The Forward.
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Loved ones remember two Jewish women killed in Midtown Manhattan mass shooting one year ago
One year after Blackstone executive and Jewish community leader Wesley LePatner was killed in a mass shooting in the lobby of her Midtown Manhattan office, her family is marking the yahrtzeit by launching a foundation in her name.
“What we are officially launching today is not just the start of a love letter to my amazing wife,” her husband, Evan LePatner, said in a statement. “We are building programs and a community that she would have led, nurtured, and inspired many others to join.”
The Wesley Mittman LePatner Foundation aims to cultivate 1,000 leaders in the coming decades through a mentorship program. The two-year leadership accelerator will connect fellows with mentors to hone their skills supporting nonprofit organizations and civic institutions, according to a press release. Sheryl Sandberg, the former COO of Facebook, is among the foundation’s supporters.
LePatner was shot and killed at age 43, along with Julia Hyman, a 27-year-old associate at the real estate company Rudin Management, who was also Jewish.
The gunman, identified as 27-year-old Shane Tamura, opened fire at a Park Avenue office building, killing four people before turning the gun on himself. Investigators said Tamura — who claimed in a note to suffer from CTE, the brain disease associated with repeated head trauma — had intended to target the office of the National Football League, but took the wrong elevator.
The foundation is one of several initiatives to honor the victims of the shooting. Earlier this year, UJA-Federation of New York — where LePatner was on the board — created the Wesley M. LePatner Emerging Leadership Award, which will honor a rising star on Wall Street who strives to make a positive difference.
Hyman’s friends organized a fundraiser for March Fourth, a nonprofit that aims to end mass shootings.
“Her smile lit up every room and her hugs could brighten even the worst days,” Megan Arden, a friend of Hyman’s who ran the New York City marathon in her honor, wrote in a statement. “There will be a hole in my heart forever.”
On Tuesday, Mayor Zohran Mamdani and Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch led a memorial service for NYPD Detective Didarul Islam, who was off-duty working as a security guard when he was shot and killed.
A new law, raising the minimum wage for private security officers to $22.20 an hour, also took effect on Tuesday in honor of security officer Aland Etienne, who was killed while trying to shut down the building’s elevators during the attack.
Jewish legacies
Both Hyman and LePatner were active members of the Jewish community.
LePatner was a board member of UJA-Federation of New York and the Abraham Joshua Heschel School. She won a Youth Enrichment Center Award from Park East Synagogue, and was involved in the founding of the Orthodox Altneu congregation on the Upper East Side.
She also received the Alan C. Greenberg Young Leadership Award at UJA’s annual Wall Street Dinner in 2023. In her acceptance speech, LePatner shared how, growing up, her parents always reminded her that she “was an American, but first and foremost Jewish.”
At LePatner’s funeral, her father, Lawrence Mittman, recalled how her passion for Judaism began early, studying Talmud the summer before starting college at Yale University.
Others recalled her love for the state of Israel, including a “solidarity mission” she led to the country in the wake of the Hamas-led Oct. 7 attacks on Israel.
“Israel is Wesley, and Wesley was Israel,” her husband, Evan LePatner, said at the funeral. “Small in size, insanely productive, wrangling with being religious and pragmatic all at once, inclusive of all who want to be inside the tent, fierce in the defense of its people.”
Hyman grew up in Manhattan and attended the Riverdale Country School in the Bronx. She went on to study hotel and restaurant administration at the Cornell Nolan School of Hotel Administration, where she graduated summa cum laude in 2020.
At Hyman’s funeral, former classmates of Hyman from Riverdale sang “Shalom Rav,” a song that a friend recalled the two had sung together at her bat mitzvah.
Rabbi Maurice Salth of Central spoke at the funeral about how Hyman “took a stand for Israel, and continued to do so during what has been a deeply challenging and demanding time.”
“Let us be careful about trying to make this tragedy feel better by saying such things as, ‘At least she went quickly,’ or, ‘At least we had her for 27 years,’” Salth added. “There is nothing that can make this tragedy better or logical.”
The post Loved ones remember two Jewish women killed in Midtown Manhattan mass shooting one year ago appeared first on The Forward.
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Shmuel Plavnik: A classic example of Jewish-Belarusian identity
מיט צוויי חדשים צוריק האָב איך געשריבן אינעם פֿאָרווערטס, אַז איך האָב צופֿעליק אַנטדעקט מאַגישע כּתבֿ־ידן אויף ווײַסרוסיש, אָנגעשריבן מיט ייִדישע אותיות. דאָס געפֿינס איז ממש אויף אַ מיסטישן אופֿן צונויפֿגעפֿאַלן מיטן 160־יאָריקן געבורט־יוביליי פֿונעם ייִדישן שרײַבער שמואל־נחום פּלאַווניק, באַקאַנט אויף רײַסיש ווי זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַ.
פֿאַר וואָס איז דאָס אַ חידוש? אין 1921 האָט פּלאַווניק פֿאַרעפֿנטלעכט אַ קורצן אַרטיקל וועגן אַ ייִדישן כּתבֿ־יד, וווּ צווישן עטלעכע סגולות אויף לשון־קודש און ייִדיש טרעפֿט זיך אויך רײַסיש. ביז איצט האָבן די פֿאָרשער געמיינט, אַז יענער אַרטיקל איז פֿאַרלוירן געגאַנגען, און נאַט אײַך – אָט האָט ער זיך אָפּגעפֿונען, פּונקט צו פּלאַווניקס יוביליי!
סיאַרהיי שופּאַ, אַ ווײַסרוסישער שפּראַך־אַקטיוויסט, וועלכער קען גוט ייִדיש און האָט איבערגעזעצט אַ סך ווערק פֿון משה קולבאַקן אויף רײַסיש, האָט געלייענט וועגן מײַנע געפֿינסן, און האָט פֿאַרגליכן איינס פֿון זיי מיט יענעם, וואָס ס׳האָט אָנגעהויבן פֿאָרשן ביאַדוליאַ. ער האָט באַמערקט, אַז ער שטימט אין אַלע פּרטים מיט איינעם פֿון מײַנע. כ׳האָב צוערשט געמיינט, אַז דער כּתבֿ־יד איז טאַקע פֿאַרלוירן געגאַנגען; נישט געוווּסט, אַז ער געפֿינט זיך שוין לאַנג דיגיטאַליזירט, אָפֿענערהייט אין דער אינטערנעץ. באַקומט זיך, אַז איך בין פּלוצעם געוואָרן זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַס אַ ממשיך־דרך.
אַ געבוירענער דעם 23סטן אַפּריל אינעם דערפֿל פּאַסאַדזעץ אויף צפֿון פֿון מינסק (הײַנט וווינען דאָרט אַרום 150 תּושבֿים), האָט זיך שמואל פּלאַווניק פֿון קינדווײַז אָן געפֿילט היימיש סײַ אין דער ייִדישער קולטור פֿון זײַן היים, סײַ אין דער אַרומיקער קולטור פֿון די רײַסישע פּויערים. אין זײַנע ווערק באַטאָנט ער, אַז אַזוי איז געווען דער דורות־לאַנגער שטייגער פֿון אַ סך ייִדן אין רײַסן.
ס׳איז כּדאַי דאָ צו באַמערקן, אַז ווי באַלד דער אַלטער ייִדישער נאָמען פֿון בעלאַרוס איז רײַסן, להיפּוך צום פֿאַרעלטערטן דײַטשישן וואָרט „ווײַסרוסלאַנד‟, איז בעסער הײַנט אויף ייִדיש צו רופֿן די שפּראַך רײַסיש, הגם אין דער סאָוועטישער נאָמענקלאַטור איז אָנגענומען „ווײַסרוסיש‟. „בעלאַרוסיש‟ קלינגט, דאַכט זיך מיר, איבעריק, ווײַל בײַ ייִדן איז שוין במשך פֿון דורות פֿאַראַן אַן אייגן וואָרט פֿאַרן דאָזיקן סלאַווישן לשון.
פּלאַווניק האָט געלערנט אין אַ חדר און אַ ישיבֿה; בײַ זײַן זיידן, דעם אָרטיקן אײַזן־ און קופּער־שמיד, איז געווען די איינציקע ביבליאָטעק אינעם דאָרף, וווּ לעבן דער גמרא זענען אויף דער פּאָליצע געשטאַנען ביכער וועגן מאַטעמאַטיק און מעטאַלורגיע.
מיט זײַן טאַטן האָט ער זיך אָפֿט פֿאַרנומען מיט געהילץ־אַרבעט אין וועלדער. דערפֿאַר איז פֿאַר אים די וואַלדישע נאַטור פֿון רײַסן אויך געווען פֿון קינדווײַז אָן היימיש. זײַנע ערשטע דערציילונגען אויף ייִדיש און העברעיִש זענען געווען געווידמעט דער שווערער מי פֿון געהילץ־אַרבעטער. דערנאָך האָט ער זיך באַקענט מיט דער רײַסיש־שפּראַכיקער פּרעסע, וועלכער האָט דעמאָלט ערשט אָנגעהויבן זיך אַנטוויקלען. פֿון 1910 אָן האָט ער זיך כּמעט אין גאַנצן אָפּגעגעבן מיט רײַסיש אונטערן פּסעוודאָנים זמיטראָק ביאַדוליאַ. אַ ייִד און אַ ווײַסרוס מיט אַ טאָפּלטער עטנישער אידענטיטעט, האָט ער איבערגעזעצט פֿון ייִדיש אויף רײַסיש שלום־עליכמס ראָמאַן „מאָטל פּייסי דעם חזנס‟ און שמואל גאָדינערס ראָמאַן „דער מענטש מיט דער ביקס‟. גאָדינער איז געווען זײַנער אַ לאַנדסמאַן, אַ ווײַסרוסישער ייִד.
ווען די נאַציס זענען אָנגעפֿאַלן אויפֿן ראַטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, האָט דער שרײַבער זיך עוואַקויִרט פֿון מינסק. דעם 3טן נאָוועמבער 1941, איז ער געשטאָרבן פֿון אַ האַרץ־אַטאַק צו 55 יאָר.
ביאַדוליאַ האָט איבערגעלאָזט אַ גרויסע ליטעראַרישע ירושה: לידער, דערציילונגען, בתוכם גאַנץ לאַנגע און דעם ראָמאַן „יאַזעפּ קרושינסקי‟. אין 1932 האָט ער בשותּפֿות מיט נחום רובינשטיינען אַרויסגעגעבן אונטער זײַן אמתן נאָמען, שמואל־נחום פּלאַווניק, דאָס ערשטע ווײַסרוסיש־ייִדישע ווערטערבוך, וואָס מע קען הײַנט געפֿינען אין דער אינטערנעץ.
זײַן מיינונג וועגן די באַציִונגען צווישן ייִדן און ווײַסרוסן אין רײַסן האָט ער אויסגעדריקט אין זײַן אַרטיקל וועגן דעם מאַגישן כּתבֿ־יד, ווי אויך אין אַ צאָל שפּעטערדיקע עסייען. ער האָט געהאַלטן, אַז אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט די אַנדערע פֿעלקער פֿון מיזרח־אייראָפּע, האָבן די רײַסישע ייִדן געלעבט באַזונדערס נאָענט צו זייערע סלאַווישע שכנים, אָנגעהאַלטן מיט זיי פֿרײַנדלעכע באַציִונגען, גערעדט אויף זייער שפּראַך, געזונגען אייגענע לידער אויף רײַסיש. ממילא, האָבן זיי אויך אָפּגעלערנט אַזעלכע ענינים, ווי שפּרוכן קעגן וועלף און שלאַנגען.
ס׳זענען פֿאַראַן אַ סך אַנדערע סימנים, אַז אַזוי איז טאַקע געווען. בײַ די ליובאַוויטשער חסידים זענען פֿאַראַן עטלעכע ניגונים אויף רײַסיש, און אין די זכרונות פֿונעם זעקסטן ליובאַוויטשער רבין, יוסף־יצחק שניאורסאָן, ווערן דערמאָנט סלאַוויש־שפּראַכיקע דאָרפֿישע ייִדן, וואָס האָבן קוים געקענט ייִדיש. אין דער אמתן, שטעלן זײַנע „זכרונות‟ מיט זיך פֿאָר חסידישע מעשׂיות, ליטעראַריש באַאַרבעטע דורכן שרײַבער און זשורנאַליסט דוד־לייב מעקלער. פֿון דעסט וועגן, איז דאָס גאָר אַן אוצר. נאָך פֿריִער האָט דער פֿילאָסאָף שלמה מײַמון דערמאָנט אַזעלכע טיפּן ייִדן אין זײַנע טיף פּערזענלעכע, מײַסטעריש אָנגעשריבענע דײַטשיש־שפּראַכיקע מעמואַרן.
בײַ רײַסישע ייִדן איז פֿאַראַן אַן אויסדרוק: „האַלב טײַטש, פּאָלאָווינאַ רײַסיש‟. פּאָלאָווינאַ מיינט אויף רײַסיש און רוסיש אַ האַלב. ער טרעפֿט זיך בײַם דיכטער יהודה־לייב גאָרדאָן, בײַ מענדעלע, אין שלום־עליכמס אַ קריטישן עסיי וועגן ייִדן אין אַמעריקע, אין נחום סטוטשקאָפֿס „אוצר‟ און אַנדערע קוואַלן. אַזוי רופֿט מען דאָס שפּראַך־געמישעכץ, וואָס איז געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט בײַ שטעלטדיקע און בפֿרט בײַ דאָרפֿישע ייִדן און רײַסן.
עס קאָן זײַן, אַז דווקא צוליב אַזאַ פֿאַרשפּרייטער צוויי־שפּראַכיקייט האָבן געוויסע ייִדן געפֿירט גאַנצע זשורנאַלן פֿון סלאַווישע שפּרוכן, פֿאַרשרײַבנדיק זיי מיטן ייִדישן אַלף־בית. פֿון אַנ־סקיס עקספּעדיציעס ווייסן מיר, אַז אין אוקראַיִנע פֿלעגן ייִדישע פֿאָלקס־רופֿאים, געוויינטלעך פֿרויען, אָפּשפּרעכן אויף אוקראַיִניש, נאָר קיין אַלטע שריפֿטלעכע באַווײַזן דערפֿון האָב איך דערווײַל נישט געפֿונען. שאַפֿט זיך דער אײַנדרוק, אַז בײַ אַ סך ווײַסרוסישע ייִדן איז די שפּראַך פֿון זייערע שכנים טאַקע געווען זייער צווייט מאַמע־לשון.
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