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Jerry Izenberg covered 53 Super Bowls. His memoir covers his Jewish Newark upbringing.
(JTA) — Over the course of an illustrious 72-year career as a newspaper reporter, Jerry Izenberg has just about seen it all.
The longtime columnist for The Star-Ledger in Newark, New Jersey, Izenberg covered the first 53 Super Bowls. He’s been to 58 Kentucky Derbies, not to mention numerous Olympics, World Cups and boxing matches. He considered Muhammad Ali a close personal friend.
But the fiery 92-year-old, who still contributes to the paper as a columnist emeritus from his home in Nevada, doesn’t approve of the term “journalist.” He’s a newspaperman.
He dropped the name of Samuel Pepys, the 17th-century British diarist, as a contrast.
“Every day he took his big diary, and he wrote what he did this day, what he was planning to do later — that’s a journalist,” Izenberg told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “I’m not in my world. I’m in the world of other people trying to interpret and to repeat what values they have or what lack thereof they have.”
Izenberg’s latest story breaks that rule. His 17th book, which hits shelves on Monday, is a memoir about his Jewish upbringing in Newark. Titled “Baseball, Nazis, and Nedick’s Hot Dogs: Growing Up Jewish in the 1930s in Newark,” the memoir centers on Izenberg’s relationship with his father Harry, a World War I veteran and former minor league baseball player who passed on his love of the sport to his son.
Izenberg’s father emigrated to the United States as a child, leaving Lithuania with his family to escape anti-Jewish pogroms. As his sportswriter son recounts it, Harry discovered baseball even before he could speak English.
The Izenbergs’ love of baseball transcended all. When Jerry got his first baseball glove at ten years old, it was a milestone that in his father’s eyes surpassed even his bar mitzvah. (Maybe unsurprisingly, Izenberg would later skip bar mitzvah tutoring to play baseball after school.)
“He had given me a lifetime gift — a simple game and a simple shared love for it,” Izenberg writes in the memoir. “It remains there, bright and shining in memory eighty-three years later. In the soul of my memory, I see our kind of shared love of baseball again. It never fades.”
Jerry Izenberg and his father Harry shared a bond over baseball. (Book cover courtesy of The Sager Group, LLC; photograph courtesy of Jerry Izenberg)
The pair’s passion for baseball was closely intertwined with their Judaism. Growing up in Newark in the 1930s and 40s, Izenberg was a fan of the New York Giants baseball team (which left for San Francisco after the 1957 season). They featured a lineup filled with Jewish players: Harry Danning, Harry Feldman and Sid Gordon.
But in the pantheon of Jewish baseball during Izenberg’s childhood, there was a clear king, and — much to the chagrin of Izenberg’s father — he played in Detroit. Hank Greenberg, the greatest Jewish hitter in baseball history, was at the peak of his Tigers career from 1935-1940, winning two most valuable player awards on his way to the Hall of Fame.
At the Izenbergs’ dinner table, there were only a few select topics that were allowed to be discussed: baseball and the Nazis.
In 1938, Greenberg was chasing all-time great Babe Ruth’s single-season record of 60 home runs, which Ruth had set in 1927 with the Yankees. Greenberg would ultimately reach 58 homers, falling just short of history, while drawing several walks in the season’s final games.
“My dad was convinced that was antisemitism,” Izenberg said. “And I said to him, later on when I got into the business and I knew people, ‘did it ever occur to you that the guys who pitched against him didn’t want to be the guy who threw his 60th home run ball? They’d be linked to him forever.’ My father said, ‘That’s an interesting theory, but you’re full of crap.’”
Of all the anecdotes Izenberg shares of his memories with his father, one non-sports related scene stands out. And it has to do with that second dinner table topic.
One Saturday in 1939, Izenberg and his father went to the Newsreel Theatre in Newark, where audiences gathered to watch news and sports highlights of the week. That day, the theater showed footage of the infamous Madison Square Garden rally held by the German-American Bund, the American Nazi organization.
Izenberg remembers leaving the theater with his father, who was visibly angry. His father talked about how the Nazis — or, as he called them, mamzers, Yiddish slang for “bastards” — had to be stopped.
“I’m an 8-year-old kid, and I say, ‘But dad, they’re in Germany,’” Izenberg recalled. “And he looks at me, he says, ‘They’re not in Germany, they’re here.’ And he was right.” Indeed, following Hitler’s rise to power, Nazi-sympathizers could be seen marching down Newark’s streets.
The move theater incident is illustrated on the book’s cover — and was followed by a frequent father-son ritual: getting hot dogs at the popular chain Nedick’s.
To Izenberg, the virulent antisemitism of his youth — including the Bund, the reemergence of the Ku Klux Klan and the rise of Father Charles Coughlin, the antisemitic “radio priest” — is a corollary for the current state of antisemitism, which is again on the rise in the United States, punctuated, he said, by the 2017 antisemitic white nationalist rally in Charlottesville, which he blames on former President Donald Trump.
Izenberg said he doesn’t believe any law can force people to love or even like one another, but that “you could legislate people and pressure people into keeping their damn mouth shut.”
He went on: “And for 30 years, we had that. We got relief from antisemitism… And then one day in Charlottesville, that son of a bitch gave them the license to say whatever they want. And that was a trigger that lit the flame of antisemitism, which then began to grow all at once. It was always in their minds. But it was not fashionable. They made it fashionable.”
Despite the anti-Jewish sentiment that was ever-present in his youth, Izenberg said he has not faced antisemitism in his journalism career. As a columnist who has covered just about every sport, Izenberg has received his fair share of criticism — most notably having his car windows smashed by two men who did not approve of Izenberg’s defense of Muhammad Ali, when at the height of his career the boxer stirred controversy with his support for the Nation of Islam and his refusal to enlist in the military.
Jerry Izenberg, right, and boxer Muhammad Ali were close personal friends. (The Private Collection of Jerry Izenberg)
Izenberg has written about social issues frequently throughout his career — especially race relations — a tendency that he said is inspired by the value of “tikkun olam,” or repairing the world. It’s an idea he learned from Rabbi Joachim Prinz, the famous activist leader who spoke just before Martin Luther King Jr. at the 1963 March on Washington.
After leaving Nazi Germany, Prinz settled in Newark, on the same block as the Izenbergs. He would become a close family friend, and even offered to help Izenberg prepare for his bar mitzvah, despite the fact that his family belonged to a different synagogue.
Izenberg said he is guided by tikkun olam, “because I know [Prinz would] want me to keep it in the back of my mind, and my father would, too.”
“I’ve always tried not to fix the world — I don’t overrate myself that much — but I could fix the little part of it, the space that I take up,” he added. “And my job was a pathway to that.”
Izenberg’s decades-long career in sports journalism has earned him numerous accolades, including induction into 17 different halls of fame, among them the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame and the National Sportscasters and Sportswriters Association Hall of Fame.
Along the way, he’s worked with and alongside a number of notable journalists, including ESPN reporter Jeremy Schaap, who previously hosted “Classic Sports Reporters,” for which he invited veteran sportswriters like Izenberg on the show to discuss various topics from sports history.
“For someone like me who really treasures that art form, Jerry was one of its master practitioners, and he’s still doing it, which is amazing,” Schaap told JTA.
Schaap hailed the breadth of Izenberg’s career, which he said epitomized the kind of big-city sports columnist that has become increasingly rare in the digital age.
“He’s a maniac, there’s no other way to put it,” Schaap said with a laugh. “All those Super Bowls, all those fights… the energy, the enthusiasm, the passion, all those things, in addition to the skills, makes him unique and has made him unique for decades.”
Schaap added that he and Izenberg shared a sort of unspoken bond over their Jewishness, and that Izenberg has taught Schaap a few Yiddishisms over the years. Izenberg’s tendency to slip Yiddish into his prose is evident in the memoir, from a comical retelling of his bris in the prologue to the frequent frustrated “genug” (“enough”) he heard from his mother as a child.
Ultimately, Izenberg said his parents represent the tachlis — the bottom line — of the memoir, and what he hopes readers take away from it. Izenberg said writing the memoir was cathartic for him, and that it even serves as a sort of love letter to his father.
“We were not, you know, ‘I love you dad,’” Izenberg said. “We were very respectful, but we didn’t express it. I tried to express it in this book. I hope I did.”
The release of Izenberg’s memoir is in no way a sign that the nonagenarian is slowing down. Even though he claims he works less than he used to, Izenberg said he plans to write six columns about next weekend’s Kentucky Derby.
He already has plans for his next few books, too — including a biography of New Jersey’s own Larry Doby, who was the second Black player in the MLB and first in the American League.
“I’ve had a great life, and I’m having a great life, but I ain’t done yet,” Izenberg said.
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The post Jerry Izenberg covered 53 Super Bowls. His memoir covers his Jewish Newark upbringing. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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A decaying historic farmhouse finds a savior in Chabad
A Dutch Colonial home, just one of a handful of pre-Revolutionary War houses left in New York City, has been vacant and decaying for years. The windows are boarded up, signs warning against trespassing cover the property, and chunks of the ceiling are missing inside.
This historic landmark has an unlikely savior: Chabad, the global Lubavitch movement, which is planting one of its thousands of outposts there.
“Dilapidated is an understatement,” Rabbi Zalman Liberow of Chabad of Flatbush said as he gave the Forward a tour.
Chabad of Flatbush, led by Liberow and his wife, Chana, bought the historic Brooklyn property in December 2024 and will soon begin renovations to make the place livable. In the meantime, the couple has already transformed the barnhouse next door into a sanctuary, where a photo of the Lubavitch rebbe hangs on the wall near a compartment once used to store hay.
As other Jewish organizations have shifted toward digital community, Chabad has continued investing heavily in brick-and-mortar real estate, ranging from modest suburban homes to multimillion-dollar towers and converted landmarks. It’s a strategy that anchors Chabad in the communities it serves, but can also be costly: For the most part, Chabad couples — each unit headed by a rabbi and rebbitzin — finance their own operations, raising their own money to buy homes and establish centers of Jewish life.
The Liberows said a generous donation of Bitcoin from a donor, Eliot Stavrach, ultimately allowed them to purchase the 22,000 square foot lot for roughly $3 million, along with securing a high-interest loan to pay the mortgage while the couple awaited the sale of their old headquarters down the street. Last week, that transaction went through and reaped nearly $1.1 million.
The seller had also cut the asking price by nearly half, offloading what had become a white elephant, Liberow said.
“For him, it was a pain. For us, it was good,” Liberow said. “And I thought, even better, this is such an important piece of United States history.”
The prior landlord had reportedly struggled to find a buyer for the landmarked home, which by law cannot be demolished, and any alterations to the facade must be pre-approved by the city Landmarks Preservation Commission. In buying the home, the Liberows are also preventing its further deterioration — to the relief of neighbors who said the abandoned site had become a hotspot for drug use and a symbol of neglect.
“I’m just happy that the house will not be torn down and will actually have a future — a good one, it seems,” said Lori Citron Knipel, a former leader in the Brooklyn Democratic Party who used to frequent the house. “So that absolutely warms my heart, because it’s been breaking every time I pass it.”
The house’s history
The Wyckoff-Bennett Homestead is likely among the ten oldest properties in Brooklyn and the 50 oldest houses in all of New York City, according to Simeon Bankoff, former executive director of the Historic Districts Council.
A 1968 report from the Landmarks Preservation Commission noted that “two hundred years of wear have done little to diminish the simple beauty of its clear-cut profile,” and described it as “the most beautiful example of Dutch Colonial architecture in Brooklyn.”
The house is also notable for its role in the Revolutionary War: During the conflict, it quartered German soldiers fighting for the British, known as Hessians. Two of the soldiers etched their names and units into a windowpane.
A historical marker at the house notes that those troops may have taken part in the Battle of Brooklyn, the first major battle after the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
According to Liberow, local legend holds that George Washington once stopped at the Wyckoff-Bennett house for tea — though, “we never did find the teacup,” he joked.
Bankoff attributed the properties’ staying power partly to the fact that prior to a venture called 22nd Street Investors LLC purchasing the lots in 2021, the property had only ever been owned by three families over more than 250 years.
Hendrick H. Wyckoff, son of a Dutch settler who emigrated to New Amsterdam in 1637, is believed to have built the house before 1766. In 1835, Cornelius W. Bennett purchased it, and it remained in the Bennett family for four generations before a Jewish couple, Annette and Stuart Mont, bought the property in 1983.
‘A piece of Brooklyn’s history’
The Monts had a deep appreciation for the home’s history, Citron Knipel said, and often opened it to the community. They hosted political fundraisers, birthday parties, and even a wedding at the house, she said, and they welcomed school groups into their home for local history field trips.
Only the facade of the house is landmarked, making its preservation legally required. But the Monts also preserved its interior details, including furniture from the Wyckoffs and Bennetts, an ornate fireplace framed by decorative tiles depicting biblical scenes, and an antique Richardson & Boynton Co. stove.
“There’s a sense of being part of and having a responsibility to the rest of the community to preserve it and move it forward,” Stu said in the 2013 documentary Living in a Landmark.
“And share it,” Annette added. “Because we have bought a piece of Brooklyn’s history.”
But an effort to secure the home’s legacy fell apart in 2010. The Monts had been in talks with the city to purchase the property, only to withdraw after the city reduced the sale price, deducting the rent the Monts theoretically would have paid to continue living there.
Annette died in 2013 at age 72, and Stuart died three years later at age 76. Their children, Ira and Randi Mont, sold the property to 22nd Street Investors LLC, registered to real estate investor Avraham Dishi, in 2021.
In an interview with the Forward, Ira Mont said he believed at the time of sale that 22nd Street Investors LLC would keep the house in good condition — and was disappointed that they ultimately did not.
Dishi drew two complaints for failing to maintain the Wyckoff Bennett house: one for the poor condition of the fence, still active, and another for the condition of the facade and roof, later withdrawn.
Officials at a Landmarks Preservation Commission hearing in March to discuss the Liberows’ minor proposed changes to the home noted there had been “all kinds of vandalism, fires, squatters, [and] drug users” there in recent years.
The Forward reached Dishi’s office by phone and left a message, but did not hear back.
Liberow said he has big plans for the house pending approval from the Landmarks Preservation Commission, including displaying a video in the front yard highlighting Jewish history in the United States. The Commission has already approved plans to install porch railings, a curb cut and a driveway at the site. And like the Motts, the couple plans to open the space up to the public. They’ve already begun hosting Hebrew school and holiday gatherings in the barnhouse next door, which they renovated for about $200,000 with rustic touches including wood paneling, barrels, lanterns and candle chandeliers.
For neighbors, the most meaningful change may simply be that the property is occupied at all.
“We got a very big welcome over here, because everyone’s so happy,” Liberow said. “Someone is going to save the property.”
The post A decaying historic farmhouse finds a savior in Chabad appeared first on The Forward.
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A staggering act of antisemitic hate proves the danger of Israel’s death penalty
A recent pro-Palestinian rally in Montreal featured something shocking: hanging effigies of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, United States President Donald Trump, and Israeli National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir. They were the latest nauseating reminder that calling for executions only feeds the cycle of violence — a reminder that Israel itself needs, after the Knesset enacted two laws calling for the death penalty for terrorists.
There is no excuse for the antisemitic horror of this recent display in Canada, where I live. But there is also no doubt that Israel’s new death penalty laws will only ripen the environment in which this insidious kind of hate takes root and festers. The fact that the executed effigies of Ben-Gvir and Netanyahu both wore the same noose lapel pin that Ben-Gvir wore as he championed these death penalty laws through the Knesset underscores this point.
The lesson is simple: calls for death only fuel the urge for more killing.
This was made apparent by Hamas’ reciprocal call for violence against IDF soldiers in response to the death penalty acts. It is for this reason — the simple truth that killing tends to beget more killing — that Elie Wiesel prophetically warned of capital punishment: “Death should never be the answer in a civilized society.”
An affront to humanity
The Canadian effigies — captured in videos posted on social media — are now the subject of a hate crimes investigation, and drew widespread condemnation from local and provincial politicians across Canada, as well as Jewish groups. Montreal4Palestine, the group that hosted the mobilization where the effigies were filmed, wrote on Instagram in response that it “strongly condemns the defamatory accusations and deliberate distortion of events” and said that it has “stood firmly against all forms of hate, including antisemitism.”
The effigies, the group added, “were directed specifically at political figures” and were not “intended to represent Judaism, Jewish people, or any religious, ethnic, or identifiable community.”
What Montreal4Palestine missed, while advocating in its statement for “values of human dignity,” is the reality that any call for execution runs counter to those values.
Intention and effect
This holds true across countries and ideologies: once killing is legitimized, it becomes hard to control.
Montreal4Palestine should have understood that pretending to execute politicians who have called for executions can only raise the temperature, not lower it. Using this same principle, Israel could, perhaps, have anticipated that Hamas leadership would call for the kidnapping of IDF soldiers in response to the death penalty laws. That development only confirms a fear that opponents of Israel’s renewed execution push have articulated time and again: that these laws will jeopardize the safety and security of Jews across the globe.
In the document that was published by Israeli Public Broadcaster KAN News, Hamas leadership stated clearly that it is planning to intensify efforts to kidnap Israeli soldiers, describing such action as the only effective means of securing the release of Palestinian prisoners who might otherwise face the death penalty in Israel.
Hamas described one of the death penalty laws as a “fascist law.” The group also warned that if Israel were to execute any Palestinian prisoners, the result could be more clashes between Hamas and Israeli soldiers in Gaza. “Any harm to the life of a prisoner is an explosive that will lead to the eruption of a volcano,” the letter read.
A chance to turn back
There is still a chance to avoid this escalation. The Israeli Supreme Court will soon debate the legality of the first of the death penalty laws. If the Supreme Court fails to repeal the act, the ensuing executions will stain the moral fabric of Israeli society, and antisemitic extremists will assuredly blame all Jews for the escalation in Israeli state violence.
It will be yet another piece of data to fit into an already-warped view of Israel, and perhaps, as well, of Judaism. For some, that may be all it takes to replace hanging effigies with attacking human beings.
If repeal at the Supreme Court level succeeds, however, it could also set a precedent for the eventual repeal of the second death penalty law, which specifically targets convicted terrorists who carried out the reprehensible Oct. 7, 2023 massacres across Israel.
Repealing both laws would help to lower the global temperature. It would make Jews safer in Israel, in Montreal, and everywhere.
For this reason, amid many others, the Israeli Supreme Court must act. It must forcefully encourage Israel to return to the civilized, abolitionist path for which Wiesel called. Only then can we begin to halt the seemingly endless cycle of violence and killing.
The post A staggering act of antisemitic hate proves the danger of Israel’s death penalty appeared first on The Forward.
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A guide to the Corpus interviews with European native Yiddish speakers
דאָס איז איינער פֿון אַ סעריע קורצע אַרטיקלען אָנגעשריבן אױף אַ רעלאַטיװ גרינגן ייִדיש און געצילעװעט אױף סטודענטן. די מחברטע איז אַלײן אַ ייִדיש־סטודענטקע. דאָ קען מען לײענען די פֿריִערדיקע אַרטיקלען אין דער סעריע.
אַ דאַנק דעם נײַעם „קאָרפּוס פֿון דער ייִדישער שמועסשפּראַך אין אײראָפּע“ (קיש״אָ) קענען ייִדיש־סטודענטן אינטעראַקטיװ פֿאָרשן װידעאָ־אינטערװיוען מיט כּמעט 200 געבױרענע ייִדיש־רעדערס װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן.
פֿאַרשטײט זיך, אַז אַזאַ עדות־זאָגן פֿון לעבן געבליבענע איז רײַך מיט היסטאָרישער אינפֿאָרמאַציע װעגן דעם ייִדישן לעבן פֿאַר, בעת און נאָכן חורבן. ווי עס שרײַבט דזשעפֿרי שאַנדלער אין דעם אַרטיקל, קאָנצענטרירט זיך דער קאָרפּוס אָבער, דער עיקר, אױף שפּראַך־ענינים — אױף װי אַזױ די שמועסשפּראַך װאַרפֿט אַ שײַן אױפֿן אַמאָליקן טאָגטעגלעך ייִדיש איבער מיזרח־אײראָפּע. אַזאַ טראָפּ לײגט זיך אױפֿן שׂכל, װײַל דער פּראָיעקט איז געװען די המצאה פֿון אײַזיק בלימאַן, אַ פּראָפֿעסאָר פֿון לינגװיסטיק אין בערקלי אוניװערסיטעט.
די װידעאָ־אינטערװיוען אינעם קאָרפּוס שטאַמען פֿונעם אַרכיװ פֿון דער װיזועלער געשיכטע, װאָס איז אַ טײל פֿון דער שואה־פֿונדאַציע בײַם דרום־קאַליפֿאָרניער אוניװערסיטעט. ס׳רובֿ פֿון די ווידעאָס האָט מען רעקאָרדירט אין די 1990ער יאָרן, װען אַ גרױסע צאָל פֿון דער שארית־הפּליטה האָט נאָך געלעבט. דער פֿונדאַציע־אַרכיװ באַשטײט פֿון טױזנטער אינטערװיוען אױף פֿאַרשײדענע שפּראַכן; דערווײַל באַטרעפֿט דער קאָרפּוס 172 פֿון די ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע אינטערװיוען. אַרום די דאָזיקע ווידעאָס האָט בלימאַן געשאַפֿן דיגיטאַלישע מכשירים, װאָס ייִדיש־סטודענטן קענען ספּעציעל געניסן דערפֿון.
דאָ האָט מען צוטריט צו די אינטערװיוען פֿונעם קאָרפּוס. זײ זענען אַלפֿאַבעטיש אױסגעסדרט לױטן משפּחה־נאָמען פֿונעם רעדער. אין דער רשימה נעמען זעט מען אַ בילד פֿון יעדן מענטש צוזאַמען מיט זײַן געבױרן־אָרט אױף ייִדיש און ענגליש, זײַן מין און זײַן עלטער בעת דעם אינטערװיו. אַ „קאָד“ װײַזט אָן װאָסער ייִדיש־דיאַלעקט זײ רעדן׃ צפֿון־מיזרח־ייִדיש (NEY), צענטראַל־ייִדיש (CY), אָדער דרום־מיזרח־ייִדיש (SEY). מען קען אױך אַ זוך טאָן לױטן רעדערס נאָמען, געבױרן־אָרט, מין אָדער דיאַלעקט.
װען מען גיט אַ קוועטש אױפֿן קנעפּל פֿון אַן אינטערװיו באַקומט מען װײַטערדיקע אינפֿאָרמאַציע װעגן דעם רעדער, אַרײַננעמנדיק מאַפּעס מיט זײער געבױרן־אָרט און אינטערװיו־אָרט. יעדער אינטערװיו ווערט באַגלייט מיט ייִדישע אונטערקעפּלעך. די דאָזיקע אונטערקעפּלעך זענען ניט געשאַפֿן געװאָרן פֿון אײ־אײַ, אָבער פֿון אַ קלײנער גרופּע מומחים. פֿאַרשטײט זיך אַז אַזאַ פֿאַרלאָזלעכער אָנשפּאַר איז גאָר נוצלעך פֿאַר סטודענטן. איך אַליין האָב זיך צוגעהערט צו אַ פּאָר אינטערװיוען אָן די ייִדישע אונטערקעפּלעך (כ׳האָב פֿאַרמאַכט די אױגן, אָבער מע קען אױך „באַהאַלטן“ די אונטערקעפּלעך דורכן קוועטשן אַ קנעפּל) און אַ צווייט מאָל — מיט זײ. אָן אַ ספֿק האָב איך פֿאַרשטאַנען אַ סך מער מיט זײ. די אונטערקעפּלעך זענען אַגבֿ ניט איבערגעזעצט אױף ענגליש — מען קען זײ לײענען בלויז אױף ייִדיש.
אונטער יעדן װידעאָ געפֿינט זיך אַ טאַבעלע מיט די טראַנסקריפּציעס, אױף אַ בלױען הינטערגרונט. יעדע פֿראַזע איז אַ פֿאַרבינדונג אױף די דאָזיקע װערטער אינעם װידעאָ. דערווײַל זענען די טראַנסקריפּציעס אין דער טאַבעלע מערסטנס אױף לאַטײַנישע אותיות, כאָטש אין עטלעכע פֿאַלן קען מען אױך אױסקלײַבן ייִדישע אותיות. מיט דער צײַט װעט מען אָפֿטער האָבן אַ ברירה.
װײַטער אונטן קען מען אַראָפּלאָדן אַן אױדיאָ־טעקע פֿונעם אינטערװיו, און אַ דאָקומענט מיטן גאַנצן טראַנסקריבירטן טעקסט. פֿאַרשטײט זיך אַז אױף דערװײַל זענען די טראַנסקריפּציעס, װי די אונטערקעפּלעך, מערסטנס אױף לאַטײַנישע אותיות.
נאָך אַ קאָרפּוס־מכשיר, װאָס הײסט די „װערטער מאַפּעס“, װעט ספּעציעל צוציִען סטודענטן װאָס פֿאַראינטערעסירן זיך אין דיאַלעקטן. איך אַליין װײס גאָרניט װעגן דעם, בין איך טאַקע פֿאַרכאַפּט געװאָרן דערפֿון. מען קען דאָרטן זוכן אַ ייִדיש װאָרט כּדי צו זען אין װעלכע אינטערװיוען דאָס װאָרט באַװײַזט זיך. דאָס געבױרן־אָרט פֿון די רעדערס װאָס ניצן דאָס װאָרט װײַזן זיך אַרױס אױף אַ מאַפּע. אַזױ באַקומט מען אַ רושם פֿון די געאָגראַפֿישע ראַיאָנען װוּ דאָס װאָרט איז געװען פֿאַרשפּרײט.
מען קען אױך פֿאַרגלײַכן צװײ װערטער אָדער נוסחאָות פֿון אַ װאָרט. איך האָב למשל פֿאַרגלײַכט „געבראַכט“ און „געברענגט“, װאָס זענען בײדע פֿאַרגאַנגענע פּאַרטיציפּן פֿון „ברענגען“. אױף דער מאַפּע האָב איך געזען אַז „געבראַכט“ באַװײַזט זיך זײער אָפֿט אין צפֿון־מיזרח־ייִדיש, און „געברענגט“ ניצט מען דער עיקר אױף צענטראַל־ייִדיש. דאָס זוכן װערטער פּאָרנװײַז איז טאַקע אַ ביסל אַדיקטיװ! ס’איז אָבער װיכטיק איבערצולײענען די אינסטרוקציעס כּדי צו פֿאַרשטײן די רעזולטאַטן.
דער קאָרפּוס שטעלט אױך צו אַן אינטעראַקטיװע היסטאָרישע מאַפּע. אױף דער מאַפּע געפֿינען זיך די געבױרן־ערטער פֿון די רעדערס: װען מען גיט אַ קוועטש אױף אַן אָרט זעט מען אַ פּינטל פֿאַר יעדן רעדער װאָס איז דאָרטן געבױרן געװאָרן — די פּינטלעך זענען דיגיטאַלישע פֿאַרבינדונגען צו די דאָזיקע אינטערװיוען. מען קען אױך זוכן דעם נאָמען פֿון אַ רעדער אָדער פֿון אַן אָרט אין אַ זוך־קעסטל.
דערצו געפֿינט זיך אונטער דער מאַפּע אַ קנעפּל װאָס מען קען רוקן כּדי צו זען װי אַזױ די פּאָליטישע גרענעצן האָבן זיך געענדערט מיט דער צײַט. מען קען אױסזומירן (zoom out, בלע״ז) כּדי צו זען גאַנץ אײראָפּע אָדער אײַנזומירן אױף אַ ספּעציפֿישן ראַיאָן. מען קען אױך אױסקלײַבן עטלעכע „שיכטן“ װאָס באַװײַזן זיך אױף דער מאַפּע, למשל די גרענעצן צװישן ייִדיש־דיאַלעקטן. נאָך אַ מאָל איז עס װיכטיק איבערצולײענען די „נאָטיצן“, װאָס דערקלערן די פֿאַרשײדענע ברירות.
אינעם אָפּטײל װאָס הײסט „גלאָסעס“ קען מען לײענען אַרטיקלען פֿון בלימאַן און די קאָרפּוס־טראַנסקריבירערס װעגן דער ייִדיש־פּעדאַגאָגיק, און װעגן דער שפּראַך אין די אינטערװיוען. כאָטש די אַרטיקלען זענען מסתּמא געצילעװעט אױף פֿאָרשערס און לערערס קענען זײ אױך פֿאַראינטערעסירן סטודענטן.
מיט דער צײַט װעט זיך דער קאָרפּוס פֿאַרגרעסערן און צושטעלן נאָך װײַטערדיקע אינטערװיוען און מכשירים. פֿאַרשטײט זיך אַז ער איז שױן אַ װיכטיקער רעסורס פֿאַר ייִדיש־סטודענטן. פֿאָרשט דאָס װעבזײַטל אַלײן — איר װעט זיך אַ סך דערוויסן.
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