Transcript
A (0:00)
Imagine a gap year that's not a detour but a launchpad. At the Shalom Hartman Institute's Chavuta Gap Year program, students spend the year after high school in the heart of Jerusalem immersed in serious Beit Midrash learning with Hartman's world class faculty, including leaders such as Daniel Hartman, Tal Becker and Ilana Steinhein. Blending community leadership and rigorous learning, Tavuta pushes students from North America and Israel to grapple with the most significant questions facing the Jewish people and a Jewish and democratic Israel. If you're looking for a gap year where you're challenged, grounded and ready for campus and beyond, learn more and apply@shalomhartman.org Gap year.
B (0:46)
Hi everyone. Welcome to Identity Crisis, a show from the Shalom Hartman Institute, creating better conversations about the essential issues facing Jewish life. I'm Yehuda Kurtzer. We're recording on Thursday, January 15, 2026. I want you to listen to this short piece of Dialogue from the 2003 Christopher Guest film A Mighty Wind, a mockumentary comedy film about a folk music reunion concert in which three folk bands reunite for a television performance. The film is about a concert being staged in memory of legendary folk music producer Irving Steinbloom. In this scene, his son Jonathan, played by Bob Balaban, goes to pitch the concert idea to Lars Olfan, played by Ed Begley Jr. Here is how the goyishly encoded Olfan speaks to the very Jewishly encoded Jonathan Steinbloom.
C (1:37)
The nachos that I'm feeling right now because your dad was like mishpucha to me when I heard I got these tickets to the Folksmen, I let out a geshrai and I'm running with my friend running around like a vildachaya right into the theater in the front row. So we've got the shpilkas because we're sitting right there and it's a mitzvah what your dad did, and I want to try to give that back to you. A kinnahor, I say, and God bless him.
B (2:00)
There's a lot going on here in this scene. If you look up the clip on YouTube, you can see the Steinbloom character smiling vaguely at this Jewish masquerade being performed for him, this awkward act of code switching that's being done for him, or maybe for his late father. All in this delightful mashup of English and what we might call the knowable Yiddish that even a non Jewish music producer might acquire over time in relationship to his Jewish colleagues. The stuff of a shareable show business vernacular. You wonder Watching this scene, those of us who know the meaning or the approximate meaning of all of those words, even those of us who know what those words mean, but are actually not Yiddish speakers, you wonder, for whom is that joke intended? This happens a lot in Curb youb Enthusiasm as well, perhaps the most Jewish television show ever made. Like when Jon Hamm, the most un Jewish of Larry David's friends, the one with the most un Jewish name, he tests out which Yiddish word he should use at Albert Brooks's fake funeral. Is it beshert? He asks, like a sad act of fate? No, Larry David responds, you should use the word tsuris. I'm feeling a lot of tzeras. And then my favorite line, ham says tsuras. Eh? How do you spell that? And again, you wonder who really gets that joke. It's a Jewish joke which both Jews and non Jews are supposed to get. But none of them these days really understand Yiddish beyond these few words, and probably not the comedy writers either. The Yiddish words amazingly both separate the Jews and the non Jews in these scenes, insiders and outsiders to the discourse. But it also kind of unifies them that they share these little bits of language that are now part of the American English lexicon. So Yiddish. And I say this somewhat sheepishly as I feel like I should know Yiddish, I want to know Yiddish, but I don't. It has an immense amount of richness in both substance and metaphor for the modern Jewish experience. Over a decade ago I read a mind blowing book called Adventures in Yiddish Land by Jeffrey Chandler, a professor at Rutgers. He argued that Yiddish was for most Jews today, a post vernacular language. It was reclaimed and rehabilitated in the second half of the 20th century, largely by people who had not grown up with it as their vernacular spoken language. To speak Yiddish and to partake in Yiddish culture, therefore, was to dance between engaging in a kind of act of memory retrieval, but also in an act of creating something entirely new. I remember growing up in the 80s hearing about the fears that Yiddish was or would be a dying language, with most of its native speakers killed by the Nazis. Those that had survived, now living and speaking in English in America or in Hebrew in Israel. It has not been a dying language for decades now. Nobody who studies dead languages or dying languages would include Yiddish. It's a great story of a language that came back from the brink, resuscitated both by ultra Orthodox Jews and their population boom in the last couple of decades, as well as by efforts by secular and in some cases religious Jews of Ashkenazic descent. To reconnect with their ancestral roots. In recent years, it has taken on a more politically tinged currency as well. The language that for some Jews signifies a pre American, pre Zionist diasporism that they now seek to reclaim, perhaps an escape from the political realities and choices that the last 75 years have forced them to accept. It took me a while to wrap my head around all of the meanings of the return of Yiddish. I come to understand Yiddishism today as an extraordinary window into the fragility of Jewish identity, a way of understanding what it means to grasp at a history and a culture that was so violently disrupted, as an effort to shape, to define, to give literal words to a Jewishness, a Yiddishkeit that seems to give some Jews both a sense of situatedness in a past that they feel they desperately need, while also giving them a taste of total otherness from the society they belong to, even as they feel somewhat alienated from it. Rachel Schachter is the editor of the Forwerts, the Yiddish version of the foreword. We can actually unpack that sentence. It's one of the two remaining Yiddish newspapers outside of the Hasidic Jewish world, but it is an online daily publication. According to Wikipedia, she's the first woman, the first person born in the United States, and likely the first Sabbath observant Jew to hold that position. Rachel, thank you so much for coming on the show today. I want to start just by asking you to tell us your Yiddish story. I think you are a native vernacular Yiddish speaker, but. But I'm curious to hear a little bit about what that was for you, in what ways that felt like it made you feel different than some other Jews, or whether this is just the linguistic waters in which you swim.
