The Long Wait
It’s scary, he says. Only two hundred thirty nine years left until the end of time. That’s not a lot of time, he says. And still he hasn’t come. It’s very scary.
My father waits for Moshiach. Year after year he finds hints within our sacred texts showing that the year has finally come. Some years he has more definite deadlines than others. He cites passages from the Zohar indicating that this is it, Moshiach can’t come any later. It’s finally here, he insists, clearly this year must bring with it the ketz, the secret deadline hinted at long ago by our patriarch Jacob, who attempted to reveal its time to his sons on his deathbed but then didn’t dare, the holy spirit wouldn’t allow it.
But as our sages said long ago, all the deadlines have passed and still the son of David has yet to arrive.
And now, it seems, my father has changed. He no longer proclaims with excitement that he’s discovered a new hint. He isn’t giving any new deadlines. He seems frustrated now, on edge. Why is God waiting? he seems to be wondering. But all he keeps saying is, It’s scary. Moshiach isn’t here yet. It’s very scary.
It’s Motzei Shabbos, and we’ve already sung the miraculous tale, “There once was a man, a Chasid.” We hurry through “Fear not, Jacob, my servant,” and then my father tells a fantastic tale, a baal-shemska maiseh, how the saintly rebbe, Reb Leib Sureh’s, resurrected the dead body of a child, the son of a poor widow. It’s a true story, he says. He knows it for certain. This child, he claims, has grandchildren alive today. Some even bear its exact name.
It’s peculiar, my father muses aloud. They already had newspapers at the time, and he wonders why they made no mention of these miraculous tales. Surely the tales must’ve been newsworthy. And again he speaks of Moshiach.
It’s frightening, he says. It’s now 5771 and still no sign of our redemption.
Why is it frightening? I ask. He will come when he will come. Why worry?
My father is quiet, and I tell him a parable once told by the Magid of Dubna:
A fox was once very hungry. He searched for food, but couldn’t find any. Until he noticed, high atop a tall tree, a group of blue birds singing. If I can get the birds down, the fox thought to himself, I will have a nice meal.
Birdies! The fox called. Come down and let us play together. Have no fear, for the Messiah has arrived. The old prophecy of Isaiah has been fulfilled:
Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb,and the leopard shall lie down with the kid. The calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.
The birds cheered. It’s a new world, they proclaimed in unison. Birds and foxes will now be friends.
Loud howling noises were suddenly heard from afar.
Birds, my dearest friends, the fox said. Can you look from the treetops and tell me where the howling noises come from?
Our dear brother fox, the birds said. A group of large wolves is headed in your direction.
The fox began to run as fast as it could.
Why are you running, dear fox? The birds cried. Didn’t you just tell us that the Messiah has come? Why, then, do you fear the wolves?
Yes, the fox said, barely able to catch its breath. But what will I do if the wolves don’t believe in the Messiah?
My father grips his black beard tightly with his right hand, his eyes on the fork he is holding with the other, nervously tapping it on the empty plate that earlier held a slice of gefilte fish left over from the Sabbath meals.
It is indeed freighting, I finally say agreeably. I regret telling the parable.
He starts humming the Eliyahu Hanavi song, the gut-wrenching melody echoing millenia of exile and desperation. We repeat 101 times as is customary.
Eliyahu HaNavi, Eliyahu HaTishbi,
Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu HaGil’adi.
Bim’hera b’yameynu yavo eleynu,
Im Moshiach ben Dovid.
Fortunate is he who had seen his face in a dream. And he shall turn the hearts of fathers unto the sons, and the hearts of the son unto their fathers.
Speedily may he come, speedily may he come, speedily may he come, along with the Messiah, son of David.
For my father, it seems, he hasn’t come speedily enough. Will he come at last?
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Yoilish, I havnt thought of that song, “der glicklecher amol” for years.
Thank you for that memory.
The second song you mentioned, I never heard. Which tape was it on.
How about the song of shloma hamelech’s beautiful daughter and her poor peasant lover?
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Gosh, Yoelish, that does bring memories. Although I preferred his upbeat songs. Or at least where the tune was upbeat. Amazing how he managed humor and wit amidst the mostly depressing stuff on Chevlei Moshiach. ‘A Gries Eich Fun di Shtetelach’, ‘Zeiden’s Tantz,’ ‘Frozner Esholan’.
And of course, the unforgettable ‘tzimblen’. ‘Oy vet men eich dorten tzimblen.’ Never heard such a cheerful song about getting beaten.
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“And one, somewhat daring song about a future utopia, שיר השלום, which, when you think about it, is really pretty prosaic.”
The tune is “My Melody of Love”, made popular in the mid ’70s by Bobby Vinton. I don’t know if MBD claims credit for the words, which may well be Israeli and coming out of the then fresh Yom Kippur war.
MBD’s brother in law, Ari Klein, recorded same tune about the same time with words “Mi ha ish hahafetz hayyim”.
Shelly Lang did the tune to the words “Shalom al Israel”.
Being older than you has its benfits.
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Although this discussion gives me flashbacks of pimpled navy blue tights jumping in the rut with grubby hands clenched firmly on the neiseleh in a happy ya-tata-te, I still don’t know the meaning of many of the songs I can recite by heart. (Ah, what nostalgia!) I read up on Yom Tov Erlich on his Wikipedia page (a stub; needs a workup) in a recent fit of curiosity and was surprised to learn that shluf mein kind was not simply a sweet bedtime lullaby for the kinderlech of Viliamsburg. I never understood the plot or point of his songs. The few pieces I did grasp were only to the credit of my mother’s Yiddish-to-Yiddish translation. Yom Tov Erlich’s songs were endangered from the git-go because his dialect is not the dialect of chassidim. Even if a parent were to try to keep his music alive, the language barrier makes it impossible. (As is Leibel Veinstock’s work, another star from the past unn… he is now very much forgotten.)
On a note of R’ Yontel’s background, this possibly treif biographical tidbit surprised me: “Rabbi Yom Tov got ready to return to Poland. Then the Communist Information Bureau contacted him with the suggestion that he start up an artistic program to glorify Communism. The idea was to establish a troupe that would travel with the train to Poland and put on shows during the journey both in the ashlon and at the interim stations. Rabbi Yom Tov agreed to the proposal and decided that the troupe would be composed of as many Jews as possible—and specifically of Russian nationality—who would be disguised as professional artists.”
Perhaps that was then — the holocaust generation. By contemporary standards for chasidish musicians this is outrageous. And I wonder why I never heard he performed for the Soviet Union before. Censored?
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Although this discussion gives me flashbacks of pimpled navy blue tights jumping in the rut with grubby hands clenched firmly on the neiseleh in a happy ya-tata-te, I still don’t know the meaning of many of the songs I can recite by heart. (Ah, what nostalgia!) I read up on Yom Tov Erlich on his Wikipedia page (a stub; needs a workup) in a recent fit of curiosity and was surprised to learn that shluf mein kind was not simply a sweet bedtime lullaby for the kinderlech of Viliamsburg. I never understood the plot or point of his songs. The few pieces I did grasp were only to the credit of my mother’s Yiddish-to-Yiddish translation. Yom Tov Erlich’s songs were endangered from the git-go because his dialect is not the dialect of chassidim. Even if a parent were to try to keep his music alive, the language barrier makes it impossible. (As is Leibel Veinstock’s work, another star from the past unn… he is now very much forgotten.)
On a note of R’ Yontel’s background, this possibly treif biographical tidbit surprised me: “Rabbi Yom Tov got ready to return to Poland. Then the Communist Information Bureau contacted him with the suggestion that he start up an artistic program to glorify Communism. The idea was to establish a troupe that would travel with the train to Poland and put on shows during the journey both in the ashlon and at the interim stations. Rabbi Yom Tov agreed to the proposal and decided that the troupe would be composed of as many Jews as possible—and specifically of Russian nationality—who would be disguised as professional artists.”
Perhaps that was then — the holocaust generation. By contemporary standards for chasidish musicians this is outrageous. And I wonder why I never heard he performed for the Soviet Union before. Censored?
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Hm. Better.
Well, now I’ve got two of the damn comments here. Marbim B’simcha.
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Shpitz.
Wienstock was the best. “Uhn m’ken heren vie die yevunim tzibrechen die keylim fin die bais hamikdush”- forks and pots collide than they get thrown on the kitchen floor. What ingenuity, what sound effects!!
This is how goyim shiker.”Reh reh reh reh….gimmer nuch abisele vien”…
Paaaaroy nechey= die hinkedige paaaaroy. How can one forget Antiyoiches’s shilshul. Priceless!
I can go on like this forever.
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Shpitz
“flashbacks of pimpled navy blue tights jumping in the rut with grubby hands clenched firmly on the neiseleh in a happy ya-tata-te”- made my night. Very funny! Kudos!
I have a similar impression in regarding YTE. We had one of his tapes, and we (the kids) never liked it. His lyrics were too complicated for us to understand and appreciate, his tunes seemed outdated compared to the contemporary chasiddish music available at the time, and the dialect barrier was wide, but with Wienstock, amazingly, I understood every word. It’s amazing from the perspective that they both spoke the same dialect. I guess it’s easier to understand a different spoken dialect than an unfamiliar melodious dialect.
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Shpitz:
I can relate, as a small kid I never fully understood his accent but the ‘ya-tata-te’and Ver hut tzibruchen the vinda? Hinda! It was annoying to us kids. All I remember now is Yom Tov Ehrlich disappeared one green Wednesday and Yonasan Schwartz replaced him and I understood his songs.
The biography you quoted is interesting, where can I read it?
R&C:
Ha ha you turned my clock back 20 years, ”Reh reh reh reh… gimmer nuch abisele vien”… I remember now loving this as a very small child.
And Shpitz your duplicate comment pushed me one above the Faking it on the most commented posts. Now there’s no need to fake it anymore
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Ruptch,
You had me at rararara [-ahh…].How could I have forgotten? What laughs. Ach, dus iz dee endeh fin der tzeit.
I doubt the difference is in YTE being a melody. It’s probably in the target audience. YTE is oriented for all ages, more often adults. On the other hand, Weinstock not only spoke to the children, like you noted, he even used his fleshing dishes to elucidate the story, like the wooden spoons that doubled as horses. (Gevald, dee Yevunim kimin!)
Thinking back, it seems there’s a pattern of the third-person pronoun in Yiddish like איר. אייך that denote politeness or formality, slipping out of today’s Yiddish dialect. Entertainers of our day – us rocking-chair seniors of reminiscing authority – used these pronouns only, but not today. There is no equivalent in English. Can we speculate it will disappear altogether?
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Thank you! Someone appreciates my botchups. Here, bumping you up some more, R’ Velevele.
http://chareidi.shemayisrael.com/archives5765/massei/MSI65features3.htm
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Good question Shpitz, where is Max Weinreich when you need him?
I don’t think it’s completely slipping out. I still use the third person pronoun when speaking to figures of authority or respect. I think the third person pronoun was always reserved for restrained and formal talk; colloquially it was never used much. But you’re right that it used to be a lot more prevalent in the jargon; at least in terms of performers using it.
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Shpitz:
‘dus iz dee endeh fin der zeit driet iber vet ir vieter hern’
Makes me fall asleep like a 6 year old child again.
Thanks for the link. Beautiful biography.
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Shpizel you had your own personalized song on YTE’s Shema Beni tape.
“Itzel shpizel viest nisht vie,
”
Men darf oifshtien in der frie
Kimt die baabe in zi shriet,
Itzel pizel se’iz shoin tziet!
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As for not understanding his lyrics, when I was a young child, I didn’t either.
On Shema Benie, there is this story of a boy who comes home and finds his TV replaced by a seforim shank.
“In en mol, in an ovent shein,
Zelig kimt ahaim tzie gien,
Zet er anshtots di televisia set,….
A shas a gemoreh…
YTE’s tone at that point becomes very depressing and morbid, and to my 4-6 year old brain, the televisia set was a scary freaky animal. A black bear, to be exact.
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HT.
You little rascal, how did you know at 4 what a televizie is? I still think that TV antennas are “lightning catchers” (blitz choppers).
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RnC,
I did NOT know.
Read again. I thought it was a huge black bear. terrifying.
Perhaps YTE was well versed in behavioral psychology, and knew a thing or two about aversive conditioning.
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I didn’t even know how it looks to ascribe monstrous characteristics to it. Did you have a PR shuchen in de projects?
Yeah, I once heard that he was a radical sworn Skinnerian.
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“Yeah, I once heard that he was a radical sworn Skinnerian.”
I highly doubt that. He was way to creative.
Youngerian psychology must have been his thing.
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HT
I don’t know how to use emoticons; that comment was obviously supposed to come with a wink. He was a freakin Stoliner chusid. I don’t think Stolin ideology is any way related to classical conditioning or to analytical psychology for that matter.
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I don’t know how to use emoticons; that comment was obviously supposed to come with a wink.
I got that. Didnt think you were serious.
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Hoezen, you’re a nachas! Cyber-karaoke at its best. I’d be dammed if your musical talent remains confined to the web. You’re the next big thing.
Note to Rupture: A semicolon and a closing parenthesis. The angels at the Control Center Headquarters will wink right back.
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Thanks Itzel
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Yup it works.
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Hey Shpizel, how did you guess?
Though I am not the next big musical thing(kol beishe erve, nu, nu,) my genes are
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I always thought YTE to be the last true Yiddish poet, songwriter etc. One thing is certain: if he’d come out with his recordings today he would’ve been banned. No doubt. Just imagine any of todays’ popular Yiddish singers singing about women and girls they way YTE did. I’m a YTE fanatic, I know all his tapes chapter and verse.
I just came across a shabbos zmiros where they have in the back popular songs in Yiddish including the YTE song “Shabbos koidesh, Shabbos koidesh.” As I read it, humming along to its tune, I noticed that the publisher conveniently changed 2 lines, omitting original lyrics in favor of more chareidi-acceptable ones. I’ll quote the
original only:
און עס זאל פאר אלעמען טויגן
אלס לכבוד שבת
נישט שטיין דער בעלאבאסטע פאר די אויגן
אלס לכבוד שבת
That’s obviously TMI for an average young listener in Williamsburg…
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If we live long enough for either Moshiach to arrive I suspect that one of two things will happen….
1) The very pious will kill or put him in cherem for heresy.
2) He will turn out to be an Ethiopian geneticist who fulfills the predictions of Davidic descent and tribal classification.
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