Two vernaculars have been used in America among Jews: Ladino (also called Judezmo) and Yiddish, the former an Iberian lang uage connected with Spanish and Portuguese, and the latter a Germanic language associated with Germany and eastern Europe.
Ladino came early. In 1670, a temple was established in Charleston, S.C., by Jews who had spent a generation or two in London before setting out for the colonies. Most of them were bilingual in English before their arrival, but Ladino was kept alive by the community and by trade with Spain. The temple, now called Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim, is still a center for worship in elegant downtown Charleston.
Ladino has had little impact on English, with only two words connected by etymology to it: borak (“a savory pie”) and Tedesco, a not very nice name for the Jews of Germany and eastern Europe.
Yiddish is the 
Jewish language most Americans know about, and it was given great prominence in television when the old Vaudevillians and those raised up in the humor of the Catskills resorts appeared regularly. Buddy Hackett always called the language Jewish (which is an English translation of Yiddish), and the Marx Brothers, Milton Berle, Phil Silvers, and many others scattered Yiddish in their comedy and in their conversations. Nowadays there are humorists who toss around Yiddish loanwords even if they don’t know the language. Robin Williams has a great range of Yiddishisms, though he himself grew up an Episcopalian.
Nowadays, Yiddish is a symbolic language for many people: that is, if you are Jewish you need to feel comfortable with Yiddish even if you don’t speak it. The same sort of symbolism is imposed on southern Californians of Mexican descent: If you are Mexican, you might feel you need to know Spanish, even if you don’t. So you work out your identity problem by having slightly accented English or using a few familiar expressions borrowed from Spanish. A handy way of learning what you need to know about Yiddish is to read Leo Rosten’s Joys of Yiddish (1970).
In some respects, the impact of Ladino or Yiddish on English is not so different from that of other languages. But in one respect, Yiddish is an exceptional case: Yiddish expressions flooded into English in a great rush though the word Yiddish doesn’t appear in English until the 1870s. In the 1870s, there were just two loans from Yiddish; in the 1880s there were six. But in the 1890s, there were 39 and the 20th century brought them in droves. We can connect these words with two popular writers: Israel Zangwill and Abraham Cahan, the former writing about Jewish life in London and the latter about New York.
Most borrowings from foreign languages into English consist of nouns, often connected with foods or other cultural practices. Kreplach and gefilte fish are examples of the former, and bubbe and shul of the latter that come from Yiddish.
Yiddish came in with whole conversational strategies at hand: oi vai (“alas”) and nu (“so?”) Tags like these decorate English sentences in just the way they had ornamented Yiddish ones. Socially inept persons are imported along with their Yiddish names: nebbish, schnorrer, schlemiel. Yiddish ways of talking become English ways of talking: chutzpah, schmooze. All these put Yiddishkeit into English.
Yiddish is a language determined not to die, and the Frankel Center at the University of Michigan is our place for learning and celebrating it. Ardent revivalist efforts may yet keep Yiddish alive despite the efforts of Nazis to exterminate it and the tendency of contemporary culture to leave such things behind. If they succeed, English will be ready to absorb yet more influence from Yiddish.
How about you? Do you have a favorite Yiddish word or phrase? Share it in the comments section below.
david salvette - 1975
SCHMUCK!
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RICHARD RABINOWITZ - 1947
One of my favorite yiddish words is kahlyiker, a term my parents used for workmen who performed poor workmanship. Example.” That plumber we hired is a kahkyicker” actually the word really means crippled
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Richard Kaplan - 1977
Being one that had Yiddish spoken by my parents and grandparents, but not taught to my generation, we still have assimulated these words into our everyday speaking. In fact I don’t even realize when I am speaking yiddish as I have come to accept them as English words.
Also, though I can’t consciously speak Yiddish, I sometimes can actually understand Yiddish without realizing it.
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James Isenberg - 1966
Kalyiker is actually related to colic, a digestive disease of unhealthy babies.
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Terry LaBan - 1984
I’ve got bupkes, and it’s a shonda.
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Alan Headbloom - 1980
As a German major, I found a lot of Yiddish (Jüdisch) expressions easy to understand. My favorite is mentsh. I was surprised to see that I (a cradle Lutheran) use over two dozen of these Top 40 Yiddish Expressions in my workaday life: http://www.dailywritingtips.com/the-yiddish-handbook-40-words-you-should-know/.
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Shelley Rose - 1974, 1976
I’m on shpilkes to read more comments!
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Traci Lee Kaplan - 1993, 1997
‘shikse’, as I was often called (in humor) prior to converting to Judaism and ‘mishegas’, my life sometimes with 2 small boys…
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Maxine Berman - 1968
Because my grandmother lived with us when I was little and only spoke Yiddish (because she refused to learn English), my parents always spoke Yiddish around the house. After she died, they generally only used it when they wanted to swear so that we wouldn’t know what they were saying. It wasn’t hard for a kid to figure out the words, so most of the Yiddush I know now are swear words. I will spare you them.
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Susan Moiseev - 1971
Yiddish was big in our house growing up–my mother never studied Hebrew only Yiddish at the Arbeiter Ring Schula (Workmen’s Circle school). But the words we learned first were those for ice cream, because my mother would suggest to my father that he go out for “zise kalte” and we were quick to figure that out
When I first took the bench 25 years ago, all three judges were Jewish and our Catholic (Notre Dame grad) administrator from upstate New York was faced with the daunting task of understanding the Yiddish words we sprinkled into conversation; she has had “Joys of Yiddish” in her desk drawer since then. Her favorite is “ferkockt” fermisht, etc.
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Karen Downing - 1982, 1989, 2009
Verklempt- overcome with emotion. Ever since Mike Myers did the impression of his mother-in-law on Saturday Night Live, I have loved this word, and use it often!
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James Isenberg
It’s the German word verklemmt with a slight modification! Same meaning though: Choked up.
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Diane Wechter - 1979
My Mom and I used to read “The Joys of Yiddish” together and laugh and laugh. Sometimes she tells me a Yiddish phrase that she heard as a child and just breaks me up. I don’t know the actual spelling, but one phrase that really tickled my funny bone was, “chaluscious schmata”; and another — “You’re giving me schpilkes with all the kvetching.” It’s a great language – I always said that no language I know of has words expressing greater enthusiasm or contempt.
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CJ Albert - 1985
My personal favorite is Meshuggena! Crazy/wacky – and onomatopoetic, to boot.
I just read a new book about this very topic (Yiddish words, not craziness). It is called Found in Translation, by Pamela Jay Gottfried, a rabbi living in the Atlanta area. It is a fabulous exploration of multiple words, mostly in yiddish, some also in Hebrew (and one in Russian, with a couple of others in English). Very much worth your time. You can read about it at http://www.pamelagottfried.com
On amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Found-Translation-Common-Uncommon-Wisdom/dp/0557763363/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1294934729&sr=8-2
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Gerald Helman - 1953 BA, 1956 JD
In the article, “Tedesco” is mentioned as a sfard slur on Ashkenaz Jews. Tedesco, of course also is a proper Italian word for a German. The Yiddish speakers of Eastern Europe referred to German Jews (who spoke no Yiddish, only proper German), as Yeckies; for example, a longstanding German synagogue in Baltimore is commonly called the “Yeckie shul.” My own knowledge of Yiddish (while I was born in Detroit, I spoke only Yiddish until I went to kindergarten) has served me well in my diplomatic career when I discovered how increasingly common Yiddishisms are around the world.
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Toni Reisman Bader - 1968
I’ve always liked the words that we use with little children: pupik (belly button-also the gizzard of a chicken); keppe (head); buke keppe (butting heads lightly); and tuchis or tusche (bottom). My grandparents and parents also spoke Yiddish at home, until they realized that we understood what they were talking about. Thereafter, my grandmother did Yinglish, mixing Yiddish words with English. I’ve taught classes to teenagers about the Joys of Yiddish and the literature and poetry it created, but nothing compares to hearing it spoken as a full language, not as a relic of history.
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Marc Grayson - 1958
Two unrelated comments:
(1)We have a four year old granddaughter who picked up, more than a year ago, the expression: \”Poppie, you\’re a nudnick (pest)\”. And then of course we all laugh. Nudnick is much more endearing than the English equivalent.
(2)We travel to Switzerland most summers and have become somewhat accustomed to Swiss German. We happened to have dinner some years ago with a Swiss diplomat who had married a Jewish woman when he was posted in Israel. His Israeli wife indicated that Swiss German, which separated from \”high\” German in the later Middle Ages, has many similarities to Yiddish, which also developed in the same era. (My guess is 13th-14th Centuries for both.) My wife has some familiarity with Yiddish, more so than my rudimentary German, and she often picks up Swiss German conversations easier than me. She is less likely to pick up standard German.
The similiarity may have something to do with the significant numbers of Orthodox European Jews, Yiddish speaking, that travel and vacation in many Swiss cities and villages.
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gilbert sloan - 1954
Mamzer, literally “bastard” has an especial bite when uttered by a Yiddish speaker. I also like the little sequence “miyes, miyeser, chalosches”….ugly, uglier, passing out.
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Margo Gold - 1973;1975
Tchotchke is a great, descriptive word that I usually define to others as something you dust. (Actually a small, usually inexpensive object). Our home is full of them. Ungapotched is another great word describing something overdone or too fussy. I would be at a loss without these wonderful words that to me echo their meaning in their delightful pronunciation.
By the way, I had Professor Bailey for an undergraduate grammar course in my days as an English major. The content of that class has served me well over the years. Thank you, Professor Bailey!
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Barnett Laschever - 1950
Everyone and his brother uses “kosher” now to mean it’s okay. Tush is popular—from tuchas i.e.what you sit on. Schlep is to carry and a schlepper is a carrier. Schmatah is a piece of coth, but means “rag” when you criticize someone’s dress, “Look at that schmatah,she thinks it’s an Armani.” A chazar is a pig and a person who eats like one, and a ganif is a thief. Schmeck tabac refers to a touch of snuff used to keep you awake in schul on Yom Kippur and now refer to any small item. And Barbra Streisend popularized Yenta, when she appeared a move of the same name. It refers to an old lady, most particularly a gossip, or nicely, someone’s aunt. And to kvell is burst with pride when you receive a letter saying you have been admitted to Michigan. My mother was born in Chicopee, Mass and my father arrived at Ellis Island at age 10 so Yiddish was not spoken in my house. I picked it up working for the Trib in New York for a decade after graduating Michigan.
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Jon Kleinman
My father used ‘chaluscious’ frequently and I never knew it was Yiddish till I read one of the comments. We did hear lots of others, my favorites being kvell, ungapotched, tschotchke, meshuggena, and schlock. I also enjoyed hearing my sisters referred to as being “shayna madela” (or beautiful girl) and I always hoped I would raise my children so that each of them grow up to be a mentsch.
One small correction: “Socially inept persons are imported along with their Yiddish names: nebbish, schnorrer, schlemiel.” But ‘schnorrer’ is a beggar, with the connotation of one who is a sneak and trying to get away with something, to some extent a thief – though not as openly as a ‘gonif.’
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Mike Sullivan - 1968 (Law)
Mike Sullivan Law ’68
When a young lawyer, I was prosecuting a traffic case in Milwaukee. In presenting his case, the defense lawyer said to the judge that he was bringing a “Writ of Rachmones” on behalf of his client. Reared an Irish-Catholic, I had no idea what he was talking about. The judge just smiled and reduced the charge as well as the fine. After the trial, my mentor-friend David Hansher told me “rachmones” was a Yiddish term which meant “mercy.” The lawyer was asking the judge to give his guilty client a “break.” The term stuck with me and these days, one of my Irish buddies and I throw an annual golf outing for some or our lawyer friends. And every year we include several offerings of “rachmones,” such as a “Mulligan” putt (do over) or a “Shapiro” drive (Mulligan’s Jewish “cousin”: hit two and take the better one). All the golfers (many of them Jewish) love it!
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Shirley Tepper La Mere - 1957
My parents attempted to speak Yiddish when they didn’t want us to understand but since one came from a German Jewish family and the other from a Russian Jewish, and neither was fluent, they could’t understand each other and soon gave up! I have no idea why I understand so much Yiddish, some kind of osmosis. And my Polish-Catholic Chicago raised friend speaks more than I do!
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Alan Headbloom - 1980
When my NY-born friend Larry Levy moved to the Great Lake State, he asked his dad to guess the official moniker of people from Michigan. Without blinking Papa Leo shot back, “A Meshugener”?
For the record, you’ll never hear this native identify as anything but a Michigander. (Michiganian sounds stuffy and just plain wrong.) For more, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michigander.
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Lisa Danto - 1985 & 1992
I can’t seem to find it online, but I thought Robin Williams had a family member who was Jewish, like maybe a grandparent? Anybody know? Also, I’ve always been uncomfortable with the use of the word “shvartza” (equating it to the “N” word) growing up as a Jew in the Detroit area, and wondered about the history of the word and if it’s always been used as a negative connotation?
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Jennifer Wisnia - 2002
My maternal grand parents were both fluent in Yiddish and, much like many of the commentors’ parents, used it as a secret language until my shana mameleh picked it up too. I absolutely love to hear my mother and the whole mishpocha speak Yiddish and yell at my vildah chiyah cousins. We always say it’s one of the most hysterical and expressive languages. There´s a litany of creative ways to tell someone off. But listen, I don’t want to be a chazah and give you a whole megillah, so zei gezunt!
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Grazzi Yoonberg - 2007
One of my favorites has always been \’gonif\’, literally, a thief, but often used for children acting in a mischievous, playful way.
Another was the dreaded \’farbissiner kup\’, the classic sourpuss, endlessly difficult and always a downer.
Ah, memories. Time to sing \”Sunrise, Sunset\”, like at all the Bar Mitzvhas…
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Ivan Gluckman - 1953
In response to Ms. Danto’s question about the word “schvartza” it literally meant “black” from the German “schvartz” but did have a negative connotation when used by Yiddish speakers in the early part of the 20th century—and not just in the Detroit area. Coincidentally, though, a non-Jewish friend who grew up in Detroit tells me that the name for a rag picker in their neighborhood was “sheenie” and she never knew that was a derogatory name for a Jew !
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Peter Bedrick - 1965
My favorite expression has always been one heard from a friend’s father when we were teens: “Zol ze vaksen ze ve a tsibble mit de kopin dreid!” – You should grow like an onion with your head in the ground!
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Martha Heavenrich Feferman - 1970
Thank you, Professor Bailey.
I loved reading this column and all the fascinating comments. I am a Jew from Detroit who had some exposure to Yiddish when I was little, but had little affinity for it. This has been a regret of mine.
You might be interested to know that I may still have notes from your lectures at Michigan. The concepts I learned about how language develops have informed my teaching for all these years. I am more sensitive to and interested in non-standard English’s grammatical origins and inherent logical structure, thanks to you.
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Eric Firstenberg - 1998
Being third generation American on both sides, all four grandparents born in NYC area circa 1900-1910….my maternal Romanian great grands and paternals from Poland and Russia rode that first wave of emigration from old to new (nu!) in the 1880s-90s….let’s just say the Yiddish in my house was a bit of “schande.” So many expressions were butchered in an un-Kosher fashion by my highly assimilated parents, that as I’ve learned over the years their real form and meaning, I just have to laugh. My favorite example is this: whenever we four kids (yids!) were pestering my Dad about something, he would good-naturedly say “stop hocking me to China!” We’d giggle, but somehow intuited it was time to back down, a bit. He and I had a good laugh over the phone recently when I shared the actual phrase he’d massacred time and time again: “Hak mir nicht kein Chinik!!!” Literally, “Knock me not no tea kettle!” In other words: stop talking my ears off! Close, Dad, but not really. Other fav has to be: “Geh kaken afan Yam”….or, Go s**t on the ocean! If you’ve ever tried that, you’ll know you are being told off in that inimitably acerbic, witty Yiddish way.
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Meril Penn Yu - '63,'67
Can’t believe “mazel tov” hasn’t rated a mention. It even made an appearance in a recent song by the Black Eyed Peas. As for “schvartze”, I’ve always assumed that it derived from the German word for black (schwartz). Dick Bailey, I sure wish I could tell you “Geh gesund.” I am very sad that there will be no new words from you.
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Barbara Zimmerman - 1983
I love “nebbishe” with the definition being “Someone who, when they leave the room, it feels like your best friend just walked in.”
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