Archive for World War II

“Arele kumt in vald” Performed by Larisa Pechersky

Posted in Yiddish Song of the Week with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2015 by yiddishsong

This week’s blog post – song and commentary – was submitted by Larisa Pechersky, who also performs on the recording.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make my grandmother’s name known and maybe remembered by people who often ask me how I know so many Yiddish songs. I always tell them that it’s because of my grandmother. Now, I hope her story, name, and image will be shared with them for the first time. As always, I dedicate all my work in the field of Jewish folklore and education to her blessed memory. Milya on 20th birthday Horki

Milya Shagalova (nee Mikhlya Fle’er / Fleyer), grandmother of Larisa Pechersky in Horki on her 20th birthday

I learned this song from my maternal grandmother when I was a toddler in the late 70s . She lived with my mother and me, and took care of me while my mom worked. All day long, as she worked around the house, she sang hundreds of Yiddish songs and encouraged me to sing along.

She would stop many times during a song to comment and make connections to her life in a Belorussian shtetl, to the experiences of her family and friends, and whatever lessons she wanted me to take away from each song. She often acted out the songs with me and showed me how to express a variety of feelings through a nign without words (just like in this song, Arele, she emphasized how the same nign after each verse can express fear, despair, or relief).

She made each song a window into Jewish life for me, a child growing up in a big city of Leningrad, the cultural capital of the Soviet Union, where forced assimilation was the norm for its more than 150,000 Jews. Assimilation was out of the question for my family, where my grandmother wanted me to know Yiddish and grow up proudly Jewish. Milya and Larisa

Larisa Pechersky (age 3) and her grandmother, Milya Shagalova, at home in Leningrad

My grandmother, Milya Shagalova (nee Mikhlya Fle’er / Fleyer), was born in 1914 in Propoysk, a shtetl in Mogilievske Guberniye, Belorussia. In the post-revolution years, her father, Zalmen, received a warning that he was to be arrested, stripped of his possessions, and exiled for owning four cows and employing one housekeeper. To avoid this fate, the family fled to Horki, a larger shtetl in the region, his birthplace.

As the third daughter in a family with no sons at the time, little Mikhlya was sent to a traditional all-boys kheyder to study. She told me compassionate stories of the cruel pranks the boys did to the poor old rebbe that she, as the only girl, felt so bad about. Later, she graduated from a seven-year school, where all of the subjects were taught in Yiddish. She wanted to continue on to the Jewish (Yiddish) teachers’ college, but it was no longer possible.

In 1934, as a newlywed, she moved to Leningrad with her husband Naum (Nokhom-Abram), where they lived  their whole life afterwards. Despite knowing Russian as well as if it were their native tongue, they always spoke Yiddish at home and with many friends, never missed a Jewish concert or event, and subscribed to Jewish periodicals when it was still possible.

During World War II, my grandma miraculously survived the horrific siege of Leningrad with my three-month old mom, but lost her five-year old son, who was with his grandparents in Horki for the summer, during which the Nazis invaded it and killed 7,500 Jews, including the boy, his four grandparents, and 38 more of our relatives.

My grandpa Naum, who came back from the front without a leg, learned of his son’s initial rescue, swift betrayal, and killing from his former neighbors. My grandma’s lament and guilt that she “sent her own child to death with her own hands” by letting him travel to Belorussia before the war “nobody expected to happen” was one of the stories that she would tell me often. Milya with Larisa

Larisa and Milya on summer vacation in Ukraine

When the Perestroika had just begun, the very first signs of the Jewish renewal were two concerts of Jewish music at the end of 1988 in Leningrad. My grandma did not miss them despite her poor health and the two of us went together. She felt that they “added seven more years of life” to her. This is how highly she regarded Jewish songs.

To my greatest regret, she passed away in January 1989 before I went to synagogue for the first time and matriculated at the newly created Jewish University that same year. I never recorded any of her songs, but kept hundreds of them in my memory. I still remember some ballads, just partially, and feel terrible that I can’t recall all the words or find them published anywhere.

When my friends and I started a Jewish school in Leningrad, I dedicated my work to giving my students the same as what my grandmother gave me – teaching them every and any thing Jewish through our amazing multi-layered Yiddish songs. Researching Yiddish musical folklore became my profession, passion, and a tribute to my grandma’s bravery and real heroism in passing our musical tradition to new generations amid the tribulations she lived through.

Arele kumt in vald (Arele Comes to the Woods)

This is how I remember learning the words as a child. I understand they sound not totally grammatically correct, but this is how I sang it as a kid.

Most of the time, we sang the second and third verses in the reverse order. The line in question meant Arele wasn’t taken aback; didn’t fear (I don’t remember the Yiddish word). When it was sung as the second verse, it made his attempt to escape appear to be futile given the next stanza (he thought he could run away, but now he can clearly see the dire situation – the mouth, the paws, etc). This way the time between his climbing up the tree, crying in despair, and eventual rescue was much longer and more terrifying in his eyes.

This was the order of the verses my grandma usually used. Switching the verses makes his actions appear more brave (he didn’t lose his head despite realizing all the details of the dangerous situation beforehand). Also, we sang it a bit slower, in a more storytelling manner, than I did in this recording.The English transliteration reflects the Yiddish dialect more than the Yiddish transcription.

Arele kumt in vald,
Dreyt zikh ‘hin un ‘her.
Ven er dremlt bald
kumt a greyser ber!

Der ber mit lapes greyse!
G’valt, dos iz nit gut!
Fun eygn trern heyse,
Ot iz sheyn kaput!

Arele is nit flit [foyl?]
Eyfn beym er kletert.
Un der ber mit ofn mul,
G’valt, nito keyn reter!

A reter iz ba sholem,
A greyser nes getrofn!
Geven iz dos a kholem,
Ven Arel iz geshlofn!

Arele comes to the woods,
wanders here and there.
When he slumbers, right away comes
a great big bear.

The bear with giant paws!
Help, this is not good.
From his eyes hot tears stream.
Now all is kaput.

Arele is not lazy
and on the tree he climbs.
And the bear with an open mouth
Help, there is no rescue!

A rescue did come in peace;
a great miracle happened.
This was all a dream
while Arele was sleeping.

arele1 arele2

“Zikhroynes” Performed by Leo Summergrad

Posted in Yiddish Song of the Week with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2012 by yiddishsong

Commentary by Itzik Gottesman

Leo Summergrad

This week’s contribution “Zikhroynes” was sent in by Leo Summergrad who lives in Westchester county, NY. He is a well known lover and meyvn of Yiddish song and a collector of hundreds of LP, tape, and CD recordings.

He learned this song from his father and privately recorded it with Madeline Simon at the piano. He is not a professional singer.

He writes about himself:

“Although I am American born, Yiddish was my first language and, as you can tell, it has remained very important to me, with a special love for Yiddish music. I got further Yiddish education in the shules of the IWO [International Workers Order], graduating from the Bronx Mitlshule. I am married to one of my shule classmates. I am a World War II veteran and served in the Pacific area, through a few major battles. I spent 40 years with the New York City Board of Education as a science teacher, Junior High School principal and Deputy Superintendent of a community school district, all in the Bronx.”

About his family:

“You asked about my father. He came from a little shtetl, called Pukhovitch, which was near Bobruisk in White Russia. My mother came from Bobruisk. They met on the ship on the way over in  1911. As far as my father’s singing; both my parents sang all the time. It was our form of entertainment. We didn’t even own a radio until I was about ten. I remember exactly which songs I learned from each of them.

That recording was made in my living room about ten years ago. I was able to hook a couple of microphones into the amplifier of my sound system and feed it onto a tape deck.”

We are including the translation and transliteration of the song by Leo Summergrad. The original Yiddish text by Morris Rosenfeld, I scanned from his collected works. We know that Rosenfeld composed melodies to his poetry and performed those songs, but according to Summergrad there is no recording of this song, and we are not sure who the composer is. The melody strikes me as very American early 20th century…

Also, be sure to click on the Yiddish words for a larger image.



Far dem tsayml nem mikh Motke, ikh vel zayn dayn ferd,
Nem dem shrikl far a leytz, dem shtekl far a shverd,
Marsh ahin oyf yene berglekh, in der frayer luft,
Itchke vart shoyn mit a bande, herstu vi er ruft?
Zest im oyfn shpitz fun bergl, dortn paze taykh?
Akh ir zise kinder yorn, vayt bin ikh fun aykh.

Take me by the bridle, “Motke”, I will be your horse,
Take a rope for the reigns, a stick for a sword,
March there, on those hills, in the fresh air,
“Itchke” is waiting with a gang, Do you hear him calling?
Do you see him on the top of the hill, on the other side of the river?
Oh, you sweet childhood years, I am so far from you.

Kinder nit fargest di fayflekh, vos ir hot gemakht,
Fregt nor Berken, hot er ale tzvayglekh shoyn gebrakht,
Makht zikh greyt tzu loyfn kinder, gikher nu galop,
vayter, vayter geyt es shneler,flinker barg arop,
Kumt tzum vaser mil, ot dortn, loyft der klorer taykh,
Akh ir zise kinder yorn, vayt bin ikh fun aykh.

Children don’t forget the whistles that you made,
Ask “Berke” if he brought all the twigs.
Get ready to run children, quickly, now gallop,
Further, further it goes more quickly, running down hill,
Come to the water mill, there, where the clear river is flowing
Oh you sweet childhood years, I am so far from you.

Hit zikh, nit tzebrekht di kriglekh, ruik makht kayn gvald,
Veyst ir vu di yagdes vaksn, in dem tifn vald?
Kinder nemt zikh far di poles, Yudke gey farois,
Do iz laykht tzu blondgen kinder, unser vald is grois,
Tzum yagodnik, nit farlirt zikh, kumt zhe ale glaykh,
Akh ir zise kinder yorn, vayt bin ikh fun aykh.

Be careful not to break our armaments, quiet make no noise,
Do you know where the berries grow in the deep woods?
Children hold on to each other.   “Yudke” you lead.
It’s easy to get lost, children. Our woods are vast,
Don’t get lost near the berry farmer’s, let’s arrive together,
Oh you sweet childhood years, I am so far from you.

Zise, sheyne, libe kindhayt, vayt bistu fun mir,
mayn neshome, mayn fantazie,troymt nor vegn dir,
Vi a shotn bistu kindhayt, vi a roykh vus flit,
Vi a blitz, geshvind farloyfstu, un  men zet dikh nit,
Shvebst nor um in mayn zikorn,Vi a ziser troym,
ikh dermon zikh, un mir veynt zikh, un mit gloybt zikh koym. 

Sweet, beautiful, lovely childhood, you are so far from me,
My soul, my fantasy dreams only of you,
You are like a shadow childhood, like a smoke that flies,
You run away as quick as lightning and one doesn’t see you,
You float around in my memory like a sweet dream,
I remember and cry and I hardly believe it.



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