A Quote by Theodore Bikel

I am determined to give the Yiddish language a fighting chance to survive. — © Theodore Bikel
I am determined to give the Yiddish language a fighting chance to survive.
Even though I loved the song [My Yiddish Momme] and it was a sensational hit every time I sang it, I was always careful to use it only when I knew the majority of the house would understand Yiddish. However, you didn't have to be a Jew to be moved by 'My Yiddish Momme.' 'Mother' in any language means the same thing.
Yiddish, originally, in Eastern Europe was considered the language of children, of the illiterate, of women. And 500 years later, by the 19th century, by the 18th century, writers realized that, in order to communicate with the masses, they could no longer write in Hebrew. They needed to write in Yiddish, the language of the population.
There is a quiet humor in Yiddish and a gratitude for every day of life, every crumb of success, each encounter of love... In a figurative way, Yiddish is the wise and humble language of us all, the idiom of a frightened and hopeful humanity.
I don't give a f***. We're not fighting. I don't care what anyone thinks about me. All the stuff I have to do outside the fighting, the promotion, this, I don't give a f***. But when I am facing up for a fight, I know what they're thinking. I can read their minds. When I am going face to face with an opponent, nose to nose, I can smell the fear, and I'm feeling no fear at all.
In hard times, North Carolinians have shown that we bounce back. But that's not by chance. It's because we are determined. Determined to tough it out. To help each other, and leave no one behind. Determined to turn our obstacles into opportunities.
I have another aspect of my career where I'm a scholar of Yiddish and Hebrew literature, and I'll say that when you study Yiddish literature, you know a whole lot about forgotten writers. Most of the books on my shelves were literally saved from the garbage. I am sort of very aware of what it means to be a forgotten artist in that sense.
These people in Mississippi State, they are not "down"; all they need is a chance. And I am determined to give my part not for what the Movement can do for me, but what I can do for the Movement to bring about a change in the State of Mississippi.
To me the Yiddish language and the conduct of those who spoke it are identical.
Yiddish, the language which will ever bear witness to the violence and murder inflicted on us, bear the marks of our expulsions from land to land, the language which absorbed the wails of the fathers, the laments of the generations, the poison and bitterness of history, the language whose precious jewels are the undried, uncongealed Jewish tears.
Yiddish is the voice of exile, the tongue of ghettos, but I'll shed a tear when it joins ancient Greek and dead Latin. For gossip and insult, you can't beat Yiddish.
One can find in the Yiddish tongue and in the Yiddish spirit expressions of pious joy, lust for life, longing for the Messiah, patience and deep appreciation of human individuality.
The Yiddish language is so rich and unusual that I've always been hooked on its sounds, although I don't speak it.
My sister and I used to act as maids and waitresses at my great aunt and uncle's cocktail parties, which were very much sort of retired, minor stars of the Yiddish theater and the Yiddish opera.
I'm not fighting for justice. I am not fighting for freedom. I am fighting for my life and another day in the world here.
I'm doing this to survive. I'm doing this for my livelihood. I'm fighting with my heart and my soul and my passion. I'm going to give it everything I've got.
The prejudice is still there, but it's breaking down. You have writers like Michael Chabon and The Yiddish Policemen's Union. He's a writer who's determined to break down genre barriers. He's done amazing things.
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