Yeshivish

1 12 2011

There is a sociolect of English with which few people are aware. Known as “Yinglish”, it was once mentioned under Ethnologue’s section on Eastern Yiddish, where they observed that the number of proficient speakers increases with one’s proximity to New York City. While it is most certainly an English sociolect, the high number of Yiddish words that are employed make it impossible for those who are unfamiliar with Yiddish to understand it. In Australia, many people know what it is to schlepp to the bank, to be a bit of a klutz, to be in awe of a maven or to work for a schmuck. But how many of them shvitz in the summer, do gornisht in the winter, spend time with the mishpocheh, have a nosh, plotz or kibbitz?

In truth, while “Yinglish” proficiency amongst non-Jews might increase as one approaches Brooklyn, the phenomenon of “Yeshivish” (the sociolect of the Haredi yeshiva system) can be found in all places where people speak English and where such institutions exist. As a sociolect, it constitutes something of a mirror image of Yinglish. Yinglish is English, with a number of Yiddish words – primarily nouns. Yeshivish, on the other hand, is most definitely Yiddish, but a Yiddish in which the speaker occasionally inserts English phrases or uses English words. Consider the following excerpt, taken from a talk by Rav Nissan Kaplan (the mashgiach ruchani, or “spiritual advisor” at the Mirrer Yeshiva in Jerusalem):


The sample is taken from his website, where a very large number of his classes are available for download. At the top of the page, you will note a series of hespedim (“eulogies”) for Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, who was the Rosh Yeshiva at the Mir and who passed away almost a month ago. After that, the classes are organised by theme and by year. I recommend his mussar schmuessen in particular, as they provide an insight into the general lifestyle of the Yeshiva students:

5767 (2007)
5768 (2008)
5769 (2009)
5770 (2010)
5771 (2011) – current.

If it is halakha that interests you, I especially recommend three Shabbat-related lectures: one deals with the permissibility of dancing, one with religious Jews who work in ambulances, and one is the first part of a two-part lecture that discusses the legality of asking non-Jews to do work for you. His Talmud classes are probably also excellent, but considerably too advanced for me. If they are of interest to you, they each come with a scanned copy of his notes, which can be used to guide your study of the relevant sugya before listening to the class.

The above audio snippet, which runs for a little more than one-and-a-half minutes, is from Rav Kaplan’s introduction to the new zman (“semester”), in which the students are to be learning Tractate Bava Batra. He begins by opining on the quality of this tractate for an understanding of key rabbinic concepts, but then continues by stressing the importance of devoting oneself in all respects to its study. The main part of the segment revolves around the dangers of sitting in the study hall and being less than 100% committed to the task of learning. You can hear the large number of English phrases that he employs, but they are dwarfed by the number of Hebrew phrases (he quotes liberally from the biblical and rabbinic literature – chiefly the latter), and by a generous smattering of Yiddish, which influences his usage of English syntax.

This brings me, of course, to the crux of the matter. If it is linguistics that interests you, over and above philosophy, halakha or the rabbinic literature, this website is a veritable treasure trove for the beautiful Yeshivish sociolect, and is absolutely bursting with potential for discourse analysis. The anonymous sages of Wikipedia declare that “only a few serious studies have been written about Yeshivish”. Perhaps, with the ready availability of this incredible resource, that may soon change.





The Syntax of Slander

24 11 2011

I refuse to believe that lexicographers don’t have a sense of humour. Having recently looked up the word “malignity” in the Oxford American Dictionary, the better to assure myself that it was really a word (though what it could be if it were not a word, I don’t know), I was pleased to note the following sagely advice:

The Right Word
Do you want to ruin someone’s life? You can malign someone, which is to say or write something evil without necessarily lying (: she was maligned for her past association with radical causes).
To calumniate is to make false and malicious statements about someone; the word often implies that you have seriously damaged that person’s good name (: after leaving his job, he spent most of his time calumniating and ridiculing his former boss).
To defame is to cause actual injury to someone’s good name or reputation (: he defamed her by accusing her of being a spy).
If you don’t mind risking a lawsuit, you can libel the person, which is to write or print something that defames him or her (: the tabloid libeled the celebrity and ended up paying the price).
Slander, which is to defame someone orally, is seldom a basis for court action but can nevertheless cause injury to someone’s reputation (: after a loud and very public argument, she accused him of slandering her).
If all else fails, you can vilify the person, which is to engage in abusive name-calling (: even though he was found innocent by the jury, he was vilified by his neighbors).

It’s always good to know that I have options. In the meantime, there is an interesting discussion ensuing between two respectable linguists at Language Log. Geoffrey Pullum says that the OED’s Word of the Year should actually be a word for a change, and filed his post under “Ignorance of Linguistics”. Ben Zimmer, who is the chair of the New Words Committee at the American Dialect Society, strongly disagrees with him, but filed his post under a friendlier file name and left the comments open. So far I see nothing malignant, calumniating, defaming, slanderous nor vilifying, but you never know with these people. Linguists. You really don’t want to upset them.





In Memoriam

6 11 2011

It has been just over one year since Professor Alan Crown passed away, and I spent a couple of days last week at a Dead Sea Scrolls conference that was organised in his honour by Associate Professor Ian Young and Dr Shani Tzoref. Our keynote speaker was Emeritus Professor Emanuel Tov, whose paper on the pre-Samaritan Qumran scrolls and their relationship to the Samaritan Pentateuch was one of the conference’s highlights. A former editor-in-chief of the Dead Sea Scrolls Publication Project, Professor Tov remains one of the foremost experts in Qumranic scribal practise, the development of the Hebrew Masoretic Text, and the Septuagint. His most recent publication is the third edition of his highly-recommended Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, which I have been assiduously using in its first edition for several years.

We were also very pleased to welcome Dr Shani Tzoref, one of the two conveners of the conference, whose paper on the history of Dead Sea Scrolls research was fascinating. Dividing it into three successive periods, Shani remarked upon the various stages of Qumranic research, and the impact that they have had upon the presentation of the results (not to mention the nature of the results themselves), and their reception by the general scholarly community. Shani is presently involved in the Israel Antiquities Authority’s Dead Sea Scrolls Digitization Project, scanning the fragments using multi-spectral imaging and, in partnership with Google, uploading them to the internet. The five scrolls that they have finished uploading so far are 1QIsaa (“Great Isaiah Scroll”), 1QM (“War Scroll”), 1QpHab (“Pesher Habakkuk”), 11Q19 (“The Temple Scrolla“) and 1QS (“Community Rule”). They can all now be viewed online, and prompt an important question: what does the future hold for the expansion of Qumranic research as an open, inter-disciplinary enterprise?

Other highlights included Ian Young’s “Loose Language in 1QIsaa“, in which he considered the linguistic profile of the Great Isaiah Scroll, a paper on the layout of 1QpHab that was delivered by three Macquarie University students (Stephanie Ng, Alexandra Wrathall and Gareth Wearne), and Prof. William Loader’s paper on eschatology and sexuality in Qumran. Unfortunately, as neither Prof. Loader nor Prof. Albert Baumgarten could be with us (the former stuck in Perth and the latter in Alice Springs – both with tickets to fly Qantas to Sydney), Prof. Loader’s paper was read by Ian and Prof. Baumgarten’s paper was replaced with an opportunity for general discussion.

Alan would have been rather bemused by so many people turning up to an event in his honour, but the papers all dealt with topics that were close to his heart and his expertise was certainly missed.





By Any Other Metre

14 09 2011

The difference between two different metres has never been so pronounced – nor half so fun to discover. The following was composed by Arthur Connor, while in prison for his part in the Irish Rebellion of 1798.

The pomps of Courts and pride of kings
I prize above all earthly things;
I love my country, but the King,
Above all men, his praise I sing.
The Royal banners are displayed,
And may success the standard aid.

I fain would banish far from hence
The “Rights of Man” and “Common Sense.”
Confusion to his odious reign,
That foe to princes, Thomas Paine.
Defeat and ruin seize the cause
Of France, its liberties and laws.

A fiercely nationalistic poem, belied by his subsequently being made a general of the French army upon his escape in 1807. There is another way to read it, however, which is truer to his ideology.

[HT: Futility Closet]





Masters of Language

4 07 2011

My hunch is confirmed: linguists make the best authors. Not only is Tolkien’s translation of Jonah superior to any other that I have ever read, but Geoffrey Pullum’s account of his stay in Sofia makes for some exceptionally gripping reading. I’m not sure how to relate his post back to the biblical and rabbinic literature, save to note that Joseph Caro also lived in Bulgaria for a bit.

So there you go. Relevant.





“Graphic vs. Linguistic Realism”

11 06 2011

[Hat-tip: Language Log]





The Nobleman with the Funny Name

14 01 2011

The chief of guards in Daniel is a fellow named Ariokh (אריוך), who appears in Daniel 2:14-25 as the individual responsible for following out the decree of the king. In recompense for having failed to interpret the king’s dream, the king wishes to have all of Babylon’s wise men murdered and, were it not for the intervention of Daniel, we are led to assume that this might have taken place. Ariokh is a funny name, and although it turns up in Genesis 14:1 and 9 as the name of the king of Ellasar, it would appear (at least in Daniel) to have a Persian etymology. While the Old Persian ariya refers to anybody of Indo-Iranian descent, it is related to the Sanskrit आरय (ārya, “noble”), and probably derives from an even older proto-IE root which means “lord” or “master”.

I once uploaded a letter from J.R.R. Tolkien to a German publishing company, in response to their queries regarding his Abstammung. His response is quite brilliant, and I encourage people to have a read. The line that most appeals to me is when he wonders about what they might mean by the word “Aryan”. Speaking with his tongue so firmly in his cheek that he must have been able to taste his jawbone, Tolkien noted that “as far as I am aware none of my ancestors spoke Hindustani, Persian, Gypsy, or any related dialects”. The Nazi fascination with the Aryan people was one thing, but their curious belief that they represented it was quite another.

Indeed, the symbol that they used to represent their party, the so-called “hook cross”, or hakenkreuz, was borrowed unapologetically from the Hindu स्वास्तिक (svastika). This is a compound noun: su- = “good, well”; asti = “to be”; and ka, acc. to Wikipedia, denotes an intensification of the meaning. Hence, “that which is good”: a sort of good luck charm for many people in the West, and an auspicious representation of the Brahma in Hinduism. Did the Nazis think that their ancestors had been responsible for the development of this symbol and (some of) its associated meanings? Likewise, when they used the Sanskrit आरय (ārya, “noble”) to refer to themselves, were they meaning to imply – as Tolkien so humorously points out – that they are descended of Indo-Iranians? Or were they meaning to suggest that the Brahmans of India were descendants of theirs, and that Sanskrit was their own ancestral tongue?

Truthfully, I don’t think that they were meaning to imply anything, for the general standard of German scholarship took a nose-dive after they started rounding up their own academics. It is therefore one of those curious quirks of history, that a 20th century king, of sorts, should have adopted the name of “Aryan” and set about completing the task of the biblical Ariokh: to round up all of the wise men and put them to death.





Unmasked

13 01 2011

Sanskrit is an easy language. While Latin has seven cases, and Classical Greek a troubling five, Sanskrit readers need only bother themselves with learning eight. What is more, while Latin primers expect their students to memorise five declensions, and Greek primers present us with a bothersome three, the student of Sanskrit need only memorise sixteen-or-so declensions in order to cover the range of possible nominal forms. That’s too easy! Don’t even get me started on the script. Greek has twenty-four characters. Latin has twenty-three characters. Sanskrit, however, only has thirty-three consonant signs and twelve vowel signs, with variations on eleven of those vowels if they do not occur at the beginning of a word. If you include ligatures, most of which need to be learned separately, the number of consonants is brought up to a paltry one-hundred-and-seventy-eight. I could learn this in my sleep.

And so, in order to make it just a little bit difficult, Sanskrit also features a phenomenon known as Sandhi. It’s quite simple really: when a word ends in any one of eleven consonants and the following word commences with any one of thirty consonants, or one of the twelve vowels, the final letter of the first word changes in accordance with its particular, sometimes unique, relationship with the first letter of the following word. If there is no following word then, with only one exception, Sandhi does not occur. But never fear! There is also an internal Sandhi. Makes Hebrew look rather boring, doesn’t it?

Fortunately, as several of the ligatures actually are quite derivative, and as the readings that we have been given are fairly repetitive and not grammatically complex, much progress has been made. Allow me to then share with you an interesting story about a donkey. This is taken from Hitopadeśa, which is the first Sanskrit book ever published in the Devanāgarī script (1803). “Hitopadeśa” means “Salutary Instruction” (acc. to J.S. Sheldon, Reading Sanskrit: A Course for Beginners, Sydney: Sydney Grammar School Press, 1998), and constitutes a collection of forty-three fables. This one (Hitopadeśa 3.5) is entitled “The Ass in the Tiger Skin”. Originally composed over five hundred years ago, a short section of it runs as follows (the Devanāgarī script runs from left to right):

अस्ति हस्तिनापुरे विशालो नाम रजकः । तस्य गर्दभो ऽतिवाहाद् दुर्बलो मुमूर्षुर् अभवत् । ततस् तेन रजकेनासौ व्याघ्रचर्मणा प्रच्छाद्यारण्यसमीपे सस्यमध्ये मोचितः ।

asti hastināpure viśālo nāma rajakaḥ | tasya gardabho ‘tivāhād durbalo mumūrṣur abhavat | tatas tena rajakenāsau vyāghracarmaṇā pracchādyāraṇyasamīpe sasyamadhye mocitaḥ |

asti – “there is”
hastināpure – “Elephant City”! (masc. sg. loc.)
viśālo – “Vishala” (nom.)
nāma – “name” (neut. sg. nom./acc.)
rajakaḥ – not to be confused with rājā, which means “king”, but similar: a “washerman” (masc. sg. nom.)

“In Elephant City, there is a washerman named Vishala.” We’re off to a good start.

tasya – 3ms pronoun, gen.
gardabho – “donkey” (masc. sg. nom.)
‘tivāhād – “excessive burden” (masc. sg. abl.)
durbalo – “weak” (adj. masc. sg. nom.)
mumūrṣur – “on verge of death” (adj. masc. sg. nom.)
abhavat – hooray! A verb! “Being, to be” (3rd sg. imp. act. – “was”)

“His donkey, from excessive burden, was weak [and] on the verge of death.”

tatas – “then”
tena – 3ms pronoun, instr.
rajakenāsau – “washerman” (masc. sg. instr.) + dem. pronoun
vyāghracarmaṇā – “tiger” (masc. sg. nom.) + skin (neut. sg. instr.)
pracchādyāraṇyasamīpe – Yikes. This is a verb, “to cover” (gerund) + “forest” (neut. sg. nom./acc.) + “proximity” (neut. sg. loc.)
sasyamadhye – Another compound: “crop” (neut. sg. nom./acc.) + “middle” (neut. sg. loc.)
mocitaḥ – “to release” (the textbook lists this as a 3rd sg. past ptc., but we haven’t covered those yet. What do you want from me: it’s been four days.)

“Then the washerman, covering the donkey with the skin of a tiger near a forest, released it in the midst of the crops.”

What happens next? Well, if I could be bothered typing out the rest of the story, you would learn of the flight of the farmers, who think that there is a tiger in their midst. But you would also learn of the lone farmer who took up a position nearby, with the intention of slaying the tiger with an arrow. When the donkey saw the farmer, covered as he was in a grey cloak, he thought that the farmer was a female donkey and, with a braying noise, ran towards him. The game is given away, and the farmer kills the donkey. Why would the farmer kill the donkey? As my rebbe used to say, you don’t ask questions about a story! Especially not when it has a moral:

सुचिरं हि चरन्मौनं श्रेयः पश्यत्यबुद्धिमान् ।

suciraṃ hi caranmaunaṃ śreyaḥ paśyatyabuddhimān |

suciraṃ – “very long” (adv.)
hi – indeed! (That’s actually what it means: “indeed!” But I am excited.)
caranmaunaṃ – “to experience” (masc. sg. nom. pres. ptc. active. This is one that we have learnt! Or that I have learnt, anyway, reading ahead…) + “silence” (neut. sg. nom./acc.)
śreyaḥ – “better” (adj. masc. sg. nom.)
paśyatyabuddhimān – “to perceive” (gerund) + “witless man” (masc. sg. nom.)

“Indeed, from long experience, the witless man perceives that silence is better.”

And there you go. If only the stupid donkey had kept his mouth shut, he would have been slain by an arrow from a distance instead. Perhaps that’s just what you get, trying to be a donkey in the city of elephants.

PS: Contrary to my (un)educated guess, the meaning of “Sanskrit” is not the title of this post at all, but actually derives from संस्कृता वाक् (saṃskṛatā vāk), via infernal internal Sandhi, and means “refined speech”.





Twelve Clouds

26 12 2010

Inspired by the Sixty-Six Clouds that I blogged about earlier, I decided to make twelve clouds of my own: one for each of the tractates in the Mishna, Seder Mo’ed.

Shabbat

Read the rest of this entry »





Marjorie is Dead.

3 12 2010

Inspired by the latest anti-prescriptivist rant at the intoxicating Language Log, I thought that I might share a moment of linguistic and comic genius from the brilliant Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie:

Struck by the same muse that prompted the production of this sketch, Stephen Fry later wrote an essay on the nature of language, the questions that contemplation of language invokes, and the inherent tomfoolery of the prescriptivist approach.








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