Visiting the Polish city of Białystok, Thaïs Miller found herself sitting in on a Yiddish class. “I had attended many Yiddish classes before,” she writes, “but not one in my grandmother’s hometown and not one in which I was the only Jewish person in the room, including the instructors.” Miller listened to the students explain why they were taking the class, and helped them with the alphabet. After some intense translating, the instructor switched to a lighter activity:
The teaching assistant brought in a large box of chocolate cupcakes, each of which was decorated with a Yiddish letter printed on top in chocolate. The class had been full of conversation, but now everyone sat in complete silence, eating their aleph-beys cupcakes.
Toward the end of the lesson, [the instructor] explained, in Polish, the significance of every person receiving one Yiddish letter. “There was once a Jewish ritual in which the entire community participated in the writing of letters on a new Torah scroll.”
He then turned to me. “Have you ever heard about this practice?”
“Avade.” Of course, I said to him in Yiddish. And I added in English, “I’ve done it.” Mikołaj looked at me in incomprehension. . . . After the class, I messaged a friend about it. He said, “I imagine it’s a bit like a class in hieroglyphics, with you being the only pharaoh in the room.”
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More about: Poland, Polish Jewry, Yiddish