Lullabies and Bedtime Stories
My grandmother, of blessed memory, used to sing to me the following lullaby—join in if you know it:
Oif’n Pripritchik brent a faieril un in shtub iz heys
un der rebbe lerent kleyne kinderlach dem alef beys.
While I have grown a loving attachment to this song, as a child I didn’t really like it. I don’t speak Yiddish, and I didn’t appreciate being sung to in an unfamiliar language. Yiddish literacy is not common in my generation, although perhaps that is changing. This summer, for the first time in 50 years, a comprehensive English to Yiddish dictionary was published. It is intended to not only preserve the rich existing but receding language, but to also update it to address the realities of the 21st century.
I am not sure that my grandmother would’ve had much use for the new Yiddish dictionary. She never adapted to the age of technology—she would not need the word blitspost, because she never used email. The same goes for shlingen epizodn—binge watch. She would love one “new” Yiddish expression. In English, when we accidently call someone by sitting on our phone we call it a “butt dial.” In Yiddish? Alpi tokhes.
There is a book called, “If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Say It in Yiddish.” This perpetuates the idea—perhaps the truth– that even those of us who can’t speak the language know our fair share of insults and curses. The book is quite informative, providing wisdom beyond the purview of its catchy title, and sharing brief insights into the history and culture of the language.
Many of us have spent a great deal of time recently thinking about language—how we speak and words we use. I want to be clear that an appreciation for the unique and creative style of Yiddish “put-downs” is not blanket permission for the use of vulgarity or bullying with words. In my high school every classroom had a sign that said, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but WORDS can really hurt me.” I strongly believe that statement. There is no such thing as “just words.”
As it is, I’m not familiar with too many Yiddish insults. My experience with Yiddish is actually the opposite. Much of the Yiddish that I learned came from things my grandmother said to me—and, being a doting grandmother—the things that she said to me were generally terms of endearment. Shayna Kupf, Shayna Punim…
And she sang and sang Oyfn Pripichik:
On the hearth, a fire burns,
And in the house it is warm.
And the rabbi is teaching little children,
The aleph-bet.
Written by Marc Warshawski in the mid/late 19th century, Oyfn Pripitchik was—and is—often used as a lullaby.
There is a universality to lullabies. Employed throughout the world and for the expansive stretch of human history, lullabies possess similar tunes, tones and themes.
Lullabies serve a variety of functions in society. First and foremost, they are intended to soothe children. Research shows that lullabies do indeed achieve this task. A study of pediatric cardiac patients determined that when children are sung lullabies there is a reduction in their heart rate as well as their perceived pain.
Lullabies can be a transmission of language and culture. Oyfn Pripitchik tells of children learning to read Hebrew—and will go on to say that this is for the sake of learning Torah—the laws and lore of our tradition.
Zetje kinderlach gedenktje tai-ere, voos ir lerent daw
Zogtje noch amol un take noch amol kometz alef aw.
Zogtje noch amol un take noch amol kometz alef aw.
See, children, remember, dear ones,
What you learn here;
Repeat and repeat yet again,
“Komets-alef: o!”—
This last part is an explanation of the pronunciation of the komets vowel—the one that looks like a little “T.” It is akin to the grammar school rhyme “I before E except after “c” or when sounding like ay as in neighbor or weigh.
Lullabies teach language. Lullabies soothe. They transmit and reflect culture. Moreover, as songs used ordinarily at bedtime, lullabies often present the vulnerability and fear of the darkness of night. The songs frequently exhibit a parent’s deepest concerns. As such, lullabies can be scary. “When the bough breaks the cradle will fall and down will come baby, cradle and all.”
Not exactly a calming message for a child. But the melody, when partnered with a soothing voice, calms a baby, perhaps particularly one who cannot yet understand language.
Oyfn Pripichik does this as well—articulates a parent’s fear. There are variations in traditions for the verses of Oyfn Pripichik—here is one:
When you grow older, children,
You will understand by yourselves,
How many tears lie in these letters,
And how much lament…
From the cradle we tell our children our story. We acknowledge the eternal weeping of our people. We welcome the next generation into this complex story even before they can truly understand it.
Like fixed prayer gives us a vocabulary to express thoughts that we might otherwise struggle to articulate; lullabies, passed down from one generation to the next, offer us words and space for concerns that we might otherwise push to the recesses of our minds.
Oyfn Pripichik has been transmitted across time and space to remain known today. Yet, in the context of our tradition, it is a relatively “new” song. However, Jewish tradition has prescribed bedtime songs since antiquity. We are instructed to say “when we lie down and when we rise up”—Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ehad–Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord in One. Kiryat Sh’ma l’mitah—the bedtime sh’ma–developed into an extensive night ritual.
After reciting the six word declaration of faith, we say the words—“v’ahavta et Adonai elohekha…You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might…” To this the rabbis of the Talmudic era added a prayer: “May I have a night of tranquil slumber and awaken to the new day…”
This prayer, along with the passages that surround it, unveil the ancient fear of night. Think for a moment…How often do we truly experience darkness? Quiet? We are always surrounded by lights—street lights and car lights guiding our way home. Night lights. The various colors emitted from our charging electronics, the numbers on our digital clocks and cable boxes. We do not know darkness. And even on the rare occasion that we should experience total darkness, chances are that we are within reach of a switch or button that will lift it.
Despite the reality that we understand both darkness and sleep from a scientific standpoint, we remain concerned about the night.
Perhaps this is why many of us have developed nighttime rituals for our children or families that include both story and song. In my home we sing—Sh’ma (Debbie Friedman tune).
Goodnight Little Maya your Mommy loves you and your daddy too…
And depending on how intent my children are at stalling bedtime, we add more verses, about everybody that loves them…grandparents, classmates, pets, Sesame Street characters.
Before we say Sh’ma, we read a book. Like most children, mine have gone through phases where a certain book has to be read every night, despite the overflowing bookshelves of options. Both children did this with the book “Llama Llama Red Pajama.”
“Llama Llama red pajama, in the dark without his Mama. What is Mama Llama doing? Baby Llama starts boo-hooing” The original book in the series, Llama Llama Red Pajama deals with bedtime. As adults we often joke about the irony that our children do not want to nap or go to sleep, while we are eager to do so but lack the opportunity. What I wouldn’t give for a night of uninterrupted sleep in a dark, quiet room! But night is scary, especially for a child.
Llama Llama has been a favorite in our house since our oldest child was able to talk. We’ve been through multiple copies of the original book and have many of the additional stories as well. Written by Ann Dewdney, who died prematurely this summer, the Llama Llama series addresses many of the basic concerns of young children. Llama Llama has helped our children navigate sharing, anger, and sleep –basic ideas that adults take for granted but children struggle with. It invites a dialog with our children—How does Little Llama feel at bedtime? How do you feel at bedtime?
In doing this, we model for our children the exploration of feelings. We acknowledge that night can be scary, with the hope that our children will develop the habit of sharing their fears with us.
Sharing songs and stories between the generations is a way to transmit and maintain traditions. Lullabies and bedtime stories serve a nuanced role in this context as natural vehicles to express and address fears—to take advantage of the vulnerability of night.
As we enter the yizkor service, we are vulnerable. And in this space, we are called upon to remember.
Take this time to pause.
Remember.
Who told you stories?
What did they convey?
Who sang you lullabies?
Who guided you through the vulnerabilities of night?
Who guides you through the vulnerabilities of life?
Who do you read stories to?
Who do you sing lullabies to?
Remember.
Az ir vet, kinder, dem goles shlepn,
Oysgemutshet zayn,
Zolt ir fun di oysyes koyekh shepn,
Kukt in zey arayn!!!!
When you, children, will bear the exile
And will be exhausted,
May you derive strength from these letters,
Look at them!
Oif’n Pripritchik brent a faieril un in shtub iz heys
un der rebbe lerent kleyne kinderlach dem alef beys.
Gmar Hatimah Tovah