We mustn’t forget the language of our mothers Yiddish language is Love – our heart’s desire. Songs and tales of golden peacocks
Or of the Sun setting in flaming fire.

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Our mothers spoke Yiddish hale and heartily The Alef and Beys, the Giml and Shin –
It was a language for praying to God sincerely Or for a song about forests, dipped in green.

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Yiddish, the language we grew up in
Was for generations lingua franca for us all
In this language, we weaned on our mothers’ milk. In Yiddish, we marveled at the stars’ call.

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In Jewish schools we learnt in this language to speak and to write And the tang of a song to which children would sing along.
With these sounds, we drove away hunger and gloom.
We, poor Yankeles and Soreles, filled the air with Yiddish song.

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With the Yiddish language on their lips, our mothers passed away
On their bones and on the Yiddish language the land became nascent. By not speaking Yiddish salt is poured on the wounds.
The beautiful language Yiddish is, regrettably, absent.