If only they had given Yiddish its due! Over the centuries rabbis have painstakingly sought the deeper meaning of Chad Gadya, the grand finale of the Pesach Haggadah. Perhaps their focus on Chad Gadya should not have been based solely on metaphor. Provided one reads Chad Gadya in Yiddish, the madrigal at the end of the Haggadah suddenly takes on a new meaning.
Consider the following:
Koifen/Gehkoift (to purchase/purchased): One would do well to wonder why Father purchased a goat for two zuz. Was there a specific reason for Father to purchase a goat? Similarly, one could wonder why we don’t read about a cat devouring a stray goat. As one who maintains that were several seminal events that led to the enslavement of our ancestors in Egypt, I believe that when the Midianites “hobben gehkoift Yoisefn fahr tzvahnzik zilbehrshtik—purchased Joseph for 20 pieces of silver,” it—ultimately—culminated in our people’s bitter Egyptian enslavement. If our Egyptian experience began with “koifen,” then true liberation of the world will occur when animals and not humans are bought and sold, as was the case with a kid being purchased for two zuz.
Tzeegeleh (little goat or kid): No different than English, Yiddish also has homonyms. Depending on the size, a goat can be a tzeeg or tzeegeleh, the latter serving as the diminutive. Yet “tzeegl,” which would typically find itself sandwiched between “tzeeg” and “tzeegeleh,” appears to have no connection with a goat of any size. “Tzeegl” means “brick.” Leave it to Yiddish to provide that connection. If it was endless days of “tzeegl” passing through the hands of our ancestors as they suffered the drudgery of forced labor, it was a “tzeeg” or “tzeegeleh” roasted over fire that was designed to imbue in them the taste of freedom as they began a journey that would take them from subjugation to liberation.
Hoont (dog): We refuse to pussyfoot around when it comes swallowing the idea that a cat can eat a goat, no matter how sacred a cat was in the eyes of the ancient Egyptians. On the face of it, a dog biting a cat is much more the norm. But come Seder night, a canine is more than a mere nemesis to a feline. Canines played a special role during that very first Passover when our ancestors left Egypt. The Torah tells us: “Oif alleh kinder foon Yisroel vett a hoont nisht gehhahvkn—No dog will bark at any of the children of Israel.” As one who cannot endure the barking of a dog, I am always tempted to tell any barking dog that I encounter that I am one of the children of Israel and ask if it can hold back its bark for old times’ sake.
Shtekken (stick/staff): After recounting one animal’s predatorial behavior to another in Chad Gadya, one is hard pressed why the author suddenly introduced an inanimate object. Had the author written about a wolf or coyote who came and destroyed the dog, it would have been true to the established pattern. Why then did they introduce a shtekken? Arguably, the staff played the most significant role in the Passover story. It was the “shtekken” and not the divine voice that had the greatest impact on Moses as he stood at the burning bush. It was Moses’ shtekken that parted the Sea of Reeds that proved to be the ultimate saving grace for the Israelites and the ultimate destruction of the Egyptians.
Fyehr (fire): In the military, there is the term “friendly fire.” In Judaism, there is the term “eternal flame.” The first encounter of the shepherd Moses and fire was his encounter with ah dorn voss brehnt in fyehr (a burning bush that could not be extinguished). Upon leaving Egypt, the Children of Egypt were led by “ah zyle fyehr—a pillar of fire” on their 40-year journey when they traveled by night. The fire that incinerated the shtekken that hit the dog was soon extinguished. The fire that was first encountered by Moses continues to burn in the Ner Tamid immortalizing the eternity of our people.
By looking at Chad Gadya through a Yiddish lens, one is provided with a summation of the Passover story. Was the seminal event that led to our ancestor’s enslavement in Egypt when the Midianites “hobben gekoift Yoisefn fahr tzvahnzik zilbehshtik?” Was it when the shepherd Moses encountered “ah dorn voss brehnt in fyehr?” Or was it when Moses cast his “shtekken” to the ground only to see it turn into a serpent? No one will ever know how many tzeegl passed through the hands of our ancestors during their years as slaves under Egyptian enslavement. Yet, anyone knows that either tzeeg, tzeegeleh or shepsl (lamb) was the entrée at the farewell dinner of our people as they were led out of Egypt by Moses. The Egyptians—still in shock—remained speechless. It was Heraclitus who maintained that dogs bark at what they don’t understand. Heraclitus was correct. Every hoont in Egypt understood exactly what was taking place. So amazed were the dogs that they forgot how to bark.
Rabbi Shawn Zell has recently returned to New Jersey, after serving at a pulpit in Dallas. He possesses certification in teaching Yiddish. Rabbi Zell is the author of three books.
