Finding ourselves in the dog days of summer, I discovered that my Yiddish book of aphorisms has much to say about man’s best friend. Yet, with all due apologies to cynophiles (dog lovers), one would have to search our tradition far and wide to find dogs depicted in a positive light. In the Eastern European shtetl, it was extremely rare to see a canine as a household pet. It was not uncommon for Jews to fear dogs. It was the Polish, Russian or Ukrainian peasant that kept a dog as a pet. Small wonder then that one who was a “lazybones” was referred to as a foiler hoont (lazy dog). Below are five Yiddish expressions that, at best,are neutral in depicting a dog:
Vyze ah hoont ah feenger, veel ehr gahntzeh hahnt (Show a dog a finger and it wants the entire hand). Far from being appreciative for whatever they receive, dogs are seen as always wanting more. I sincerely doubt that there was ever a dog known to raise a forepaw as we humans do when we wish to signify that we have had enough to eat and are thereby declining a second portion. It’s not that I’m asking a dog to say “when” or even growl, but I do believe that etiquette was never a canine quality.
A hoont sheekt men nisht in yahtkeh ahryne (You don’t send a dog into a butcher shop). Dogs are carnivores. Raw flesh is a turn-on for them. A butcher shop to a dog is what a candy store is to a toddler. Given a dog’s keen sense of smell, a butcher shop is enticing and exhilarating. Only a cruel individual would let a dog loose in a butcher shop.
Hommen harosheh iz gevayn a bayzehr hoont mit shahrfeh tzayn (The wicked Haman was a mad dog with sharp teeth). Only when spoken with Polish or Rumanian accented Yiddish can this little ditty be appreciated, in that no self-respecting Litvahk would pronounce the fourth Yiddish word as gevayn. A Litvahk pronounces the word as gevehn, and gevehn does not rhyme with tzayn. But even a Litvahk must concede that the above ditty with its rhyme component serves as an excellent teaching device.
Ah hoont voss beelt, bye’st nisht (A barking dog does not bite). Here, it is not a matter of regional accents. Rather, it is a matter of translating from the Hebrew, for the Hebrew expression has a ring to it (Kelev novayech ayno noshaych). Even the closest English equivalent, “Its bark is worse than its bite,” is a far cry from the Yiddish and the Hebrew.
Ahz ah hhont voyeht iz emehtzehr gehshtorben (If a dog howls, it means that someone has died). This teaching is taken from the Talmud (Bava Kamma 60b) where we learn: “If the dogs in a certain place are crying for no reason, it is a sign that they feel the Angel of Death has come to the city.” Dogs sense that something is not right. I was barely a teenager at the time, but I recall walking home on a frigid winter afternoon. The street we lived on was deserted except for me and a mentally challenged adult walking toward me on the other side of the street… and a dog. I can only surmise that the dog sensed something wasn’t right, in that the dog stopped in its tracks and began to howl.
Hopefully, dogs have trained us not to show it a feenger because it will want dee gahntzeh hahnt. Ideally, we will never send a hoont into a yahtkeh. Kudos for the ditty comparing “dirty dog” Haman to a hoont mit shahrfeh tzayn. May we always be vigilant of a hoont voss beelt. Last, but not least, ahz ah hoont voyeht speaks volumes.
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.
