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A mol iz der zikorn oykh a guter,
Un az me bet bay im a toyve - tut er.

Er brengt a mol tsurik azsh biz der riye
A bliml fun der kindheyt inem blien.

Un demalt vakht oykh oyf der khush-hareyakh
Un tsu dem ever mit a shprung dergey ikh.

Di mame rayst di hor mir mitn keml,
Mit puter shmirt zi on a vaysn zeml.

Zi tut mir on di kinderishe kleyder
Un firt mir op tsum rebin inem kheder.

Ikh vil nisht geyn in kheder, kh'bin a veyner,
Der rebe hot a moyl mit gele tseyner,

Der rebe hot a groysn shvartsn sider,
Un dort iz mir der alef-beys dervider.

Nor ven es trikenen zikh oys di trern,
Tseshaynen zikh di oysies vi di shtern,

Baheftn zeyer likht in gantse verter
Un shteln zikh oyf vunderlekhe erter.

Un laykhtn op fun groysn shvartsn sider
Oyf yorn shpeter - biz in mayne lider.

Yiddish - GOOD MEMORY 

There are times when memory is a nice guy, too.
Ask him a favor and he'll do it for you.

He can sometimes recall to your very sight
A childhood flower, all blooming and bright,

Which then rouses the sense of smell from its sleep
And I return to the past in one great leap.

My mother is running a comb through my hair;
She smears a white roll, the butter's right there.

She dresses me up in my little boy's clothes
And to the rebbe in kheyder away we go.

I don't want to go to kheyder, I screech,
The rebbe has a mouth full of yellow teeth.

The rebbe's black prayer book is big and thick,
And the alef-beys inside - it makes me sick.

But once the tears have dried from my whining
The letters, like stars, begin their shining.

They unite their lights in full words with no spaces
And put themselves in unbelievable places.

And shine out from the big black prayer book tomes
For years thereafter, all the way to my poems.


Special thanks to Batya Fonda of Jewish Folk Songs for her assistance

Binem Heller
Chava Alberstein
Chava Alberstein

Where do I buy this song online?
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Contact the publisher of Hebrew


La mémoire est clémente, si
on le lui demande elle vous fait du bien.

Elle ramène la vision de l'enfance
comme une fleur épanouie.

Remontent toutes les odeurs, tous
les parfums, toutes les caresses.

Maman avec le peigne tire fort les cheveux
tartine avec du beurre le petit pain blanc.

Elle m'habille, me conduit
à l'école chez le Rabbi.

Je ne peux pas aller au Heder, je geins
le vieux Rabbi a des dents jaunes.

Il a un grand livre noir, je pleurniche
son alphabet me devient odieux.

Et dès que les larmes sèchent
s'illument les lettres comme des étoiles.

Leur clarté se range en mots entiers
pour devenir images qui en foule

sortant du livre noir deviendront
mes poèmes de longues années plus tard.