Last Golden Links: Yiddish Treasures

One of my most precious and surprising memories is from an experience I had on these hallowed grounds. At the funeral a couple of years ago of Simha Lainer, of blessed memory, whose family has long supported Yiddish in Los Angeles, Lilke gave a eulogy for her old friend. As was characteristic of Lilke, she gave it entirely in Yiddish, regardless of who might or might not understand.

Now this wasn’t just a memorial speech. Those here who had the blessing of understanding heard an oratory of which – and I’m not exaggerating – Shakespeare would have been proud. Sitting in one of the very back rows, probably even outside, I had no trouble hearing her resounding voice, and I literally did not want this poetry to end. And looking around me at people who I guessed did not know a word of Yiddish, no one looked bored as she spoke on. Everyone was as rapt as I was in the cadence of those heartfelt, gorgeous words.

And it was this great stubbornness and this great gift of persisting in expressing herself in Yiddish that never lapsed, and that, to my astonishment that day, only grew more magnificent. It was this stubbornness and this gift that she brought to every Yiddish endeavor of which she was a part, always having exactly the right genuine and illuminating words with which to introduce a speaker or expound upon an important topic. In this she was the embodiment of fierce intelligence and grace.

Lilke was one of my surrogate mothers. No, obviously she did not give birth to me but she helped something to be born.

I have many fond memories of sitting at Lilke’s kitchen table – and it was not uncommon for those who came to know her to be invited to her cozy kitchen table for tea and snacks – discussing our collaboration for events that would be produced by the California Institute for Yiddish Culture & Language, the organization that I founded and on whose Board Lilke was an active member.

Lilke was a key figure, the main point of contact between the reigning Yiddish world in LA and the next generation of upstart organizations. If it was a good idea – that is, maintaining the high standards of the LA Yiddish Culture C – she was all for it. What this meant, literally, is that often she made the arrangements to use the Club premises, mailed out announcements and called the club members – often singlehandedly. And as if that weren’t enough, she always arrived early and helped me set up and then clean up.

So you have to imagine a tiny sparrow of a woman already advanced in years helping shlep tables and all the stuff that went on top of them. She brooked no objections. She did this unflaggingly until only the most recent event in May, matching me – and even outdoing me — in strength and energy.

But as if this weren’t enough, when the Yiddish Institute was putting on its Art of Yiddish, the intensive Yiddish learning and cultural program we held in December since 2000, the kickoff was always an erev shabes, Friday night, for all the language teachers who had literally just flown in from various parts of the country and world.

Crowding around Lilke’s table, eating her homemade cholent dinner, joined often by the esteemed poet Moshe Shklar, was like squeezing into the great chain of continuity transposed from the old world to the new.