komentáre

prečo myslíš, že chazarské slova nezostali? Možno aj tie, čo označuješ ako "maďarské" sú vlastne chazarské. A kto pozná naozaj dobre jidisch? Každý, kto sa ho dnes, ale aj dlhé generácia predtým) učil, reaguje samozrejme na tie "nemecké" slová (pretože ich už pravdepodobne pozná) a zabúda na nejaké čudné exotické slová. Tak to išlo generácia.
Kto dnes pozná dobre jidiš? Hlavne niektorí samotní Židia - a tí nebudú hladať a dokazovať, čo je v ňom turkické. Koestler bol zrejme skôr výnimka. Moderní politickí izraelskí židia, aby sa definovali ako etnicki čistí, zahodili aj jidiš, celkom ho odvrhli - pretože dokazoval to, ako sa kedysi výrazne asimilovali. Vytvárajú svoj umelý národ umelými štátnymi zásahmi. Ivrit ? Umelo vytvorená reč. Ako by to mohli byť turkoidi , keď hovoria jazykom jasne s hebrejskými koreňmi, v ktorom nie je asi žiadne turkické slovo, že?
Presne tak, čistia si kultúru, aspoň jazykovo (to je najľahšie).
Len tie gény, tie gény - a aj to zabíjanie aj v kultúre - to si nevyčistili a nečistia.
To ich prezrádza.

Kapitola 7. odsek 3
Further evidence against the supposedly Franco-Rhenish origin of Eastern Jewry is provided by the structure of
Yiddish, the popular language of the Jewish masses, spoken by millions before the holocaust, and still surviving
among traditionalist minorities in the Soviet Union and the United States.
Yiddish is a curious amalgam of Hebrew, mediaeval German, Slavonic and other elements, written in Hebrew
characters. Now that it is dying out, it has become a subject of much academic research in the United States and Israel,
but until well into the twentieth century it was considered by Western linguists as merely an odd jargon, hardly worth
serious study. As H. Smith remarked: “Little attention has been paid to Yiddish by scholars. Apart from a few articles
in periodicals, the first really scientific study of the language was Mieses’s Historical Grammar published in 1924. It
is significant that the latest edition of the standard historical grammar of German, which treats German from the point
of view of its dialects, dismisses Yiddish in twelve lines.”6
At first glance the prevalence of German loanwords in Yiddish seems to contradict our main thesis on the origins of
Eastern Jewry; we shall see presently that the opposite is true, but the argument involves several steps. The first is to
inquire what particular kind of regional German dialect went into the Yiddish vocabulary. Nobody before Mieses seems
to have paid serious attention to this question; it is to his lasting merit to have done so, and to have come up with a
conclusive answer. Based on the study of the vocabulary, phonetics and syntax of Yiddish as compared with the main
German dialects in the Middle Ages, he concludes:
No linguistic components derived from the parts of Germany bordering on France are found in the Yiddish
language. Not a single word from the entire list of specifically Moselle-Franconian origin compiled by J. A.
Ballas (Beiträge zur Kunntnis der Trierischen Volkssprache, 1903, 28ff.) has found its way into the
Yiddish vocabulary. Even the more central regions of Western Germany, around Frankfurt, have not
contributed to the Yiddish language....7
Insofar as the origins of Yiddish are concerned, Western Germany
can be written off....8

Could it be that the generally accepted view, according to which the German Jews
once upon a time immigrated from France across the Rhine, is misconceived? The history of the German
Jews, of Ashkenazi† Jewry, must be revised. The errors of history are often rectified by linguistic research.

The conventional view of the erstwhile immigration of Ashkenazi Jews from France belongs to the category of historic errors which are awaiting correction.9
He then quotes, among other examples of historic fallacies, the case of the Gypsies, who were regarded as an offshoot from Egypt, “until linguistics showed that they come from India”.10

Having disposed of the alleged Western origin of the Germanic element in Yiddish, Mieses went on to show that the dominant influence in it are the so-called “East-Middle German” dialects which were spoken in the Alpine regions of Austria and Bavaria roughly up to the fifteenth century. In other words, the German component which went into the hybrid Jewish language originated in the eastern regions of Germany, adjacent to the Slavonic belt of Eastern Europe.
Thus the evidence from linguistics supports the historical record in refuting the misconception of the Franco-Rhenish origins of Eastern Jewry.

But this negative evidence does not answer the question how an East-Middle German dialect combined with Hebrew and Slavonic elements became the common language of that Eastern Jewry, the majority of which we assume to have been of Khazar origin.

In attempting to answer this question, several factors have to be taken into consideration. First, the evolution of Yiddish was a long and complex process, which presumably started in the fifteenth century or even earlier; yet it remained for a long time a spoken language, a kind of lingua franca, and appears in print only in the nineteenth century. Before that, it had no established grammar, and “it was left to the individual to introduce foreign words as he desires. There is no established form of pronunciation or spelling.... The chaos in spelling may be illustrated by the rules laid down by the Jüdische Volks-Bibliothek:
(1) Write as you speak,
(2) write so that both Polish and Lithuanian Jews may understand you, and
(3) spell differently words of the same sound which have a different signification.”11

Thus Yiddish grew, through the centuries, by a kind of untrammelled proliferation, avidly absorbing from its social
environments such words, phrases, idiomatic expressions as best served its purpose as a lingua franca. But the
culturally and socially dominant element in the environment of mediaeval Poland were the Germans. They alone,
among the immigrant populations, were economically and intellectually more influential than the Jews. We have seen
that from the early days of the Piast dynasty, and particularly under Casimir the Great, everything was done to attract
immigrants to colonize the land and build “modern” cities. Casimir was said to have “found a country of wood and left
a country of stone”. But these new cities of stone, such as Krakau (Cracow) or Lemberg (Lwow) were built and ruled by
German immigrants, living under the so-called Magdeburg law, i.e., enjoying a high degree of municipal self
government. Altogether not less than four million Germans are said to have immigrated into Poland,12 providing it
with an urban middleclass that it had not possessed before. As Poliak has put it, comparing the German to the Khazar
immigration into Poland: “the rulers of the country imported these masses of much-needed enterprising foreigners, and
facilitated their settling down according to the way of life they had been used to in their countries of origin: the German
town and the Jewish shtetl”. (However, this tidy separation became blurred when later Jewish arrivals from the West
also settled in the towns and formed urban ghettoes.)
Not only the educated bourgeoisie, but the clergy too, was predominantly German— a natural consequence of Poland
opting for Roman Catholicism and turning toward Western civilization, just as the Russian clergy after Vladimir’s
conversion to Greek orthodoxy was predominantly Byzantine. Secular culture followed along the same lines, in the
footsteps of the older Western neighbour. The first Polish university was founded in 1364 in Cracow, then a
predominantly German city.*
As Kutschera, the Austrian, has put it, rather smugly:
The German colonists were at first regarded by the people with suspicion and distrust; yet they succeeded in
gaining an increasingly firm foothold, and even in introducing the German educational system. The Poles
learnt to appreciate the advantages of the higher culture introduced by the Germans and to imitate their
foreign ways. The Polish aristocracy, too, grew fond of German customs and found beauty and pleasure in
whatever came from Germany.13
Not exactly modest, but essentially true. One remembers the high esteem for German Kultur among nineteenth-century
Russian intellectuals.
It is easy to see why Khazar immigrants pouring into mediaeval Poland had to learn German if they wanted to get on.
Those who had close dealings with the native populace no doubt also had to learn some pidgin Polish (or Lithuanian,
or Ukrainian or Slovene); German, however, was a prime necessity in any contact with the towns. But there was also
the synagogue and the study of the Hebrew thorah. One can visualize a shtetl craftsman, a cobbler perhaps, or a timber
merchant, speaking broken German to his clients, broken Polish to the serfs on the estate next door; and at home
mixing the most expressive bits of both with Hebrew into a kind of intimate private language. How this hotchpotch
became communalized and standardized to the extent to which it did, is any linguist’s guess; but at least one can
discern some further factors which facilitated the process.
Among the later immigrants to Poland there were also, as we have seen, a certain number of “real” Jews from the
Alpine countries, Bohemia and eastern Germany. Even if their number was relatively small, these German-speaking
Jews were superior in culture and learning to the Khazars, just as the German Gentiles were culturally superior to the
Poles. And just as the Catholic clergy was German, so the Jewish rabbis from the West were a powerful factor in the
Germanization of the Khazars, whose Judaism was fervent but primitive. To quote Poliak again:
Those German Jews who reached the kingdom of Poland-Lithuania had an enormous influence on their
brethren from the east. The reason why the [Khazar] Jews were so strongly attracted to them was that they
admired their religious learning and their efficiency in doing business with the predominantly German
cities.... The language spoken at the Heder, the school for religious teaching, and at the house of the Ghevir
[notable, rich man] would influence the language of the whole community.14
A rabbinical tract from seventeenth-century Poland contains the pious wish: “May God will that the country be filled
with wisdom and that all Jews speak German.”15