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letra de berlin 1990 - sing, my fiddle, pt. ii - brave old world

kh’ob geshpilt do in daytshland shoyn eftere mol
hamavdil, hamavdil beyn koydesh lekhol
nor ikh shver bay mayn muze, to hert vos ikh zing
az keyn mol iz mir geven laykht do, un gring
ikh ze aykh bay nakht in farreykherte knaypyes
reydndik yungitshke reyd funem haynt
kh’halt shtark fun mayn yikhes, nor kh’bin aykh mekane
ir, hayntike kinder fun nekhtikn faynt
vayl aykh iz di tsukunft, eyn land un eyn shprakh
bes mir haltn shtumerhayt do…

… dem nekhtns a viderkol tomid faran
zikhroyne levrokhe: bay itlekhn shpan
nor nokh alts, oy, farbindn zikh, undzere tsvey felker
a farbotene libe, fun reshoim geshtert
tsi libe, tsi sine, zi hersht vi bashert
farsholtn fun mentsh un fun boyre

to zing, mayn fidele, shpil, mayn fidele
vi frier hot nit geshilt keyner
un shpil mir tsu a sheyn goles-lidl
mit a benkshaft a reyner

kh’ob shtendik in zinen di eygene yikhes
afile baym valgern in loytern atsind
vayl ven nisht di milkhomes, pogromen, retsikhes
volt ikh oykhet gevezn eyropes a kind
s’iz shoyn undzer a velt, do fargangen in flamen
opgezundert di tsvaygn fun yidishn boym
nor nokh a mol boyt men uf moyern, tsamen
faryogn di, nebekh, vos zukhn a heym
af s’nay traybt ir yene avek fun di tirn
me yogt zay shoyn vider durkh nekht fun krishtal
oy, vos far a khutspe, azoy zikh tsu firn
mir zoln in aykh den tsuzetsn di gal?

ir frest uf shoyn vider di eygene kinder
far merder ir makht zay, far blutike hint
un zayere retsikhes kukt ir on vi blinde
biz gants eyrope iz vey un iz vind

to zing, mayn fidele, shpil, mayn fidele
vi frier hot nit geshilt keyner
un shpil mir tsu a sheyn goles-lidl
mit a benkshaft a reyner

(english translation)

i’ve played here in germany many’s the time
he who divides the sacred from the worldly
but i swear by my muse, mark well what i sing
that not once has it been easy to be here
i see you at night in smoky hangouts
talking youthful talk of today
i’m proud of my heritage, yet i envy you
today’s children of yesterday’s enemy
because yours is the future, one land and one language
while we are left here, speechless…

… yesterday’s echo forever at hand
of blessed memory at every turn
yet something still draws together, our two peoples;
a forbidden love, disrupted by evildoers
be it love or hate, it is as if fated
cursed by human beings and the creator

so sing, my fiddle, play, my fiddle
like no one who has played before
and play me a sweet diaspora song
with a longing that’s pure

my own heritage is ever on my mind
even as i traverse the bright present
because if not for the wars, pogroms, slaughter
i too would have been europe’s progeny
our world has already gone done in flames here
branches severed from the jewish tree
yet again walls and fences are being built
and you persecute those poor souls seeking a home
you drive them anew from your gates
hunting them through nights of broken gl-ss
what chutzpa you have to act like that —
are we supposed to forgive you?

again you devour your own children
turning them into murderers, bloodthirsty dogs
then turning a blind eye to their crimes
until all of europe has been laid waste. .

so sing, my fiddle, play, my fiddle
like no one who has played before
and play me a sweet diaspora song
with a longing that’s pure

- brave old world

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