I was in Lenox this morning, happily browsing Matt Tannenbaum’s The Bookstore (so old-school they don’t have a website, but probably the best literary bookstore in the Berkshires), when I found a new book about the Jewish community in New York a century ago, A Fire in Their Hearts by Tony Michels (you can read part of the introduction and first chapter here in a pdf file). The introduction explained something I hadn’t known about the linguistic world of the immigrants from Russia:

The origin of the Jewish labor movement can be traced to the convergence of two disparate immigrant groups in a single section of lower Manhattan. When large numbers of eastern European Jews started arriving on New York’s Lower East Side, they discovered a thriving socialist labor movement among German (mostly non-Jewish) immigrants, who constituted the majority of the area’s population into the 1880s. A number of Jews, mainly Russian-speaking intellectuals, started learning the German language so they could mix with their neighbors and read their publications. German socialists welcomed the “Russians” and encouraged them to organize Jewish workers into unions and socialist groups of their own. They provided financial assistance, publicity, organizational models, and ideological guidance. With their help, Russian Jews created their labor movement in a German image. They experienced an unusual kind of Americanization, one guided not by native-born elites but by a larger, already established immigrant group. Through socialism, Russian Jews did not become so much Americanized as German-Americanized.

The German socialist influence led to a second interesting twist in the “Americanization” of immigrant Jews, particularly regarding the Yiddish language. To organize Jewish workers, Russian-speaking intellectuals needed to employ Yiddish, the spoken language of nearly all eastern European Jewish immigrants. But many of the intellectuals either did not know Yiddish or had rejected it years earlier as a marker of cultural backwardness. They had to learn or relearn the zhargon, or Jewish vernacular, thousands of miles from Europe’s Yiddish-speaking heartland. This return to Yiddish was initially justified as a short-term concession necessary only until immigrants learned English. Yet the trend toward Yiddish gathered momentum as the number of immigrants increased. Over the next four decades, Russian-speaking intellectuals continued to adopt Yiddish so they could take part in the East Side’s political and cultural activities. Some intellectuals even began to glorify the once-scorned zhargon as the authentic voice of “the folk masses.” They advocated a full-blown cultural renaissance in Yiddish, which they hoped would serve indefinitely as the primary medium of Jewish culture in the United States. Although the movement was controversial, proponents of yidishe kultur helped animate the new socialist culture arising from the Jewish labor movement. From Russian to Yiddish via German: such was the circuitous path of Americanization on New York’s Lower East Side.

Who knew? Well, you maybe, but not me. And may I remark that bookstores have been at least as much of an education to me as schools.

Update (March 2022). The Bookstore now has a website, and a spiffy one too.


  1. I heard a story about friends of my great-grandparents whose original name was Chorny, which means “black” in Russian. Once in the United States, they decided to change their name to a an American name, so they changed their name to Schwartz. Their idea of a real American was a German Jew.

  2. There you go!

  3. I know someone whose grandfather was a Sephardi Jew who moved to England. His last name was D’oro and he thought it sounded too Jewish, so he changed it to Goldman.

  4. My comment is probably non-sequitor, but the above posters made me laugh. I have a Brazilian friend who sends me Jewish jokes in Portuguese (I had one year of college Portuguese and am native-like in SPanish, so I understand). And the jokes, though in Portuguese, are just like ones my New York relatives would tell at family gatherings.

  5. I can echo Bill Poser’s story; despite carrying the last name “Busch”, I don’t have a drop of German blood in me. My Russian great-grandfather had exactly the same idea about passing for German when he got here. The original family name was “Beshunsky” (or something close; I’m not sure about the spelling).

  6. Donna Botten says

    All my GPwere Black Sea Germans. My GF name was Chorny and he married A Kirschenmann. He changed his name to Schwartzman. He said it was easier to get out of Russia if you were German. on the Ellis Island site I found my GF and his parents and GP. Under their name was the word Hebrew. I can’t find my GGF anywhere on ancestry.

  7. Thanks for the story and for reviving this thread, so I can learn that The Bookstore now does have a website — I’ll update the post.

  8. Was there such a thing as a Jewish intellectual from Russia who does not speak Yiddish?

  9. Of course, plenty of them. Mandelstam, for instance, not only didn’t speak Yiddish, he said “In my childhood I absolutely never heard Yiddish.”

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