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Most of the songs on this blog are punishingly obscure and/or extinct in our modern world, but A brivele der mamen by Solomon Smulewitz lives on.

I certainly don't need to record A brivele der mamen, there are scores of recordings easily available (like Solomon Smulewitz himself, Harry Rabinowitz, Jacob Lerman, Marta Brumer).


The song was later made into an operetta and even, in 1938, a Joseph Green movie starring Lucy and Misha Gehrman and Max Bozyk, in which Smulewitz received no credit at all.


Neil W. Levin at the Milken Archive writes great blurbs and here's some of what he had to say (go here to read the rest, it's worth it):

A brivele der mamen (A Little Letter to Mama) is one of the longest-running and schmaltziest tissue-soaking tearjerkers in the aggregate repertoire of sentimental American Yiddish popular song. It was written and first published in 1907, at a time when its lyrics resonated with considerable boom in the hearts of many immigrants who had left parents behind in Europe, knowing that they would probably never see them again and that letters would be their only form of communication.

First recorded by its composer-lyricist, the ballad’s popularity was instantaneous... [it] reverberated for decades from music halls, variety shows, and subsequent recordings in many arrangements. It touched off a virtual category of mother-related and letter-based songs, as well as some thinly veiled imitations. ... Smulewitz reputedly sold his rights to the song for twenty-five dollars—before it achieved its immense popularity and long before its use on the stage or in a film.

Have a good look at this 1907 sheet music ("sung with great success by Mrs. Sarah Kanner"). On the cover (above) and the first page, it says "A brivele der mame," but in the chorus it says "A brivele der mamen," which is correct.

I know I harp on the casual and inconsistent spelling on Yiddish song sheets and published sheet music, but compare what's printed on the American Penny Song broadside (left) to the very German (daytshmerish) transcription printed on the sheet music itself (right); neither is standard YIVO transliteration; see how hard it would be to google ANY of this. The first page of the songsheet peddled on the streets of the Lower East Side is below, also my translation is below.

Mayn kind mayn treyst du forst avek Ze, zay a zun a guter Dikh bet mit trern un mit shrek dayn traye libe muter Du forst mayn kind, mayn eyntsik kind, ariber vayte yamen Okh! Kum ahin nor frish, gezunt, un nit farges dayn mamen. A for gezunt un kum mit glik Ze yede vokh a brivl shik Dayn mames hartz mayn kind derkvik A brivele der mamen zolstu nit farzamen Shrayb geshvind libes kind, shenk ir di nekhome Di mame vet dayn brivele lezn Un zi vert genezn Heylst ir shmerts, ir biter herts, Erkvikst ir di neshome Dos akhte yor bin ikh aleyn, mayn kind iz vayt farshvumen Zayn kinderish harts iz hart vi a shteyn keyn eyntsikn brif bakumen. Vi ken mayn kind nokh hobn mut vi geyt im eyn dos lebn? Es muz im geyn dort zeyer git, vayl er keyn nakhrikhe gebn Kh'ho im geshikt a hundert brif, un er hot nokh keyn shum bagrif az mayne vundn zenen tif. In shtot Niuyork a raykhe hoyz mit hertser on gefile Dort voynt ir kind er lebt gor groys a gliklekhe familye A sheyne froy un kinder tsvey mit likhtike geshtaltn Un vi er zist un kvelt fun zey, hot er eyn brif derhaltn Dayn muter toyt, es iz geshen, Un lebn hostu ir farzen Dos iz ir letster vunsh geven: A kadishl der mamen zolstu nit farzamen Zog geshvind, libes kind, shenk ir di nekhome Di mame vet ir kadishl hern in ir keyver gern Heylst ir shmerts ir biter herts Derkvikst ir di neshome

Mein kind mein treist, du forst avek, seh sei a suhn a guhter Dich beht mit trehren un mit schreck dein treie liebe muter Du forst mein kind, mein einzig kind ariber veite Jahmen ach kum ahin nor frisch gesind un nit farges dein mamen Oi for gesund, un kum mit glik seh jeide voch a brivel schick Dein mames hertz mein kind derkvik A brivele der mamen, oi solstu nit fersamen jo schreib geschwind liebes kind Scheink ihr die nechome Die mame vet dein brivele lehsen Un sie vert genesen Heilst ihr schmerz ihr bitter herz, erkviket ihr die neschome Das achte yahr, ich bin alein, mein kind is veit ferschwumen Sein kindersch hertz is hart vie schtein kein einzig brief bakumen vie ken mein kind, gor huben muht vie geht ihm ein das leben es mus ihm gehn dort seher gut veil er kein nachricht geben 'chob ihm geschickt a hunderd brief, un er hot noch kein schum begrif As meine schmerzen senen tief. In schtat New York a reiche hous, mit hertz er ohngefiele Dort wohnt ihr kind er lehbt gur grousz a glickliche famile a schöne frau un kinder zwei, mit lichtige geschtalten un wie er sitzt un kvelt for sei hot er ein brief derhalten Dein mutter toit, es ist geschein, in lebben host du ihr fersein Das is ihr letster wuntch gevein A kadishel der mamen, oi solstu nit fersamen sug geschwind liebes kind Scheink ihr die nechome Die mame vet ihr kadishel ehren in ihr kehver gehren Heilst ihr schmerz ihr bitter herz, erkviket ihr die neschome

(Click for a larger view of the songsheet.)

My child, my consolation, you travel away.
See, be a good son.
Your faithful, dear mother begs you with tears and terror
You travel, my only child, across the broad ocean
Oh, get there fresh and healthy and don't forget your mother.
Travel healthy and arrive happily
Send a letter every day, my child,
To delight your mothers heart

Don't forget to send a little letter to mother
Write quickly, dear child, give her this consolation
Your mother will read your letter and be heartened.
Heal her aching, her bitter heart,
Refresh her soul

I've been alone for eight years, my child has sailed far away
His childish heart is hard as a stone,
I haven't gotten one letter.
How can my child still have strength? How is his life going?
He must be doing very well, because he hasn't sent any notification
I sent him a hundred letters, and he still hasn't got any idea that my wounds are deep

In New York city, a rich house with pitiless hearts
That's where her child lives very well, a happy family,
A beautiful wife and two children with bright faces
And while he sits and beams at them, he receives a letter
Your mother is dead, it happened, in life you neglected her.
This was her last wish:

Don't forget to say kaddish for your mother
Say it quickly, dear child, give her this consolation
Your mother will hear her kaddish in her grave
Heal her aching, her bitter heart,
Refresh her soul

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For sheet music and/or performances contact me: jane@mappamundi.com

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Labels: history, immigration, love, morality, mother, nostalgia, travails