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Clear your throat and learn a new language

Judi VeoukasThere's a popular radio commercial that asks listeners something like this: "Would you rather spend your money to acquire a new language or to acquire more stuff?"

At my age my ability to retain anything I learn is so low, I'd rather acquire more stuff.

However, I already know another language, one ingrained in me as a child: Yiddish.

My bubbe (grandmother), the one from the Old Country, spoke Yiddish to my mother and vice versa, particularly when they didn't want me to understand their exchanges. I wouldn't call it pure Yiddish, just sort of Yid-glish.

Bubbe didn't have much to do. There were no goats to shoo out of our Chicago apartment as there had been in her Eastern European hovel, so she occupied herself by tattling on me. I'd often hear, "Julie is schlecht." (Schlecht, with its guttural cht, means bad.)

Apparently, she had no idea my name was actually Judi. I ultimately understood, though, that whatever name she called me, I should run for cover if schlecht ended her sentence. Nine times out of ten, a spanking would follow schlecht. It wasn't a great word for me.

However, I heard many great Yiddish words as a youngster.

One of my favorites is machatunim, pronounced mah-chah-too-neem. (The "chah" is enunciated like a cat hacking up a fur ball.) Machatunim are your in-laws' extended family.

Here's why I like the word. For example, a holiday is approaching and of course you have to invite your machatunim because how could you not? Perhaps some of them are insufferable bores. Instead of making up excuses for why they are present, all you need explain to your other company is that these people are machatunim. Your other company - well, those who know what the word machatunim means - will shake their heads in sad agreement.

Of course, most machatunim are perfectly lovely people, who, thanks to several of our own children, are now our ex-machatunim.

Machatunim should not be confused with mishpucha (mish-paw-cha). Note: the cat-fur-ball-hacked-up "cha" is back again. Mishpucha means your own extended family. Once upon a time mishpucha also meant those people who took care of all your needs. Now we have Amazon.

One of my not-so-favorite words, but still a great term, is shmutz (schmootz). Schmutz means not-serious dirt, but in my family it was often bandied about in this manner. Bubbe would announce to me, "You have schmutz on your punim (face), Julie."

A specific ritual followed that statement. Bubbe would stick her index finger in her mouth, take the wet digit out, and use it to rub the shmutz off my face. This was especially embarrassing when she rose from her seat, wet her finger, and rubbed my face as I walked down the aisle into my first holy matrimony.

My final great Yiddish word is ongepotchket (oon-ga-potch-kit). It's Yiddish for, among other things, a hodgepodge of ugly items you don't need, or in today's vernacular, a "hot mess." My husband, who is not Jewish, loves this word more than any other I've taught him. Every time we hear the commercial that asks if we need to learn a new language or acquire more stuff, I shout, "More stuff!"

He just grins at me with an air of satisfaction, clears his throat and says, "Our house is already ongepotchket."

I'm not teaching him any more words.

- Judi Veoukas

Judi Veoukas started writing at age nine, when she penned greeting cards and sold a few for a nickel at her grandpa's shiva, much to the consternation of her mother. Sadly, counting inflation, she is not earning much more as a writer now. Still her love of writing is equaled only by her love of chocolate. When she isn't downing chocolate, she writes a humor column for two Chicago suburban newspapers, Lake County Suburban Life and Barrington Life, and submits to Funny Times (and has actually appeared in it twice). Much to her delight, she won an Illinois Press Association prize three times. She was also a writing tutor for seven years at a community college with a varied curriculum. However, she couldn't resist the desire to have students add humor to their papers. Assuring a student in "Intro to Surgical Technology" that humor would spice up his paper proved to be her undoing. Now she mostly hides in her office at home.

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