Dinezon’s Obituary in Dos naye lebn

Dos naye lebn

(The New Life)

(Yiddish original at The National Library of Israel)
August 31, 1919, p. 1
Bialystok, Poland
Translated from the Yiddish by
Mindy Liberman
Jacob Dinezon has Died

(Special to Naye Lebn.)

The well-known Yiddish writer Jacob Dinezon passed away Friday evening at six o’clock. The funeral will take place today, Sunday, at one o’clock in the afternoon. A special committee is occupied with the funeral.

Born in Nay Zhager in 1858, Jacob Dinezon began his literary career in Hebrew, then switched to Yiddish “in order to educate the masses,” and to his last day, he remained one of the most important pillars in the storehouses of Yiddish. His first novels, The Dark Young Man and Even Negef, had an enormous following among the young and helped eliminate the influence of banal “shomerism.” In his other literary works, especially in Yosele, Dinezon showed himself to be a deep lyricist and psychologist, and occupied a prominent place among the classic Yiddish writers. He was the most beloved Yiddish writer in Warsaw.

Dos naye lebn (The New Life)

September 1, 1919, p. 2
Bialystok, Poland
Translated from the Yiddish by
Mindy Liberman
Jacob Dinezon May his Memory be a Blessing

By P. Kaplan

Dinezon the writer has ruled our hearts for over 40 years. Together with the leaders of our young literature, Mendele, Peretz, Sholem Aleichem, and others, he created the folksy Jewish characters that are buried so deeply in our memory. Together with them, he developed the spiritual nourishment of the Haskalah. In his youth, he experienced the inner revolution that placed him in the ranks of the people as he laid brick upon brick upon the new building of Yiddish folk-literature to finally stand on the summit of the great literary school created in the last few years as a leader and guide, as a friend and comforter, as a supporter and helper—as a central figure!

But Dinezon the human being swallowed up Dinezon the writer. Whoever looked into his good, smiling eyes, whoever saw his pleasant face, whoever was alert to his kind love and self-sacrificing devotion to the abandoned Jewish child, his motherly goodwill towards numerous lonely Jewish writers and literati, his fatherly and teacher-like concern for young writers who had lost their way, his constant intercession and involvement in all of the best Yiddish literary endeavors—that person would have to feel that Dinezon was the sole solid pillar for our best cultural creations; that Dinezon was the greatest and best person in the entire Yiddish literary family.

And he was also the dearest. With whatever ideas and fantasies a young writer wandered around, when he stepped over the threshold of Dinezon’s small apartment, only one feeling took hold of him—that here dwelled unbounded love and goodness.

People held Peretz in esteem, feared Mendele, made merry with Sholem Aleichem, and loved Dinezon.

Where are you, great writer!

Where are you, dear good man!

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