Jiří Mordechai Langer

[Georgo Mordechai Langer] (19 March 1894 – 12 March 1943 / Czech Republic)

Jiří Mordechai Langer
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Jiří (Georgo) Mordechai Langer was a Hebrew poet, scholar and essayist, journalist and teacher.

Early Life

Langer had been born to the assimilated Jewish family and attended Czech schools. However, already in his early years he felt attracted to Judaism and studied Talmud and Kaballah with his friend from school: Alfred Fuchs. At the age of 19 he decided to leave his family home and went alone to Belz to join the hasidic court of Yisakhar Dov Rokeaḥ. Later this journey and his experience in the hassidic shtetl he had described in the book 9 gates to hasidic misteries (cz. "Devět bran"). At the outbreak of World War I he was drafted to the Austro-Hungarian ... more »

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Comments about Jiří Mordechai Langer

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  • Eben Shapiro (11/24/2007 12:34:00 PM)

    'eccentric rabbis'? That is a very inappropriate and condescending thing to say. Langer would, I am sure, be the first to disagree with your description. Belz was a selfed contained 'empire' of the soul, as any reader of 'Nine Gates' can clearly see. Eccentricity is a subjective term, only able to be viewed from without. If one comes upon a group of people standing in a circle with their backs toward the outsider, one may take the view that this group is eccentric, but until one is part of the circle one will never know what the group is doing and seeing. Belz was a part of a world that ceased to exist after the Great War (1914-1918) and the subsequent decimation of Eastern European Judaism. Certainly anyone who promotes the appreciation of poetry should be leery of calling any group 'eccentric' and if this is meant as a some kind of compliment, I think a better word could have been found

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Best Poem of Jiří Mordechai Langer

On The Margins Of A Poem

The poem
that I chose for you
is simple,
as are all my singing poems.

It has the trace of a veil,
a little balsam,
and a taste of the honey
of lies.

There is also
the coming end of summer
when heat scorches the meadow
and the quick waters
of the river
cease to flow.

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Read the full of On The Margins Of A Poem

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