Diluting the Broigus

 I learned a lot of Yiddish words from my parents, particularly my Dad, who was fluent in that language of his parents. But one term that was new to me was broigus -- that one Wifey taught me.

Like most Yiddish words, it's stronger and more picturesque than its English meaning, which is, essentially, a feud. But Broigus entails much more. It specifically refers to a family feud, but one so deep and often long lasting.

Wifey grew up hearing it. She might ask why they her family hadn't seen a particular cousin, or uncle, and was told "Oh no -- we have broigus with them." It became a normal thing, like "Oh -- we can't see your Aunt Sally since she has an infectious disease." But the disease often lasted years.

Cinematically, the great Barry Levinson portrayed broigus in his autobiographical "Avalon," where a patriarchal uncle would each year have the honor of slicing the turkey at the family Thanksgiving dinner. One year, the kids were restless, and Uncle Louie was late, and they went ahead without him. When he arrived, he asked in horror "You cut the toikey without ME?" It was the height of disrespect, and caused a family rift that lasted decades.

Well -- a few weeks ago I nearly waded into treacherous broigus waters. I meant well -- sending an email to a dear friend of Wifey's suggesting that maybe she and Wifey exercise more together -- particularly when they have marathon phone conversations. Sometimes I leave on a several hour walk, and Wifey is on the phone, and I return, and she is in exactly the same chair. So -- why not spend that time moving, and getting healthier?

Bad move. My suggestion was apparently read as "You're a big, fat pig, and need to get off your ass to lose weight." Broigus, like a dark cloud that would have hung overhead for at least months, loomed.

So I immediately wrote an apologetic email -- accepting responsibility for stepping out of line - and begging forgiveness. I thought I had reached a denouement -- to use the fine French term for resolution. Not so fast.

Turns out my ill fated email was even worse -- it was received when the friend was on her way to a rare mother/daughter weekend, and my email cast a pall over the first day of that sacred meeting.

So -- to hopefully dilute the broigus, which never really totally goes away, in the manner toothpaste squeezed from a container can never be put back in, I wrote a SUPPLEMENTAL apology, in which I attempted with some gymnastics of grammar and diction to apologize for the timing of an email I never should have written in the first place, and promising that if I ever write such an inappropriate email again, which I won't, I will make sure to NEVER NOT WRITE the email I won't write at a particularly bad time. I hoped the permutation of my broigus dilution passed a logic test.

Well -- supplemental apology, as well as original apology, were both accepted. I have learned to keep my big mouth shut when it comes to ANY form of unsolicited advice. Matter of fact, I'll keep my big mouth shut when it comes to any solicited advice.

Ah -- my people -- the Ashkenazim. Leave it to us to come up with a word like broigus. My son in law's family is Sephardic. I don't hear tales of long lived feuds in their family. I'm sure they exist, but I would bet with fewer twists and turns. I have to check Ladino and see if they have any similar terms for family feuds.

I've never had a difficult time apologizing. Some people do. If I step on your foot, I immediately say "So sorry I stepped on your foot." Wifey has a tougher time. She'll say "Your foot was where it shouldn't have been." I say "Yes, but you STEPPED on it." Eventually, and hopefully without a mini broigus, she comes around to saying sorry.

Broigus. A great word. But I prefer kreplach. That's a better word, and most delicious.