Жил набожный старый еврей,
Как могут жить бедные в городе.
Бог дал ему кучу детей,
Ермолку и рыжую бороду.
Он должен был думать о том,
Не только питаться чтоб крохами,
Чтоб счастьем наполнился дом,
А счастьем была его Рохеле.


There once was a pious old Yid
Who lived in a Yidishe shtelele
The Lord gave him piles of kids,
A beard and a cap on his kepele
"Oy how can I feed them, oy oy?"
He worried and chewed on his knuckele,
But his house it was bursting with joy
And the joy of his house was his Rokhele.
Yes his daughter was blooming like Spring,
As red as the nose on the rebenyu,
But Rebbe forgot just one thing:
That joy doesn't fall down from heavenyu.
Oy oy oy

Old Moyshe concocted a plan,
For he knew he was getting no healthier:
His daughter should marry a man
Like Rothschild, but possibly wealthier.
But for Rokhele money don't count.
The Rothschildish match was irrelevant.
She was printing up notes underground,
Unbeknownst to her father's intelligence.
And her eyes were the color of rain,
And her mind was as high as a steepele
And her heart it did cry for the pain
That was felt by the suffering peopele.
Oy oy oy
And the thoughts were a bubbling brew
And the wind was a curious murmur
And is it the fault of the Jew,
If some cop is suspiciously murdered?
But it brought him such sorrow and pain
When the gendarmes did march in and carry
His Rokhl to prison in chains
For being re-vol-ution-ary.
And there sneaked up an end to the joy
And the days became so dark and gloomy
And the father was crying "oy oy!"
And a cry came from all Judentumy
Oy oy oy

Burning and storming with rage
The people went marching with banners
For an end to the old Russian age
Of the tsars and imperial manners,
And after Siberian years
Our Rokhl is coming back joyfully
But her Rebbe is no longer here
And no more do the Jews cry so oyfully
And again she is blooming like Spring
And wearing a commissar's buckele
And rides through the town like a king
As our comrade Rakhilya, not Rokhele!
Oy oy oy


И снова цветет как весна,
И заново Рохеле в силе.
Теперь в Могилёве она
Любимый товарищ Рахиля!...