Here is a centuries-old Armenian riddle by Nerses Shnorhali.

No feathers and no wings it has,
Swifter than a bird it flies,
From land to land it tours and turns,
With companions it returns.

When in the second half of the last century Isaac Bashevich Singer was awarded a Noble Prize for Literature, he raised an interesting question: “People ask me often, ‘Why do you write in a dying language?’” And he tried to explain: “There is a quiet humor in Yiddish and a gratitude for every day of life… e