‘Keyn Aynhoreh’: Old Words for New Fears
“Keyn Aynhoreh”: Old Words for New Fears
Recently, I began noticing something intriguing in a number of Israeli and Jewish publications. Alongside discussions of trauma, resilience, war, uncertainty, and emotional exhaustion, a quieter parallel theme seemed to be emerging: a renewed fascination with old Jewish protective expressions, rituals, and ideas surrounding the “evil eye,” or ayin hara.
A thoughtful Times of Israel essay on the deeper psychological and spiritual meaning of the evil eye argued that these concepts may reflect far more than primitive superstition. Another Times of Israel article examining contemporary interest in evil-eye practices explored how such beliefs continue to resonate in modern Jewish life. Similar discussions have surfaced elsewhere in Jewish media, including reflections on whether social media itself has become a modern form of ayin hara — a culture of relentless exposure, envy, scrutiny, and emotional vulnerability.
As someone who does not live in Israel, I would not have independently assumed such a cultural trend. Yet once I began noticing these discussions repeatedly, something psychologically important became apparent.
Under prolonged uncertainty, societies often begin rediscovering ancient emotional survival mechanisms.
And Jews, perhaps more than most peoples, have had centuries to perfect them.
Jews Learned Long Ago Not to Speak Too Confidently
For generations of Eastern European Jews, language itself became a form of emotional protection.
If someone praised a child, the compliment was often followed immediately by:
“Keyn aynhoreh” — literally “no evil eye,” a verbal shield meant to deflect unwanted attention from anything precious.
If someone mentioned unusually good health or good fortune:
“Tfu tfu tfu” — the symbolic spitting sound (the word itself mimics the gesture) used to ward off bad luck.
And if someone voiced a frightening possibility, the response came almost reflexively:
“Khalile” — “God forbid.”
To outsiders, these expressions often appeared quaint, irrational, or superstitious.
But growing up, I learned that they carried something far deeper.
Born in Hungary to Holocaust survivors, later escaping through Austria and eventually living in Antwerp while waiting in the displaced persons world for........
