Elise commentary: The Russian word 'toska' and a look at its meaning

Can you think of a word in English that can’t fully be translated into another language?

We know that Inuit people have several different words for “snow” because it is prevalent and each word means a different kind of snow; e.g., wet snow, crystalline powder, a fine driving snow, the beginning of a thaw, etc.

Maybe more surprisingly, Scots have even more words for snow.

When we think about the German word “schadenfreude,” we realize there is no such word in English that captures the meaning of “pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune.” We have to explain that feeling (if or when we have it) to convey the meaning to others. We don’t have just one word that captures the essence.

I recently read about “toska,” a Russian word that is not translatable to other languages because it is inherent in Russian life, humanity and culture.

The word refers to many aspects of – well – unhappiness. It is not depression as we might think of it. It is not “fixable” by taking antidepressant drugs and/or going to therapy. Nor is it ennui or sadness.

Toska includes a deep yearning, an empty void, an anchor weighing one down and a melancholy that pervades all.

From what I understand, many Russians feel as though they have inherited a certain sadness from the trials and living conditions throughout millennia. I read a quote from a woman in St. Petersburg who said, “Toska is imprinted in the Russian DNA.”

There is also a pang of anguish associated with the word and perhaps an additional homesickness for refugees.

Compared to the inherent Buddhist truth of suffering, toska is different because there is not the propensity of looking towards a place of tranquility as there is in Buddhism.

I think of my parents who emigrated from Hungary during the Revolution in 1956. A deep sense of loss and grief accompanied their journey, but it wasn’t toska. My parents left everything and everyone they knew behind. Grief and loss would naturally occur in that situation, not toska.

Some might argue that the German word “weltschmerz” (world pain and a feeling of melancholy and world-weariness) might be similar.

One definition for weltschmerz is: “… the feeling experienced by an individual who believes that reality can never satisfy the expectations of the mind, resulting in a mood of weariness or sadness about life arising from the acute awareness of evil and suffering.”

That still doesn’t quite capture toska either, does it? It doesn’t sound like that phenomenon is in one’s DNA or is unique to being from a specific country.

I’m guessing most of us have felt something like weltschmerz before. We are exhausted and distraught about the political wranglings of our era, perhaps even more than ever, with the wars in the Middle East, Ukraine and other parts of the globe.

We also have extreme divisiveness in our country with which to deal, in addition to our own personal problems. Sometimes it just feels like too much.

However, I don’t think we see this as inherent to who we are as nation. People from other cultures to whom I’ve spoken talk about Americans’ rugged individualism, optimism, fearlessness and freshness.

It certainly doesn’t seem that way if we, as individuals, feel despondent or are going through difficult times, but we do acknowledge depression as a valid illness, which we did not in the past. We need to do more to normalize depression, anxiety and other mental challenges, but we have started to do so.

As an immigrant myself, I don’t fully grasp in one word what it means to be American. Is there a word you can think of that captures an inherent part of our culture as toska does for the Russian people? I’m guessing I’m not alone in wanting to know.

This article originally appeared on Amarillo Globe-News: Elise commentary: A look at the meaning of Russian word 'toska'