“Is there a Yiddish word for Harry Potter?” Geraldine Satre Buisson, 28, asks Alex Grafen.

It’s among some surprisingly contemporary questions the tutors at Ot Azoy, the Jewish Music Institute’s annual week-long Yiddish language and music programme, have become accustomed to.

At the outset, many of the level one students didn’t know the Yiddish alphabet. By day four, they were conversing in full sentences about their likes and interests — from boy wizards to websites.

Now based at Soas in central London, Ot Azoy has existed in some form for nearly two decades, offering Yiddish lessons to everyone from absolute beginners to advanced students. This year, said faculty head Dr Helen Beer, “we’ve got more than we’ve ever had” — so many that additional tutors were hired at the last minute.

Dr Beer has noticed a spike in the number of younger students such as Ms Satre Buisson.

Beginner David Walmsley, 25, attributed the interest among his age group partly to the “element of mystery” Yiddish offers.

“I think in the 20th century there was this big battle of ‘which is going to be the Jewish language of the future’?. Hebrew won, but [by] so much that the pendulum swung too far one way.”

He sees language as a way to “reclaim a culture”, something an older classmate finds exciting.

She considers the study of Yiddish, especially by young people, as an act of both “revival” and “preservation”.

Mr Walmsley has been inspired to continue his studies, “maybe online”, one of the methods tutor Sonia Pinkusowitz-Dratwa recommends to students.

The vivacious Belgium-based Australian is clearly one of the course’s most popular teachers, one student referring to her loyal following as “groupies”.

In addition to teaching intensive courses across Europe, Ms Pinkusowitz-Dratwa provides Yiddish lessons via Skype to students as far afield as Patagonia.

It’s not just the learning methods that are evolving. The language is, too.

“Yiddish is quite cutting-edge,” said beginners’ tutor Dr Lily Kahn. “Often I think people associate Yiddish with the past, and not having words for modern life and technology.” In such cases, they were usually pleasantly surprised.

“This year is exciting because we have a student who is non-binary, so we use some vocabulary [like the] Yiddish non-binary pronoun.”

Dr Kahn said the internet had helped the language stay up to date.

“Even though the Yiddish-speaking community is so geographically dispersed, there’s a lot of online activity. Things spread quite quickly.” When a word gets adopted, “people want to know”.

She was enthused by the diversity of the Ot Atzoy participants, which this year included students and faculty from Germany, Finland, Spain, Lithuania, Russia, Belgium, the United States and France.

They come to London because “you can’t go to Yiddishland”.

Parisian Cecile Goujet, 75, and her husband Daniel were back for a second year, this time as part of a group of 15 who made the trip from France.

“We came to dance and sing and have joy,” Ms Goujet explained.

In addition to classes and music seminars, Ot Atzoy includes an open choir, a communal supper and the opportunity to participate in a theatre project led by Dr Beer, whose opinion differs slightly from Dr Kahn’s on one point.

Namely, “you can go to Yiddishland. But it’s not in the same place each time.”