Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
Learning Hebrew
At the age of 11, if I remember correctly, I began to attend Hebrew School after public school on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and on Saturday mornings. We carpooled with family friends for the 40-minute drive to Temple Beth Emet, a young, conservative synagogue in Anaheim, CA. To amuse ourselves during the drive, I remember arguing with Alan about whether there was such a thing as a purple car; I never won the argument, but neither did he.
The synagogue was in an old home that had been converted to a simple sanctuary and classrooms. The old wood floors creaked, and the rooms were austere: our classroom had just a long table and folding chairs to sit on. Cantor Model usually taught us: he was an elderly man with thinning gray hair and a mustache, a sweet smile, and spoke with a European accent. We all knew that he adored us. Although I was excited about learning Hebrew, his enthusiasm further spurred me on.
I was fascinated by Hebrew; the letters whispered of mystery to me. I loved the fact that it was written from right to left and was (obviously) read the same way! I loved printing the Hebrew words carefully, trying to imitate the graceful and exotic symbols and words, and adding the dots and lines as vowels under the letters that made them readable to a novice like me. I learned the formal letters; I don’t remember if I learned writing in script during that time. Sometimes Rabbi Tofield would stop in to say hello to our class; I remember him as a quiet, gentle man.
I don’t know how long I studied Hebrew; I assume it was just until the time before my 13th birthday, when I was asked if I wanted to be a Bat Mitzvah: I said no. I couldn’t see a good reason for all the ceremony; my parents didn’t seem to care one way or the other; and I knew my folks had limited funds for this type of occasion. It must have been shortly after that decision that I discontinued learning Hebrew. I don’t remember the specific reasons or discussing it with my parents.
Many years later during my sophomore year at California State College (now University) at Long Beach, I decided I wanted to study abroad. Since I had studied German for several years (so that I could understand my parents speaking Yiddish to each other!) and Germany was in the overseas program, I was about to sign up—and discovered that Israel had been added just the year before—Israel! I had never had a deep connection to Judaism or to Israel, but I was excited about the opportunity to see this country of my heritage. Besides, I already knew a little Hebrew!
I was so excited about going to Israel. I had never been out of the US, and the more I thought about all the historic places I would see, the more eager I became. I didn’t give a whole lot of thought to the fact that they were still fighting in the Sinai, and that bombs were going off in Tel Aviv. I still remember being on a Tel Aviv bus and at the top of the hour, there would be a tone that repeated several times on a bus radio. The bus would become completely silent. I learned quickly to listen for the Hebrew words: “Kol Mitoosaynu Chazroo B’Shalom”: All planes returned safely.
Almost as soon as I arrived at Tel Aviv University that summer, my Hebrew training began in a language intensive called an Ulpan. For weeks, all morning, we would be immersed in Hebrew. I felt like my Hebrew lessons from eight years before had disappeared into a black hole. But I overcame my panic and after a couple of weeks I realized that one day I finally understood the teacher! She was delightful: patient, cute with freckles on her nose, and very pregnant. I was relieved that she didn’t give birth until after the class was over.
Since I was rooming with mostly Americans in the Tel Aviv University dormitory, I was grateful to make a dear Israeli friend, Ilana Shmueli. My memory of her after more than 40 years is still sharp: short, straight, brown hair pushed behind her ears; a soft but ready smile; and a delight in speaking Hebrew with me. Unlike most Israelis, she would speak at the rate of a normal human being, and we would have many conversations. We never talked about complicated things, but I learned how to speak Hebrew with the right intonations (and a terrible accent). For example, if you wanted to say, “Really?” in Hebrew, you would say, “Beh-eMET?” I got used to saying that a lot in Israel. I regret that Ilana and I didn’t stay in touch. I wonder if she became a teacher as she’d planned, and went back to her moshav. I wonder if she’s still with us.
Now I’m on my third round of practice with Hebrew, as I renew my Jewish practice. I am amazed at the vocabulary that has stayed with me all these years; the words will pop up at the most surprising times, even when I’m seeking just the right English word. I do most of my praying in English, but I remember some of the morning prayers from Saturday morning services at the synagogue — 50 years ago. Slowly but surely I am trying to increase my understanding, word by word, prayer by prayer. As my Torah study partner says, G-d understands English, too, but there is something beautiful and mystical about praying in Hebrew. And I feel, too, that it draws me closer to G-d.
Published in Group Writing
Lovely reminiscences.
You were in intensive training in Hebrew and then they housed you with Americans. How couterproductive!
And I’ve never been able to comprehend how you can have a language without vowels–the sound of poetry. That is just so bizarre. (I know, there are squiggles and dashes that make the vowels, but still.) But then there are languages without tense either.
Trust me–the squiggles and dashes make all the difference! Actually, in a simple text, the mind fills in the vowels when there are familiar words. There were limitations housing with Americans, but we did have opportunities to get to know people from other countries. My roommate happened to be from South America–Susie!
@susanquinn – Thank you for a delightful remembrance!
Were you in Israel during the Lebanon War (1980’s?) or after the Yom Kippur War?
Nope. Thankfully I missed the wars. I was there from the summer of 1969 to the summer of 1970. And thanks for the kind words, Post.
One of the reasons I think the left has turned against Israel is the more recent generation did not go to Israel to spend time on a kibbutz. Socialism at work. I knew so many lefties in Britain who spoke so warmly of the time they spent there in the 50s and 60s. But then it seems to have stopped.
An excellent read, thanks for sharing these memories, Susan.
From what I’ve heard, they have toned down some of the socialistic aspects, particularly with childcare. Kids need to be with their parents at least some of the time.
Wow! Consider my comment on the kibbutz toning down to be an understatement. They’ve almost completely changed. If you’re curious, go here.
Very interesting. I’m currently reading about the Co-Operative industrial/agricultural communities of the New Deal, some of which had aspects of that kind of communal arrangement and society. But they were subsidized by the government, and the government could not let go, in part for reasons of fiscal responsibility with tax dollars, and partly because some of the New Deal bureaucrats were control freaks. (Not all of them were.) The government “selected” who was allowed to go into these communities, and in the early 30s some people found them to be a good alternative to their bleak prospects elsewhere. They were no longer so attractive after the economy improved in the mid 1930s. And then Congress reasserted itself against the New Deal planners, and withdrew funding. There were also some communal farms established without government funding in those days, but in those cases the heavy hand of the private founders kept them from being truly self-governing.
One of the early progressive promoters of the concept in America was Elwood Mead, who got some of his ideas from what he had seen in Australia. I presume he didn’t go to Israel to observe kibbutzim because there was no Israel in his day. His ideas involved a lot of compulsion – using government coercion to force people to live happy, communal lives. (This is the same Mead after whom Lake Mead on the Colorado River is named. If we’re going to remove names like Jefferson and Jackson from our public buildings, I vote to remove Elwood Mead’s name from that reservoir.) There were other people who hoped to achieve similar things without heavy handed compulsion, but it never worked out. Yet some people who lived in those communities had fond memories of those days, even though many people tended to chafe under the heavy supervision. Whether they would have had fond memories if the communities had been self-supporting is another question.
Your information is fascinating, too, Reticulator! I didn’t know about the New Deal communities. I don’t know if any of those communities would function well long-term, especially in our country; once the glow of togetherness wears off, preferences and selfishness, in spite of internal governance, can make it difficult. Thanks!
Beautiful, SQ! Thank you!
As a young gentile growing up in a heavily Jewish community, I had an intense, albeit brief, desire to learn Hebrew. Precocious intellectual curiosity? Not really. On the days of Hebrew School, all my friends were attending and there was no one to play with. (This was also an issue in the summer when pretty much everyone but me was at a camp, but that’s another story.)
When I asked about possibly being enrolled, one of my parents–after one of those parental pauses–explained that “we” had Sunday School to “their” Hebrew School. I think I mentioned that I might have more fun than at Sunday School since the kids on the street were attending Hebrew School. That produced an “end of discussion” look, as I recall.
Not entirely satisfied, I asked a friend what Hebrew School was like and he showed me a book full, at least to me, of the unintelligible. “We learn this stuff,” he said. I decided to pass.
For those dying to know what the vowel symbols look like in Hebrew, and what they’re called, you can go here. (There’ll be test later tonight!) ;-)
I entered my real first name in Google Translate. It didn’t give me any vowels at all.
Did you try backtranslating?
Growing up in the Chicago area, the Christian kids watched Saturday morning cartoons on TV. But on Sunday mornings, since the good Christians were in Sunday School, the only kids programming was for the Jewish children. I don’t remember the name of the program, but I do remember they had puppets and lessons on the Hebrew alphabet.
I also remember the opening theme song. It was to one of the main themes from Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, and the words were:
Come open, Come open,
The magic door with me.
Let your imagination
Be for you the key.
(Going from memory here, so may be a little off.)
דָּוִד
Came back as “uncle.”
Dalet vav dalet.
Songwriter, I hear. Pretty good at it too.
Thought it meant “well-beloved,” but whatever. Maybe they had to update the meaning after it was given to you. :P
That’s not your real first name. Is it Percival’s?
Keep reading. You’ll see.
דוד
Here is a “different” version of Lecha Dodi, the song that is sung to greet the Sabbath. You may recognize the tune. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWmcQpzUMHY
Here is just one more, with more of the Israeli flavor, Lecha Dodi:
Wonderful post Susan. I remember Hebrew school when I was studying for my Bar Mitzva. All of the Christian kids went to play after school. I went to Hebrew school…not fun. My teacher, Mr. Greenberg was a tall thin dour man. But I accomplished my Bar Mitzva and unfortunately didn’t feel the desire to continue with religious studies. Although I was traveling throughout Europe and North Africa during the ’69/’70 years as a solo young man, I never went to Israel, with regrets now.
When I was a little tyke, I would go into Dad’s office where he was preparing his sermon, and he would have the Greek and Hebrew texts out. I don’t remember seeing the Hebrew on his desk in later years, but maybe I wasn’t paying attention. What Hebrew he learned was from Walter A. Maier at the St Louis seminary, who was a good scholar of Hebrew and Semitic languages, but I think that was required of all seminary students then. I think I was offered Dad’s Hebrew Old Testament (as we call it) when he died, but I didn’t take it. I did take his photo collection and a lot of other papers that he had saved.
There was a time when I dabbled in modern Hebrew. In the early 2000s our local library made a large collection of Pimsleur courses available for a few years, and I spent some time with the Hebrew one along with Russian, Ojibwe, Spanish, German, French, Japanese, and maybe a few others. At one time I was cycling through lessons in 6 languages on my MP3 player while I went on my bicycle rides. Never became the least bit proficient in any of them, but it was fun to learn a little bit about how each one works. The Pimsleur courses are good only for oral, conversational language. They are very good at what they do, but what they do is limited. And their Hebrew course is abbreviated compared to some of the others, or at least was at the time. I never did trouble myself to even learn the Hebrew alphabet. I did spend quite a few hours watching/listening to a Hebrew radio broadcast from Israel on the internet, but only rarely did the host say so much as a word that I recognized.
I enjoyed the time I spent with Hebrew. This was not always the case with other languages at first. I disliked Russian at first; later on I learned enough of it that I started to enjoy it, and now enjoy watching Russian movies, even when I can’t understand much. I think I started the abbreviated Pimsleur course on Irish, but couldn’t stand one of the presenters, or whatever you call the persons who lead you through them. I never got far enough with Japanese to enjoy it, but I suspect I would have needed to stick with it longer to get to that point. I enjoyed the Hebrew right from the beginning, but could tell that this was going to be complicated and that the Pimsleur course alone was not going to get me very far.
Leonard Cohen is smiling, SQ!
I went to Hebrew school at the age of 25. I had a terrible southern accent went speaking Hebrew, but not English, according to me teacher. I left the program after 6 months because I couldn’t keep up with the class. Although I will always regret not being able to speak Hebrew, it sparked my interest in history and led to my subsequent career as a historian.
Susan, your experience reminds me of something I heard once from the late Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi. I think it was at one of those San Francisco “Holy Man Jams” of the 1970s that the subject of whether to raise one’s children in a particular religion came up.
Reb Zalman insisted that children need a religious education. He may have been thinking of Jewish kids foremost, at a time when much of Jewish education was not very inspiring, and movements like Chabad were just getting started. He explained that everyone goes through periods of questioning and questing. When they reach maturity and want to return, then they have the background of early learning as a foundation — no matter how far in the past and how little remembered. If you already know the aleph-bet, he said, it is much easier to (re-)learn the prayers and blessings [in Jewish practice]. Considering Reb Zalman’s far-flung interests in everything from kabbalah to Tibetan Buddhism to Sufism, not to mention the varied interests of his followers in the Aquarian Minyan, I was quite surprised by his emphasis on this. I probably shouldn’t have been; two of his daughters are good friends of mine, and they are quite Orthodox.
So, those early Hebrew classes have produced a richer fruit than you might have realized.