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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
Some denominations still expect their pastors to read the original languages.
You sound like you have a knack for languages! They are fascinating, aren’t they. Biblical Hebrew is different from the conversational, but people who learned Hebrew from the Torah can get by in Israel, from what I understand. I work from two Bibles–one is an English translation only, and the other is Hebrew/English. I go back and forth, especially when a word doesn’t make sense to me. And then my Torah study partner can help me, too. It’s fun to connect with people who enjoy languages, R. Thanks!
I wish you well in this. Foreign languages do not come naturally to me and so I’m always impressed when someone, especially later in life, take on the project of learning a new language. And Hebrew looks and sounds so difficult to me. God bless, Susan
I had ancestors who when they traveled down from Pennsylvania in the 1700s lived in a religious communal type of arrangement in what is now called Old Salem (and here). It was done for rather obvious reasons of scarcity, hostile environment (it was the frontier) and survival. Once scarcity and hostile environment did not become issues, the communal living dissolved.
Wow. I’m so intrigued by people who have these olden roots, HangOn. Yes, it makes sense to come together for survival, and when that’s not necessary, people are free to thrive and grow on their own. Israelis are so darned independent that that’s the only way the kibbutzim could survive: some shared resources but freedom, too.
The vowels are there. But the “vowelless” manner of writing in many cases permits multiple meanings to the same written characters. In the case of sacred texts, there is THE meaning, but the fact that other readings are possible lends depth of understanding and interpretation. Plays on words are inevitable. A classic one is that the Ten Commandments are described as being “engraved” by G-d on the stone tablets. The three consonants that are read as “engraved” can also be read, with a single vowel change, as “freedom;” the Rabbis of the Talmud observed that rather than freedom being another word for nothing left to lose, freedom was living the laws of the Torah.
Thanks so much, OtLC!! You could probably write a post on all the differences in meaning. We could just call it a “versatile” language, right? Plus, it gives Jews just one more thing to argue about, as the Talmud shows us.
I’m vacationing with a man who is not observant but learned Hebrew decades ago. Over dinner tonight I will ask him to speak a few words of Hebrew and tell him your story, Susan. I’m enjoying your journey and glad you’re sharing it with us.
Do you know if he was a Bar Mitzvah? It is a sad testimony to parents, rabbis and cantors who didn’t find a way to make this important transition meaningful. I’d love to hear the Hebrew words he remembered!
I will tread delicately with him. I’m fairly sure he was. His is an interesting journey – like so many of ours are.
If the right moment doesn’t come up, don’t feel obligated to talk about it. I’ve met so many people who have deep sensitivity about their Jewish background.
I recently have taken an interest in rediscovering some of the Hebrew music from when I was a kid.
And there was a Yiddish song to which I once knew the first verse which I am trying to relearn:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMkPo2RGK28
Love it, Quinn. You just reminded me that somewhere I have a CD of Yiddish songs by Mandy Patinkin. I don’t know if it survived our last move, but I would love to find it. It had such beautiful songs, and even had Take Me Out to the Ballgame! I don’t like his politics but I love his voice. That’s wonderful that you are looking into those old songs. I remember my folks had an album of Connie Frances songs. Sigh.
I have a nephew. Culturally, it seems like Jews produce beautiful women and clownish men. I’d like to work on addressing that early.
Now I am REALLY going to embarrass myself. Before I got married, I had the impression that the Jewish men I met were “princes,” a bit arrogant, and expected to be taken care of. If there was royalty in the family, however, it was going to be me! Just kidding. Seriously, I was looking for someone who was mature, assertive and self-reliant. Of course, one could ask if I was one of those “beautiful women.” Don’t even go there.
I found the Mandy Patinkin CD, @quinntheeskimo. Here’s one of my favorite Yiddish songs:
SQ: “Bei mir, bist du schon.” counts, too, right?
Absolutely–and you are!
You still are.
He has a lovely voice. It must drive him crazy that he will mostly be remembered for The Princess Bride while his other talents go largely unrecognized.
Danke schon!
Or “St. Elsewhere”…He does have a lovely voice, indeed.
I must say that I thought he was brilliant in that role. I will never, ever forget his obsession with the sounds that came from his pants legs, rubbing against each other. You had to be there . . .
I studied biblical Hebrew for a while, so those conversational bits are nice to get. Thanks for the post!
This conversation is part of a Group Writing series with the theme “School”, planned for the whole month of June. If you follow this link, there’s more information about Group Writing. The schedule is updated to include links to the other conversations for the month as they are posted. If you’d like to try your hand at Group Writing, consider signing up for July’s topic, Family!
This 1959 book about the New Deal cooperatives has a chapter on Jewish agricultural cooperatives in the United States. They got started well before the New Deal.
I once dated a Yiddishist who was then the librarian at the Judah Magnes Museum. She told me that because of all the anarchists and other radicals who had “chicken renches” in Northern California, the Magnes had a large collection of anarchist literature in Yiddish. I remember she told me that several complete collections of Kropotkin had been donated.