Aleph Plus

I found it very humbling to attempt a Hebrew conversation with (almost) three-year-old Zeev on our Shabbat eve visit to the home of Atar and her husband Gil in Kfar Vitkin last week. Up until this point I had mainly been honing my Hebrew language skills with shopkeepers and bus drivers, not very elaborate exchanges. Now I was confronted with a loquacious tot who expected me to keep up with his ongoing flow of commentary about the new book we had just given him, Richard Scarry’s Big Schoolhouse Book. As we sat together on the couch with the book open across our laps, he shared his excitement in a stream of words, only a small portion of which could I comprehend. Like Charlie Brown listening to the words of his teacher, I heard “wah,wah, wah, wah…..” and then “nachon?” (correct). Of course, I would have been an idiot not to agree, “nachon!” My only other contribution to this conversation was, “Ma Ze?” (what’s this) as I pointed to the picture of the monkey driving the banana-mobile or the fox flooding the classroom with water from the garden hose. It’s a good thing Lew and I have signed up for twice-weekly Hebrew classes at Gordon Ulpan in Tel Aviv. Perhaps I will learn more words for fish, other than salmon-- pronounced something like “saulmoan” in Hebrew-- so I will be able to buy other varieties at the fish store. Or maybe the mystery of the Beseq phone tree will finally be revealed. On our many calls to get help with the internet service I have cycled through the choices on the recorded message over and over, grasping for clues about whether I should “menakesh” (press) shtayim (2) or arba (4) followed by the “sulamit” (little ladder, i.e. the pound key) to get to an actual person. When I am successful, usually by pressing 2 at every choice point, my first question is, “Atah Medaber Anglit? – Do you speak English?” For some reason the only language choices offered for this exercise in frustration are Hebrew, Arabic, and Russian. I’m not sure, however, whether mastering sufficient Hebrew will help us deal with the Byzantine world of Beseq. With four different responses for every inquiry, the best technique seems to be to ask until you get the answer you want in whatever language.

To assess our level for Hebrew classes, Lew and I made our way to Ulpan Gordon one Sunday evening to take a test with a roomful of aspiring Hebrew speakers, mostly young, from all over the world---Turkey, France, U.S., Eastern Europe and China. I chose the level one/two test and, since we were told to “try really hard”, I patiently waded through the questions (written without vowel markings!) and answered or guessed to the best of my ability. The best of my ability turned out to be Aleph Ploos (First Level Plus), as evaluated by a very kind young woman who glanced for two minutes at my paper and conducted a short oral interview with me in Hebrew about where I had studied, where I lived, and what work I did. I struggled to explain that I had studied Hebrew at university a long time ago (!). She could probably tell it had been awhile because she announced that, “You know something, but it’s not systematic.” No kidding. That’s pretty much echoed what my instructor in college said, “It’s there but you need to let it come out.” My first class is this coming Sunday. I’m eager to meet Edna, my teacher, and the other students and to get more practice thinking/speaking on my feet in Hebrew.

Just as I finished writing the last sentence above, the doorbell rang. This rare event usually produces a moment of panic for me as I wonder if I will be able to respond appropriately to the visitor. I opened the door to find a young boy of about 10 smiling hopefully and holding a small coupon or receipt book. He rattled off a barrage of words that ended with a question. “Lo Mevena,” (I don’t understand) I replied. Luckily, my neighbor opened her door to see what was going on and was able to help out. She asked with surprise, “You don’t speak Hebrew?” I had to confess that I only knew kzat (a little). Between her limited English and my limited Hebrew she managed to convey that the boy was collecting money to benefit kids with autism. I said, “Oh, tzedakah”, which is commonly used in the U.S. Jewish community to refer to doing a righteous act by giving your time or money to help others, but she said no it was “truma,” meaning contribution or offering. Lew and I are curious about this distinction. Nevertheless,it sounded like a worthwhile cause so I told the boy, “rega” (wait a minute) and went to get 20 shekels (about $5.00). But I only had a 100 shekel bill and he didn’t have change so we had to get Tzipi to come up with some change and complete the transaction.

Gregory and I have been comparing notes via email about the travails of communicating in another language. I complained that I seem to have one space in my head for the “not English” language of the moment, whether it be Hebrew, Spanish, or French. If I’m hearing one of these repeatedly and then suddenly hear another (for example, listening to a group of women speaking Spanish on the bus to Jerusalem) the words get all shuffled together. Similarly, he reported running into two Israeli guys in his hostel in Cuzco and trying with limited success to recall his Hebrew vocabulary. He says that there are many Israeli travelers in Peru and that there are Hebrew language restaurant signs and menus and Israeli flags on the tourism offices. Like me, he’s finding it a challenge to avoid all the English speakers. Here's another peeve of mine: I get really mad when, after carefully sounding out something in Hebrew, it turns out to be an English word written in Hebrew letters--- Clean Shop (our local laundry), Aroma (a cafe), for example.