On Shabbat, I had one of those "wake up call" conversations you can only have with a little kid.
The Dearly Beloved and I take our usual afternoon stroll. As we pass the beit knesset, he decides to join the line of men for one of the mincha minyanim; so I wait for him in the lovely gazebo outside. My peaceful reverie is pleasantly interrupted by a small boy of about five or six who joins me. We exchange Shabbat greetings. While he busies himself with a melting candy for several minutes, I continue to watch a line of very tiny ants making their way across the floor.
After a bit, he comes over and sits next to me. I ask him to remind me if the ants are called "nemalim" in Hebrew. I think that he tells me that he isn't sure exactly what they are called, because he is only in kindergarten... but my Hebrew really is lacking, and he is capable of jamming a lot of words into a sentence. I know I could get this language, if people would only be kind enough to speak in three- or four-word sentences, enunciating like the Pimsleur lady, and speaking very slowly...
We exchange names. His is Yeshaya. I tell him it is a strong name.
When we hit a bump in the conversation, I ask him to repeat, slowly. "Can't you hear well?" he asks me politely.
"I can hear okay; but I don't understand Hebrew very well. I am a new immigrant." I use this explanation a lot. It has worked very well as my excuse for not comprehending completely, not being able to make my point clearly. Not only am I forgiven, but I also get that heartwarming "atta-girl" that makes new olim strong. You know: "Way to go! We're so proud of you! Thanks for making aliyah!" That is the response I am used to receiving.
Until now.
"You are a new immigrant? When did you make aliyah?" he asks. Seeing that I am having a bit of trouble understanding -- he lisps, after all! -- he repeats his question, slightly differently. "How long have you lived in Israel?"
"Almost two years."
"Do you mean 'two weeks'? Because two weeks is new."
"No, I mean two years," I say, happy to know the difference between "shvu'ayim" and "shnatayim."
He patiently, earnestly explains to me the facts of life. "Then you're not a new immigrant. Two years is not new."
Well, I can see that we are talking a third of his lifetime here. I can see his point. But I try to explain how much harder it is to learn a language when you are not a little kid. He accepts this, and changes the subject.
"Do you have a baby? My baby brother just had his brit."
"Mazal tov!" I say to him, happy to be on more comfortable ground. "What is the baby's name?"
"D'vir," he responds.
"D'vir?" I ask, trying to think of its meaning. I mean, every word in a foreign language has at least five words that sound similar, but can cause major embarrassment if you guess the wrong one. Dvar? Dovair? Diboor...?
I'm still not trapping all the words. He uses the verb form of the word "convert," and I have not encountered it before; yet I slowly am getting the root of the word, and therefore the meaning. But he is six, and is not going to wait for the concept to develop in my mind.
"Was your mother Jewish?"
I am amused by this little tiny man asking me all these intimate questions. But at the same time, I am enjoying the exercise. And there is nothing like chatting with a little stranger to elicit honesty. "Yes, I am a convert," I answer him. By now, I have translated his earlier questions in my mind. "But I was a convert since I was 32 years old. I have learned a lot of Torah. I just learned it in English!"
"How old are you now?"
"I am 51."
"You're older than my parents."
Yes, I have no doubt. I am older than a sizable chunk of the population of the yishuv. And most of my peers on the yishuv are the grandparents of six-year-olds and new babies, rather than their parents.
He chats a while longer about the new baby, about ants, and about gan (kindergarten). He doesn't seem to notice that I am mostly making appreciative noises, rather than fully comprehending.
When the Dearly Beloved approaches the gazebo, I introduce them, and take my leave of my new friend.
"I leave you for ten minutes, and you take up with another man," the Dear One quips.
My answer is incongruous. "I've gotta get back to ulpan."
No more excuses. The Yeshayas of the yishuv are not impressed.
Haveil Havalim #233 is up at JoshuaPundit. Hopefully the smoke damage wasn't too great, Josh, and everybody is back at home, safe and sound.
Glossary:
Beit knesset: synagogue
Mincha minyan: quorum of 10 men for afternoon prayers
Pimsleur: excellent recorded language course
Yeshaya: G-d is salvation
Olim: new immigrants to Israel
Brit: ritual circumcision, performed usually on the eighth day of a newborn boy's life
D'vir: sanctuary, inner chamber
Yishuv: small community
Ulpan: language immersion course
13 comments:
You captured this conversation perfectly! I know the feeling well. I keep hoping that I can forever say that I'm a new immigrant - but I don't think people will be impressed with this answer as the years go by. Can you take Ulpan for both of us?
LOL I don't know if I captured the conversation so perfectly; but fortunately my buddy Yeshaya does not subscribe to my blog.
Sure, I can take ulpan for both of us -- if you'll do all our homework. Fair's fair. ;-)
In adulescens veritas
Boy, THAT'S for sure.
Dear Ruti: I willgo B'EH to Ulpan also
this year for kitahB. BTW, you still owe me a lunch meeting.
succah
I look forward to seeing you again, Succah! We'll make that date -- when we know what our ulpan schedule looks like. ;-)
Dear Sis,
You mentioned your Yeshuv. One of your neighbors was in Shiloh on Shabbat and I mentioned that my Sister Ruti lives in N.D.
He was trying to figure out the connection and I told him the story. At which point he said that of course you have family. All of N.D. is your family.
Thought you would like to know the sentiment.
K'siva v'Chatima Tovah.
Hillel HaLevi m'Shiloh
How absolutely perfect that this happened in Elul. What a gift Hashem has given you and how instinctively giving you are to share it with us in turn. Thanks for the teshuva vision (the best TV)!
Love,
Shalomis
Your beautiful post reminds me of the old joke:
Q: How do you know that Israelis are very smart?
A: Even the kindergarten kids speak fluent Hebrew...
In fact, your young interlocutor seems to be particularly knowledgeable about a wide variety of topics.
Ktivah v'chatimah tovah!
Gorgeous little cameo Ruti! Firstly, I think you are wonderful to learn ANY Hebrew if you started so late. It is a scientific FACT that the brain doesn't make language connections easily after the age of 25, just because all the language building blocks are already firmly cemented to the foundations. To start rearranging those blocks into a very different language takes courage and a lot of work.
Secondly, I put you for 10 years younger, beautiful lady that you are.
Have a great week,
What a delight to read of your encounter,
Ruti!
Have a wonderful and continually rewarding 5770.
Fondly,
Naomi
(from Baltimore)
I laughed out loud when your little friend pointed out you were older than his parents. My kids think we are the oldest people around (even older than their grandparents!).
What a great vignette.
(And I came only a couple of weeks before you. We are still VERY NEW olot.)
Here is a tip I got from my ulpan teacher, 18 years ago. Put the radio on (in Hebrew of course) and listen to it for at least a few hours a day. At first you will only understand one word in 20, then one in 15, etc., and before you know it you can understand everything they are saying.
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