Scrabble with Eliezer ben Yehudah, anyone?

Ah, Eliezer ben Yehudah, the father of modern Hebrew. My hero. I'll admit that his style of parenting was a bit bizarre. At a time when his version of Hebrew was not spoken widely, even semi-widely, okay let's be honest, no one really spoke it, he raised his son to speak only modern Hebrew. I'll be honest that my love of this linguistic genius arose during my time at Middlebury College when I was there for my intensive Hebrew ulpan during the summer of 2009, and every time I speak Hebrew I stop and consider whether it's one of his words.

The truth is, most of modern Hebrew is the same Hebrew that was used in the Torah, although a host of new words appeared because, well, words like "ice cream" didn't exist in the time of the Torah. That's where Eliezer ben Yehudah really shined. He used the biblical roots of words to build and craft a whole new addition to the language. In 1880 he said: “in order to have our own land and political life… we must have a Hebrew language in which we can conduct the business of life.”

Anyhow, the whole reason I'm posting this is because the cartoon above made me giggle with delight.  For those of you who don't speak or read Hebrew, I'll translate (reading from right to left, of course):

Title: It was really not fun to play Scrabble with Eliezer ben Yehudah.
Top right: "Your turn, Eliezer."
Top left: "Please, handkerchief, 44 points."
Bottom right: "What? That isn't a word!"
Bottom left: "Now it is."

Hilarious, right?!

Have a question? Just ask: http://bit.ly/AskChavivaAnything

Book Review: Lashon HaKodesh: History, Holiness, and Hebrew

If I tell you that there's a book that is blowing my mind at every page turn, it means that you need to stop what you're doing, don't even read the rest of this post, and go out and buy the book. It's called Lashon HaKodesh: History, Holiness, and Hebrew, and I got the book as a review copy, but I would happily pay a few hundred bucks for this book. Why?

Okay, if you insist.

I'm only about 50 pages into this book about lashon hakodesh -- "holy language," also known as classic or biblical Hebrew or the language of prayer in Judaism -- but I've already uncovered a few fascinating things that have me poised for discovery. These will (hopefully) work themselves into much longer blog posts or articles over on About.com's Judaism page, but for now, let me blow your mind.

Aramaic

Did you know that there is an understanding of Aramaic as a language of mourning? You probably never thought about it, but ask yourself this: What language did Adam, the first human, speak? The rabbis toil over the topic, with my favorite theory being that Adam spoken lashon hakodesh in the Garden of Eden. After all lashon hakodesh was the language of G-d, right? What better language for Adam to speak? But what did he speak once he was booted from Gan Eden? Aramaic, evidently.

Lashon hakodesh became affiliated with the Land of Israel, with any use of Aramaic earning its user a negative outcome. Jacob, for example, agreed to a pact with Laban over an area that Jacob referred to in Hebrew but that Laban referred to in Aramaic. As a result, the rabbis say, Jacob was exiled to Egypt. Even Rachel suffered after she referred to her son in the Aramaic as Ben Oni (Jacob used the Hebrew, Binyamin or Benjamin), which earned her a swift death once she entered Israel. Yikes. Harsh! But thought-provoking, no?

I can't wait to explore this more. I have to hand it to Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein for the intense and through footnotes and diversity of sources he has to offer on this topic (and others throughout the book, of course). My brain sparks are flying off in dozens of directions with every page turn.

Tower of Babel and Language Dispersion

The great thing about this book is that it provides unique perspectives on otherwise mundane aspects of language. Yes, the Tower of Babel is far from mundane, but how much have you really considered the language dispersion following the whole episode?

Think about it: The text says,

And they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top is in the heavens; let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth.” But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built. And the Lord said, “Indeed the people are one and they all have one language, and this is what they begin to do; now nothing that they propose to do will be withheld from them. Come, let Us go down and there confuse their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech.” So the Lord scattered them abroad from there over the face of all the earth, and they ceased building the city. Therefore its name is called Babel, because there the Lord confused the language of all the earth; and from there the Lord scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth.

There are so many theories and discussions about this by the rabbis, you'd be amazed. The ultimate discussion surrounds whether there was really one language prior to the Tower of Babel or if there was one shared language. You see, there is a classic understanding in Judaism that there were 70 nations, based on Noah's descendants. The rabbis go into a textual, cultural, and archaeological  discussion of whether there could be 70 languages at that point in time depending on where the descendants were. 

The two theories main approaches I like from Rabbi Klein's book: 

• The people of the world spoke 70 languages prior to the Tower of Babel and when G-d confuses the language, he makes everyone forget 69 of the 70 languages they once knew. 
• The people of the world spoke two languages prior to the Tower of Babel: one external (lashon hakodesh) and one internal. After Babel, the external language was lost and the people of the world only spoke their internal language and thus couldn't communicate. 

The killer discussion on whether there was one main language prior to the incident (lashon hakodesh) and other languages were created post-Babel involves an argument about whether G-d could even create new languages and whether that "creation" was actually creation or just evolving an already created aspect of life. The argument is based on King Solomon's "There is nothing new under the sun" statement in Kohelet 1:9. Genius! I can't wait to give this another go-round in my brain cage. 

---

Ah! I love it! This stuff takes me back to graduate school. Rabbi Klein has created a book that feels, to me, to be a perfect balance between the religious and the historical, the secular and the holy, in a completely accessible manner. 

I haven't been this excited about a book in a long time, folks. I've gotten a lot of books and a lot of them get read and passed over. Trust me: This one is completely and totally worth your time.

Also? The cover is pretty. So go buy it already. 

When Language Ego Ruins You

This past Shabbat, there was a community experience here in Neve Daniel. You could sign up to either be a host or a guest, you were paired up with perfect strangers, and the idea was that you'd meet new people and spread yourself out a bit on the yishuv.

I've experienced these kinds of things before, and I've always loved them. Back in Teaneck they called it Mystery Shabbat, and you didn't know where you were going for the meal until you showed up at synagogue and someone handed you a card with an address on it. It was fun, I met some awesome new people, and I got to break out of my insulated introverted bubble.

Here, on the other hand, my attempt to burst out of that bubble failed miserably and resulted in a demoralizing and alienating experience.

It's no one's fault but my own, I'm sure.

The hosts were great -- the hostess even went out of her way to make a gluten-free cake for dessert. When we arrived they spoke in English, the comfort zone for both Mr. T and I, but when the other guests showed up, there was no turning back, Hebrew was the name of the game at the meal.

Mr. T has been in Israel off and on for nine years and works as an electrician on job sites where Hebrew is the common denominator among Russians, Arabs, and other workers. As a result, he doesn't have much of a language ego -- he just speaks, he doesn't care if he gets things wrong or his accent isn't right, he knows he's getting the message across and that's fine for him.

I, on the other hand, have a huge language ego. My first Hebrew class was my senior year of undergrad in 2006 in Nebraska, and it was biblical Hebrew, one semester. I refined my already keen knowledge of the aleph-bet (thanks to attendance at a Reform synagogue where singing allowed me to pick up on the Hebrew sounds and words) and picked up a few basic words that, thankfully, existed in biblical and also modern Hebrew. But it was several more years before I took a legit Hebrew course in graduate school and then carried on to the intensive Hebrew-language learning program at Middlebury College in 2009.

June-August 2009. That was my first taste of actual Hebrew. Of being able to speak a full sentence with some semblance of confidence. That's less than four years of modern Hebrew under my belt.

I know plenty of people who got a bit of Hebrew in primary school or Sunday school, even a few people who had cousins in Israel, who are able to get more out than me. My problem is I know it, but because of my background in copy editing and how well-spoken I am in English, my language ego halts me.

I think of what I need to say, I evaluate the sentence structure, I consider the pronouns, I conjugate the verb, I make sure I have the right tense. And by the time I've finally reassured myself that I know what to say, the moment has passed.

So I sat there throughout the meal just listening. I picked up bits and pieces of the conversation. The hosts translated words here and there into English, but the other couple seemed to act as if I wasn't even there. When I did want to say something, I tried in Hebrew, and inevitably switched to quick English, getting whatever I needed to say out of the way as quickly as possible.

It was embarrassing.

And yet, I can walk into a restaurant, ask for a menu, ask questions about the menu, place an order, make smalltalk with the waitress, ask for my bill and pay with the greatest of ease. I can see the Efrat Burgers Bar girl working in Jerusalem and -- without thinking -- instantly blurt out in Hebrew, "Hey! What are you doing here, you don't work here!" and have a brief conversation about how she needed a change of scenery.

I know that someday, when I have children, they'll hear the sounds of Hebrew outside and at school, and they'll teach me something I don't know. Inside the house they'll get a polite mixture of American and English, thanks to their parents whose languages are similar but so different. My kids will be fluently bilingual.

But there's something about being placed in a situation with people you would call my neighbors in a community that isn't so big where Hebrew is what will be spoken where I just cave, I turn inward, and I look like an idiot.

I've had a Jewish neshama my entire life, but with my awakening didn't come automatic or even primitive Hebrew knowledge. With four years of Modern Hebrew floating around my brain, it's done nothing but insulate me. And Israel makes it far too easy to default to English.

Something's got to change.

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Grab-Bag Edition

As I prepare for yet another bowl of Gluten-Free Fruity Pebbles ...

This is going to be quite the grab bag, because there hasn't been a theme as of late. Question Number One asks,

How does hair care when you cover your hair work? Do you get your hair trimmed or cut, or do you just let it do whatever? And if you do get it cut, how does that work?

Since moving to Israel, I've had my hair cut twice -- once up in Ra'anana (near Tel Aviv) in December and one by a local friend before the wedding. Since getting married, I've been sort of letting my hair do whatever it wants, occasionally trimming my own bangs (or, if you're from the U.K., "fringe") against my own intuition. It's long enough now that I can put it in two little pigtails in the lower back, or one sort of loose small ponytail in the back with pins. The interesting thing that I've experienced is that my hair is reacting a lot better to being covered this time around than last. When I was married the first time, my hair started thinning out and became really frail, but this time around it's getting thicker and longer much faster. It can be hard to maintain hair while covering, but it just takes some attention to shampooing and conditioning to really make it work.

How long did your Orthodox conversion process take? 

I started attending an Orthodox synagogue before Pesach in 2008, moved to Connecticut in August 2008 and started attending an Orthodox synagogue in West Hartford around November 2008. My official "training" began in January 2009, I applied with the RCA to officially convert in October 2009, and had my conversion dip on January 1, 2010. So it was roughly, officially, a year.

I'm turning green with envy at your head covers you're posting on Instagram. I live in the U.S. Do you know where I can find some like that?

I wish I knew where you could find some of these coverings. The thing that I've noticed about head coverings here in Israel is that the fabric is more breathable, flexible, and forgiving than those I've seen in the U.S. Here, the designs are functional and easy to wear, and in the U.S. they're just ... fabric. Maybe I should start an import-export business? If you can, find a way to get someone to bring you the scarves they sell at Hoodies -- they are a lightweight stretchy cotton that is so comfortable and flexible and gives an amazing body. Also, look out for the "fake poof" -- yes, I use a fake poof to give my scarves body. Until my hair is long enough to build it up, I'm faking it. (Fake it 'til you make it!)

Hi Chaviva, I'm learning hebrew and I'm interested in knowing about you experience with this language? it's hard? what books do you use (or did you use)?

I wish I had an answer to this question. The truth is that my best and most valuable Hebrew learning experiences were by sitting in a classroom or at an ulpan desk. When you're immersed, things stick. When you're learning in a book and then going back to the "real world" where English is the norm, it's hard to really feel entrenched in the language. That being said, there are all sorts of learners out there, and some really do benefit from Rosetta Stone or similar programs. I, unfortunately, did not. The best textbook out there is the one put out by the Brandeis University Modern Hebrew program, but I'm not sure if you can find the answer book.

Does anyone have tips on hair care while covering, Hebrew language learning, or any other topics discussed here? Please share!

Have a question? Just ask at Ask Chaviva Anything!

Anatomy of a Name: Chaviva

So I was thinking, my name is Chaviva -- חביבה -- is quite pretty, and I often get comments about how bizarre and unique it is. Yes, it's pretty rare in the scheme of things. It's not a modern Hebrew name, although it's working its way into the lexicon pretty swiftly. So from where is the name sourced?  I see it in two different interesting spaces.

1. משנה תורה מנוקד - ספר עבודה - הלכות מעשה הקרבנות פרק ד

Even though the eimorim and the limbs [of the sacrifices] may be offered on the fire of the altar at night, they may not be willingly delayed. Instead, an attempt should be made to offer everything during the day, for it is desirable that a mitzvah be performed at its designated time. [The importance of this can be seen from the fact that] the offering of the eimorim and the limbs [of the sacrifices] on the fire of the altar supersedes the Sabbath prohibitions on that day. We do not delay this until Saturday night. (via Chabad.org)

2. משנה תורה מנוקד - ספר זמנים - הלכות מגילה וחנוכה פרק ד

The mitzvah of kindling Chanukah lamps is very dear. A person should be very careful in its observance to publicize the miracle and thus increase our praise of God and our expression of thanks for the miracles which He wrought on our behalf. Even if a person has no resources for food except [what he receives] from charity, he should pawn or sell his garments and purchase oil and lamps to kindle them [in fulfillment of the mitzvah]. (via Chabad.org)

And then, according to my Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, חביבה was the name of many Amoraim. Most oft' quoted I see is

"R. Habiba says men call their grandsons sons..."

So what's in a name? I'm still not sure. I chose it way-back-when because my given name, Amanda, means lovable or "worthy to be loved." Chaviva means basically the same thing in Modern Hebrew. The translations above suggest that חביבה means desirable or very dear.  I searched again and found three pages worth of Chaviva goodness. A super common use of חביבה that many folks know is the following:

חביבה עלי כת קטנה שבארץ ישראל יותר מסנהדרין גדולה שבחוצה לארץ

Essentially, it says something along the lines of, "More beloved to me is a sect/faction in Eretz Yisrael than a Great Sanhedrin outside of the land." I'm also loving a portion from the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Berakoth 63a where it discusses what to do if the people hold the Torah dear, and what to do if they do not hold it dear (תורה חביבה).

Okay, I could seriously spend days looking at the references to this word in the Talmud, but I won't bore you with it. It seems that the word חביבה is used in instances of deep and passionate commitment. In Babylonian Talmud, Berakoth 10a, the text refers to King David, saying,

כל פרשה שהיתה חביבה על דוד פתח בה באשרי וסיים בה באשרי

Basically, every parshah or chapter that was "beloved" by David began with happiness and ended with happiness. It seems to be a word of endearment, devotion, passion.

A long time ago, in my senior year of high school, I wrote a paper on etymology -- the study of names. I learned of the importance of names in the development and creation of our personalities and lives, and it's something I've always clung to. I chose the name Chaviva without really thinking about it, and all of the years as I've further embodied the name, I haven't really thought about whether I'm actually embodying the depth of the name. 

So, what do I say? To fully live up to the oomph of my name, I would live a life such that HaShem would be comfortable and eager to call me חביבה חביבה -- Chaviva, beloved. Chaviva, very dear. And am I living my life in such a way that HaShem -- or even those closest to me -- would see me as someone ever-so dear and beloved? 

I think that every day when I open my eyes, when I thank HaShem for giving my spirit back to me, I am trying. I am starting and striving to embody the beloved. So, you could say it's appropriate that I'm spending the month of Elul reading Shir haShirim -- Song of Songs -- every day. It's a segula, you see.

There's a tradition to say Psalm 27 during morning and evening davening from Rosh Chodesh Elul through Yom Kippur. I won't explain it here, but you can read about it here.  The bit about reciting Shir haShirim comes from the fact that Elul is an acronym from Ani l'dodi, v'dodi li -- I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine -- from Shir haShirim 6:3. During this time, the Ba'al Shem Tov said that these are the days when "the King is in the field." The idea here is that HaShem is in the field, ready to listen and accept, to hear our prayers completely. 

So 'tis the season to really talk to HaShem for me. To be the beloved, to learn to embody my name. To ask HaShem to see my deeds, grant me a zivug sheni, grant me shalom. And then, perhaps, my second Hebrew name -- אליענה -- will make all the more sense. 

How are you embodying your name? How are you approaching the month of Elul?

Re-imagining Israel Education Part II: Hebrew!

Okay, so I already posted some theories of mine about the importance of Hebrew in Jewish identity and identification with the land, people, and state of Israel, but I think I need to hit the point home a little more and a little more clearly.

I wrote a paper for one of my courses this semester called "The DNA of Jewish Education: Modern Hebrew and Identity Formation" (<-- that's the Google doc). I don't expect anyone to go read the entire thing, but I want to highlight a few of my findings from my research. For those of you who don't believe that Modern Hebrew language literacy is key in Jewish identity formation and ultimately identification with Israel, I hope this information is compelling! Feel free to argue back any of the points made below or in the full paper. Mad props if you actually read the paper, too.

A thought to consider while reading: Had we decided to teach Yiddish in Hebrew and Day Schools, it likely would have stuck. Why? It was spoken at home; Modern Hebrew as not. But the Zionist lobby won out on this front and thus Modern Hebrew became the tour de force of the Talmud Torah and even made its way into public schools in the New York area (and is still offered as a foreign language in 36 U.S. public schools).

In Gilead Morahg's Language is Not Enough, he cites a 1989 University of Wisconsin survey of all 284 students in the university’s Modern Hebrew program that shows “very clearly” that most of the students chose to study Hebrew because, on one level or another, they were seeking an “authentic connection to their own culture and a more coherent sense of their own identity.” Ultimately, the survey showed, when asked students to indicate and rank the areas in which they anticipated using Hebrew later in life, the students ranked the following as the top three: (1) Travel to Israel; (2) Educating Your Children; and (3) Religious Services.

...

Students in many schools take French or Spanish for language requirements, and so Hebrew tends to fall into the pit of general language instruction. The missing piece, Gilead Morahg argues, is that for most students and teachers, Hebrew is presented as a foreign language, but that for most students and teachers of modern Hebrew, it is not the language of a foreign country but of a people of which they are a part. Morahg refers to this as the “suppression of the profound cultural connection between the Hebrew language and its Jewish learners,” and that this is what threatens to invalidate much of what goes on in the classroom. “It disorients and frustrates the teachers and it almost invariably disappoints the students,” Morahg says.

...

A people has traditions, a shared history, memory, and, most importantly, a common language. “A group speaking the same language different from that of other groups in the same or neighboring location, and identifying with the same language as a symbol of this social unit,” one scholar says, “has basic advantages for maintaining its own existence as a distinct community." Thus, without a common language, cultural and structural assimilationist tendencies become stronger. When groups are faced with rapid assimilation, Elana Shohamy argues, groups tend to use the device of language to recreate their identity, which is what we call subtractive learning in the language acquisition.

...

Elana Shohamy cites a 1996 Imber-Bailey study that examined the hypothesis that children acquiring an ancestor language develop an ethnic identification that differs from those not acquiring it. The study concluded that bilinguals perceived themselves as part of a community using “we” more frequently than monolinguals, not to mention that bilinguals tend to have a more positive evaluation of their culture.

...

If parents and educators can begin looking at the Hebrew language as Waxman does, as “symbolic communication” and as Hayim Nachum Bialik and Ahad Haam did, as a “repository for a culture’s cherished attitudes and values,” perhaps headway can be made.

...

Identity, Morahg argues, is a mode of action: Who you are is not a function of what you know but of what you do. The ability to communicate using the Hebrew language, then, is probably the “most powerful means of enhancing and expressing a personal sense of Jewish identity.” In this way, Hebrew language functions in an entirely different way than most other aspects of a Jewish studies curriculum, because language is more than a form of knowledge, but a “behavior, a mode of personal and cultural action.”

And my conclusion:

Just as Jews cannot agree on a universally accepted definition of Jewish identity, so, too, it is unlikely that educators will ever agree on why we teach Hebrew, let alone how we should teach Hebrew. What is agreed upon is that Hebrew is critical to the social project of Jewish education in its formal and informal modes” and it is a “key component of transmitting Jewish religious and cultural identification.” Citing a Jewish educator, Sharon Avni accurately observes that “Hebrew is the DNA of Jewish education” -- it permeates all areas of study. But there are few external incentives for children to learn Hebrew. 

Aside from the need for central institutions, realistic goals and outcomes, appropriate learning conditions, and a dedicated, passionate, and educated workforce, there are basic ways we can start to infuse Jewish education with the taste for Modern Hebrew. Educators must create classroom environments that encourage students to identify with the communal feelings they have during a Passover seder or when lighting Chanukah candles. Educators need to express the validity of Hebrew as the language of the Jewish people as a cultural construct, and not just a foreign language or rote of the Zionist dialogue. Only then will Jewish students become more engaged in their heritage language, Hebrew, and, one can only hope, in their own Jewish selves as well.

Hebrew Language and the Passover Connection

Passover is mere steps from our doorsteps, and its expecting no crumbs of bread or other wheat-filled goodies to greet it. Are you ready?

I've been busy doing research for looming papers (following in the steps of Pesach, of course), and the most interesting at this point is a paper on the Impact of Hebrew Language Education on Jewish Identity. I've got more sources than I know what to do with, but few actually appear to have talked to students or individuals on what kind of impact such education has or hasn't had on how they identify. One of the interesting things that I read in one of the many books I've got sitting around is about Passover and the role of language in the redemption of the Israelites from the hands of the Egyptians.

According to Rav Huna, in the name of Bar Kapara, in the Midrash on Shemot (Exodus), four things kept the Jews together and thus merited their redemption from Egypt, and one of those was that they didn't change their language. Hebrew held a utilitarian function: it helped (and helps) to maintain Jewish identity and identification.

For me, at this time of Passover, this bit of knowledge speaks volumes to me. It makes me wonder, as is my tendency, why we don't do more to encourage the learning and fluency of Hebrew in the Diaspora. If, at one time, the Israelites were united through a common tongue, why do we pay so little importance to it outside of Israel?

According to David Schers, "There are ways of belonging to a people without knowing it's main-historical-cultural-language(s), but in such circumstances, the implementation and maintenance of cultural, and social, dimensions face more difficulties." The great Chaim (Hayyim) Nahman Bialik once referred to language as a "repository of a culture's most cherished attitudes and values."

Ultimately, language is symbolic communication. It is symbolic of values and culture. It saved us once -- can it save us again?

An unrelated random thought:

The numerical value of chometz (חמץ) is 138. This is the same as the numerical value for pegimah (פגימה), the word for blemish. Whoever eats chometz on Pesach thus blemishes his neshama. ~ Rabbi Yaakov Culi


Some random Passover blog posts:


Last year, I wrote Passover haikus, highlighted some stomach-ache-filled cooking, and wrote Pesach Cometh, Have You Shaken Your Books?

In 2009, I did a poll about favorite matzah toppings, and I did two parts of a Passover roundup on my experiences in Florida with Tuvia's family. I also lamented the fact that I think we should all throw our chametz away or donate it to charity, not sell it (I don't get the selling bit ... ). As it turns out, I blogged A LOT in 2009 about Passover. There's like 10-12 posts on Pesach there, in case you want to peruse the Q&A and commentary (by moi).

And then, of course, there is the bizarre Chabad-inspired Pesach dream I had in 2008. Not to mention the interesting encounter I had during Passover 2008 in Chicago that I deemed the "Passover Paradox." My most favorite Passover memory, of course, is my first true Passover Seder in Chicago that really drew me further than ever into my desire to be Orthodox, as well as my failure at Shabbos and abiding by the Passover rules (sort of).

In 2007, I wrote about the miserable experience I had at a gigantic seder in Chicago. Talk about bad news bears.

Overall I'm blown away by how many blog posts I have on Passover. It seems 2008 and 2009 were big years for me as I learned how to observe and cook for Passover on my own. Since then, the chagim seem to come and go without notice or fanfare. Maybe I should do another poll this year -- the question is, what to ask?