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August 2001 Issue

The Riddle of Hebrew School

By Flash Rosenberg

How is it possible to study something three times a week for eight years and not learn it? Yes, that's how long I went to Hebrew School, yet I cannot speak any Hebrew. Given that the handful of us who assembled at Congregation Temple Beth El in Newark, Delaware happened to be among the brightest kids skimmed from all the area schools, it's all the more remarkable. Certainly an educational paradox worthy of study. It's just not that easy to keep things secret--to stop curious kids from picking up what's exotic. After all, with nary a minute of formal sex education, I somehow managed to gather a few words to maneuver in it. But if I ever need to order a sandwich in Hebrew? Forget it. I'll have to just pray for one. Because all I can do is recite prayers. Make the noise of Hebrew, not understand it.

But then I started to understand that it might not be about understanding. To me, Hebrew was more a riddle than a language. (And all the more so because my first Hebrew teacher was honestly, coincidentally named "Mrs. Riddle"!)

When I whined, "Why do I have to study Hebrew?" my father offered an economic, not linguistic reason: "So you'll know how to properly read a menu."

No, not Kosher ones. Such restaurants were nowhere near our town. But on those rare occasions when our family ate in a fancy restaurant, um, like Howard Johnson's, Dad's comic command, "Order in Hebrew" meant: Go directly to the right-hand column, find the lowest price, then trace over to the left to discover exactly what you feel like eating. Reading right to left! A deeply ingrained system, I dare admit I still follow.

Translating words is overrated anyway. I'm reminded of the many times I've clearly grasped all the vocabulary, but still couldn't understand someone speaking Hebrew. Whereas transliteration offers a reliable, rather musical, incontestable sort of truth. Chanuka? Hannukah? Hanuka?--All correct! Years of sounding out Hebrew assignments has left me with a real flair for imagining curious sounds as clusters of English letters. With only one awkward side-effect: During intimate moments, I can't help but mentally spell out my partner's exclamations. I fear lovers have frequently mistaken my look of concentration for gratification, when I was merely trying to carefully discern between an "Aahh" and an "AaughhHa."

But are such fleeting pleasures really worth the prolonged torture of Hebrew School? In our little milieu (long ago in Delaware), Bat Mitzvahs hadn't yet been invented for girls. And pointlessness always makes me moody. I was weary of the riddle. My father tried to humor me by teasing, "Hebrew School is necessary for you, as a Jew, to learn the true meaning of suffering."

"And for me to suffer endless carpooling to drive you there?" Mom would sigh.

During my eighth and last year, just as I was relieved that my studies were going to end soon, I got tricked into being intrigued. Private sessions were scheduled with Rabbi Krinsky, who encouraged philosophic questions. So I seriously, if impudently, asked, "Why did I have to study Hebrew all this time, when all I've really learned is to hate Hebrew?" And he explained, "Judaism is a religion of doubt, not belief. The way to give thanks for intelligence is to use it to doubt the very things you've been told to accept. Realizing Hebrew School isn't about Hebrew is a sign you no longer need to go. It's not important for you to speak Hebrew. All the Hebrew anyone ever needs was taught the first day."

"What?!!!" Madder than Dorothy must have been when she found out the transit truth of those ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz, I balked, "Whaddaya mean? "Shalom". . . and I was done?"

Rabbi Krinsky continued, "No, not Shalom. Not even the She'mah. But Hee Nay Nee--Here I am. Responding to your name when called during attendance. That's what really matters. The most important duty you have is to be present whenever you are called upon, whenever you are needed, whenever you can help. The point is to never be afraid to claim your right to be here, to stand up for yourself, and say 'Hee Nay Nee. Here I am.'"

Okay, very tidy. But solving the riddle doesn't necessarily solve the problem. So the difficult part remains: That this most basic Hebrew "Hee Nay Nee" will take me not just one lesson, not just eight years, but a lifetime to learn to speak fluently.

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