Here’s a classic riddle about foreign language learning:
What do you call someone who is
fluent in two languages? (Bilingual)
What do you call someone who is
fluent in many languages? (Multilingual)
What do you call someone who knows
only one language?
American!
* * *
So, what’s the deal? Why are most
Americans intimidated by learning another language? Geography could account for
a lot of this fear. In America, we don’t often hear other languages spoken (although
Spanish is rapidly becoming a semi-official language). In places like Europe, a
half-day drive could put you in foreign language territory. Another factor
could be U.S. dominance politically and economically as the rest of the world
is expected to learn to communicate with us.
Both of these factors may be
affecting how much effort Americans expect to put into language learning and how
much emphasis foreign language learning is given by schools. Even if we take
language classes, we are almost never in a non-English environment, practicing
the language we have studied. And since this situation goes back generations, we
don’t think of ourselves as able to be multilingual – or functional in even one
other language.
Be that as it may, what’s a Jew to
do as he plans aliyah or even frequent visits to Eretz Yisrael? On the
one hand, we have a head start. Most of us can read Hebrew fairly fluently, and
we have a surprising cache of vocabulary and an ear for syntax just from
learning and davening – not to mention the “frum-speak” that fills our
conversation with members of the “tribe.” On the other hand, most of our
schools do not teach spoken Ivrit since they have other well-placed priorities.
And we are often intimidated – or even traumatized – by all the dikduk
we did get, like gender and binyanim. In either case, we usually don’t
come out with much knowledge that transfers to conversational Ivrit. This is exemplified
by the perhaps apocryphal story of the seminary girl who got on the bus in
Israel and asked how much mamon (an archaic word for wealth) was the
fare. The bus driver answered in the same spirit: “Two zuzim” (a
Mishnaic era coin).
Many of us will say, “I can
understand a lot of what I read because I can control the pace and see as well
as hear, but I’m lost when trying to follow a conversation” or “I can speak
about some things, but I can’t understand the answers of the person I’m
speaking with.” Yet, people really want to be able to use Ivrit. As one person
said, “I’m not used to sounding stupid. I don’t like it.”
There is hope – not a magic pill
but hope. Yes, we do need to invest time and effort, but using the power of
social connections, it can be joyful, bonding, and invigorating. Betcha didn’t
know that here in Baltimore, groups of ladies are sitting around a dining room
table, speaking Ivrit, progressing, shmoozing, singing, joking around – and yes
– drilling and doing homework.
The method they are being taught is
multimodal, using a combination of research-based approaches, including
listening practice, freestyle speaking about topics with vocabulary provided,
translating, a little reading and writing, and scripted conversations with a
sequentially built vocabulary (using familiar words from davening as much as
possible). Guided practice is provided in class and recorded for homework,
giving immediate feedback. We use fun – even funny – stories, songs, and an
occasional video, all containing relevant modern Hebrew usage that is
respectful of our values. Dikduk (grammar) is briefly addressed as
needed, with immediate practical application.
A satisfied former student and
recent olah who studied with us for a year said, “How did you know just
what topics I would need to be able to discuss?!”
Classes meet for approximately one hour, twice a week. The cost
is very reasonable, and 100% of your fee goes to tzedaka. Feel free to
email me to discuss your needs: Ilanasmith50@gmail.com.
