Me Talk Pretty One Day

It has come to my attention that my readership has become anxious for a new post, but the truth is that nothing exciting has happened lately. In the past few weeks Workshop 59 has fallen into a bit of a routine. That's not to say that we're unhappy, just that we've become settled. Our weeks follow a predictable pattern punctuated by Yom Kvutsah, Hebrew class, and the occasional Friday night at the pub. And this settled feeling has come not a moment too soon, as in roughly two weeks we'll be leaving our comfortable little privatized village and moving to the city. My kvutsah discovered yesterday that we'll be moving to Akko, the hummus capital of Israel and home of Hapoal Akko soccer team, whose games are frequently interrupted by a chicken crossing the field. Located right on the beach, the city can be traversed by foot in 20 minutes, and is only a short hop north of Haifa, one of the largest and most important cities in Israel.

But taking a cue from David Sedaris, I'd like to now turn my focus to my struggle with the Hebrew language. Having given up the language at the age of thirteen upon graduation from the Portland Jewish Academy, I came to Israel with the goal of gaining back what I lost and really taking a crack at Hebrew. Progress has been slow, but I take my victories as they come, and in between the blank stares and awkward mix-ups I've actually had a few wonderful triumphs. Let me share those with you now.

Starting with my work in the Gan Yeladim (nursery). While being stumped by a four year old is rather frustrating, nothing makes you feel quite as helpless as when they come crying to you about some injustice that occurred on the playground while a) you don't know what they're talking about because you only catch a few pronouns and conjunctions between all the sobbing and foreign vocabulary, and b) even if you could understand them you were never given a crash course in Israeli disciplinary policy. Since four year olds are very impressionable, I usually try to simply convince them that they're fine, "ata beseder," which works in most situations. But when it doesn't, I steer them toward a more qualified Israeli educator to deal with the problem.

However, every once in a while there does arise a situation which requires a stricter assertion of my authority. This is difficult to do because I usually feel about as authoritative and as qualified to take care of these children as, say, a billy goat. As in not qualified at all, and usually downright useless. So keeping that in mind, what do you do when a kid is chewing on an eraser and the only reprimand you can think of in Hebrew is "This is not pleasant"? Not exactly ruling with an iron fist here. The best is when the women who work in the Gan leave me alone to watch over the 25 rugrats as they run around their playground (which is mostly comprised of old kitchen appliances and the like). Not only do I not know their disciplinary policy, first aid, or Hebrew, but I'm also not an employee at the Gan and therefore can't be held liable for any injuries if one of the kiddies chokes on a teapot because the only thing I can say to deter them is "This is not pleasant."

However, the upside to this constant feeling of isolation and helplessness is that the small triumphs seem like huge victories. Take, for example, a conversation I had with a woman at the sewing store in Afula a few weeks ago while buying buttons:

Saleswoman [while I'm poking around the cramped space behind the front desk in order to find the appropriate buttons for a sweater]: What can I help you find? It'll be impossible for you to find anything back there without my help.

Me: I'm looking for buttons for a coat [Lie. It was actually a sweater but that's not in my vocabulary.]

Saleswoman: This sweater? [Pointing to my gray cardigan.]

Me: No, but in the color... [Pointing to my cardigan.]

Saleswoman: Gray.

Me: Yes.

Saleswoman: Do you want buttons this size? [Points to small buttons.]

Me: No, bigger. How about those? [Pointing to large gray buttons on the wall behind the saleswoman].

Saleswoman: These? [She points to the buttons a row below the ones I want.]

Me: No. [Crap, how do I say "up"?] Those. No those. Oops, no those. [How do you say "left"? I used to know how to say it, right up until I went to buy buttons.]

Lacking my help, the saleswoman finally located the right ones, and together we counted out five. I payed, thanked her, and left the store, reveling in the glory of my first fully functional Hebrew conversation with a native speaker.

With each day comes more opportunities to sound like an idiot, but also to learn new words and boost my confidence. One advantage of working with three and four year olds is that they're very forgiving, and can even be very helpful. For example, last week I drew pictures with an adorable girl named Tamar, and she taught me the word "colorful" by telling me that black is not very colorful and neither is white. Instead, she insisted on filling her page by scribbling in bright shades of every color. I practiced my new vocabulary word by telling her that her drawing was very colorful, and, of course, "this is very pleasant."