Learning Hebrew: A Rollercoaster of Realities

Notes from The Learning Field 

So, it is time to crowbar out some time (Hebrew lessons, wobbly dishwasher, vomiting cat…be damned) and fire off another dispatch from the front lines of my quest to master Hebrew. (Before diving in, here’s a question for you: How do you know when you’re truly fluent in a language? When friends ask me this while visiting, I always quip: “You’re fluent when you can tell a joke in another language…pause for effect… and people laugh.)”

One Size Language Courses Do Not Fit All

This post isn’t about hunting for the mythical “perfect Hebrew course” (especially here in Paris – even were such a beast to exist). It’s about how any brave soul strapped into this linguistic roller-coaster can survive, thrive—and even (…G-A-S-P!) enjoy the ride—despite that brutal, bone-chilling moment which hits like an Arctic blast that the school you’re shoveling your hard-earned cash at… isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. So, what do you do in the after that gut-punch realization? Simple: Breathe. Then, remember: the only way forward isn’t tiptoeing—but leaping.

Hebrew Survival Lesson: You Can’t Jump Across the Canyon—You Must Leap!*

Learning a new language means persevering, especially after age 50. Discouragement? It’s built right in, like thorns on a rose. And Hebrew? It is not a language that holds your hand or lobs out Gold Stars just because you showed up. It doesn’t just challenge you—it berates you, throttling your confidence. Not for the faint of heart.

So, Virginia, my advice for truly mastering Hebrew? First, run a quick mental pre-flight checklist. On that list? The ability to strap in and face the reality of hitting walls. Think bumper cars on steroids. These could include: poorly-planned (ergo frustrating) courses; ‘teachers’ who moonlight as struggling actors; discovering you may be amidst fluent speakers snarkier than a barista with a Master’s in Art; or worse, being stuck in a language school that’s the educational equivalent of Dunkirk.

*The “Leap” quote is often attributed to David Lloyd George, a British Prime Minister. It supposedly runs ‘You can’t cross a chasm in two small jumps.” I prefer my take. 

When the cold dagger of a flawed system strikes, and you freeze while gazing across that vast Hebrew chasm, just breathe. Accept it: the only way forward is not jumping across—but leaping.

Tips: If structure is lacking, forge your own. Use Apps, You-Tube videos, …but focus.

Be judicious in finding and availing yourself of really helpful Apps—use’em, abuse’em, wear ’em out. For efficient, concise and verb conjugations I’ve fallen in love with Pealim, despite its farcical ads. There are myriad others depending on one’s needs.

My current course is definitely plagued with some of the above-mentioned maladies. As an antidote some of us have created a Hebrew WhatsApp group to survive, thrive and mend our flayed egos—we share memes, language tools, and study tips. It’s a combo study/vent/bitch/compare group, and it works.

A few weeks ago, one of us was about to bail over incessant course frustrations. We chatted, offered our collective sage advice, and told him:

A) You can’t leave.
B) If you do, you’ll only deprive yourself of the pleasure, wit, and warmth of our group.
C) The next class might be far worse!
And… more seriously:
D) We reminded him of the real prize: learning Hebrew despite whatever insane, illogical, or hamstringing snafus get tossed into the mix. You will learn and thrive despite the teacher.

He’s still with us.

Lastly, my 3 shekels of advice is find tools (apps/videos/books) whose subject matter thrills or motivates you. For me, the charming duo of Elsa and Doron of ‘Piece of Hebrew’ ticks a lot of the learning tool boxes I need. They are teachers who walk the walk by sharing authentic vignettes of Israeli life: How to use Transport, Working From Home (‘The internet soooo slow!’), ‘A Day at The Beach‘….and backing it up with substantive and engaging explanations.

This video is an awesome primer chock full of seasoned advice for beginners. They have a cool earthy vibe but are serious teachers. Nuff said. https://www.youtube.com/c/PieceofHebrew

Learning Hebrew Over 50—Brain Cells – The Few. The Brave. The Addled.

Learning Hebrew after 50? 60? Well, even if you’re brave, your brain cells might not exactly be jumping for joy over the task.

Expecting your graying dura mater to successfully tackle a new language is like asking a batch of wobbly-kneed, creaking weekend warriors to take the field against legendary Notre Dame football titans. Ouch. (Side note: years ago, before my basketball team got destroyed by a far superior team, one teammate calmly said, “When UCLA is on the schedule, you play UCLA.”). Ditto for learning Hebrew.

Expectation vs. Reality

It takes me far longer and requires far more mental heavy-lifting now then a few years back to fully retain knowledge. But I’m good with that – my goal is to one day chat and maybe even tell jokes in Hebrew. It’ll take time. It’s not a race.

I learned French after 50 and suffered all the withering indignities that comes with it (you know the French); enduring the agony of French’s 45,000 conjugation possibilities (Future Perfect, Imperfect, Perfect But No Job Prospects, etc.). But, it can be done—especially if you’re armed with indefatigable tenacity, the right tools, and a healthy dose of realism. (I eventually lectured in French at a Paris university, despite some heart-stopping faux-pas.)

Tip: Don’t Compare Yourself to Others!

Not all learners are created equal. My wife and I started studying at the same time. But she hails from a family of hyper-achieving, language-sponge wunderkinds. My DNA pool allows me to learn at the speed of a sea anemone. After working at a Japanese firm for a year, she started chatting in Japanese. In Berlin, she surprised a museum staffer in what sounded like flawless German. “Two years in grade school,” she quipped, while heading into the exhibit.

Despite being totally outgunned by her, I am undeterred. (Besides, she’s the only one who can get our 6-kilo cat to swallow medicine without soaking the rugs in blood).

The Map Is Not the Land—Inside the Classroom

Even if you’re psyched to learn and armed with realistic expectations, the classroom (whether Zoom or in-person) can be another challenge.

One course I chose as it looked perfect on paper, was a flop in reality. We were rarely told what to prepare ahead of time, which only added to our stress. As a result, we had to repeat sections ad nauseam, without understanding why.

The Gap Between Us: Teaching in a Class of Varied Language Abilities

One of the more glaring challenges in our class is the wide variation in language proficiency. Currently, we have some essentially bilingual students—nicknamed ‘the Ringers*’—who really throw things off balance. These Ringers will blithely, and effortlessly chat away with the teacher in envy-inducing Hebrew, leaving the rest of us looking like a pack of German Shepherds, heads tilted, trying to figure out, “Here boy, a bone!”

*(The term ‘Ringer’ comes from boxing, where it refers to sneaking a professional boxer into the ring to compete with an amateur. Anyone know a Hebrew equivalent?) 

And while I’m not one to make excuses, as a former university teacher, I find this imbalance a tad galling. In my past experience, we’d use rigorous exams to place students in the right proficiency level—usually, that worked. But this class? Hmmm, not so much.

Sure, You Speak Hebrew… But Is That Enough?

An effective teacher is like an AI-powered GPS: adept at navigating language detours and bumps in the road, but ultimately, it’s up to you to pay attention and follow the route all the way to the end.

You may have been born and raised in Israel, penned award-winning novels, or even been celebrated for writing songs that capture the soul of Israeli life. Impressive, right? But none of that qualifies you to be a trained teacher.

My Israeli friend’s brother speaks Hebrew beautifully – can recite poetry off the cuff, and writes a killer blog. Sounds like a language pro, right? But you wouldn’t want him teaching Hebrew—because, despite all that talent, he’s not trained to teach. (When I asked him once why the Hebrew word for ‘breast’ (שד, shad) was masculine, he changed the subject).

Students don’t need someone with a deep well of Hebrew knowledge. They need a properly trained teacher—a professional, not someone putting in the hours till they land the role for the next Danny Confino (see: ‘The Good Cop’ or Shira Haas (see: ‘Shtisel’).

Give us someone with the proper linguistic chops—a teacher who can guide us across the intimidating chasm separating us from where we are to the point where engage in an ordinary,  realistic Israeli life….meaning…that one day we will be able to read, understand, and, yes, confidently sign that iron-clad, no-cut, two-year movie-director contract in Hebrew.

Okay, back to studying Nifal verb conjugations.