So, after I got back from America, I came to find that through some twisted coincidences I, a silly, bumbling American, have had a definite and tangible effect on the Hebrew language.
When I was a but a young, foolish man struggling with wrapping my head around the intricacies and difficulties Hebrew before I visited America (wait... I still am a young, foolish, bumbling man struggling with Hebrew. Crap). Anyway, before I left to go home for a bit, I had coined the phrase:
"Whatever gever"... "ווטבר גבר"
-as a way of just saying, "dude whatever" - (Literally a "Hebrish" version of "whatever dude"). I had used it at ulpan with my friends there, in my apartment and probably in the Ashoka office.
Anyway, I was in ulpan the other day just hanging out and speaking... Spanish.. with my latin american friends. And what did I hear some Germans say to each other?
"ווטבר גבר"
Nice.
Transfixed by what had taken place at my hands, I asked the Germans where they had gotten it. They answered from their teacher. MY OLD TEACHER.
So ya. All the sudden I'm super important in Israel. Real famous for my contribution. No seriously, I thought it was just hilarious that such a stupid but addictive phrase would be adopted by a Hebrew teacher. Now, let's just hope it spreads like army slang. I think it has good potential because Israelis embrace English and even use it as a part of their means of communicating - walking on the street listening to a women on her phone saying:
אז הייתי בחוף ורייתי אותו שם עירום anyway
So it has potential. I'll give an update on its status in a couple of months:)
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Achmad
Somewhere in the long days of cramming Hebrew into my head before I left for my brief trip to America, I managed to make a couple of friends. Most were Latin Americans here on some program or another in which they wanted to feel Israeli for a couple of months. I have no problem with that; after all, who knows how transient I will end up being. But it was those who were on the other end of the spectrum - the ones who have been here the longest - who are the most intriguing to talk to out here.
One of the friends whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making, was a rarity in and of himself in our language learning "ulpan", as it is known, and, indeed, a rarity in these parts of Tel Aviv. Born and raised in the center of old Jaffo, an Arab town sitting quietly to the south of Tel Aviv on the meditereanean cost, the only Arab presently learning in the "ulpan" was Achmad.
I met Achmad in early October after I had started level ג (the third level), which was surprising to me, as I assumed that, by simply living in Israel and being raised 2 km from the the second biggest Jewish city in the world, Tel Aviv, that Achmad would be nearly fluent in Hebrew. And I was wrong to assume that. Achmad, as it turned out, was raised in a family that didn't allow him to integrate much into anything outside of Jaffo - especially into any Jewish community. In fact, Achmad's family didn't even know that he had started to take advantage of a not-so-well-known government program that aims to help Palestinians and Israeli arabs integrate into mainstream Israeli society (outside of the 20% arab minority) - presumably to increase upward mobility.
The first day that I met him, he walked into class smiling at everyone, which I found strange, as I knew he definitely wasn't American. And he certainly didn't look European. As he sit down next to me on my left, our eyes briefly and nervously met, as if not sure whether to acknowledge each other's presence. This is sort of the inherent dynamic in these ulpan classes full of strangers, representing almost every western nation you can think of. So, on top of the "stranger" boundaries that exist, there exist also cultural and national boundaries. Finally, when we had to do a partner exercise with reading, he broke the ice.
"Hi I'm Achmad."
"I'm Josh. I'm from America... where are you from??"
"Jaffo".
"No. I mean, which country are you from?", I asked, thinking that he didn't understand my question.
"Israel, man. I was born in Jaffo".
I couldn't believe it. Someone brave enough to break those iron-clad boundaries that exist between Israeli Arabs and Israeli Jews was in front of me. I was, of course, even more amazed later when, over a shot of espresso at the café down the block from the ulpan, he told me that his parents had forbidden him to venture into Tel Aviv to mingle with Jews. We sat there exchanging stories and viewpoints about what we thought of this chaotic society, an outside perspective and a hybrid perspective - both inside and outside. He was very much into asking about America and how it was going through an American university.
"So there are parties everywhere, chicks, big barrels of beer and everyone is just having sex, right?", he said, with his level ג Hebrew, and his eyes wide open in anticipation.
"Well, no. I guess you could find that somewhere back there, but it's not very common".
I actually get asked this question by Israeli Jews from time to time. The reaction is always confusion - and, of course, some obscure reference to a part of an American movie like American Pie or Animal House. I guess it makes sense with the way that American entertainment has captivated the world's attention for the last half century. But, I have to say, I was maybe equally or more blown away by what I heard from him regarding Arab's views to Jews.
Achmad started with a story about the first time that he met a Jew - in Jaffo - when he was a young boy.
"Dad and my uncle always used to tell me not to come into contact with a Jew when I was younger. They told me that they had tails and horns, and that I better not mess with them. So the first time I met a Jew, I looked in back of him to find the tail, and saw nothing", Achmad recounted.
I couldn't believe it. It's like a Middle Eastern-style Chupacabra tale that really makes you wonder how engrained and widespread this insane and parochial view is of Jews in Arab society. Maybe it's isolated to Achmad and a few others, but that experience really hit me in the face. It got me really thinking about what the psychological roots of anti-semitism, and indeed racism are. It turns out that many academics liken it to the psychology behind urban myths, like the Chupacabra or the Yeti. People cling to these stories, I imagine, perhaps out of the need to scapegoat, or purely out of the human being's propensity to naturally side with anything that promotes a feeling of belonging to another group, a sort of solidarity "us" against "them" sort of concept. Whatever it was, it opened my eyes, but still gave me hope for how the future of Israel might look like; individuals who can rise above the mistrust, hate and hyperbole to take advantage of the relatively (in middle eastern terms) egalitarian social construct that has been built here in this imperfect, but occasionally improving democracy. Glad to have finally met one of them from the other side: Achmad.
One of the friends whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making, was a rarity in and of himself in our language learning "ulpan", as it is known, and, indeed, a rarity in these parts of Tel Aviv. Born and raised in the center of old Jaffo, an Arab town sitting quietly to the south of Tel Aviv on the meditereanean cost, the only Arab presently learning in the "ulpan" was Achmad.
I met Achmad in early October after I had started level ג (the third level), which was surprising to me, as I assumed that, by simply living in Israel and being raised 2 km from the the second biggest Jewish city in the world, Tel Aviv, that Achmad would be nearly fluent in Hebrew. And I was wrong to assume that. Achmad, as it turned out, was raised in a family that didn't allow him to integrate much into anything outside of Jaffo - especially into any Jewish community. In fact, Achmad's family didn't even know that he had started to take advantage of a not-so-well-known government program that aims to help Palestinians and Israeli arabs integrate into mainstream Israeli society (outside of the 20% arab minority) - presumably to increase upward mobility.
The first day that I met him, he walked into class smiling at everyone, which I found strange, as I knew he definitely wasn't American. And he certainly didn't look European. As he sit down next to me on my left, our eyes briefly and nervously met, as if not sure whether to acknowledge each other's presence. This is sort of the inherent dynamic in these ulpan classes full of strangers, representing almost every western nation you can think of. So, on top of the "stranger" boundaries that exist, there exist also cultural and national boundaries. Finally, when we had to do a partner exercise with reading, he broke the ice.
"Hi I'm Achmad."
"I'm Josh. I'm from America... where are you from??"
"Jaffo".
"No. I mean, which country are you from?", I asked, thinking that he didn't understand my question.
"Israel, man. I was born in Jaffo".
I couldn't believe it. Someone brave enough to break those iron-clad boundaries that exist between Israeli Arabs and Israeli Jews was in front of me. I was, of course, even more amazed later when, over a shot of espresso at the café down the block from the ulpan, he told me that his parents had forbidden him to venture into Tel Aviv to mingle with Jews. We sat there exchanging stories and viewpoints about what we thought of this chaotic society, an outside perspective and a hybrid perspective - both inside and outside. He was very much into asking about America and how it was going through an American university.
"So there are parties everywhere, chicks, big barrels of beer and everyone is just having sex, right?", he said, with his level ג Hebrew, and his eyes wide open in anticipation.
"Well, no. I guess you could find that somewhere back there, but it's not very common".
I actually get asked this question by Israeli Jews from time to time. The reaction is always confusion - and, of course, some obscure reference to a part of an American movie like American Pie or Animal House. I guess it makes sense with the way that American entertainment has captivated the world's attention for the last half century. But, I have to say, I was maybe equally or more blown away by what I heard from him regarding Arab's views to Jews.
Achmad started with a story about the first time that he met a Jew - in Jaffo - when he was a young boy.
"Dad and my uncle always used to tell me not to come into contact with a Jew when I was younger. They told me that they had tails and horns, and that I better not mess with them. So the first time I met a Jew, I looked in back of him to find the tail, and saw nothing", Achmad recounted.
I couldn't believe it. It's like a Middle Eastern-style Chupacabra tale that really makes you wonder how engrained and widespread this insane and parochial view is of Jews in Arab society. Maybe it's isolated to Achmad and a few others, but that experience really hit me in the face. It got me really thinking about what the psychological roots of anti-semitism, and indeed racism are. It turns out that many academics liken it to the psychology behind urban myths, like the Chupacabra or the Yeti. People cling to these stories, I imagine, perhaps out of the need to scapegoat, or purely out of the human being's propensity to naturally side with anything that promotes a feeling of belonging to another group, a sort of solidarity "us" against "them" sort of concept. Whatever it was, it opened my eyes, but still gave me hope for how the future of Israel might look like; individuals who can rise above the mistrust, hate and hyperbole to take advantage of the relatively (in middle eastern terms) egalitarian social construct that has been built here in this imperfect, but occasionally improving democracy. Glad to have finally met one of them from the other side: Achmad.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Me? Israeli?
Yes, you heard...eh... read right. I'm going to be an Israeli. I have applied to attain citizenship to the State of Israel - something called "Aliyah" here. It's something that about 3000 Americans do every year. But why me? Has zionism taken a hold of me to such an extent that I'll stay in this little Middle Eastern country forever and I'll never come back home? Is it the border tension, constant threat of war, rockets being launched from a terrorist group 40 kms away that wants me dead, or the blind international condemnation of "the zionist entity" that makes me want to become a citizen here?
Not particularly.
I just like it here.
I like being able to have entire conversations in this insane 12,000 year old language that has so much to do with who and what I am. I like the feeling of respect that radiates from Israelis when they find out that I want to make a life for myself here. I like the feeling of knowing that this is a country that wants me here. I like the Israeli McGuyver mentality and how they use it to create businesses the day that they conceive of them. I like how when I get into a mini bus, I'll be sitting with an Ethiopian guy, a Russian teenager, an Arab construction worker, an ashkenazi soldier and an ultra orthodox family. I like the unfettered honking outside my balcony. I like imitating the Arab Hebrew accent and the Russian Hebrew accent to Israelis and then hearing them laugh at it. I like working for an organization that helps to solve the gigantic problems that plague Israel. I like being part of the most improbable occurance in the last few centuries. I like the geographic diversity of this postage stamp-sized country - how desert turns into rolling wooded hills, that turn into lush mountainous fields, that turn into snow-capped mountains. I like walking 20 minutes to get the best hummus in the world. I like the feeling of walking through my neighborhood and being waved to by people I've met before. I even like "the Jesus" that lives in my neighborhood.
There, of course, are some things that I don't like at all about Israel. But, I can name you hundreds of things that I don't like about the United States; And I still love that country. Finding serious flaws in a certain person, place or thing does not preclude a person from having deep feelings for it nor from attaching one's self to it. So I've weighed my options, and have decided that, since I want to integrate deeply into a culture while I still can, it might as well be 100% and it might as well be in a country for which I have a true affinity and that welcomes me as a citizen with open arms. I'll stay here for a while, maybe for a very long time, or maybe just for a year. Either way, I'll accomplish my goal and desire of integration. But, of course, this goal does come with a price: Just as every other Israeli does, I'll join the army - though only for six months due to my age (I'm an old man out here) and most likely in a relatively safe position. The army is a medium through which one comes of age and it is an opportunity to contribute on a tangible level to the security of a state that needs security badly. I'm sure I'll love it and hate it at various points.
So, I guess this blog will be one American's account of this journey - through all of its trials and tribulations, challenges and joys. I'll be sure to share them on here so that someone else can get a taste of what it's like to go through this process. Stay tuned.
Monday, April 19, 2010
My 'Brew
Since the previous post had more to do with "how I'm adapting to pompous British filmmakers" than "how I'm adapting to the chaos of Israeli culture", I figured I was due to add some more appropriate content to guide this blog back to its intended character with some much needed substance. The more appropriate content in this case is the daily embarrassment that I experience in my pursuit of achieving relative fluency of the Hebrew language.
It's not like I didn't face this type of embarrassment when I was testing out my Spanish a few years ago in Spain. After all, it was I who walked into my Spanish family's living room one evening to inform them that I thought my dresser drawer was broken, only to be, subsequently, the target of unfettered, unrepentant laughter for about fifteen minutes - and for the rest of my stay for that matter. It turns out that instead of saying "creo que mis cajones están rotos" (translation: I think my drawers are broken) I actually said "creo que mis cojones están rotos" (translation: I think my balls are broken). Of course it makes sense, right? The American kid puts on a deer-in-the-headlights look in the face of all this laughter and that in itself makes the whole thing 100 times funnier, leaving my Spanish brother gasping for air on the floor from laughing so hard at the Americano's ridiculous mistake. So, I am well aware of how the mispronunciation of one stupid letter in a foreign language can immediately make you look like some stupid asshole.
Now, fast forward a few years to a harder language that looks like Klingon and that has far fewer cognatic (yes it's a word) advantages as Spanish does in relation to English. (example: What is excellent in Spanish? Answer: excelente. What is electricity in Spanish? Answer: electricidad. What is diarrhea in Spanish? Answer: Diarrea. - you know, the essentials). Maybe the severity and comedic value of my mistakes so far have been light in comparison to that of the mistakes that I still have the pleasure of committing in the future. But that doesn't change the fact that they happened....
One bright and early morning -in fact, the first morning that I commuted to work, I was sipping some coffee in a mini bus called a sherut, about a few blocks away from my destination in northern Tel Aviv when I realized that there were no buttons to press to let the driver know that I needed to stop and get off. There is only the phrase that is translated literally as (driver, stop me here, please) that must be shouted out in the direction of the driver... this is Israel after all. Figuring this was my only option and also a great way of starting to adapt to the culture, I did my best to shout out this phrase when we were closing in on the street that I needed to get off on.
"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!"
I didn't get the reaction that I had hoped for; in fact, a wave of pure horror-infused adrenaline ran through my veins when the driver, along with most of the other passengers looked at me like I was about to have a seizure or something.
"מה ?מה אתה צריך?" (What? What do you need?)
uuhhhhhh.... פה פה אני רוצה.... (here, here, I want), I clumsily replied.
Noticing that I had a goofy accent, the driver put two and two together: I had meant "Driver, please stop here for me!", but just because I screwed up the sound of one stupid letter, it came out as "driver, help me please!". Look for yourselves:
"נהג, תעצור לי בבקשה!" - Correct
"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!" -Incorrect
Goddamn צ and ז.... Stupid Hebrew words that are designed to make you look like some kind of moron. All that one can do is bury one's head in one's lap when the adrenaline subsides and try to learn from the embarrassment. At the very least, it is a very fast way of learning as it is a good form of negative reinforcement. But, there is actually a type of mistake from which one does not benefit in any way: the inevitable non yes-or-no question in wickedly fast 'Brew that you think you understand, but of course do not and just nod stupidly at. This nod is quickly followed by either a burst of laughter or a shaking of the head, "you didn't understand...". Classic.
"ג'וש, איך אתה מרגיש על העברית שלך אחרי כמה שבועות פה?" (Josh, how do you feel about your Hebrew after being here for a few weeks?)
Nod. Smile. Slight glint of confusion in eyes.
But seriously, after suffering a bit as anyone does with these common problems of learning another language, I still feel very good about my Hebrew. Whereas I only understood about 30% of what was being said around me when I first got to Israel, now I feel that I can understand around 50% of what is being said (depending on all sorts of factors ranging from native/immigrant accents, socio-economic status, venue differences (school or bar) and age). I have also stacked up a couple hundred words' worth of new flash cards since I arrived in Israel five weeks ago. And even if I make these stupid mistakes, I am usually complimented at some point or another for knowing as much as I do for having only studied the language intensively for 2 months or so - which helps with my self confidence (50% of speaking a foreign language). I'll just have to live in resignation that I WILL say stupid things in Hebrew over which I will only have a small amount of control. I am reminded of this nice little poster:
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