There is a Hebrew expression often used in Jewish educational settings known as a 
My oldest daughter is now in Grade Two. Having attended preschools where she always had at least one Israeli teacher and being in a day school that utilizes the Tal AM curriculum, she has developed an authentic (and very cute) Israeli accent. She, like her classmates, have been listening to Hebrew for as long as they can remember and although they (naturally) vary in their abilities, they are comfortable speaking Hebrew.
Let me define “comfortable”.
The biggest difference between adult learners and child learners is self-consciousness. As an adult, I am very conscious when I make mistakes and, as an adult, I am uncomfortable making them. As a child, I am often less conscious when I make mistakes, but more importantly, as a child, I am comfortable making them – because that’s what learning is.
You can learn Hebrew as an adult. I did. I was in my 20’s attending ulpan as a prerequisite to begin graduate school before I spoke my first Hebrew sentence. I was a pretty good student and so I learned. But as I good as I ever got in the heart of my studies, I could never escape the heart palpitations when called upon to speak. What if I didn’t know the correct word? What if I mixed up my verb tenses or used the wrong grammatical construct? And so even though I have lots of Hebrew in my head and would be considered “fluent” by some, I still have to manually shift my brain and screw up my courage to speak. For example, Jewish Studies faculty meetings are typically conducted in Hebrew. And I am perfectly capable of participating. But when it is my turn to speak, I may get a few Hebrew sentences out, but will almost automatically switch to English.
Here’s the irony. (Or, perhaps, hypocrisy.)
I have been on a mission since arriving at the Martin J. Gottlieb Day School to up the intensity of our Hebrew immersion. I am the first one to call out Jewish Studies teachers if I hear any English spoken in the hallways, let alone the classroom. As an educator, I know that any hope at true second-language acquisition and authentic fluency is dependent on our ability to provide as pure an immersive environment as possible. And yet when Dr. Mitzmacher comes to teach prayer – I mean Tefillah – to First Grade – I mean Kitah Alef – he speaks to the children in English, while praying with them in Hebrew.
Some dugma ishit that guy is!
So after almost three years of hearing me preach Hebrew immersion (in English!), I finally got called out by our Jewish Studies Coordinator. Why don’t I speak to the kids in Hebrew when I am teaching Jewish Studies? If we want to truly be more of a bilingual school why don’t I make school announcements in Hebrew or speak Hebrew during school assemblies and other events?
Why don’t I?
Because it scares me.
What if I forget the words? What if I say it incorrectly? What if I get nervous and go blank? What will people think?
And for me it is about more than Hebrew. Because if a school prides itself on transparency and praises spirited failure, then it requires that leaders lead.
So even though it terrifies me I have set some new professional goals for next year. I am going to try to speak only in Hebrew when I am teaching Jewish Studies. I am going to try to include spoken Hebrew in major school events, like graduation. I am going to try to speak Hebrew during Jewish Studies faculty meetings. I am going to try to speak Hebrew with my daughters, even though my older one’s vocabulary will soon outsize mine. I am going to try and I am likely to fail. But I will keep trying.
Because that’s what it means to be a dugma ivrit.
