Loving Learning Languages

My mind turns to language learning now that I have an opportunity at work to dust off my old Hebrew. I spent 10 months of 1974 in Israel, studying Hebrew half the day in a classroom and working on the kibbutz the rest of the day. After my six-month program, I stayed four more months as a volunteer, using the Hebrew I'd learned to run a granary and get to know the kibbutzniks (residents).

My foreign language study actually started with Hebrew--something that Jewish kids learn at least a little bit at home. But that Hebrew was prayers over bread and wine or Chanukah candles. In Israel, the language is alive. When I arrived I saw it splashed all over signs on buildings, on every newsrack, phone booth, and you heard it all around you. I absorbed the language by osmosis, supported by the classroom work.

I studied foreign languages in school: French in 7th grade, Spanish in 8th through 11th grade, and German in the 10th. I may have been the only kid at Concord High taking (and passing) two foreign languages in the same year!

In college I took a year of Japanese to fulfill my language requirement, along with a calligraphy class. I had dabbled in martial arts briefly and was fond of sushi, so it seemed like a good idea. I also hoped to meet a nice Asian girl (but never did). Interestingly, I did take the young woman who became my first wife to a Japanese Club party on our first date, so I guess it did help.

Since college, I've studied American Sign Language (ASL) for a few years through my job. I really enjoyed it, but the classes and tutoring I was taking were getting harder to manage, and, like every other language, it takes a long time to get enough proficiency to really enjoy speaking.

Except Hebrew--because of the immersion, I did have times when it felt natural. I can still hear some phrases in my head. But, I've forgotten a lot (I can hear the Hebrew words for this phrase in my head right now). With some Israelis at work now, I am going to dive back in.

Off to Israel--37 Years Ago Today

On March 12, 1974, I landed in Israel to begin what would become a ten-month stay on Kibbutz Hulda, an agricultural community in central Israel. I was taking a break from college, where I was stagnating and having trouble choosing a major.

The Kibbutz Movement was a socialist experiment that was vital to settling the region in the early 20th Century and after statehood in 1947. A kibbutz is a community operation, so personal property isn't much in evidence or encouraged. You eat in a cafeteria, work together at various jobs, and run things as a group. In its pure state, even children live separately from their parents and are raised together.

This community idealism is apparent, and works under some conditions, but as the modern world has changed, many kibbutzim (plural) now specialize in industrial activities too. Mine was old fashioned. We had animals, cotton fields, orchards, vineyards and other farm features. I fed cows and also spent some time weeding the vineyards, and, for the first six months, studied Hebrew half of each day.

It was a great experience, but as fall turned to winter I was ready to come home and resume my college studies. It was fascinating to live in another place that spoke a different language and to meet people from so many different places. I never felt more American.