Stop the English now

My daughter Yael just got off the phone and whoever she was speaking to was speaking English. (I feel like there should be some calamitous-sounding music here but if I can't import video, you can rest assured that I can't import music effects.)

That might not sound like such a big deal to most of you, but for me, it's a big deal.

Yael was about two and half years old when we moved to Israel. She spoke Hebrew and English almost equally at home in Toronto. And if I had to choose the language that played a greater role in her early years, it was definitely Hebrew. Her father spoke to her in Hebrew, so did the nanny, so did my in-laws and so did her nursery school teacher. In theory, the babysitters spoke Hebrew to her as well, but I am pretty sure that they all switched to English the minute we walked out the door.

That said, she is a capable Hebrew speaker. Or, she was, until we moved to Israel and made friends primarily with English-speaking kids. Many of these kids also speak Hebrew but as a result of "the bubble-effect" that exists in our neighbourhood, the kids all know who speaks English and it is completely natural for them to speak to each other in the accused language.

At this point in Yael's life, more than half her classmates are native-English speakers -- and they all know it. While the teacher demands that the girls speak Hebrew in class, she has very little control over what happens at recess. The result, at least for the past several years, is that approximately half the class can't play with the other half of the class -- because the rules to many games and the social interaction of play all occurs in English. Needless to say this has caused a lot of friction with the Hebrew-speaking parents. And I have to agree with their concerns one hundred per cent (or "maya-huz" in this case).

Which brings me to today. As it turns out, the little girl Yael was speaking to was, in fact, a native Hebrew speaker who just wants to be like the majority of the class and speak English. This same little girl just happens to be incredibly bright and has learned English out of sheer desire and determination. (And you should hear her read.)

I like this girl regardless of what language she speaks but I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that I was thrilled that Yael had such a good friend who was a Hebrew speaker.

We came all this way to live in a country that we believe is our home and to speak the language of our ancestors (sort of). As I have mentioned previously in other posts, my Hebrew leaves a lot to be desired. And as I have also mentioned, as a matter of principle, I still go out there and speak it every day. It's worth it just to see the perplexed looks on people's faces as they try to follow along.

However, if I had to choose one language for my children, it would have to be Hebrew. We live in Israel and they go to school all day in Ra'anana.

Fortunately, I don't have to choose. My kids seem to be able to handle both languages without too much effort. But let me leave you with a truly pathetic story.

The year we arrived in Israel there were 35 children in my son's nursery school. Twenty-eight were native English speakers. One native-born Israeli family, recently relocated from Tel Aviv, had placed their child in this nursery school. Within weeks they had to remove their daughter from the nursery school and place her elsewhere. Why? According to her mother: she didn't speak English and she didn't feel like she fit in.

My failing hebrew grade

My hebrew is pathetic. I have lived in Israel for six and a half years and I speak the native language with the finesse of a five-year-old. Don't bother trying to placate me with you niceties. I have proof.

Here are a few examples of things I have said (unintentionally, of course):
• To the kids in my carpool: "if rain is falling after school, rise up under the roof because I am on the way"
• To strangers asking for directions: "I don't know but ask the guard at the church" (remember, this is Israel, there is no abundance of churches, and the word for "church" and the word for "entrance" are almost the same – at least to me)
• To the butcher: "I fell from my bike and I hurt my wing"

I have no qualms about changing tenses mid-sentence. I am also the queen of transliteration. In other words, I think the sentence through in English and then translate it directly into Hebrew. Let me save you some thinking time: IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT.

When native born Israelis ask me how long I have lived here and I say six and a half years, their inevitable next comment is: "Why can't you speak (decent) Hebrew? The Russians speak excellent hebrew." (Like I want to be compared to the Russians. Forget that; I have already elaborated on my theories about them in previous posts.)

So, why don't I speak a better hebrew? This is a fair question, but it also happens to have a fair and reasonable answer. I live in what is commonly called in Israel an "Anglo" area. I speak almost no Hebrew on any given day. The only people I speak Hebrew to with any regularity are the cashiers at the grocery store and some Arab laborers I know (that's a story for another day). Suffice it to say, that in each of these instances, the Hebrew on both sides is pretty pathetic.

And if all of that isn't enough, my fluently Hebrew-speaking husband will no longer bail me out of tricky Hebrew situations. He figures that after six and a half years I am on my own. Since I know it is impossible to change his mind once he has given his edict, I just go forth and babble away in bizarre Hebrew. I figure that it is up to the capable Hebrew speakers to interpret what I am saying.

When that fails, I wait for one of my kids to come home from school and deal with my Hebrew situation of the moment. Zeve makes a lot of calls on my behalf. Generally this is a good thing until he starts to ad-lib and add his own comments to my dictated conversations. It's the price I pay when I hand over control to an 11-year-old with opinions.

One of my fondest (not) memories of my first year in Israel involved driving a gaggle of 7-year-old boys to a birthday party. As they all entered the car, my then 7-year-old son Ari said to me: "Mom, please don't talk to anyone. Just drive the car."

I did, but in the future I am going to hang my university degrees on the sun visor so that his friends know I am capable of something – just not in Hebrew.