The Ulpan Experience

 I'm a few weeks in to my Ulpan class. Here's the low down.

What happens in an actual Ulpan class

The teacher walks in while students do the preliminary classwork. This consists of having to translate English sentences into Hebrew. The sentences sometimes make sense, sometime don’t. After struggling to type in Hebrew for 20 minutes you submit the sentences and they are automatically given a failing grade. You typed a wrong letter. You spelled using an incomplete structure and not a formally complete spelling. You assumed that the use of the first-person suffix or prefix means you don’t have to spell out “I” to introduce the verb. You didn’t learn a particular use of the word or it was an infrequent use that you didn’t focus on. You forgot a term or expression. You wrote something perfectly adequate but not in the way the computer wanted. You didn’t double a letter because you never learned that you had to double the letter. Whatever. You got a 30%. Again. Review the mistakes and take notes.

The teacher starts and the format is that the teacher asks people questions using new and old vocabulary and students have to answer in Hebrew. Some teachers ask personal questions, some don’t. Some want actual answers based on life and others want the structure of the sentence regardless of its truth value. So either you have to word your interesting life in a limited vocabulary or have to think up a pretend response that uses words you know and has no connection to you. Neither is a simple task.

You stumble through an answer because simply knowing the word isn’t enough. There are prompting questions which are designed to remind you of what you are being asked. All that does it confuse you and you second, third and fourth guess yourself. In Hebrew, you have to be able to turn it into a passive third person plural and use it in its slang sense so it means the exact opposite of what it means if you reverse the word order. Then you are asked about a sentence and corrected. You are told “we don’t say it like that”. You have 2 questions: 1. Why (and to a lesser degree, OK, how do we say it) and 2. But that’s the way the teacher yesterday said to say it. You do not get a satisfactory answer to either question, partially because the teacher doesn’t really understand what you are asking. Maybe a different teacher would on a different day but thems the breaks.

Repeat for 4 hours. The teacher introduces a new root and then tells you to use it as a second person singular feminine future even before you know what it means. You are told that it belongs to a particular binyan because that should make it clear exactly how you should pronounce it. In Hebrew, the conjugation is more important than the meaning. Of course, the binyan means nothing to you, and being told “in this binyan, it is passive reflexive so that should make it obvious” doesn’t help. The teacher lists 3 other words you have seen so you can model the pronunciation off of them but then says that this is an exception and for reasons unexplainable, we say it THIS way and not exactly THAT way.

Then the teacher mentions that a common usage of the word is in the following expression but DON’T WRITE THIS DOWN because it isn’t a nice thing to say but that’s how we use it but DON’T WRITE IT DOWN. And also, if you turn it accidentally into the passive it means something horrid so don’t make that mistake but don’t worry about it. Just don’t do it.

You survive repeated public shamings through which you feel both more and less prepared and really want to stay in class and talk to other struggling students but instead, you return to your apartment and work on the homework which asks you to use today’s words and mix in some you haven’t thought about for a few weeks. Another 30%.

Repeat 3 times a week for 2 years beyond the foreseeable future.

These are the questions

 I am trying to be more accepting -- to see the world for what it is and be happy with that. But it is important to note that just because I can start to accept things as they are and not insist that they conform to my world view does NOT mean that I stop wanting to understand why and how things are as they are.

I know that water boils at 212 degrees F. I don't fully understand what that means, and I know that changes in air pressure and salinity might have an effect of the precise number but I can accept that water boils at or around 212. Fine. And I know, yes I ACCEPT that in Israel, the water boils at 100 degrees C. But here's what I don't understand -- if I take a bunch of water, bought and paid for in the US and in the US it has spent its entire life, if I take that water with me on a plane to Israel and land here and get to someplace with a kitchen, if I then put that water into a pot and turn on the heat, that water will somehow know to boil at 100 C! 

I can read all the books and consult all the experts, but no one has yet to explain to me how does the water know?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tlgl2_3MT70

A Close Shave

 I don't like to shave. It is boring and usually frustrating. I have never enjoyed it and as a younger man I has plagued with in-grown hairs so when I shaved I either ended up bleeding or with dark lines under big bumps. Thing is, one thing I dislike more than shaving is how I look when I haven't shaved. When I shave I can pass for someone a little younger while when I don't shave I can pass for a senior citizen. So I shave. Occasionally. I do let the scruff grow for a while before I give in and start the ritual of the shave. Some shavers work better on longer hair. I'll just keep telling myself that.

Since my son-in-law introduced me to it, the Phillips One Blade has been my go to. I get nothing from them so that's an unsolicited endorsement. Now if they, out of the goodness of their huge corporate heart wanted to drop off, say, a selection of kosher cold cuts, I wouldn't say no. But anyway, I lathered my face up (you think I'm in a lather now? Ha!) and started shaving. Different men have different styles and orders of operation. I'm a symmetrist. I start on my right side and work a certain amount, then do the corresponding area on the left cheek. I keep it balanced and move back and forth, shaving sections moving towards the middle.

So there I was, mostly undressed, lights on bright and with me and myself eyeing each other through the mirror. I had finished most of my face and began work on the mustachal region. Right, left. Repeat. At a certain point I took a break to stretch a little and suddenly I realized with fright that if, God forbid, I were to drop dead right now, whoever finds me will find me in my skivvies wearing a Hitler mustache. I felt the urge to, very carefully but very quickly, finish the shave job before I keeled over and left nothing but questions in the mind of the public. Life and death as a matter of timing, it seems, as timing is what's keeping me from causing such a fuhrer.

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to answer your question, no. I didn't know it would end with that when I planned it out. That popped into my head as I was writing it.

Thoughts on a Bus Ride, 1976 edition

 I want to tell you a story – a story which, in some ways, hasn’t ended, but in one big way ended this evening.

I’m 57. Half a century ago, way back in 1976 the Rosens of Mt. Vernon traveled to Israel. My dad was radiologist in a hospital but also on faculty at a medical college so he earned a sabbatical year. He chose to take it in Jerusalem working at sha’arei Tzedek hospital. Ira and I, and baby Naomi lived on the 5^th floor of Kiriyat Wolfson (B) for 6 months. We went to school here and learned how Israeli kids live.

I’m sure I had taken the bus with others and I felt confident enough to go on my own on that day. If I recall the mundane details, there was something happening at school which changed dismissal time so I planned to go to a friend’s house because my parents weren’t home and we were going to have to return to school later for something anyway. But for some reason I called home from his house and found my parents WERE home so I decided to go back home and go to school from there. It was supposed to be a straight shot down the big street next to Kiryat Wolfson and it was. Except that the bus did not stop. I got that nervous stomach feeling and then that paranoid feeling. Everyone is not telling me something. I don’t recall exactly when in the 6 month period this was but I recall not feeling at ALL confident in my language skills. I stood sort of close to the front hoping to overhear some conversation which explained all this and unsure how to talk to an adult driving a bus without my having the general confidence or language skills to do so. Shy by nature and with a horrible fear of feeling foolish and a bouquet of other anxieties, lost on a bus, in a foreign country. Age 7. I recall very clearly as we drove through what I remember as near-desert (but that’s probably a bit melodramatic) a street sign with two arrows pointing in opposite directions: one reading “Jerusalem” with an arrow to the left, and the other reading “Tel Aviv” and the right pointing arrow. The bus turned right.

I figured out about 30 years ago that the reason the bus didn’t stop is that one has to pull the cord to tell the driver that there is a stop request. If no one pulls and no one is waiting at the stop, the driver just keeps going. Little immigrant boy hadn’t learned that. Subsequently, little immigrant boy has a horrible fear of public transportation (and going places, in general).

Fast forward to 50 years later and something profound dawns on me.

There are a lot of bad people and bad outcomes in this world and sadly, every day. I got lost on a bus and was found by a random woman who took me home, fed me and helped me contact my parents. There are many other different potential outcomes, some ending quite badly. The things that placed that woman on that bus on that day and at that time are part of the complex mechanism that my faith allows me to see as the subtle manipulations of my universe’s creator. Maybe my character needed an experience. Maybe I was a part in some larger backstory centered on the woman. Whatever it was, I was put through this in a way which avoided physical, and minimized emotional pain. These are the things I have to be aware of and be thankful for. I look at the difficult moments and realize two things – in each case there is someone there for me and in each case, I am put in a situation which I am strong enough to handle or there is someone else there to help when I’m not strong enough. I have stopped believing in coincidences long ago and I am trying to be strong enough to see Hashem’s hand in my life.

 

 

Why I don't Spelunk

 I finally caved in and started an Ulpan this morning.

First thoughts -- I'm in level B. Not quite a beginner but mostly I haven't a clue. Yes, I understand much of what people are talking about but that's because, generally, people aren't talking about anything important.

The class has 6 or so people online and about 10 in the classroom (the facility is a 35 second walk from my apartment). The mode is generally oral testing. The teacher (Aharon) goes from person to person and asks a question requiring a complete sentence that uses one of the words introduced that day and the proper grammar. So we covered the word "Shalit" (control) and the preposition which follows it (b-) and also the term shlita which is followed by "al". So the teacher might ask me "What do you control?" and I have to respond with "ani sholet bakita sheli" or what ever it is I control. I know -- I rarely control my class. These were practice sentences, not real-life reflections. We also learned about ibud (lost) and halach l'ibud, got lost.

Some is very basic and some is news to me so at least for now, this might be the right level. I have a lot to catch up on, though, just in terms of the vocabulary which they have already covered and the foundational grammar which they covered before this year. I don't like oral testing because it puts me on the spot in front of other people so I do see why a private class would be better. In this (4 hour) class, often the question is based on an answer someone else gave so you really have to be paying attention the entire time. It is quite draining. Also, some times, it is hard to understand what the nature of the question is. The instructor might just say a word and you have to know what he wants you to do with that. I have to get over my anxiety about being wrong so publicly and often. You'd think by now I'd be used to that...

The class is trying to cover grammar, vocab and expressions/phraseology all at the same time. I feel like, were I there from day 1 I would be much more solid but I'm stepping in almost 2 months late and I will only be in the class 2 out of the 3 sessions per week. I feel like I got a lot out of today's class and am excited to get more out of it but it is nerve wracking to be trying to answer questions and construct sentences in the face of so much unknown stuff.

I did learn more practical stuff today than I did in years of Yeshiva Hebrew education but there was still so much I didn't get. And they throw around grammatical terms (English and Hebrew) and everyone gets it. So on one hand, I'm happy to see a room of people who understand what the infinitive is in English, but when the teacher says "this word is in the pi'el" and they all know not just what that is, but what it indicates about various conjugations, I feel doubly lost. I learned a few words. It was a win. So now, 4 hours Tues and Wed (since I work during class time on Sundays) I will be trying to improve my Hebrew.

A time to write

Good morning, I say, knowing full well that where ever you are, it might not be morning, or good, and knowing that the same could be said about where ever I am. But I say it because, darn it, that's just how people should be. So you'd better find a way to have a good morning or I will have to track you down and give you something to have a good morning about.

I'm here at my job, reflecting on where I am 2 and a half months in to my new life. Time to stop and count the roses before they hatch because they can't stand the heat. Or something like that.

So, updates: my degrees were recognized so now I don't have to fear them as I walk down an unlit alley. I just got a piece of paper that says that my US teaching degree has been recognized. That and 8 NIS gets me on the bus. I have to submit it to someone, get it signed and uploaded to something. So there is still stuff to do in that regard. Plus I have to start taking a weekly class (mostly virtual but 3 in-person meetings) and I don't know what the class is about. That should be exciting. I also submitted some letters attesting to the fact that I have been in the classroom for a long time so even though I'm a n00b, I'm an experienced one.

I still have concerns about my utilities. Am I using a lot? A little? Everything leans on the budget and the budget leans on my keeping track of things and that's not my strength. My lift arrived and there seems to only be one serious issue -- my dining room table is broken. I have submitted photos and such to the moving company but have not heard back. I'm waiting on leaving an online review until I see how they deal with this. I have had to order a new table (not cheap...so much for my budget) and will have to find a way to move the broken table out to the curb while I negotiate the arrival of the replacement (cf shipping weirdness in an earlier post). My apartment is now overfull of stuff (and boxes which I have to get rid of). After living out of a suitcase for 2 months, I find that I need very little else so all the clothes that arrived aren't even needed. Pots and pans (which I haven't used yet) are not essential as I have set up a schedule of food that doesn't require much more than the bits and pieces I initially brought with me (or was given by Heidi).

Side note -- I tried oat milk with my cheap corn-esque flakes yesterday. I imagine rice milk is like skim milk, almond milk is like 1% and oat milk is heavy cream. Moving on.

As I am settling in to a routine, I'm also trying to adjust myself to the ebb and flow of the work week here. By the time I finish my 2 classes on Sunday (I work from 8:30 to noon) my week is halfway done. This week, my 9th grade isn't meeting on Thursday so my week is 2/3 over already and by 2 this afternoon, I will be done. Yes, I have other things to do (that weekly teaching class thing, lots of grading and setting up future classes, running mundane errands so I can make sure I have a steady supply of fake corn flakes and something to pour on them) but it is weird to just putter around my apartment trying to not spend money or go quietly insaner, thinking about Shabbat plans on a Monday.

Thing is, I wake up and take stock on and realize, I'm in Israel. I live here now. This isn't a vacation and even though I am working part-time, the students see me as their actual, real teacher so I had better take it serious-like so I don't look like I'm not fully invested, drifting in and out and not caring in between.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Tomorrow will be, also. Nothing changes and everything changes and the only thing that is consistent is that some things will change maybe. I'm sure there's more, but I got the important things in here and without too much whining.

Residual Spiritual

 People who have spent time around me recently know that I'm shifting into a more spiritual direction (or trying to). I am working at seeing the divine hand in my every day life. And I have. Often. Weird coincidences which end up being important or significant. Confluences of events, echoes unexpectedly appearing -- things that I am guilty of having ignored or chalked up to the goofiness that is reality. I now see them as intentional, as involvement of God, on the private level, in my life.

This has also impacted my prayer. I'm trying to be more "present" when I pray because if God is willing to show his hand, I should be willing to play open as well. This has actually helped me understand the purpose of some parts of prayer that I hadn't pieced together. And, sure, maybe I'm just seeing links where they don't exist, or even where scholars have noted them for generations. But, hey, now it is my turn to see them and it is a revelation for ME. You don't like it? Can't help you.

In the morning, one of the blessings we say praises God for being one who opens the eyes of the blind. I'm not officially blind, but that openness, that awareness of what is really going on around me is what I have to see. I need to acknowledge that this whole big machine of the universe is all humming along with God as the constant engineer. If I don't see it, I am as a blind man stumbling around, unable to fulfill other commandments because I can't see the God is behind it all. I also praise God for lifting up those who have fallen. Just because I didn't see yesterday, or I ignored what was in front of me does not mean that I'm lost. God gives us each day to start over. Every day is a new year's beginning and I am given the strength, awareness and understanding to get back up and try again. I want to be accounted as one of the holy ones who praise God and to do that, I have to see all that God does all around me.

In the central prayer of the Amida, I hope, fervently that I can be considered a holy one even though I need God's help to be brought back from the dead EVERYDAY. Not just physically, mind you, but religiously -- I have an opportunity to be a new-born child who starts with a clean slate and can do better than he did yesterday. I ask for the intelligence to recognize that without God, all sorts of other things just won't happen. By the end of the section of requests, I attest to God's presence in my life -- the miracles and wonders that are all around me and that, I hope, I can now see so that I can sing proper praises.

It isn't easy to live with eyes open all the time. You expect something, some sort of obviousness. But like understanding a prophecy, sometimes, it only works in hindsight. Last week, I was accosted by a man on the street who wanted me to buy him a meal. I was ok with that part but he wanted to take me on a train ride to where he sleeps. I refused and offered, again, to buy him some food. We walked into a small store and he first asked for a pack of cigarettes. To that, I said "no." I was willing to buy him food but not tobacco. We left on good terms but it was an awkward (borderline uncomfortable) experience. And then, right after, I happened to run into two former students. Had I not been taken the way this guy dragged me, had he not taken up a precise amount of time, I would not have run into these students. At the time, I couldn't see how the wheels were turning to make things work out. But right after, that slot machine paid off and I had a wonderful conversation with a couple of great guys. Would I have known had I missed them? No, but seeing that I ran into them was an incredible pleasure so I can look at the vagrant who tried to get me to buy him cancer and say gamzu l'tovah and when I pray, I can admit that this all was part of a bigger plan.

These "coincidences" are always happening and I thank God every day that I have the ability to see them for what they are.