About: Part One

Type “why make aliyah” into Google. The first link you will come upon (at this “publication”) is “Jacob Richman’s Aliyah Page,” an interesting resource for people considering aliyah. Unfortunately, the “Why Aliyah?” page contains predictable responses for people “moving on up”: fulfilling what they see as the most important commandment given to them by G-d, living a Jewish life, investing in Israel’s future, etc. I do not mean to offend the people who offered these reasons; for them, these were the “pull factors” that brought them across the Atlantic.

But I, like S.Y. Agnon wrote in “In the Heart of the Seas,” am not ready to run in front of the bride and groom to the wedding canopy. I would like to consider other reasons for moving to Israel. Sure, the fact that it will be easier for me to keep kosher or to take vacations on Jewish holidays is attractive, but that alone will not get me there. Another factor is much stronger for me, one that actually did not originate in thoughts about aliyah.

My “connection” (loosely-phrased) to Israel (not “the land” of Israel, but just Israel, a point on a map) began with Hebrew lessons I had taken at a Jewish day school from kindergarten (or first grade; my memory fails me) to eighth grade. I was a little sad to see my lessons end in June 2002, and I even thought about attending a Jewish high school for the Hebrew. I ended up going to a public high school with vague ideas of working on Hebrew in my “spare time.” School work, extracurriculars, and even a meager social life pushed those plans aside.

My love for Hebrew lay dormant at the end of eighth grade until it was finally woken up my freshman year of college. When I was finally given the opportunity to live away from home, I decided to spend some of my time as I wanted — trying to re-teach myself the Hebrew I had forgotten. Access to high-speed internet gave me the chance to listen to Galgalatz (the main Israeli radio station) and to watch videos in Hebrew on YouTube. I don’t remember the details, but somehow I connected the huge impression that was made on me in day school on the day Yitzhak Rabin (then prime minister of Israel) was assassinated, Aviv Geffen’s song, Livkot Lecha (’To Cry for You’; more on this in a later entry), and my general interest (could it be called love then?) in Hebrew.

That led me to discover all of Aviv Geffen’s wonderful music and pushed me to fix up my broken Hebrew. Five years of not taking Hebrew left me with random vocabulary and the ability to read texts without vowels (assuming I knew the words, or at least the root) — not exactly the best tools to enjoy what I thought was excellent writing. I persisted with my focused study of Aviv Geffen’s lyrics, ordering his 1997 collection “Yareah Male” (Full Moon; this contained “Livkot Lecha”), looking up words, and watching YouTube videos online. I didn’t know it then, but not just my love for Aviv Geffen, but also my love for Hebrew, began to grow.

All that YouTubing (as well as some other factors I cannot recall right now) led to the discovery of other great (or at least educational) music. I made YouTube playlists with numerous artists and bands: Arik Einstein, Aviv Geffen, Ehud Banai, Eric Berman, David Broza, Mook E, Sarit Hadad, Ivri Lider, ha’Dag Nahash, Idan Raichel, Boaz Sharabi, Subliminal, Ofra Haza, and much more. I soon put a seemingly unrelated interest in computer customization/Mac Envy to use, downloading a Yahoo Widget that allowed me to stream 22 Israeli radio stations on my computer. By the end of my first year in college, I had listened to enough songs to get me caught up with Israeli culture, both before and after 2002.

This was still not enough to get me to take Hebrew, though; it wasn’t necessary for me to take in college, and I thought I could use my time more effectively. Fate (or something; bear with this common literary transition) would have it differently. We had to attend concentration advising sessions Freshman Year, and I managed to miss my Government advising session. I had to pick something else to explore. Scanning the concentrations online, I found one that I was relatively interested in: [for privacy purposes, let's call it Middle Eastern Studies (MES), which is essentially what it is]. As I talked to professors, advisers, and would-be-MES concentrators, I considered taking Hebrew my sophomore year. Summer would make me more sure of my choice.

Not having gotten a summer internship, I spent my time walking around my area. Without iPod ear buds in my ears, I listened to my surroundings: they were in Hebrew. There were tons of Israelis everywhere! I had no idea where they all came from (I had never heard so many before), but I cared about the language itself too much to find out: I could only partially understand it.

I walked in similar areas for a month, seeing how much Hebrew I could pick up. Although I had tried to resurrect my old vocabulary and build a new one, it was not very useful. If I knew the vocabulary, I could usually understand what was being said, but it was clear that I would need more help.

My summer vacation on the Cape confirmed that idea. I found myself in a house with about a dozen Israelis who had immigrated to the country (ie. Israel) in the seventies from one of the “-stan” countries (again, my memory fails me). They spoke Hebrew. I was able to understand some of it, but I did not have enough confidence to speak with the “patriarch” of the family, so to speak, in Hebrew; even a “Ma Nishma (What’s up)?” did not provoke a response from me. Not with my terrible Hebrew.

Soon enough, it was September, and I found myself taking a full-year introductory-level Hebrew course (I chose that one because I was not confident that I remembered enough Hebrew to take a higher-level). I studied during the year, spent more time listening to music (or thinking about some of Aviv Geffen’s lyrics; I was able to pick up dual-meanings used in one line, for example), and even watched movies to improve my skills. My Hebrew definitely got better, but how good was it, really, and how good could it get?

I paused to evaluate further. I would (and will) continue with Hebrew this September, but what will I do after? I had developed an interest in Yehonatan Geffen (Aviv Geffen’s famous father), his poetry, his songs, and his books (I am currently reading “Isha Yekara,” which is translated as “Lovely Lady”, in Hebrew; only having read a few very good pages, I don’t know how accurate that is yet) this year too: how would I read books in Hebrew — more than I would have access to in the libraries in my area? How would I own those books in a “grand” at-home-library? How would I watch Israeli movies without waiting for them to come out in American theaters (and even then, those are the major ones…)? How would I buy Israeli music without going online every time? I had also started writing poetry in Hebrew and learned that I love “writing” in Hebrew and would like to do it “for real” — ie. with a good vocabularly and a greater ability to express my thoughts; I even went so far as to say that, in some ideal world, I would want to be a singer-songwriter and/or writer in Hebrew (more on this in a later entry).

These line of questions seem silly as I type them. I have plenty of access to reading materials, and if I probably try really, really hard, I can pay high shipping and handling fees to purchase Israeli books I may or may not like. I can just watch major movies; not everything that comes out is worth seeing, after all; besides, I am not a huge fan of movies. I can pay shipping and handling fees for the music I want to order online. I can take Hebrew in graduate school or take some lessons at an ulpan in Israel….No wonder people don’t list such “cultural reasons” as “pull factors.”

But what if I don’t want to do that? What if I want a greater access to books? What if I have to read the book before I buy it? What if I don’t want to pay ridiculous shipping and handling fees? And isn’t it true that no matter how many Hebrew lessons I take, I won’t be able to maintain my skills unless I use the language every day?

If one thinks about it all of these concerns can be summed up as “language skills”: how will I maintain them? Beyond this shallow concern lies my “pull factor”: a love of Hebrew. I watched those movies, not because I like movies, but because I wanted to learn more Hebrew (it turns I would actually like some of these, but that’s a story for another entry). I can express my thoughts more effectively (by most measures) in English, but I wanted to write in Hebrew.

I think I want to be surrounded by Hebrew. I want to go into a store, skim through a book in Hebrew — as easily as I do in English — and then buy it. I want to go to an Aviv Geffen concert in Israel without paying a ton for airplane tickets. I want to write in Hebrew. I want to think and speak in Hebrew with ease. That is what I need Israel for. I don’t have any grand dreams. This isn’t about “living the dream” in most senses of the phrase. I just want Hebrew.

. . .

Before I create any more posts, I want to make clear that this will not obsess about Israel (it will probably only obsess about Mishpahat Geffen). I know every country, and perhaps even ideology, has its problems. This will simply be an attempt to figure out how interested I really am in moving to Israel.

I hope you will join me as a reader, commenter, and/or discussion-participant.