Alan Steen was skeptical but entranced by the possibility.
“How do you learn the whole alef-bet in half a day?” the Napa resident wondered aloud while scratching his white beard.
My own thinking wasn¹t far off from his. I mean, I went to Hebrew school for seven years and still couldn¹t tell the difference between a bet and a kaf. Yet there I was in the social hall of Napa¹s Congregation Beth Sholom waiting to learn Hebrew in one afternoon through a Lehrhaus Judaica crash course, Hebrew in a Day. At the first-time class for the independent synagogue, I was one of almost 20 people who braved the rain to be there on a recent Sunday.
Linda Heller was there, for instance, “because I read Hebrew like a first-grader.”
While Dean Garder was there “cause I don¹t know a thing” about Hebrew.
I was there, of course, because my editor told me to go. And because it¹s a little embarrassing that I only know about three Hebrew words and one of them is my name.
As I found a seat at one of two long folding tables before class began, I thought: “This better work!” (It would be utterly humiliating if I weren¹t fluent in Hebrew after the class, considering I¹d bragged to the world that I would be).
Anat Wolins, our teacher, rushed in from the rain, her long black wavy hair tied into a braid that rested over her right shoulder. Her arrival put me immediately at ease, as she, like me, had made a wrong turn off Highway 121 and had gotten completely lost.
But my ease transformed into fear as Wolins began setting up, what she called her “portable classroom,” including all sorts of colorful posters strewn with Hebrew letters and Hebrew letter flashcards.
“I¹ll never be able do this,” I thought, surrendering before we even began. My stomach began turning in nervous circles and I flashed back on all sorts of horrible Hebrew school memories, like that time in fourth grade when I was sent to the principal¹s office for knocking the kippah off Jason Berger¹s head.
“Why am I here?” I thought. “I hated Hebrew school!”
Then Wolins, a native Israeli, explained to the group that we must “keep an open mind.” That learning Hebrew really comes down to learning the alef-bet, and that once you learn the alef-bet, you can read it.
“Get out of you the fear of the language,” said Wolins, pointing an heirloom yad from Bombay, India, at a flashcard alef. “I promise this might even be fun.”
We reviewed the alef-bet, five letters at a time, learning each letter¹s pronunciation and shape, as well as that of those letters with final forms (like chaf sofeet) and other variations. We repeated the letters several times, in order, out of order, backward and forward and then moved on to the vowels.
While learning the vowels, one of the more complicated lessons of the day (some of the vowels have four different symbols, all meaning exactly the same thing), some in the class exchanged frustrated glances and whispers.
“I didn¹t know the Hebrew alphabet to begin with so I¹m at a bit of a disadvantage,” explained Harriet Spitz.
“The only letter I even recognized was the shin,” agreed Risa Fram.
Steen summed it up best. “I see what she¹s saying,” he said of Wolins, “but I don¹t know why.” We all nodded in understanding.
Wolins admitted it is much more difficult for an adult to learn a new language than for a kid. But she added that we were taking “a big first step” by learning the fundamentals. She encouraged us to continue studying and said we¹d be speaking Hebrew before we knew it.
“It may sound like a fantasy,” she said, “but believe me it really works.”
All in all I was surprised to find that I actually remembered more than I thought I would, though I could not roll the “r” in the letter reish and my throat did getting sore from pronouncing that gutteral “ch” sound for four hours.
And, I¹m sorry to disappoint, but in such a short time, I did not quite become a fluent Hebrew speaker. I can promise, however, that I will never again confuse a bet and a kaf.