Hebrew

Hebraization of names

The Ben-Gurion family in their Tel Aviv home, 1929. From left: David and Paula with youngest daughter Renana on Ben-Gurion’s lap, daughter Geula, father Avigdor Grün and son Amos. (photo from National Photo Collection of Israel / Government Press Office)

David Ben-Gurion, who died 50 years ago, insisted Israelis needed Hebrew names. The process was controversial – but the outcome is clear.

The 50th anniversary of the death of David Ben-Gurion will be marked Dec. 1. The first prime minister of Israel is generally remembered in noble terms, though we live in an era when heroes are being toppled from their plinths. His actions in times of war and peace have been parsed by historians – fairly and unfairly, as seems inevitable – but Ben-Gurion’s legacy among Zionists appears generally secure. Those with ideological axes to grind will grind, but the esteem in which most Israelis and overseas Jews view “the Old Man” remains largely favourable. However, an aspect of his policy that affected people in a very personal way has come in for a reconsideration in the past couple of decades, though it is hardly the stuff that will make or break a reputation. It is the Hebraization of names.

Ben-Gurion was a fierce advocate of Israelis (or, before 1948, Palestinian Jews) adopting names that reflect their new reality and that, by extension, turn their backs on the past and the diaspora. Ben-Gurion himself was born David Grün (or Gruen), changing his name to the Hebrew Ben-Gurion (son a lion cub) in 1910. By 1920, at the latest, he had become an evangelist for Hebraizing names and, when he was in power, he insisted that leading military and political figures adopt Hebrew names.

Ben-Gurion did not start this trend – though he is perhaps most closely associated with it because he was in a position to make it the force of law and custom. He instituted an administrative order that senior military figures and diplomatic officials representing Israel abroad must have Hebrew names. Others, like Golda Meir, he browbeat into the change.

Of course, Jews – and others – have been changing their names since the dawn of migration. People have frequently altered their names when moving to a new society, in order to fit in. Iberian Jews migrating en masse to the Low Countries after the expulsions of the 1490s are an early, well-documented example. Jews arriving on North American shores routinely changed their names, but so did non-Jewish migrants. It was not necessarily (or only) antisemitism that name-changers sought to outrun, but differentness in general. There are stories of French newcomers changing from Boisvert to Greenwood.

Dara Horn, in her book People Love Dead Jews, emphatically debunks the long-held belief passed down by generations that their family names had been changed at Ellis Island (or whatever entry point was appropriate to the story). No, she argues, that didn’t happen. The changing of names by Jewish new Canadians and Americans was, she contends, done by the migrants themselves and represents a sad realization that the Goldene Medina might not be the refuge from antisemitism they had hoped.

But changing one’s name to fit into a society already in progress, like America’s, was different than the situation of arriving in the pre-state Yishuv. This was not a matter of looking around for a local-sounding name and changing Moses to Murray or Lipschitz to Lipson. This required inventing a whole new lexicon of names. It was not the act of taking a common name in the new place, but of inventing entirely fresh first and last names.

The process was a legacy, ultimately, of Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (né Perlman), who was the driving force behind the revival of Hebrew as a vernacular language. After making aliyah in 1881, he came to believe that the redemption of both the people and the land of Israel required a new language to replace Yiddish. This represented a rejection of the diaspora reality and mentality, and served to create a medium through which an eventual (hoped-for) ingathering of exiles from around the world, including places where Yiddish was not the Jewish lingua franca, could communicate. The revival of an ancient land would coincide with the revival of an ancient language, both modernized to meet the needs of a new type of Jew. Ben-Yehuda raised his son and daughter exclusively in Hebrew, which must have made for a somewhat lonely childhood, being effectively the only two people in the world to speak the language as a mother tongue.

photo - Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (né Perlman) was the driving force behind the revival of Hebrew as a vernacular language — Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (né Perlman) was the driving force behind the revival of Hebrew as a vernacular language. (photo by Av Yaacov Ben Dov / Widener Library, Cambridge)

As the language spread – in large part thanks to Ben-Yehuda’s continued perseverance in promoting it and inventing modern words where the ancient language lacked them – the application of the new tongue to family and given names likewise grew.

The repudiation of the diaspora took on an entirely new relevance after the Holocaust. Some who made aliyah resisted changing their names, being attached, as is understandable, to one’s family name. Even so, no Jewish surnames were particularly long-established in the first place, since the practice of Jews adopting inheritable family names was only a century old, or a little more, at that time. The Austro-Hungarian Empire required Jews to take surnames in 1789 and in the Russian Empire and the German principalities not until the following century. At that time, choosing a name followed predictable patterns for Jews and non-Jews: a variation on “son of,” (Aronoff, son of Aron; Mendelsohn, son of Mendel), a reference to a profession (Becker for a baker; Melamed for a teacher), or a connection to the town or region (Frankel, from Franconia; Warshavski, from Warsaw; Wiener, from Vienna).

The adoption of Hebraized names in Palestine and Israel took four primary approaches.

The first was the traditional use of patronyms or matronyms, which is probably the oldest form of naming. Yiddish names, but also names that were German, Polish, Russian, English or French patronyms could be Hebraized: Davidson to Ben-David, Mendelson to Ben-Menachem, Simmons to Shimoni.

A second approach was to choose a Hebrew name that sounded like the original name. In some cases, the new name had a (sometimes remote) connotation with the original, as in the case of Lempel (little lamp) becoming Lapid (torch). Levi Shkolnik would become Israel’s third prime minister as Levi Eshkol. This was more than simply a near-homophone. It reflected another trend in the process, which was to adopt a name that spoke to the commitment of the chalutzim, the pioneers, whose Zionism was deeply informed by a back-to-the-land ethos. Eshkol means “cluster of fruit,” so it did double duty, sounding something like the original and also having a kinship with the blooming desert.

A third strategy was basic translation. Goldberg might become Har-Zahav (mountain of gold); Silver or Silverman might become Kaspi; Herbst, which in German and Yiddish means autumn, could be changed to a Hebrew equivalent, Stav or Stavi.

The fourth approach took the pioneer spirit and connection with the land to greater depths (with or without the homophonic advantage of Shkolnik/Eshkol). Flora, fauna and geography of the new homeland were attractive new names that situated the migrants linguistically and geographically. The writer Carrie-Anne Brownian cites such examples as Rotem (desert broom), Nitzan (flower bud), Yarden (Jordan), Alon (oak tree) and Tomer (palm tree). Simply adopting a place name gives us Hermoni, Eilat, Golani, Kineret and many others.

Those whose names already had a nature theme were at an advantage. The Haganah commander Moshe Klaynboym changed his family name, which meant “little tree” in Yiddish, to Sneh, Hebrew for “bush.”

Not necessarily related to nature, but to the idealization of the Zionist spirit, some took names like Amichai (my people live), Maor (light), Eyal (strength), Cherut (freedom) and Bat Or (daughter of light).

Golda Meyerson, after prodding from Ben-Gurion, became Golda Meir. Interestingly, her rather emphatically Yiddish given name she kept, presumably making Ben-Gurion half-satisfied.

photo - Golda Meyerson, with prodding from David Ben-Gurion, became Golda Meir — Golda Meyerson, with prodding from David Ben-Gurion, became Golda Meir. (photo from mosaicmagazine.com)

As refugees from the Middle East and North Africa began pouring into Israel in the 1950s and ’60s, the Hebraization of names came to be seen as Ashkenormative, the taking of one’s ancestral name being another indignity (alongside inadequate housing and social stigmatization, among other things) that different-looking newcomers faced in their presumed Promised Land.

It seems, for example, that teachers encountering “strange” Mizrachi and Sephardi given names took it upon themselves, in some cases, to assign kids new names based not on any Zionist ideological imperative but for the same reason Canadian teachers in the early to mid-20th century dubbed kids with “foreign” names new ones the teachers could more easily pronounce. In retrospect, some have complained that this phenomenon was an insidious part of a larger (conscious, unconscious or some of both) effort to force Mizrahim and Sephardim to comport to Ashkenazi expectations even in things as intimate as a given name.

Sami Shalom Chetrit, a professor at Queens College in New York, who is of Moroccan-Israeli origin, recalled in a Forward article by Naomi Zeveloff, feeling outraged when an Israeli elementary school teacher nonchalantly renamed him, along with other non-Hebrew-named kids.

“Alif, your name from now on will be Aliza,” Chetrit recalled the teacher declaring. “Jackie, your name is Jacob, and Michele, your name is Michal. She kept going alphabetically. Then she said, ‘Sami, your name will be Shmuel Shalom.’

“I went to my father, crying.… I really felt like something was stolen from me, something precious. I said: ‘They changed my name! They changed it!’”

Chetrit’s father taught the teacher something the next day, according to the story. In Arabic, “Sami” comes from the root “samar,” the father said, meaning “heavenly superior,” and that, the father declared, is “international.”

The tendency eventually faded out. When a million migrants from the former Soviet Union arrived in Israel, after 1991, almost none chose to, or were pressured to, change their names.

There are contemporary exceptions even to this, though. Anatoly Shcharansky, one of the most famous of the Soviet “refuseniks,” became Natan Sharansky on arrival in Israel in 1986. The American historian Michael Bornstein became the Israeli politician-cum-diplomat Michael Oren, having changed his name when he made aliyah in 1979.

Newcomers to Israel today are free to change their names – and free to keep their “galut” (“exile”) names. Israel, today, is an overwhelmingly Hebrew society, though. New arrivals do not present a risk of swamping the place with Yiddish, Arabic, German, Polish or English, as might have seemed a danger 75 years ago, creating a Babel where cultural unity was desperately needed.

In addition to the psychological impacts of adopting Hebrew names (and language) as a refutation of the diaspora that had so recently been the locus of calamity, there was the practical reality of finding commonality among wildly diverse new citizens. That has been achieved. Even sorbing a million Russian-speaking new Israelis after 1990 did not dilute the ascendency of the Hebrew language. For whatever criticisms the forced (or vigorously encouraged) adoption of Hebrew names might invite, there is no doubt the intended outcome has been realized. Ben-Gurion’s dream not only of a Jewish state, but a Hebrew one, is firmly in place.

Artfully exploring heritage

Lindsey Tyne Johnson (photo from Lindsey Tyne Johnson)

Returning from a Birthright trip to Israel in 2019, artist Lindsey Tyne Johnson was inspired. Learning the aleph-bet, she made a laser-engraved spirit board in Hebrew, but accidentally arranged the letters left to right, as they would be in English, and not right to left, as Hebrew is read. The mistake spurred her not only to create the exhibit Hebrew Spelled Backwards, which is on display at the Kamloops Art Gallery until April 1, but to explore her cultural heritage, from which she had been estranged, and learn more about Judaism.

The other, more sombre, inspiration for the Hebrew spirit board and the exhibit was, Johnson writes in a blog post, a “desire to feel closer to my brother after the events that left him homeless and his eventual passing.”

“Born with the name Liam, my brother changed his name to his chosen Hebrew name, Noah as an adult,” she writes on her website (lindseytynejohnson.com). “My mother had mentioned our Jewish ancestry to us as children, but my brother was the only person to explore it…. I can still remember it as what my mother called ‘one of his many phases’ in his late teenage years. She chalked it up to a phase, but it’s the string I use to tie memories of my brother together.”

“My brother was the first person I witnessed who explored their Jewish heritage,” Johnson told the Independent. “When he moved to Vancouver in his early 20s, he legally changed his name to his Hebrew name, Noah. He struggled a lot with his mental health, and there were times when I felt like I was losing the brother I grew up with. It was an attempt to feel closer to him that I went on Birthright and had a bat mitzvah. I wanted to remember the part of him that was happy, passionate and excited about life.

“My brother lost his life to fentanyl in 2021. It was devastating and broke my family apart,” said Johnson, who has two other siblings. “Many struggle to understand substance abuse/mental illness’s connection to generational or cyclical trauma. It’s unfair to look down upon those who might suffer from those things. I try my best to advocate for the destigmatization of mental illness where I can, though I’ve had to be careful not to let others’ ideas also negatively affect my mental health.”

While not a large exhibit, Hebrew Spelled Backwards is powerful, thought-provoking in a serious way, but also using humour. For the exhibit’s images, Johnson explains on her website, “The sandy colour palette was chosen as a tribute to the desert, a significant location in Jewish history and culture. I use digital media to blend traditional Jewish motifs with modern techniques, creating a dynamic visual experience.”

Johnson said, “Like many artists, my process is sporadic and requires a particular head space to create something I’m happy with. I often have ideas for pieces while doing mundane daily activities; if I don’t write them down, they’re lost forever. I practise a lot of sequential art, which is usually silly comics about everyday life, but they’re generally never seen by other humans. My style reflects the graphic novels I like to consume. I can’t help but be inspired by artists like Craig Thompson and Marjane Satrapi, both visually and thematically. My dream is to produce a graphic novel one day.”

The Hebrew Spelled Backwards exhibit comprises not only Johnson’s artwork, but her voice. Each picture has a QR code and viewers can hear Johnson give explanations of the Hebrew words and some context for the images, making the exhibit more accessible and inclusive. The illustrations variously include Jewish symbols and/or Hebrew text, supernatural elements, pop art iconography (a Warholesque can of Birthright’s Instant Bat-Mitzvah, for example) and current topics of concern, like rapper Ye’s antisemitic comments, poignantly drawn as a short series of cellphone text messages from a mom to her child that ends with the child asking, “mum, why is ye mad at us?” This is one of the works that, as the exhibit description reads, “examines the complexities of identifying as Jewish and the fear and uncertainty that often come with it.”

“I have a couple of fears about identifying myself as Jewish,” Johnson told the Independent. “Initially, when diving into Jewish culture and Judaism as a religion, I was afraid people might not think I was ‘Jewish enough,’ since only one of my parents has Jewish ancestry. My siblings and I were raised without Jewish traditions or education…. Having a bat mitzvah really helped with that fear, though. I’m also grateful that I’ve never really encountered anyone from the Jewish communities I’ve belonged to that has made me feel that way.

image - “RaeF” by Lindsey Tyne Johnson — “RaeF” by Lindsey Tyne Johnson

“The other part of that fear was that people would think differently of me or assume certain tropes or ideologies about me if I publicly identified myself as Jewish. This is an unfortunate reality I’ve experienced, even if subtly. Most commonly, people think I’m OK with antisemitic jokes or jokes that involve the Holocaust. It’s an exhausting thing to experience.”

Putting together the exhibit has allowed Johnson not only to explore her fears, but also her own biases.

“Creating these pieces required me to reflect on the experiences of people like Batsheva Dueck (aka Cynical Duchess, a modest fashion content creator) or more conservative Jews, who experience more assumptions made about them based on their dress or religious beliefs,” she said. “Since working on this exhibition, I’ve been more sensitive to times when I’ve excused antisemitic values expressed by my peers or acquaintances. When I lived in Brooklyn, I lived with someone who spoke quite negatively about Hasidic communities. This has been an excellent opportunity to witness my biases and encourage others to reflect on their biases or assumptions, too.

“It’s also allowed me to tie other pieces of my identity together,” she continued. “I’ve been able to connect my Irish ancestry with my Jewish ancestry, for example. It has given me a sense of wholeness or completeness and I’ve accepted that I can be many things all at the same time and I’ve accepted that that’s OK. We all contain multitudes.”

Johnson went to Ireland this past summer to visit where her Ashkenazi family moved to in the 19th century, and “to visit the Irish Jewish Museum and Waterford treasures.”

“I was probably in the fourth grade when my mother talked to my siblings and me about it,” said Johnson of first learning about her Jewish heritage. “It was after I had come home and talked about how we were learning about World War II at school. It was surreal to hear my mother, an immigrant from England, talk about a side of our ancestry that had never really been discussed before. I didn’t understand what it meant at the time.”

Johnson herself has lived many places. She was born in Edmonton in 1993, but her family moved to Saskatchewan and then Prince George, B.C., shortly after.

“I spent most of my youth in Prince George but moved to Dawson City, Yukon, as soon as I could save up enough money to attend the Yukon School of Visual Arts,” she said. “Yukon SOVA is a one-year foundational arts program. Still, I decided to stay in the Yukon upon completion and remained in the territory for about five years before I moved to Brooklyn in 2018. I was in Brooklyn for only half a year before moving to Kamloops to be closer to my family, but it made a lasting impression. Going from a territory of 35,000 people to my neighbourhood in Williamsburg with four times that amount was dizzying.”

Johnson said she loves the Kamloops Jewish community. “I joined shortly after moving to Kamloops from Brooklyn and felt incredibly welcomed,” she said. “The [Okanagan Jewish Community Centre] president, Heidi Coleman, is a huge inspiration and comfort to me. It’s pretty relaxed in terms of how often we have gatherings. We don’t have a synagogue or a place to meet, so we usually celebrate holidays at someone’s house. The ‘younger’ (20 to 30 years old) of us have a close bond, and I often have a group of us over for various holidays, too.”

Johnson is currently in her third year at Thompson Rivers University, where she is doing a bachelor’s in criminology. “I’m most interested in victimology,” she said. “I think Canada and most of the world fail victims of crime to an astronomical degree. It’s wild to think about how much attention we give criminals without considering how we could better support the survivor or victims of their crimes.”

Artistically, she is planning a piece that more specifically honours her brother Noah. “I want to educate the general public about how the consequences of generational or cyclical trauma can lead to mental health struggles like substance abuse,” she said. “I would like to highlight that it’s not specifically someone’s ‘fault’ for struggling the way they do.”

For more on Johnson, visit lindseytynejohnson.com. Kamloops Art Gallery’s website is kag.bc.ca.

Hebrew school starting

Chabad Richmond’s Hebrew school teaches kids to read Hebrew, explore Jewish history, revel in hands-on Jewish living through holiday experiences and traditions, and pray. Plus, students learn a new mitzvah each week.

The Hebrew school – which is for kids in kindergarten through Grade 7 and geared for students not attending Jewish day schools – welcomes all Jewish children who want to join, and enrolment has doubled in the past year. Classes take place on Sundays from 10 a.m. to 12:15 p.m. and no synagogue membership is required. The new school year begins on Sunday, Sept. 12, and registration is now open for the 2021-2022 year.

“For many children, this is their weekly dose of Judaism and we want it to be associated with joy,” said Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, director of Chabad Richmond. “Our goal is that the education we provide will inspire them to bring our traditions into their homes in a practical way. We provide kids with a joyful sense of religious pride, identity and belonging, which is fundamental to spiritual growth and emotional health.”

“We believe that the Hebrew school experience should be fun, inspiring, and something the kids look forward to each week,” said Hebrew school director Chana Gordon. “Our goal is for the children to love learning Torah and be proud of their Jewish heritage. We hope to instil in your child a love of Israel and a desire to live by and celebrate our faith.”

The curriculum aims to give children a broad knowledge of Judaism in a stimulating, fun and challenging environment; an environment that highlights the joys, values and traditions of their Jewish heritage. The curriculum focuses on tzedakah (charity); Hebrew; Jewish history, holidays and values; arts and crafts; and Israel.

Students’ parents attest to the impact it’s had on their children. One mom, Deborah Butterman, said: “My son really enjoyed every aspect of the Aleph Champ [Hebrew learning] program at Hebrew school. It made him very positive and he’s having a lot of fun, and meeting a lot of other people in the Jewish community that we never had a chance to connect with before. It has motivated him to be proud of his Jewish heritage. He learned how to read from a siddur already. He’s learning about praying and how to do many things for the holidays…. It’s an exciting part of his week, every week.”

Another Hebrew school mother said, “The teachers at Chabad Hebrew school have worked hard to create a wonderful learning environment. They have encouraged my children to learn at their own level, and made them feel comfortable asking pertinent questions regarding Judaism. This positive environment offers convenience of location and a fun social network, in a nurturing environment. The fact that my children are eager to take time away from their weekends to go to Hebrew school each Sunday morning speaks volumes.”

Irina Sanders said about her daughter’s experience: “Rona loves coming to Hebrew school. She learned to read Hebrew, [and] loves participating in different activities and learning more about traditions.”

“It’s not all Torah learning and Hebrew,” noted Baitelman. “It’s also thematic arts and crafts, making holiday decorations, challah baking, singing and interacting with other children. It’s the whole Jewish experience, packaged into an interactive, warm and inspiring environment, led by enthusiastic, devoted teachers.”

To register, go to chabadrichmond.com/hebrewschool. For more information, contact Gordon at [email protected]. Bar and bat mitzvah preparation and tutoring are also available.

– Courtesy Chabad Richmond

Books foster identity

Sifriya Pijama has created approximately 100 books in Hebrew and Arabic. (photo by David Salem)

Keren Grinspoon Israel promotes literacy through the gift of books to young children in Israel. Last fall, KGI was chosen by the U.S. Library of Congress as a Literacy Awards Program Best Practice Honoree, “in recognition of the organization’s long-standing achievement in promoting literacy and the development of innovative methods and effective practices in the field.” This past December, KGI’s founding director, Galina Vromen, retired, and the organization welcomed Andrea Arbel to its helm.

photo - Keren Grinspoon Israel’s new executive director, Andrea Arbel — Keren Grinspoon Israel’s new executive director, Andrea Arbel. *(photo by David Salem)*

The Harold Grinspoon Foundation started PJ Library in 2005 in the United States. According to its website, the program now sends “free books to more than 230,000 subscribers throughout the United States and Canada” and “is an expanding global community linked by shared stories and values that spans across five continents and more than 670,000 subscribers.”

The program reached Israel in 2008, when the foundation’s director of special projects, Vromen, moved back to Israel. She said Harold Grinspoon jumped at the opportunity to extend the program. “He basically said, ‘OK … if you’re going back to Israel, see if you can start PJ Library there,’” Vromen told the Independent. “We were giving away about a million and a half dollars’ worth of grants each year there. He said, ‘I don’t think I need a full-time person to watch over those grants in Israel … so I can assure you full-time employment for six months.’” The job lasted much longer than that, of course.

According to Vromen, the PJ Library book delivery system needed to be different in Israel, as mailboxes there are too small for books. But, on the plus side, unlike in North America, where Jewish populations are spread out, in Israel, you can reach practically every Jewish kid through the public school system.

In 2009, a pilot program was launched with Israel’s Ministry of Education, starting with 3,500 children in the Gilboa region.

“People knew me [in that area] and I came to them and said that we wanted to do a book program,” explained Vromen. “They asked, ‘What books?’ And we answered that we didn’t know yet. So, they basically said, ‘Well, if Grinspoon says he’s going to do it, he’s going to do it.’ And they gave me a lot of support.”

After the first year, the numbers increased to 40,000 children, with funding being split between the foundation and the ministry. The program – called Sifriya Pijama – continued to expand and, eventually, in 2014, the foundation started a program in Arabic.

“Harold Grinspoon, when he started PJ Library, he was inspired by Dolly Parton – a program called Imagination Library, which was really one that served inner-city families, gifting books,” said Vromen.

In Israel, Sifriya Pijama gives kids a shared experience, as they start learning to read.

“Whether it’s a religious or secular school, they get the same books, with the same parent suggestions, for teachers to implement the program within the classroom and, so, it has become quite a bridge-builder,” said Vromen. “I think that children coming from religious homes and those from secular or non-religious homes in Israel don’t normally read the same books or authors. It’s not like in America, where everyone grows up reading Dr. Seuss.

“So, in that way, we’ve managed to make it so that kids now, across the board, are really experiencing the same kind of books. And, with the Arabic program, one could say … What’s a Jewish foundation group dedicated to Jewish education doing running a book program with the Ministry of Education in Arabic? But, the truth of the matter is that, for Israel’s Arab minority, language is an issue.”

Spoken and written Arabic differ. Formal Arabic, which is found in books, unifies Arabs around the world, and the books for kids in formal Arabic begin to build language skills, said Vromen. Just like Sifriya Pijama, Maktabat al-Fanoos is a program about identity, she said.

Many PJ Library books in North America focus on Jewish holidays and Jewish values. The books in Israel focus less on holidays and more on values, like hospitality, taking care of the sick, and honouring your parents.

“We have a book about a bear that is sick and someone takes care of him, and then they all get sick and he takes care of them,” said Vromen. “That’s a perfectly good story for the programs. Another good example is a story we have about a mother koala bear who is very, very busy, but the little koala bear wants to play with her all the time … and the little koala bear learns to do things by himself, eventually deciding to make mud pies, and they come together at the end. It’s a cute little story and a way of discussing an important issue that, when you’re 4 years old is a big concept … giving mom a little bit of mom time and you needing to play by yourself for now … explaining values to a child in a child’s world.

“What’s really important is choosing books that open up a conversation,” said Vromen. “This is a book you can have a conversation about between parents and children. Basically, we’re trying to create opportunities for parents and children.”

Since the program in Israel is school-based, however, the education process starts with the teacher introducing the book to their class, reading it aloud a couple of times. Often, there is an activity included. Then, eventually, the kids take the book home.

“Each child takes home a copy and they keep it,” said Vromen. “There are eight books per year, per child, for three years in preschool. There are four books in first grade and in second grade. And so, by the time the child goes into third grade, they already will have received 32 books from us over the years.”

While most schools are either Jewish or Arab, a small minority are mixed. In mixed schools, the program starts by delivering four Hebrew books in the first half of the year, then four Arabic books in the second half of the year.

So far, the program has created approximately 100 books in Hebrew and Arabic, with nearly 30 of them being translated into English and other languages.

COVID-19 posed a challenge in Israel when schools were closed, but the younger kids were the first to be sent back to school, so the program has more or less caught up on the missed books and is now running as normal.

“For the Arab program, about 90% of the books they receive are the only children’s books they have in their home. In Hebrew-speaking families, it’s about 47%,” said Vromen. “We’re the largest book-giving program in Arabic in the world.”

The program reaches about “70% of Hebrew-speaking children,” she added. “So, we’re talking about 80% of children in public schools in Israel – that’s quite extraordinary.”

Late last year, Vromen retired and, on Dec. 1, Andrea Arbel stepped in to lead KGI, after having worked for 18 years at the Jewish Agency.

“I relate to PJ Library on several spheres – as a published author who believes in the positive power of the written word on children; as someone who cares about strengthening Jewish culture in Israel and overseas Jewish communities; and as a mother of three who understands the critical importance of nurturing young minds and how much these efforts put children on a successful trajectory,” said Arbel.

Together with KGI’s leading partners and other supporters, Arbel is hoping to expand Sifriya Pijama and Maktabat al-Fanoos in both scope and depth, and to widen their sphere of influence on the broader community in new ways. For more information, visit hgf.org.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Give a gift of language

Tina Turner, the late Leonard Cohen, TV presenter and comedian Bill Maher, the bands Madness and Led Zeppelin, actor Richard Gere and others have recently been added to the list of celebrities like actors Tom Selleck and Ben Stiller, musician Mick Jagger and former president Barack Obama who, perhaps unknown to them, have helped learners of Hebrew around the world acquire new vocabulary. Two years after the publication of the book Hilarious Hebrew: The Fun and Fast Way to Learn the Language, a fifth print run – which is also an extended edition – has recently been published.

Co-creator and Hebrew teacher Yael Breuer is convinced that, once readers find out that singer “Tina Turner does not hold a grudge,” for example, they are not likely to forget that the Hebrew word for grudge is tina.

“The method is a great way to memorize Hebrew vocabulary but, in fact, could be adapted as a teaching aid for any vocabulary in any language, and we have been asked about producing versions of the book for French, German and even Chinese speakers,” said Yael Breuer.

The book has been popular with Jews and Christians, tourists and students, and is sold in shops, Jewish museums and online. “The book was placed on the recommended book list by famous London-based Foyles bookstore and someone recently told me, half-jokingly, that our method could help lift the biblical curse of the Tower of Babel, which caused communication problems by separating people into speaking different languages,” she added.

Hilarious Hebrew is divided into sections, which helps users identify words according to their need or interest, including vocabulary for vacationers, shoppers and restaurant-goers. It has been used as an aliyah gift to new immigrants to Israel by the Jewish Agency and has also been adopted as a language teaching tool by Edinburgh Hebrew congregation, who have started converting some of the book’s illustrations into animations. Hebrew tutorials, based on the method, are now available on the internet and co-writer Eyal Shavit, who is a musician, is in the process of composing a song using the Hilarious Hebrew method. “Just like the book, the song will teach Hebrew words in an entertaining way that will stick in the listeners’ minds,” he said.

For more information, see jewishindependent.ca/from-nonsense-knowledge. And event information about the book is available on hilarioushebrew.com; it is sold by Amazon.

Immersed in Hebrew

Friends at Camp Shomria show off the fresh vegetables they picked in the camp’s garden. The produce was used to make a salad for one of the meals. (photo from Camp Shomria)

It is said that there is no better way to learn something than by immersing yourself in it. And for kids who want to learn Hebrew in Canada, camp is one of the best and most accessible ways of doing that. But, while there are many Jewish camps in Canada that promote Hebrew language, Camp Massad in Manitoba is the only camp where all the activities and programming are carried out in Hebrew.

“They are not allowed to speak English outside the cabin,” said Danial Sprintz, the camp’s executive director. “Inside the cabin, they speak in whatever languages they want to. But, if they are outside, they are not allowed to speak in English to each other. The kids are all trying to speak Hebrew. So, when everybody’s doing it, you fall in line. Our camp is run completely in Hebrew and there isn’t any other camp that is doing that.

“Not all the kids that come to the camp can speak Hebrew when they arrive. About 50% of the kids don’t go to Hebrew day school, so they are learning Hebrew at camp. We don’t sit them down in a classroom, but we teach them the essentials they need to ask the basic questions. We teach Hebrew through song.”

With repetition, and everyone being together for three meals a day and programming, the kids start picking up the ability to communicate with each other as they go.

Most of the staff has grown up going to the camp and, each year, there are also a number of staff who come in from Israel.

The camp also prides itself on being 100% inclusive. No matter what a child’s situation – if they are autistic, use a wheelchair or are developmentally delayed, or if they are completely secular or ultra-Orthodox in Jewish observance – Sprintz said the camp is dedicated to finding a way to make the experience work for all campers.

Sprintz was executive director of Congregation Emanu-El in Victoria for a number of years, when he and his wife were going to school in British Columbia, before returning to Winnipeg and taking on his role at Camp Massad.

“When I arrived in Victoria, the rabbi was on sabbatical in Israel,” said Sprintz. “I approached the board about helping them with the programming while he was away, and then just stayed on after.”

This experience helped Sprintz develop ways of introducing the children at Camp Massad to Judaism. “We make it fun,” he said. “And we make it something the kids look forward to, as we make the tunes and the process of it all fun. We have tefillin club in the morning for kids who want to try something out, and for kids who need to. But, when it comes down to it, we provide all the religious and traditional cultural components that kids would need to come to camp, to a certain point – we don’t want to separate boys and girls, as we want everybody to be together.”

Camp Massad encourages the children to write their own songs and to put on plays for others in the camp – all in Hebrew.

Winnipeg’s Aviva Tabac has been sending her two daughters, Chaya, 15, and Sara, 13, to Camp Massad for the last three years.

“I didn’t go to camp growing up,” said Tabac. “My parents took us on a summer vacation each year, and the rest of the time was spent at the beach with family and friends. Since I didn’t grow up going to summer camp, I felt it would be a good idea for the girls to try it. Just from my immediate circle of friends who all went to Massad, there’s a special bond they have with one another that carries over into adulthood. All my friends still talk about their fond Massad days and I wanted to give the girls the chance to experience that for themselves.”

Both Chaya and Sara attend public school, so they do not get a lot of other opportunities to speak Hebrew. Tabac said, “When my girls return from camp, they continue to speak in Hebrew, sing Hebrew songs and reminisce. They hang onto their Massad memories and feelings for as long as they can.

“The Hebrew is a big component,” she continued, “but, more so, the celebration of Shabbat, day-to-day celebration of Jewish culture and being proud of being Jewish. The lov[ing], understanding and caring staff and councilors [are] amazing. My girls feel at home when they’re at Massad. They come back rejuvenated, independent and confident. I know that, when they’re there, I have nothing to worry about because they’re in good hands.”

Meanwhile, Lilach Golan moved with her family to Vancouver last fall. She has been sending her four daughters to Camp Shomria in Ontario for years, and plans to continue doing so. She does it with the hope of them picking up some of the values that she grew up with on kibbutz in Israel, including Hebrew.

“For us, the Hebrew language and culture were extremely important and it was very difficult to speak in Hebrew at home all the time … because, when children live in English, they want to speak English and want to be part of the culture around them,” said Golan.

While Camp Shomria operates in English, Hebrew is everywhere at the camp, and the different areas in the camp have Hebrew names, like the chof (beach), cheder ochel (dining room) and moadon tarbut (culture club). Hebrew is also spoken during many of the activities, which include singing and dancing, and at different presentations.

“They do have a lot of Israelis and people who speak Hebrew,” said Golan. “And that’s a big push for the Hebrew – kids love to talk Hebrew with them and the Israelis come every summer. And the songs they sing, there is a lot of language happening there.”

Sharon, 14, is Golan’s youngest daughter. For her, the best part of camp is getting to spend time with her kvutza (group).

“We use Hebrew terminology in contexts where they make sense to me and I can use them meaningfully,” said Sharon. “I also remember better what they mean when I’m not at camp anymore because I can remember the context in which we used them. Hebrew constructs a lot of what and how we do things at Camp Shomria and it’s that culture, atmosphere and values that make me want to come back.

“Even if the Hebrew we use at camp is not new to me,” she said, “it adds so much value to the camp environment and my experience of it. It helps me develop the connection to the three pillars of Hashomer Hatzair [The Young Guard, the Zionist-socialist youth movement] and the core values we share.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

תוכניות לקהילה הישראלית

שנה חדשה: תוכניות בעברית בג’ואיש קומיוניטי סנטר לקהילה הישראלית

הג’ואיש קומיוניטי סנטר של אזור מטרו ונקובר מפרסם בימים אלה מספר תוכניות בשפה העברית לשנת 2018, במסגרת אירועי תרבות יהודית וישראלית, שמיועדים לקהילה הישראלית. את האירועים מארגנת רכזת התרבות של הג’ואיש קומיוניטי סנטר איילת כהן.

להלן מספר תוכניות:

מועדון ארוחת בוקר לנשים ישראליות מדי יום ראשון בשעה 11 בבוקר. האירוע מיועד לישראליות חדשות וותיקות והן ידונו במה שמשותף להן, תוך נסיון ליצור קשרים ביניהן ובן הקהילה.

“דלת הקסמים” – מחזמר לילדים המבוסס על מיטב שיריה של המוסיקאית נורית הירש. ההצגה (שמיועדת לילדים בגילאי 2 עד 8) תתקיים ביום ראשון ה-28 בחודש, בשעה 11 בבוקר.סיפור המחזמר: הילדה מיכל מנסה להשיג מתנה מקורית ומיוחדת ליום ההולדת של אמה. היא יוצאת למסע לממלכת הצלילים בעזרת חבריה, שהם דמויות משיריה של הירש, אותם היא פוגשת בדרך. בין השירים שבמחזמר: מקהלה עליזה, בוקר של זהב, ברבאבא, הבית של פיסטוק, דלת הקסמים, מחרוזת פים פם פה ומחרוזת דיג דיג דוג.

ערב שירה בציבור “שירים שאימצנו” ביום ראשון ה-28 בחודש, בשעה 7 בערב. באירוע משתתפים מרים בני בליווי משה דנבורג ויונה בר סבר. אירוע השירה הבא יתקיים ביום ראשון ה-29 באפריל גם כן ב-7 בערב.

קורסים של עברית לילדים מדי יום רביעי אחר הצהריים, החל מיום רביעי השבוע (ה-10 בחודש) עד ה-14 במרץ. השיעורים לתלמידי הגן וכיתה א’ יועברו בין השעות 4.30-5.30. ואילו השיעורים לתלמידי כיתות ב’-ד’ יועברו בין השעות 5.30-6.30. הקורסים כוללים שיפור העברית בקריאה, כתיבה, דיבור והבנה. כן יועבר חומר על חגי ישראל, המורשת יהודית-ישראלית, בשילוב פעילויות משפחתיות.

לא מומלץ לנסות: רקון אומץ על ידי משפחה והפך לבן בית

רקונים (דביבונים בעברית) הם בעלי חיים ממשפחת היונקים שמקומם בטבע. למרות יופיים בשל הפרווה היפה שמכסה אותם, רבים מעדיפים להתרחק ככל הניתן מהרקונים שרק עושים צרות בצרורות. בחיפושים אחר אוכל בעיקר בפחי אשפה כטורפי לילה – הרקונים הופכים למאוד ארגרסיבים. הם מסוגלים לטרוף אף חתולים או כלבים קטנים. ידוע על מקרים בהם רקונים נשכו גם בני אדם ובעיקר ילדים קטנים. ולכן מי שמבחין בהם בדרך כלל שומר מרחק.

למרות זאת משפחת הולמן שמחזיקה בחווה של בעלי חיים במזרח יוניאק שבמחוז נובה סקוטיה, החליטה לאמץ רקון והעניקה לו את השם ראמבו. הרקון נמצא כתינוק בודד ורעב כמעט למוות על ידי חבורה של ילדים. הם העבירו אותו לטיפולה של משפחת הולמן בשל ניסיונם הרב בטיפול בבעלי חיים כולל רקונים. הביבי רקון הסתגל מהר מאוד לחיי המשפחה והפך לחלק ממנה. ראמבו ישן בלילות בחווה והוא חופשי ללכת לאן שירצה אך למרות זאת הוא מעדיף להישאר עם ההולמנים ומסרב לחזור לטבע. בלית ברירה הוא אומץ על ידם והפך לחיית מחמד. בזמן שראמבו מטייל עם בני המשפחה מחוץ לבית הוא קשור לרצועה ממש כמו כלב. למרות זאת לא מעט מאלה שמבחינים בו מעקמים את הפרצוף, בשל המוניטין הרע שיש לרקונים שכאמור נחשבים לבעלי חיים מסוכנים מאוד.

מומחית לחיות טוענת שלמרות שראמבו הסתגל לחיי בית יש לשחרר אותו בחזרה לטבע ובהקדם, כיוון שרקונים כאשר הם בני שנה הופכים לאגרסיבים ומסוכנים ביותר. ההולמנים מרגישים כי זה כבר מאוחר מדי לשחרר את ראמבו בחזרה לטבע והוחלט שישאר עימם. הם מתכננים בקרוב לסרס את הרקון שלהם ואז לבקש רשיון מהמועצה המקומית להחזיק בו כחוק.

3,000 years of a language

Let’s say it at the outset: this book is a gem. Every page of The Story of Hebrew by Lewis Glinert (Princeton University Press, 2017) is packed with information about the language, from its beginnings through post-1948 Israel. In addition to this longitudinal approach, Glinert, a professor of Hebrew and linguistics at Dartmouth, also approaches his subject laterally, focusing on various lands where Jewish/Hebrew life and culture thrived, like early Palestine, Babylonia, North Africa, Spain, Europe and Russia, the United States and Israel.

The book shows us how living under Greek and Roman domination affected Hebrew and how vocabulary from those occupiers seeped into the language. Two examples, the first mine, the second Glinert’s: the simple word for shoemaker in Hebrew, sandlar, which comes from the Latin sandalrius; and Sanhedrin, the Jewish High Court, which stems from the Greek synedrion. Jews did not shy away from these foreign influences; their Hebrew language embraced them.

book cover - The Story of Hebrew by Lewis Glinert Glinert also traces the changes in the use of the language from biblical times through the Mishnah (before and after 200 CE), where the Hebrew of that period was more direct and seemingly more colloquial, as can be seen by comparing a text from the Mishnah with any chapter in the Bible. During the next two or three hundred years, written Hebrew then moved on from the Hebrew-only Mishnah to the two-language Talmud, with its mix of mostly Aramaic and much less Hebrew. (In all of this, of course, we only have written texts to go by.)

With sacred books passing from generation to generation orally, correct pronunciation might be lost or distorted. Along came the Masoretes (from the Hebrew word, masorah, tradition), who, by the year 1000, had created above- and below-the-letters signs that ingeniously indicated pronunciation, melody, accent and phrasing.

Jews also contributed to scientific learning by writing about medicine in Hebrew. I am sure it will surprise many readers, as it did me, that in Italy’s first medical school, in Salerno, founded in the ninth century, the languages of instruction were Hebrew, Greek, Latin and Arabic. And, in southern France, in Arles, Narbonne and Montpellier, the official language of instruction in these medical schools was Hebrew.

Religious attitude also influenced how Hebrew was used. Glinert delves into this divide by showing that, during the 11th and 12th centuries in Ashkenaz (in northern France and the Rhineland), the accent was on liturgy and Torah scholarship – the works of Rashi, for instance – while in Sepharad (Spain) and Italy secular Hebrew poetry flourished, influenced by Arabic poetry, exemplified by Yehuda Halevi and other poets.

The book devotes two remarkable chapters to the interaction of Christians with Hebrew.

In one of these unholy intersections, two of the noted translators of the Bible from Hebrew, the church father Jerome (fourth century) and Martin Luther (1534), respected Hebrew but disparaged Jews and Judaism. In his notorious 1542 book On the Jews and Their Lies, Luther asserts, “Jews should be expelled before they poison more wells and ritually abuse more children.”

A better relationship ensued with English translators. William Tyndale was the first to render the Five Books of Moses (1530) into English directly from the Hebrew. In so doing, he defied a bishop’s ban on a translation other than the Latin Vulgate. Tyndale’s translation led to the classic 1611 King James version of the complete Bible, whose English rhythms, cadences and even sentence structure enormously affected English.

As Glinert elegantly puts it: these two translations would “inject a Hebraic quality into the syntax and phraseology of English literary usage without parallel in any other European culture.” The author further adds that echoes of this biblical English can be seen from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass poetry collection to Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.

Hebrew also made its mark in the early history of the United States. The Pilgrims saw themselves as the New Israelites, giving their towns name like New Canaan and Salem – even their Thanksgiving was a belated Sukkot to celebrate a bountiful harvest. And Hebrew was at one time ensconced as a mandatory subject in the Ivy League colleges. I recently read that at graduation ceremonies students would deliver orations in Hebrew, Greek and Latin, and university presidents, like Ezra Stiles of Yale, would also occasionally give their commencement talks in Hebrew.

Glinert writes that the door to modernity in Europe was opened in 1780 by two books published on different sides of Europe. One, in Germany, was Moses Mendelssohn’s Biur, the first volume of his translation of the Torah into German; the other, in a small town in the Ukraine, was a book in Hebrew about Chassidic thought.

Slowly, from the advent of the Haskalah, the Jewish Enlightenment movement, through newspapers, magazines and books, modern Hebrew was being reshaped, culminating with Jews resettling Palestine in the late 19th century, along with Eliezer Ben-Yehuda’s call, at the turn of the 20th century, for Jews to speak only Hebrew. Glinert shows us how the thrust for Hebraization continued once the British got the Mandate for Palestine in 1922 from the League of Nations. They recognized Hebrew as the language of instruction for public schools, broadcasting, the courts and civil regulations. With the founding of the state of Israel in 1948 and mass immigration, Hebrew – which throughout the centuries had always been read, studied and written, and only occasionally spoken – reached its efflorescence.

The Story of Hebrew is a superb book, meticulously researched and beautifully written. Two of my favourites among the many text-enhancing illustrations and photographs are a photo of a page from one of Sir Isaac Newton’s notebooks, where he has a phrase in Hebrew written in his neat printed script; and a page from Franz Kafka’s Hebrew notebook, with two columns of nicely calligraphed Hebrew words on one side with their German translation (in longhand) on the other.

Read this marvelous study – perhaps, if you don’t know Hebrew, it will inspire you to learn it and become part of a more than 3,000-year tradition of transmission.

Curt Leviant’s most recent books are the novels King of Yiddish and Kafka’s Son.

Hebrew school in Okanagan

Left to right, reciting the Four Questions at the Okanagan Jewish community’s Passover celebration: Adarah Challmie, Ben Levitan, Jordan Spevakow, David Spevakow, Samara Levitan, and Kate Spevakow. (photo by Misty Smith)

Kelowna’s Jewish community may be small, but it’s poised for growth. The latest development: an expansion of its Hebrew school’s curriculum.

Led by the family of David and Natalie Spevakow, who moved to Kelowna from Calgary some 13 years ago, Hebrew classes were first provided last year. Now, more Jewish content will be added to the lessons, as well.

At the moment, the Spevakows are spearheading this task. Parents lead classes every Monday after school, with kindergarten to Grade 3 first, followed by grades 4-to-7. The parents rotate each week, teaching the kids about Jewish traditions and the Hebrew language, prayers and blessings. Currently, there are 14 students in total (two of whom are Spevakows).

“Trying to have a Jewish life in a small community can be a challenge,” said Natalie Spevakow. “I would say our congregation at the Okanagan Jewish Community Centre is about 100 members, but only 25 to 30 are active members.

“We have a visiting rabbi who comes once a month, Rabbi [Shaul] Osadchey from Beth Tzedec congregation in Calgary. We set this up to bridge the gap with our communities, and that’s been wonderful. With us having young families, we’ve all decided that it’s important that we get together, and we wanted to build a Jewish community for ourselves and our kids.”

The Spevakows are looking to hire a part-time teacher to start in September and work through June. They are searching for a creative, energetic person knowledgeable in Hebrew and the Jewish traditions to teach children ages 4 to 14. The position involves two hours of teaching a week, plus preparation time, and the teaching material is provided. In addition to an hourly wage, the teacher would receive a free annual family membership to the Okanagan JCC. (Interested readers should call Anne at the OJCC, 250-862-2305.)

“All of our parents just want our kids to be with other Jewish children and get a sense of what it is to be Jewish,” said Spevakow.

“We also try to get together with our Hebrew school every few months for a potluck,” she added. “When we have the visiting rabbi come, we do a potluck with the rabbi and do services with our children and our families as well. We make that a time to get together and bring the community together.”

photo in Jewish Independent - Dressed for Purim, left to right: in the front row, Bria Tizel, Anderson Parnes, Kate Spevakow, Ryder Golbey, Skyla Golbey and Chase Golbey; in the back, Jordan Spevakow, Abbey Parnes and a friend, and Adarah Challmie — Dressed for Purim, left to right: in the front row, Bria Tizel, Anderson Parnes, Kate Spevakow, Ryder Golbey, Skyla Golbey and Chase Golbey; in the back, Jordan Spevakow, Abbey Parnes and a friend, and Adarah Challmie. *(photo by Natalie Spevakow)*

As of now, all the children involved in the school are Canadian-born, but there are Israeli-born children who will be joining classes when they come of age. The class curriculum is a combination of programs that the Spevakows sourced online with guidance from Osadchey. Parents are encouraged to take material home to practise during the week.

“The learning works better if they do take stuff home,” said Natalie Spevakow. “I know, for the little guys, they’re just learning the Hebrew letters and can repeat the words they learned…. We try to make it hands-on and more fun for them.”

Looking ahead, Spevakow feels that the Jewish community is growing, anticipating that one day it will be big enough to warrant more frequent visits from Osadchey.

“But, right now, with our smaller numbers, it’s very difficult for us to finance having a rabbi here all the time,” she said. “As is, we’re making it work, getting our kids educated and getting the resources we can.”

The older students are learning to lead Friday night services, with the goal of having them lead a service by May 2017, and then again, have them lead a service with Osadchey.

“We’re not on our own, trying to make things up on our own,” she said. “It’s just a matter of people making time for their kids, so the program works. I think all the parents recognize they want this for our kids and are willing to put in their time.

“We used to do it on weekends, but, with so many of us really big into skiing, it wasn’t working out. So, weekdays are definitely working better for us.”

They also recognize there may be some older members of the community who may be interested in helping with classes, so they hope to bridge the gap and find ways to bring them in, too.

“There’s something to be said about a small community, in that you really get to know all your members,” said Spevakow. “They truly do become an extension of your family. You realize that anything you’d like to see happen, things that, in a larger community you might have taken for granted because it’s available, in a small community may not exist yet…. Connecting on a deeper level with the people in our community, figuring out the assets that each can bring to the table, has really benefited our community. Knowing everyone’s faces really helps.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

From nonsense, knowledge

To help readers remember what they learn, Hilarious Hebrew uses silly sentences and illustrations. (all images from Hilarious Hebrew)

“The poor monkey has a cough.” “If you’re feeling sleepy, let the lights dim, yawn and let your imagination run free.”

Through such silly sentences, readers of Hilarious Hebrew: The Fun and Fast Way to Learn the Language (Pitango Publishing) learn that, in Hebrew, the word for monkey is kof (pronounced similarly to cough) and that imagination is dim’yon (pronounced dim, yawn). If the context of the sentences isn’t enough, the illustrations should ensure you remember.

“The method in Hilarious Hebrew is aimed at teaching vocabulary rather than whole sentences because the whole point of it is to teach a Hebrew word in the context of a sentence in English that would convey the pronunciation and the meaning of the new word (in Hebrew) through a familiar, easy context (in English),” explained Hebrew teacher Yael Breuer, who co-authored the book with musician Eyal Shavit.

The writing duo is continually coming up with new teaching phrases, which they often post on the book’s Facebook page, Instagram and Twitter accounts, said Breuer.

“I’ve used the method over the years with my Hebrew students and classes and knew that the method worked well – the words stuck in the students’ minds! – and that it added an element of fun to the lessons.”

And her testing ground has been extensive. The longtime teacher has worked with a wide variety of students: “people with family members in Israel, people who planned to visit Israel, partners of Israelis who want to learn some Hebrew, people converting to Judaism, a vicar, nuns – a real interesting mix,” she said.

About the book’s origins, Breuer said she shared a list of 20 to 30 sentences that she used regularly in teaching with Shavit, who is also an Israeli expat living in Brighton, England.

“Eyal loved the idea so much and started making up new sentences and texting them to me to make me laugh. I started reciprocating with new sentences that I would make up and, for awhile, we were just making up sentences for our own amusement. A few months down the line, however, when I realized that there were about 300 sentences that taught a variety of Hebrew words from various fields and at all levels, I suggested to Eyal that we share the resource – and that’s how the idea of the book came about.

“It took us about a year from conception to publication,” she continued. “We did not approach a publisher, as we knew how we wanted the book to look and feel. It was a long and rather hard process at times, and we would regularly spend hours rewriting one sentence so that it taught the Hebrew word in the best possible way. We also had to liaise with designers, find the right illustrator, choose the right printers and make many decisions, but we completed the process, are getting fantastic feedback and are very pleased with the result!”

An important part of the book’s appeal is the drawings by cartoonist, writer and illustrator Aubrey Smith, who has contributed his art to several books and also has written How to Build a Robot with Your Dad and Screw It, both published by Michael O’Mara Books.

In addition to teaching Modern Hebrew, Breuer writes for the Jewish Chronicle; she also has had her articles on British culture published in Israeli newspapers Haaretz and Maariv. From Rehovot, Breuer moved to Brighton 27 years ago, she said. “My husband, David, is English and, although he is originally from London, he already lived in Brighton when I met him.”

Shavit, who is from Kibbutz Kfar Szold in northern Israel, has been in Brighton for nine years. “He was working elsewhere in the U.K. but someone recommended Brighton as a vibrant and arty place where he could pursue his music career, so he came here and stayed,” said Breuer. “He studied music in Brighton and has been making a living as a musician (plays the guitar and sings) ever since.”

The two friends met fellow Brightoner Smith, who is English, “by pure chance through my neighbor, Dave,” explained Breuer. “As soon as we saw his wonderful, humorous style, we knew that he was the one. Aubrey has never had a connection to Judaism or Hebrew but, through illustrating the book, he himself learned some Hebrew words and would sometimes use them in his emails to us, which was another proof that the method works!”

The Jewish community in Brighton is a few thousand strong, said Breuer, with “four active synagogues – two Orthodox, a Reform and a Progressive, and a Chabad branch, too. There is a small community of a few dozen Israelis but it is a vibrant one – we meet regularly in a pub in Brighton, celebrate festivals together and keep in touch. Many of the Israelis here and their English-speaking partners or children have been our ‘guinea pigs’ when writing the book and their feedback helped us tremendously.”

Hilarious Hebrew is available at hilarioushebrew.com, some bookshops and gift stores and also on Amazon.