Something has been happening, and I am almost afraid to speak it aloud. I will now use italics to whisper:
Midweek Hebrew is working.
I went to the dry cleaner and heard a strange sound behind me.
It was Ezra, and then Maxon, speaking Hebrew.
Our dry cleaner put her hands to her face and raised her eyebrows in surprise as my boys read one of the holiday cards with Hebrew text that was arranged in a collage on her wall.
"Are they reading that?" the dry cleaner asked.
Yeah. Yeah they were.
Redirect dry cleaner to hole in shirt sleeve. Pretend nothing is happening.
Maxon later came to my office to talk about something that was bothering him. After I talked him through it, he grabbed a pen and wrote three Hebrew letters on my legal pad.
"It says, 'Mom,' " he told me.
Don't let him see the happy tears. Look at computer until he leaves the area.
Then last night as I made dinner, my husband, Michael, caught the boys writing certain English words for genitalia in Hebrew letters. He changed the game, looking up Hebrew words on his phone and having the kids take turns at reading. It was a spirited competition, with both boys trying to out-do one another with their mad Hebrew skills.
I'm just stirring my vegetables. La, la, la, la, la.
"Jenny, are you hearing this?"
Nope. Nothing unusual happening here.
I think even Michael – the man opposed to Hebrew school and going to synagogue and wearing tallit – was impressed. But I can't show it.
The kids have been going to midweek Hebrew every Wednesday afternoon, and it is turning out to be much more than just a Sunday school supplement. Maxon, who was too old for Ezra's beginner class and a little behind in the intermediate class, received some one-on-one coaching and is now on the same page with the kids his age.
When I hear them speaking Hebrew, when I catch them doing their Hebrew homework without being asked, when I witness a high-speed Hebrew reading competition, it's like the sun is rising inside me. But I have to swallow that sun and keep my exterior cloudy.
Maxon made a comment to me a few weeks ago: "Mom, I think I'm learning something in Midweek Hebrew, and I'm afraid."
I will translate:
"Mom, I'm learning Hebrew, it's helping and I'm liking it. I'm afraid you're right."
God forbid.
So, when you force your children to learn an ancient language against their will, you take no pleasure, no satisfaction when they show progress or enjoyment.
So don't mind me. Please go about spelling "dick" in Hebrew letters. I am totally not happy inside.