The 40%-50% statistic only works if I've spent substantial time with the individual, or if they throw in the occasional English word.
If I try and decipher a conversation in a restaurant, for example, I don't have the same success rate. I wish I were a quicker study when it comes to learning languages and retaining foreign words.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
40%-50% Some thoughts on understanding a foreign language
Entry 13: Wednesday July 9th
I don’t speak Hebrew—I know probably 20 words, and each day, I augment this arsenal a little bit. I would say, though, that 40%-50% of the time I get the gist of the conversation. The reason for this high success rate:
1. I’m good (in any language) at “reading” people’s energy / mood.
2. I can smell subtext (in any language) from a mile away. This trait of “getting” what people are saying without them really saying it, is the hallmark of a good playwright.
3. I’m a good empathizer: I know how I would feel in a given situation and thus I can transfer this knowledge and “get” how another person will feel. This gives me a head start in figuring out what a person will say before he/she even opens his/her mouth.
4. I’m an aware individual (in general), and I process the environment for cues that would be the catalyst for a person to make a comment or a reference.
5. The most obvious and in general the easiest: body language. I am the queen of body language—I talk with my body and totally understand when others do the same.
6. Intonation, expression, accentuation, and melody: if you listen to a (good) song, often you don’t need to know the words to get what the song is about.
7. Paying super close attention to words that I know that tumble out of the bag of unintelligible chaos. [I also like to press “pause” and digest words that I hear in quick conversation, which I think might have the same root as a word that I already know. Then I try to discern its meaning based on my limited knowledge. More often than not I make a wacky and unwarranted connection. It’s fun though. And then there are times that I make a successful connection! And then I often forget the word the next day. For me to remember a word, I need to hear it repeated anywhere from 3-7 times. Not the greatest track record. A visual and literary learner, seeing it and writing it has proven helpful. Association is good, of course, as well as putting it into my body. For example, I retained Yemen (Right) and Small (Left) the first time I heard those words because, while I was learning these words, I gestured with my right and left hands. (I have found that the best method for “memorizing” lines for a theatre production is to combine the words with a physical action score.) Thus far, I have not felt that language has been any kind of barrier. For the most part, this is because every Israeli I’ve met has a pretty, solid handle on conversational English (even when they in their typical self-effacing fashion, assert that they don’t.)].
I don’t speak Hebrew—I know probably 20 words, and each day, I augment this arsenal a little bit. I would say, though, that 40%-50% of the time I get the gist of the conversation. The reason for this high success rate:
1. I’m good (in any language) at “reading” people’s energy / mood.
2. I can smell subtext (in any language) from a mile away. This trait of “getting” what people are saying without them really saying it, is the hallmark of a good playwright.
3. I’m a good empathizer: I know how I would feel in a given situation and thus I can transfer this knowledge and “get” how another person will feel. This gives me a head start in figuring out what a person will say before he/she even opens his/her mouth.
4. I’m an aware individual (in general), and I process the environment for cues that would be the catalyst for a person to make a comment or a reference.
5. The most obvious and in general the easiest: body language. I am the queen of body language—I talk with my body and totally understand when others do the same.
6. Intonation, expression, accentuation, and melody: if you listen to a (good) song, often you don’t need to know the words to get what the song is about.
7. Paying super close attention to words that I know that tumble out of the bag of unintelligible chaos. [I also like to press “pause” and digest words that I hear in quick conversation, which I think might have the same root as a word that I already know. Then I try to discern its meaning based on my limited knowledge. More often than not I make a wacky and unwarranted connection. It’s fun though. And then there are times that I make a successful connection! And then I often forget the word the next day. For me to remember a word, I need to hear it repeated anywhere from 3-7 times. Not the greatest track record. A visual and literary learner, seeing it and writing it has proven helpful. Association is good, of course, as well as putting it into my body. For example, I retained Yemen (Right) and Small (Left) the first time I heard those words because, while I was learning these words, I gestured with my right and left hands. (I have found that the best method for “memorizing” lines for a theatre production is to combine the words with a physical action score.) Thus far, I have not felt that language has been any kind of barrier. For the most part, this is because every Israeli I’ve met has a pretty, solid handle on conversational English (even when they in their typical self-effacing fashion, assert that they don’t.)].
Some thoughts about my Dad
Entry 12: Tuesday July 8th
It’s so much fun to watch my Dad interact with his friends and his family. He’s so in his element. He is so much more himself than in the States. If you were to do an MRI of my Dad’s brain, I’m sure you would see a variety of areas lighting up at once, especially as he bounces from speaking Hebrew to French to English to Italian to Arabic to French to English and back to Hebrew again. (This really happened!). I watch him schmooz and send the room into laughter at one of his jokes (in any one of the above languages); I quietly observe him quietly observing the environment; I hear him, time and time again, yelping in excitement when he sees on the side of the road, yet another seemingly random archway, (which he calls a portal). I am convinced that the world (including said subject) underestimates him.
From this trip I want to remember my Dad’s
--ebullient curiosity and sense of humor. He has a
--jokester’s mind and poet’s sensitivity.
Earlier today, in his whimsical way, he said that he would move to Israel, then wait a few years before running for and being elected to the Knesset. I wouldn’t want my Dad to be a World Leader. I don’t think he’s cut out for it. And then I started thinking. The same way that my Dad is not cut out to be a World Leader, there must be some World Leader who is not cut out to be a Dad. I’m sure there is a man, more than one I bet, who can run the U.N. but not his own household; who has love for world peace, but not for his own child. Thank G-d my Dad is my Dad, perfect for me.
There is no other person I know that has his combination of unbridled and tender love for me, which I think he must check and balance, because I sense at times, that if he didn’t, his heart would burst from the magnitude of it all. This is just what I’ve picked up on after being his daughter for 24 years. How wonderful to be me, the daughter of such a Dad. During this trip I think that I have found a new depth of love for him. He’s so special to me.
It’s so much fun to watch my Dad interact with his friends and his family. He’s so in his element. He is so much more himself than in the States. If you were to do an MRI of my Dad’s brain, I’m sure you would see a variety of areas lighting up at once, especially as he bounces from speaking Hebrew to French to English to Italian to Arabic to French to English and back to Hebrew again. (This really happened!). I watch him schmooz and send the room into laughter at one of his jokes (in any one of the above languages); I quietly observe him quietly observing the environment; I hear him, time and time again, yelping in excitement when he sees on the side of the road, yet another seemingly random archway, (which he calls a portal). I am convinced that the world (including said subject) underestimates him.
From this trip I want to remember my Dad’s
--ebullient curiosity and sense of humor. He has a
--jokester’s mind and poet’s sensitivity.
Earlier today, in his whimsical way, he said that he would move to Israel, then wait a few years before running for and being elected to the Knesset. I wouldn’t want my Dad to be a World Leader. I don’t think he’s cut out for it. And then I started thinking. The same way that my Dad is not cut out to be a World Leader, there must be some World Leader who is not cut out to be a Dad. I’m sure there is a man, more than one I bet, who can run the U.N. but not his own household; who has love for world peace, but not for his own child. Thank G-d my Dad is my Dad, perfect for me.
There is no other person I know that has his combination of unbridled and tender love for me, which I think he must check and balance, because I sense at times, that if he didn’t, his heart would burst from the magnitude of it all. This is just what I’ve picked up on after being his daughter for 24 years. How wonderful to be me, the daughter of such a Dad. During this trip I think that I have found a new depth of love for him. He’s so special to me.
Tiberius, Family, and Hospitality
Entry 11: Tuesday, July 8th
TIBERIAS
After Tsfat, in the evening, we drive to Tiberius to visit more cousins: Robby, his sister Violet, and his wife Chava. I ask Dad how we’re related and he tries to explain/figure it out (something like second cousins), but then he sighs and says “Don’t ask me.” In this land, I learn that the important thing about relations is not how we’re related but simply that we are.
Regarding the Tiberius vistas: I’m sorry to say, that I have no really excellent photos of the terrain. Suffice it to say that the land is awe-inspiring. Visualize a combination between the Southwest, like Arizona and Utah and New Mexico, but with palm trees, and white rocks against the brown/red hill/mountains, and the sea of Galilee usually in sight, and pockets of settlements. An interesting observation-- the way to discern Israeli settlements from Arab settlements: Israeli settlements often have red roof tiles/shingles and the layout of the settlement is more spatially organized. Ronnie mentioned that it’s typical that one Arab household might need to enter their house by walking through the backyard of another’s. On a somewhat related note, I’d like to add that I cannot believe that the Jewish State is all that it is…in 60 years. Sixty years! Sixty years and Israel is top in technology know-how, military prowess, the performing arts (I say, especially with the representation of Bat Sheva Dance Company). The variety of successes in farming and kibbutzim, in the sprawling urban centers, in the relaxed and opulent suburban lifestyles…I cannot believe this state was made in 60 years; that’s less than a lifetime. Within my lifetime, I hope that I can accomplish (on an individual scale) a fraction of that of Israel. Now wouldn’t that be a full life! How was this possible, how has Israel birthed itself and grown and flourished and prospered? I think it can all be traced to two sources: the supreme leaders, like Theodore Hertzel, and David Ben-Gurion, and Golde Meir, and the exquisite spiritual and physical make-up of the Jewish people. During Birthright we visited Mt. Hertzel which included a visit to the tombs of the great Israeli leaders (see pictures!). I’d like to make a dance, inspired by and paying tribute to the great leaders.
Back to the Tiberius:
When I drive through the Tiberius, I wish could go back in time. At this moment in time, I have an uncanny desire to be a shepherd (or I guess a shepherdess), and spend my days alone with my thoughts, and the sheep and the rocks, along the Galilee.
When I look at the mountains both rising up and enfolding the Sea, I think that if I didn’t believe in G-d, viewing this vista would make me a believer. To think that this was the everyday, ho-hum scenery of the Jews of the past. I’m still unclear what to call the Jews of the past—Hebrews? Israelites? (Or is that just for the Passover, pre-Exodus period). I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the book, Jewish Literacy by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin (that my dear friend Cantor Riki Lippitz gave me), and I’ve discovered that Jewish history is fascinating. It’s such a page turner! So much inspiration for future plays!
Back to the Tiberius: Some thoughts on Family, Priorities, and Hospitality
Our friends, our family, all the homes that we go to, we are welcomed with such hospitality. Dad hasn’t seen or spoken to Robby for forty years. Dad called him yesterday to share that we would be in the area. Who knows what changes he and his wife and his sister made to their schedules. After forty years, and with mention of family it was like, “Of course you’re coming over and we can’t wait to see you!”
Everyone feeds us so well (See picture! of Chava’s hospitality!) You can see the overflowing bowl of Boikos, paddies with cheese, which aren’t Israeli I’m told, for the Boikos as do the Orchas, originate from Spain. I think to myself, as I smear on some Labané, which is a spreadable seasoned yogurt, perhaps my Grandfather Gabriel ate this same dish. Everywhere we go everyone feeds us so well!
It makes me excited for the time when I can host and feed travelers.
TIBERIAS
After Tsfat, in the evening, we drive to Tiberius to visit more cousins: Robby, his sister Violet, and his wife Chava. I ask Dad how we’re related and he tries to explain/figure it out (something like second cousins), but then he sighs and says “Don’t ask me.” In this land, I learn that the important thing about relations is not how we’re related but simply that we are.
Regarding the Tiberius vistas: I’m sorry to say, that I have no really excellent photos of the terrain. Suffice it to say that the land is awe-inspiring. Visualize a combination between the Southwest, like Arizona and Utah and New Mexico, but with palm trees, and white rocks against the brown/red hill/mountains, and the sea of Galilee usually in sight, and pockets of settlements. An interesting observation-- the way to discern Israeli settlements from Arab settlements: Israeli settlements often have red roof tiles/shingles and the layout of the settlement is more spatially organized. Ronnie mentioned that it’s typical that one Arab household might need to enter their house by walking through the backyard of another’s. On a somewhat related note, I’d like to add that I cannot believe that the Jewish State is all that it is…in 60 years. Sixty years! Sixty years and Israel is top in technology know-how, military prowess, the performing arts (I say, especially with the representation of Bat Sheva Dance Company). The variety of successes in farming and kibbutzim, in the sprawling urban centers, in the relaxed and opulent suburban lifestyles…I cannot believe this state was made in 60 years; that’s less than a lifetime. Within my lifetime, I hope that I can accomplish (on an individual scale) a fraction of that of Israel. Now wouldn’t that be a full life! How was this possible, how has Israel birthed itself and grown and flourished and prospered? I think it can all be traced to two sources: the supreme leaders, like Theodore Hertzel, and David Ben-Gurion, and Golde Meir, and the exquisite spiritual and physical make-up of the Jewish people. During Birthright we visited Mt. Hertzel which included a visit to the tombs of the great Israeli leaders (see pictures!). I’d like to make a dance, inspired by and paying tribute to the great leaders.
Back to the Tiberius:
When I drive through the Tiberius, I wish could go back in time. At this moment in time, I have an uncanny desire to be a shepherd (or I guess a shepherdess), and spend my days alone with my thoughts, and the sheep and the rocks, along the Galilee.
When I look at the mountains both rising up and enfolding the Sea, I think that if I didn’t believe in G-d, viewing this vista would make me a believer. To think that this was the everyday, ho-hum scenery of the Jews of the past. I’m still unclear what to call the Jews of the past—Hebrews? Israelites? (Or is that just for the Passover, pre-Exodus period). I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the book, Jewish Literacy by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin (that my dear friend Cantor Riki Lippitz gave me), and I’ve discovered that Jewish history is fascinating. It’s such a page turner! So much inspiration for future plays!
Back to the Tiberius: Some thoughts on Family, Priorities, and Hospitality
Our friends, our family, all the homes that we go to, we are welcomed with such hospitality. Dad hasn’t seen or spoken to Robby for forty years. Dad called him yesterday to share that we would be in the area. Who knows what changes he and his wife and his sister made to their schedules. After forty years, and with mention of family it was like, “Of course you’re coming over and we can’t wait to see you!”
Everyone feeds us so well (See picture! of Chava’s hospitality!) You can see the overflowing bowl of Boikos, paddies with cheese, which aren’t Israeli I’m told, for the Boikos as do the Orchas, originate from Spain. I think to myself, as I smear on some Labané, which is a spreadable seasoned yogurt, perhaps my Grandfather Gabriel ate this same dish. Everywhere we go everyone feeds us so well!
It makes me excited for the time when I can host and feed travelers.
Building a Theatre in Tsfat
Entry 10: Tuesday, July 8th
TSFAT, SECOND ROUND
I return to Tsfat with Ronnie and Ruthie and Dad and I fantasize about building my own theatre here. How cool would that be? I mean actually build it with rock and mortar and have a say in the design, and be able to draw on spiritual influences (at the Kabala center right down the street) when choreographing work, and the tourists would flock to my evening shows. I’d choreograph on my roof which would look out onto the ancient cemetery where many of the great medieval Rabbi’s are buried. I’d invite them to visit me in my dreams. I ask Ronnie, who built his own house in Haifa when land cost bubkes, how much land in Tsfat would cost today. He imagines over $40,000. I ask Avraham, the artist (see pictures I took)-- who came here from Detroit, and whose joy was contagious when he spoke to my Birthright group 2 weeks ago—how much a studio apartment space would cost and he said about $300 per month. What a deal! So I’m looking into doing a seasonal swap—my place in Cambridge for someone’s space in Tsfat for like 2-3 months per year. Who can put a price tag on Heaven on Earth?
~ ~ ~
SHEVA
I met another wonderful artist, Sheva, (which is seven in Hebrew). She does glass blowing and “vibrant watercolor.” Her work is truly vibrant, and full of light and movement. My kind of style. I purchased two of her paintings, one for my mom, and one for my apartment. This is the first painting I’ve purchased for “my place.” So it was a special moment. The painting is called “Engagement,” and it’s of women dancing in a circle on one o the happiest days of the Jewish year, which is the day that follows the absolute saddest day. I will write more on this when I visit Sheva again during the Klezmer Festival in Tsfat from August 18th -20th. I’ll ask her to re-record her statements about the painting because her words about the “Engagement” are truly beautiful. Due to the exchange rate from sheckles to dollars, it turns out that the cost of the two paintings were $77.00, which is my lucky number, twice.
Avraham’s website: www.kabbalahart.com
Sheva’s website: www.shevachaya.com
~~~
ELI
While on the fringe of the Artist’s Quarters in Tsfat, I hollered to my Dad, in English of course. And that drew a secular Jewish man out of his stone store. He asked if I could help him with something. He was working on his computer, trying to explain in broken (though admirable) English a little bit about the work that he represented. So without skipping a beat, I pulled up a chair and got to work. How wonderful to be able to coach someone in writing half way around the world! I maintained his words, thoughts, and general phrases, helping only with grammar, precision of language, and flow. He was so grateful. He bought me a whole wheat pizza (for 3 sheckles, that’s 1 American dollar!) from a woman who came ‘round. (See picture)
His name is Eli and he’s a wonderfully generous man. When I whipped out my business card to exchange contact info, he was delighted to discover that I am a playwright. He thought our meeting was divinely orchestrated. (Here’s a picture of my business card which I put in a nook at the Kotel (Western Wall). I’d like to clarify: putting my business card at the Kotel is not about business or networking. It’s about placing within the Kotel the deepest part of myself, my essence, the things that I define myself as: choreographer/dancer playwright/director, the areas in which I feel I can contribute most to this world and the means in which I can connect with and positively affect people. This, my essence, I wished to place within the wall, so that I could tangibly be part of my 3.000 year old history. In a nutshell: the purpose is for me to unite with my heritage.)
TSFAT, SECOND ROUND
I return to Tsfat with Ronnie and Ruthie and Dad and I fantasize about building my own theatre here. How cool would that be? I mean actually build it with rock and mortar and have a say in the design, and be able to draw on spiritual influences (at the Kabala center right down the street) when choreographing work, and the tourists would flock to my evening shows. I’d choreograph on my roof which would look out onto the ancient cemetery where many of the great medieval Rabbi’s are buried. I’d invite them to visit me in my dreams. I ask Ronnie, who built his own house in Haifa when land cost bubkes, how much land in Tsfat would cost today. He imagines over $40,000. I ask Avraham, the artist (see pictures I took)-- who came here from Detroit, and whose joy was contagious when he spoke to my Birthright group 2 weeks ago—how much a studio apartment space would cost and he said about $300 per month. What a deal! So I’m looking into doing a seasonal swap—my place in Cambridge for someone’s space in Tsfat for like 2-3 months per year. Who can put a price tag on Heaven on Earth?
~ ~ ~
SHEVA
I met another wonderful artist, Sheva, (which is seven in Hebrew). She does glass blowing and “vibrant watercolor.” Her work is truly vibrant, and full of light and movement. My kind of style. I purchased two of her paintings, one for my mom, and one for my apartment. This is the first painting I’ve purchased for “my place.” So it was a special moment. The painting is called “Engagement,” and it’s of women dancing in a circle on one o the happiest days of the Jewish year, which is the day that follows the absolute saddest day. I will write more on this when I visit Sheva again during the Klezmer Festival in Tsfat from August 18th -20th. I’ll ask her to re-record her statements about the painting because her words about the “Engagement” are truly beautiful. Due to the exchange rate from sheckles to dollars, it turns out that the cost of the two paintings were $77.00, which is my lucky number, twice.
Avraham’s website: www.kabbalahart.com
Sheva’s website: www.shevachaya.com
~~~
ELI
While on the fringe of the Artist’s Quarters in Tsfat, I hollered to my Dad, in English of course. And that drew a secular Jewish man out of his stone store. He asked if I could help him with something. He was working on his computer, trying to explain in broken (though admirable) English a little bit about the work that he represented. So without skipping a beat, I pulled up a chair and got to work. How wonderful to be able to coach someone in writing half way around the world! I maintained his words, thoughts, and general phrases, helping only with grammar, precision of language, and flow. He was so grateful. He bought me a whole wheat pizza (for 3 sheckles, that’s 1 American dollar!) from a woman who came ‘round. (See picture)
His name is Eli and he’s a wonderfully generous man. When I whipped out my business card to exchange contact info, he was delighted to discover that I am a playwright. He thought our meeting was divinely orchestrated. (Here’s a picture of my business card which I put in a nook at the Kotel (Western Wall). I’d like to clarify: putting my business card at the Kotel is not about business or networking. It’s about placing within the Kotel the deepest part of myself, my essence, the things that I define myself as: choreographer/dancer playwright/director, the areas in which I feel I can contribute most to this world and the means in which I can connect with and positively affect people. This, my essence, I wished to place within the wall, so that I could tangibly be part of my 3.000 year old history. In a nutshell: the purpose is for me to unite with my heritage.)
Reuniting with Dad
Entry 9b: Thursday July 3, 2008
It was such a challenge organizing how I would meet Dad from the end of Birthright-- I didn’t have cell phone reception, then I ran out of telephone minutes, then because of a terrorist incident our timing and locations were changed…oy!
But when we finally arrived together, wow.
After talking to the tour bus driver at Zion Gate parking lot and after waiting 20 minutes, Dad decided to come to the restaurant which is inside the Old City in the Jewish quarter. Of course, as things go, we left, and he missed us, and so I arrived at the buses while he was at the restaurant. After I got my luggage from under the bus and approached a married couple who I believed to be Ronnie and Ruthie, my dad’s beloved friends from his early days in Israel, I looked to the stairs that ascend into the Old City. The more I think about this, the more I feel that this is so movie material. I stare at the stairs for about five seconds and see a shadow cast by the lamps. Behind the stairs rise the majestic walls of the city. My Dad emerges, descending the stairs, and off I fly, backpack bouncing, running on a freshly sprained ankle. “Dad!” “Daddy!” I shout, as I weave through and dodge the cars in the parking lot. He looks up and hurries down the stairs. We meet, we embrace on the threshold of the staircase leading to Jerusalem’s Old City. We start crying. I can’t believe I’m hugging my father in our homeland, that I’ve finally made it to him. That we are both here, after plane trips, after physical and financial sacrifices; we are here together, ready to begin our Israel journey, together.
P.S.: In the car ride to Haifa, the first song playing on the radio was from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Read into it what you may.
It was such a challenge organizing how I would meet Dad from the end of Birthright-- I didn’t have cell phone reception, then I ran out of telephone minutes, then because of a terrorist incident our timing and locations were changed…oy!
But when we finally arrived together, wow.
After talking to the tour bus driver at Zion Gate parking lot and after waiting 20 minutes, Dad decided to come to the restaurant which is inside the Old City in the Jewish quarter. Of course, as things go, we left, and he missed us, and so I arrived at the buses while he was at the restaurant. After I got my luggage from under the bus and approached a married couple who I believed to be Ronnie and Ruthie, my dad’s beloved friends from his early days in Israel, I looked to the stairs that ascend into the Old City. The more I think about this, the more I feel that this is so movie material. I stare at the stairs for about five seconds and see a shadow cast by the lamps. Behind the stairs rise the majestic walls of the city. My Dad emerges, descending the stairs, and off I fly, backpack bouncing, running on a freshly sprained ankle. “Dad!” “Daddy!” I shout, as I weave through and dodge the cars in the parking lot. He looks up and hurries down the stairs. We meet, we embrace on the threshold of the staircase leading to Jerusalem’s Old City. We start crying. I can’t believe I’m hugging my father in our homeland, that I’ve finally made it to him. That we are both here, after plane trips, after physical and financial sacrifices; we are here together, ready to begin our Israel journey, together.
P.S.: In the car ride to Haifa, the first song playing on the radio was from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Read into it what you may.
Ronnie and Ruthie
Entry 9a: Thursday July 3, 2008
Finally in the car with Ronnie and Ruthie (dear friends of Dad’s during his early days in Israel). After the crazy whirlwind of Birthright, I feel like the dust has settled and I’m really here. I’m here! My trip to Israel is now beginning.
There’s something about seeing Israel from a car window as opposed to the height of a tour bus. In seconds, after almost two weeks of flightiness, I feel grounded. I feel like an active participant at this level, not an outside observer from on high. No longer a tourist but an explorer and a returning Jew to my land, my home.
Finally in the car with Ronnie and Ruthie (dear friends of Dad’s during his early days in Israel). After the crazy whirlwind of Birthright, I feel like the dust has settled and I’m really here. I’m here! My trip to Israel is now beginning.
There’s something about seeing Israel from a car window as opposed to the height of a tour bus. In seconds, after almost two weeks of flightiness, I feel grounded. I feel like an active participant at this level, not an outside observer from on high. No longer a tourist but an explorer and a returning Jew to my land, my home.
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