93 Seconds . . . Longer than a Lifetime

I did it. I finally did it. Yep, I spoke in class. And not just to say, "Here," when my name was called on the roll. No, I said . . . something, something intelligent even.

"What's the big deal?" you ask. "You, of all people, are not afraid to talk." In fact, it could even be said, that I'm . . . talkative. Well, what happened to me was aliyah. Moving to a new country can significantly affect how you talk, when you talk, and with whom you feel comfortable sharing your old wisdom in your new language.

The first time I noticed my lack of willingness to participate in conversation was when I was in a group of Israelis who assumed my Hebrew was good enough for them to continue speaking in Hebrew instead of translating everything for me or conducting the conversation in English for me. I, like many olim (immigrants), assumed that I knew what was happening in the conversation. I've heard so many times over the years--in fact, said it myself: "Oh, I understand everything that people say to me; it's just hard for me to form sentences of my own." Let me clear things up. You, I, think we understand everything that is being said, but the more Hebrew you learn, the clearer and simultaneously more confusing things become. Because the more you learn, the more you realize you don't know. The words that before were lost in a sea of quickly spoken Hebrew words now stick out--and you realize you have no clue what they mean and how much of the conversation you are really missing.

This is what university in Israel for olim is all about. Realizing that, "Wow, there are a lot of things I still don't know." That and, to be fair, how much you do know compared to the people around you. A few weeks ago, I sat in a political philosophy class listening to Israeli students speak about "American culture," a central topic in the reading for the week. I must say, Israelis, in many ways, are able to capture the essence of American culture in a way I never thought they were capable of doing. They are outsiders looking in and this gives them a certain objectivity. However, there was something missing--"Oh, right, they've never seen 'Saved by the Bell' or gone trick-or-treating and they make fun of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches." That's why they don't truly understand. It hit me. Who am I? I'm American sometimes. I'm Israeli sometimes. Oh, yeah, I'm an immigrant.

About speaking in class, though, some of you would argue, "But your Hebrew is great (i.e. your American accent barely comes out when you speak--It's always there, waiting to pounce at the most embarrassing opportunity!)" I'll say it once: It doesn't matter. Speaking to a taxi driver, speaking to a friend, speaking to a doctor--these are not the same as speaking in front of 50 people in a class. However, this week, my opportunity (read: moment of greatest fear) finally arrived--I had to present Plato's "Cave Allegory" since my slacker group members had not read it.

I boldly (read: with a shaking voice and looking at my notes--written in Hebrew--every few seconds) explained the allegory. And after one repetition in the middle--where I got a little nervous after not knowing how to say what I wanted--and a faked smile, I finished. I survived. 93 seconds of pure hell.

But the teacher said, "Very good description." So, I figure, maybe . . . sometime during the next two years of my master's degree, I'll do it again.

Oh, right, I have to give a ten-minute presentation next week.