The Origin of My Mistakes

And other ineffective but fun ways to learn Hebrew

I spend much of the week thinking about my work teaching kids. I think a lot about how it could be done better, why the system is such a mess now, and how I can be most effective while maintaining my own sanity and health.

On my lunch break or sometimes on transit home, I catch up on my Israel news. But these days I often don’t even have time to comment. So I try to catch up on weekends. I’m still thinking of you, Joshua, Jill, Annie, EKB, Rivka, and all my other Substack friends, Israel-related or not. I’m just sometimes a bit behind in my reading.

Then on Saturday night I get my date with Gadi Taub, which consists of listening to Israel Update. Of course I listen to it mostly for the news and perspective, but one of my favorite parts is how Gadi messes up English words and phrases, or can’t find one.

In the latest episode, Gadi was searching for the word for pieces of a necklace. Mike, his co-host, couldn’t figure out what it was, so I tweeted at Gadi that the word he was looking for is “beads.” Then he just said that “The IDF has been tripping over its legs,” and Mike started to laugh because the English phrase is “tripping over its feet.” Gadi pointed out that Mike understands why Gadi makes the mistakes he does because Mike speaks Hebrew. “Therefore you understand the origin of my mistakes,” said Gadi.

I have been following Gadi’s English mistakes for clues as to Hebrew grammar structure and idioms. What a roundabout way to learn to speak Hebrew! The shortest, most logical way would be to GO TO ISRAEL and do some sort of immersion program. The second would be to do an online course like one I found but can’t afford. An app thing wouldn’t work for me - I need human interaction. And since no Israeli has wandered up to me offering to finally teach me how to say “Good afternoon,” I continue to find roundabout ways to learn a few things.

“The Origin of My Mistakes” made me think of Sheryl Crow’s “My Favorite Mistake,” one of my favorite songs of hers. The story of a hot affair gone sour, possibly about Eric Clapton. It’s only fair that someone write a song about Eric Clapton, to get him back for “Layla.” I love to follow conversations between songwriters, like songs by Carly Simon about James Taylor and Joni Mitchell thrown in there somewhere, or songs about Rita Coolidge from whichever of the members of Crosby, Stills and Nash she dated. Artists tend to be the types to put their personal lives out there, making art and money out of every affair, and more out of the biggest mistakes.

I suppose now and then I’ve done my turn as a muse. More often I’m the artist. I’m more comfortable in the artist role. You have control over your own fantasy - you don’t have control over someone else’s.

When it comes to real life relationships, my best friend pointed out the other day that one that didn’t work out some time ago wouldn’t have worked out anyway because sooner or later, “Your politics would have gotten in the way.”

No doubt. I find myself consistently to the right of almost all of my old friends. I’m so tired of inserting the disclaimer: I don’t agree with much of what the Trump administration is doing. But I am definitely to the right on the war from most of my friends, and even those who are as hawkish as I am aren’t talking about it in public.

So as I’m listening to Gadi Taub’s podcast, I’m thinking, there must be others out there who think like he does. I’d like to have some real Zionist friends, Jewish or otherwise, right here near me. When I get off work and get to think about other things, I’d love to have people to talk about it with. Maybe they could teach me a little Hebrew, and I could try out my Israeli recipes.

It’s almost Passover again, and I guess I’ll be alone this year. I haven’t gone back to the lefty synagogue because it just makes me feel too weird… I can feel out of place politically right in the comfort of my own neighborhood. It’s one thing to not be Jewish - no issue - but to actually think a two state solution is a suicidal pipe dream? Yeah, can’t say that out loud.

Tomorrow I have Zen, which is delightful because you can be in community with people without talking. I went for our weekly walk with my 86 year old Zen teacher yesterday after work. She was a school teacher in urban New York for most of her career, so she gets it. We walk in an old cemetery near where we live. The trees are beautiful now. The daffodils are out.