I’m loving my new Hebrew class! The Purple level is much more challenging than the previous levels, but in a great way, with more interesting content and vocabulary and homework and conversations. The teacher is fantastic, not just because he knows how to do weird tech stuff like broadcasting announcements to all of the breakout rooms at once, but also because he’s able to keep track of all of our stories and quirks and make sure we are all seen and heard and made part of the flow of the class.
“But what about me?”
The only problem, if there is one, is that I am surrounded by classmates with much more Hebrew fluency than I have. But surprisingly, I don’t really mind. I thought I would prefer being at the top of a lower-level class, but instead I feel energized by how much more there is to learn, and how much more there is to look forward to.
The homework at the purple level is also a lot more fun. We used to just translate sentences, from Hebrew to English or English to Hebrew, to practice our new vocabulary, but in Purple we do something called Field Research, where we take three of the words we learned in class that day and look up blog posts or articles or memes using those new words, then screenshot and post them to our class WhatsApp group. Being me, I spend a lot of time searching, reading dozens of posts until I find something that makes me laugh, or cry, so not only is it fun, but it also forces me to read a lot more Hebrew than I otherwise would have.
My favorite homework, though, and the one that challenges me the most, is when we are given a random topic and told to record ourselves speaking off the cuff in a short voice note, no editing allowed. For now, I tend to talk around the holes in my vocabulary, as if I’m avoiding land mines, but my braver classmates jump right in and bring up new words for us to learn in the next class. We also get to know each other really well, from family stories, pet peeves, and random trivia that would never come up in the course of normal conversations.
Possibly because of the voice note practice, or maybe because I’m just like this anyway, I’ve been talking to myself a lot in Hebrew lately, telling myself stories from my day and then rushing to Google Translate with a list of words that I now need to know how to say in Hebrew. I am, at least, willing to be more adventurous in my Hebrew speaking when I am only talking to myself. Hopefully, one day, I will have the confidence to just start speaking in public, with no plan for where I will end up.
Somehow, we’re already halfway through this semester, and I am not happy about that at all. We have a short break for Passover, and then Holocaust Remembrance Day, Israeli Memorial Day, and Israeli Independence Day, which all come in a clump, and that will give me an opportunity to feel some of the impending grief at the loss of the class and then dive back in for relief. But I know that when this class really ends, I’m going to resent it. I already feel bad for our next teacher (of course, I’ve already signed up for the next class), because there will be a lot for them to live up to.
“I’d be a great teacher! You’d be barking in no time!”
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
Starting in elementary school, and now in my online Hebrew classes from Tel Aviv, I’ve been learning Modern Hebrew, the version of the language spoken in Israel today, and it is much more my speed than Biblical Hebrew. The last time I studied Biblical Hebrew, if I ever really studied it, was back in high school, and for the most part I found it impenetrable. The text was most often translated by our teachers, including the six or seven commentaries we would read for each sentence. I mean, sure, if we’d had mysteries written in Biblical Hebrew, I might have paid more attention, but reading through the laws in Leviticus word by word, a sentence or two per day, did not capture my attention.
“Oy. Leviticus.”
But recently, I’ve been making a point of reading along in Hebrew, during Bible study sessions at my synagogue, as someone else reads the English translation out loud, and I’ve started to notice some of the differences between Modern Hebrew and Biblical Hebrew, and to understand why it was all so hard to understand when I was a kid. I’ll find myself reading along, mostly understanding the Hebrew words and feeling pretty good about myself, and then suddenly a word that is clearly in the future tense in the Hebrew will be translated into the past tense in the English, or a word that I was sure I understood from Modern Hebrew will be given an entirely different connotation, and I’ll be lost all over again.
Even though it’s all Hebrew, the gap between Biblical and Modern Hebrew is at least as wide as the gap between today’s English and Shakespeare’s, but probably wider. There were only 8,000 or so attested Hebrew words in the Bible, including words borrowed from Akkadian (used by the Assyrians and Babylonians) and Egyptian and Greek. Today, there are over 100,000 words in Modern Hebrew, including loan words from all of the different cultures Jews have lived in for millennia, including Arabic and English and German and Spanish and Russian and Persian and on and on. In the interim, along with the added vocabulary, the grammar, and syntax, and even pronunciation have also changed, by a lot.
Actually, Hebrew was only the spoken language spoken in ancient Israel until sometime before the Common Era, when Aramaic took over. And then, after the destruction of the second temple in Jerusalem, in 70 CE, most of the Jewish population was scattered around the world, and each community spoke the language of their new homes. Biblical Hebrew was still used by the rabbis in their commentaries on the Hebrew Bible, though, and by Jews in general during prayer and study, and as a result, the word count of written Hebrew grew to 20,000 or so, including many words borrowed from Aramaic and other neighboring languages. And then the Medieval sages added another 6,500 words, while writing their own commentaries and sacred poetry.
Eventually, in the 1800’s, a movement to revive spoken Hebrew began, with some Jewish writers using Hebrew to write secular literature, instead of just keeping Hebrew in the study hall or the synagogue anymore. Eliezer Ben Yehuda codified this new version of Hebrew in the early 1900’s, and when the Modern State of Israel was created, Hebrew was chosen as the national language. And today, Modern Hebrew is evolving much more quickly, but it is still the same language. Some words that were used in Biblical Hebrew have been replaced in daily usage with new words in Modern Hebrew, but they still exist. You can even use the older words in your everyday life and be understood, but you will sound kind of like an English speaker reciting Shakespeare as you order your coffee.
The most important discovery, for me, in researching Biblical Hebrew, was the Conversive Vav. This was the mystery that started the whole thing: how are verbs that are written in the future tense in Biblical Hebrew suddenly transformed into the past tense in the English. I found a bunch of long, drawn out, incomprehensible explanations for how the Conversive Vav is used, but suffice it to say that when it shows up it can change future tense into past tense and past tense into future tense. Like magic. In Modern Hebrew, if you find the letter Vav in front of a Hebrew word, it usually means “and,” and if you see something written in the future tense, it remains in the future tense, no hocus pocus allowed.
You can, of course, go much deeper into studying Biblical Hebrew, to the point where you can even date when the different books of the Hebrew Bible may have been written, or figure out which parts of each story may have come from a previous era and were then added into a more recent re-telling of the story. My rabbi is fascinated by all of this stuff, and I’m happy to let him do the work of figuring it out so I don’t have to.
I am not a linguist, or a grammarian, or even a very good speller, but I am fascinated by the idea that a language is a living thing, that changes as the people who speak it change. I still much prefer Modern Hebrew to the Biblical version, but I love that I get to visit my ancestors and hear their particular dialect each time I open the Hebrew Bible. Who knows what future generations will be able to learn about us when they read through our writings? A lot depends on what they will have access to: they could be reading non-fiction histories, or true crime, or young adult science fiction, or page after page of shopping lists from the height of the egg-price crisis. And what they read, and the way they interpret it, will determine who they think we were and what they learn from us.
I often wonder what the rabbis chose to edit out of the Hebrew Bible along the way, and why. I bet my ancestors wrote their own version of shopping lists, and wrote all kinds of other things the rabbis didn’t think we needed to know, for one reason or another. Just imagine, there could be a treasure trove of ancient Biblical fan fiction, or diaries of young girls complaining about the horror of animal sacrifices and all of the chores they had to do around the farm, all buried in a cave somewhere in Israel, waiting to be discovered. If anything like that comes up, I may have to rethink my resistance to learning Biblical Hebrew. Only time will tell.
“How many languages do I have to learn to live in this house?!”
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
I am starting a new semester of online Hebrew classes, and I’m excited, but also anxious. I’ve been back in these classes since the summer, with renewed energy and purpose after a long break, and all of that effort has paid off, because I am moving up to Purple, the highest level. One of the things I love about Citizen Café, the school where I take my Hebrew classes, is that instead of offering three levels (beginning, intermediate, and advanced) like most language classes for adults, they are continually adding levels so that each student can start and continue in a class that is suited to their real abilities, without being too challenged or too comfortable. I cannot explain their color wheel, though, which starts with Red and Orange and, for now, ends with Purple, and makes stops along the way in Lime, Pink, and Turquoise.
I spent six semesters at the Indigo level, the second to highest level, where there are multiple semesters worth of content to help build vocabulary and fluency, but also a lot of repetition. During my sojourn in Indigo, I kept hoping that they would create a new level, between Indigo and Purple, so I wouldn’t have to keep going over the same material, or move up to the final level, which feels so, I don’t know, final, but no such luck. Eventually, my teachers decided that I was getting too comfortable in Indigo and needed to move up to Purple for a new challenge, and I agreed with them, but now I feel like I’m being thrown into the deep end without my water wings.
From what I hear from friends, purple level is a different animal. The content changes each semester, depending on what the students in each class are interested in, and there are people who have been at the purple level for a dozen semesters or more, to make up for not having anyone in their outside life to speak to in Hebrew. I’m one of the few students at the advanced levels at this school who has never actually been to Israel, let alone lived there, and I worry that I will be intimidated by my classmates who either live in Israel now or have visited many times in the past. At some point soon, I’m sure the school will figure out that if I belong in Purple, then there really should be at least one more level above Purple for the really advanced students. And then they’ll have to come up with a new color to add to their color wheel, like ultra-violet, or maybe chartreuse.
I’m sure that, originally, when they were teaching classes in person in cafes around Tel Aviv, they assumed their students would only stay for a few semesters, since they’d already done their official six months in Ulpan (when you move to Israel, you take a six-month Hebrew course subsidized by the government). They probably thought that all their students would need was some practice and fine tuning and then they’d be ready to get a job and continue to work on their Hebrew with their new Israeli friends, but the reality is that Hebrew is really hard to learn, and most Israelis are too busy, or too impatient, or too terrible at grammar themselves to be of much help. And most people want to be able to do more than just read road signs or buy cherry tomatoes at the Shuk, they want to be able to watch (and understand) the news, or read novels at the beach, or scream at their friends over loud music at a party and actually know what’s being said back to them. So, the school grew.
But something else also happened along the way. Once the school went online, during covid, they found out that they had a lot of potential students who didn’t live in Israel at all. Suddenly there were students from around the world who wanted to learn Hebrew before moving to Israel, or so they could speak Hebrew with their Israeli wife’s family, or chat with their grandkids over Zoom. And then there were people, like me, who wanted to speak Hebrew for a million reasons other than moving to Israel. There are a lot of us who are fascinated with Hebrew for reasons of culture, ancestry, community, connection, family and on and on, rather than just wanting to be able to navigate the bus routes from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv.
I am still, usually, the only person in my classes who has never been to Israel, though. And hopefully, someday soon, I will be able to afford a trip, but for now, I’m doing my best to travel there in my mind, and on Zoom, and it is bringing me a lot of satisfaction, and a lot of joy, and just a little bit of crippling anxiety.
“I understand anxiety, new Mommy.”
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
All of the recent rhetoric, and actions, on mass deportation of migrants in the United States has made me think about what I believe is right, or wrong, or complicated, around the issue of immigration. There are people who believe that there should be no borders at all, and that all deportations are wrong, and there are others who think that anyone who speaks Spanish instead of English while in the United States should be on the ICE deportation list, no matter what their citizenship status may be. I know I don’t agree with either of those extreme points of view, but I’m not sure what I do believe.
We have a tendency to simplify and generalize in our public discourse, relying on pithy sayings that can fit in a hashtag or on a protest sign, instead of having in-depth discussions about what we believe is right. And especially now, when we are being told that the only solution to illegal immigration is to hunt down anyone with questionable status, guns blazing, in hospitals and schools and houses of worship, it is even more important to take a breath and take responsibility for figuring out who we are and who we want to be, and why.
I teach the Book of Leviticus in synagogue school, so I spend an unreasonable amount of time marinating in the Hebrew Bible and what it has to say about who our ancestors were, and where they went wrong, and which lessons they did and didn’t learn from those mistakes. So, when I am confused about a moral issue, the Hebrew Bible is one of the first places I look for edification (other than Hallmark movies, of course). And we are reminded over and over again in the Hebrew Bible that we were strangers in Egypt, and therefore we should be compassionate to others in the same position. It is said so many times that we almost don’t hear it anymore, like we miss the birds chirping outside our windows, or the nagging inner voice telling us to exercise, because it is just so ubiquitous. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I ever spent much time thinking about what it means to be kind to the stranger, or even who qualifies as a stranger in our modern, globally connected world.
But in a recent bible study session, my rabbi told us that even though the word Ger in the Hebrew Bible is often translated into English as “stranger,” it actually meant something more like “sojourner” in biblical times, and referred to someone who was a migrant from somewhere else, without land of his own in ancient Israel.
We are told, in Leviticus 19:34-35: “When strangers reside with you in your land, you shall not wrong them. The strangers who reside with you shall be to you as your citizens; you shall love each one as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
So, first of all, don’t wrong the stranger. Don’t do anything to the stranger/sojourner that would be abhorrent to you, like making them into your slave, or stealing from them, or hurting or killing them. Basically, recognize that the laws of good behavior are not nullified in your interactions with the stranger as if they are less than human. But why tell us to treat the stranger as if he is a citizen? If there’s not supposed to be a difference between how we treat a citizen and a non-citizen, then why not just say, treat everyone the same?
In fact, the Hebrew Bible has a separate law for how we should treat someone who isn’t a stranger. In Leviticus 19:18, it says: “Love your neighbor as yourself,” or in another translation, “Love your fellow human being as you love yourself.” If there’s no difference between a stranger and a neighbor, why are the two laws stated separately?
If we assume that every word in the Hebrew Bible is there for a reason, which not everyone assumes, but hear me out, then just like “stranger” really refers to a sojourner or non-citizen, maybe the “neighbor” or “fellow human being” here refers to the opposite of the stranger/sojourner, AKA a citizen. So, we are being given guidance on how to treat a fellow citizen and on how to treat a non-citizen.
Before settling in the land of Israel, the ancient Israelites were wanderers, and slaves, so they knew about being sojourners in other lands more than they knew about being landowners. And once they owned land, they needed to learn how to treat each other all over again, and how to treat outsiders, given these new blessings and responsibilities. But as their past experiences started to fade from their everyday thoughts, they had to actively remind themselves that they didn’t want to be the kind of landowners they’d known in the past. They wanted to retain their empathy for the outsider, without losing the rights and freedoms they had so recently won for themselves.
One of the important things to remember about the sojourners in ancient Israel, is that they were not bound by all of the same laws as the Israelites (like keeping kosher, or celebrating the Sabbath, or giving of the produce of their land to the Levites, or to the widow or orphan), though they were bound by certain laws that applied to everyone equally (Don’t kill, steal, etc.).
But if the sojourner is so different from the neighbor, why do the laws about how to treat them sound so similar? Or do they? Further along in the Hebrew Bible we get a little more detail on how we are supposed to treat the stranger/sojourner. In Deuteronomy 10:18-19, it says: “[God] upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
Here we are being told to befriend the stranger (which is pretty vague), and to supply food and clothing to the stranger, the way one would for anyone else in the community who is in need. This suggests that we’re not being told to treat the stranger the same way we would treat a fellow citizen, but rather to be generous to the stranger in the same way we would be generous to anyone in our own community who is in need, specifically, someone who lacks food or clothing. It’s interesting, and maybe significant, that the law doesn’t mention offering shelter to the stranger, which I would have thought of as a primary need, especially for someone without land of their own.
In ancient Israel, those who owned land were members of the twelve tribes of Israel. Period. These are people who, maybe like us, were worried about losing the property and the rights and the freedoms they had so recently won. And they were struggling with their competing desires to keep what was newly theirs and to be generous to those who were not as lucky.
As I often remind my synagogue school students, we don’t have laws in the Hebrew Bible for things we would already do without being told. And I think the two laws, for how to treat the sojourner and how to treat the neighbor, are a way to remind us that both our relationships with our fellow citizens and our relationships with non-citizens will be complicated, and that we will make mistakes, and we will struggle to know what is right or fair, and we will struggle with our own greed and generosity. We need these laws to remind ourselves that we should still strive to treat everyone with respect, especially if they are different from us, or have different status from us. And, maybe more importantly, we need to be reminded that being a stranger is not a character flaw, or a status below that of other human beings. The reality of needing to leave home in order to survive is a vulnerable state to be in, and usually reached through no fault of one’s own, like the Israelites having to leave the land of Isreal during a famine and travel to Egypt. We may not be obligated to the migrant to the same degree as we are obligated to our fellow citizens, but we are still required to see them as people who need and deserve our respect and generosity.
We are struggling with all of this in the United States right now. We are struggling both with how to treat our fellow citizens, when they are different from us, in gender, sexuality, religion, race, culture, belief systems, etc., and how to treat sojourners in our land, those who are here legally or otherwise. We are not sure we can afford to be generous, financially or emotionally, even with our own communities, let alone with outsiders.
And the fact that there are separate laws for the neighbor and the stranger in the Hebrew Bible tells me that my ancestors understood that struggle. They knew that everyone wouldn’t be treated the same, and that maybe they couldn’t, or even shouldn’t, always be treated the same. We are human beings, after all, and we will never be perfect, whatever that is. But there’s also a clear sentiment among the ancient Israelites, at least in their published works, that no matter how flawed and imperfect we may be, we should always be striving to do better, rather than worse.
Right now, it feels like we, as a collective, are doubling down on our deepest fears about the other. And it’s important to recognize that these fears are deep and pervasive and sometimes even accurate. The impulse to protect ourselves, even at the expense of someone else, will always be there within us, and is not, in itself, wrong or evil. It just is. The question is, can we survive and thrive if we feed only the most frightened parts of ourselves? Can we, maybe, also feed the more generous, compassionate, curious, and empathetic parts of ourselves as well, and let them help us make our decisions about who we want to be and what we want to do? Our ancestors believed that if we made an effort, we could do both: take care of ourselves and take care of others. And I’d like to believe that they were on to something.
“I am a stranger in a strange land, too. But I think I like it here.”
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
“In my dreams, all my stuffies are real, but they never steal my chicken treats.”
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
The primary reasons why I chose the name Tzipporah for our new dog were the meaning of the name (bird), and the sound of it, but I was also thinking of Moses’s Wife Tzipporah in the Hebrew Bible. There was something about her that resonated for me, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was, so I decided to do a little bit of research.
“Why do I have to share a name? That doesn’t sound right.”
Tzipporah, in the Hebrew bible, was the daughter of a Midianite priest named Jethro (and Reuel and Hobab, for some reason). Jethro himself becomes important to the story after the Exodus from Egypt, when the Israelites are camped out at Mount Sinai and Moses needs help figuring out the nitty gritty of how to lead his new nation.
But first, the beginning of the story: Moses runs away from Egypt (because he killed an Egyptian slave master who was striking a Jewish slave), and as he is passing through Midian he sits down to rest by a well. While there, he sees that Jethro’s daughters are being bullied by a group of shepherds. Moses steps in to help the girls get water for their flocks, and when they get home, Jethro tells them to invite Moses home for dinner, and then to stay, and then to marry his daughter Tzipporah.
The interesting bit comes later on, after Moses is called by God to save the Israelites from Egypt. Moses and Tzipporah and their sons are staying at a roadside inn, on their way to Egypt, when an angel of God comes to kill Moses (there’s no explanation in the text for why God wants to kill the man he just recruited, but, okay). Tzipporah decides that the only way to dissuade God from killing her husband is to circumcise her son Gershom, and then touch her husband’s leg with the bloody piece of skin (or to fling the foreskin at the angel, the text is unclear on this point). And, Moses is saved!
Putting aside the ick for a second, it’s fascinating to me that Tzipporah is the heroine of this story, rather than Moses. Moses does nothing to protect himself. Tzipporah, on the other hand, grabs a sharp stone and does precise surgery on her baby to save her husband. I read a commentary that says the reason God was so angry at Moses in the first place was because he had failed to circumcise his son by the 8th day, so Tzipporah was just doing the job Moses was supposed to have done earlier. But that seems like a lot of impatience, even for God. The interesting thing, to me, is that circumcising baby boys was seen as a way to protect them from evil spirits (blood in general is seen as a prophylactic against evil in the ancient world), so here’s Tzipporah using the same ritual as a way to protect her husband from God, as if God is playing the role of an evil spirit in this story.
The contradictions in the text, and the sense that we’re missing important details of the story, seem to be a feature rather than a bug in the Hebrew bible. A modern-day text would have had all of these contradictions edited away, and all of the missing details filled in, but instead we have this text that includes multiple versions of the same stories, with conflicting and confusing details that lead to wildly different interpretations; which, intentionally or not, allows each of us to reinterpret the text in our own way, and find layer upon layer of possible meanings.
It’s this decidedly-lean-on-details aspect of the Hebrew bible that led the rabbis to write Midrash, or stories, to help us try to understand the lessons to be learned. That’s where we get some of the explanations for why Tzipporah was named Bird in the first place: maybe she was named after (or inspired by) the Egyptian Bird goddess, Isis, who also saved her husband’s life (in Egyptian mythology); or maybe she was named Bird simply because birds are beautiful and she is beautiful; or maybe she was named Bird because birds are the animal sacrifice used in the case of a house covered in leprosy, and Tzipporah cleansed her father’s house of idols, which is sort of like cleansing the house of leprosy (though I don’t remember anything in the story where Jethro gives up being a priest of Midian, or any of his idols, so…).
Sometimes the commentators just come up with things because that’s the story they want to be true. Midrash was never added into the text of the Hebrew bible itself, and we are not supposed to confuse midrash with the text of the Hebrew bible, and yet, the way these stories are often taught to children, and remembered by adults like me, the line between what’s actually in the Hebrew bible itself and what was added by the rabbis in the midrash can become blurry.
But, even with all of that, the text of the Hebrew bible seems pretty clear that Tzipporah is a fierce protector of her husband and children, and that she is very beautiful, and maybe that fierceness and beauty were what made the name seem right for my own Tzipporah. She survived four years in a puppy mill, and that alone takes a lot of grit, but then she came to a new home and was able to be curious and find new adventures, which suggests that she has a lot of spirit and bravery for such a little girl.
My hope for my own Tzipporah is that she continues to write her own midrash, her own fanciful stories, to create a new life, and that she never has to protect herself from an angel of God, or anyone else, so she can devote all of her fierceness to the goal of living a good life in her new home, and finding as much happiness as her little paws can hold.
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
She doesn’t love me, yet. I remember this feeling from when Ellie first came home, worried that she would never love me and I would never love her. I’m also having flashbacks to the night Ellie died, when she was struggling to breathe and asked to be put down on the floor, and so I did as she asked, and the next time I saw her she was dead. I worry that the new baby could be sick in some unforeseen way, and that I will wake up in the morning to find her dead. In a way, I think I’m feeling the parts of the grief I couldn’t stand feeling before. It’s not really a coincidence, but more of a blessing, that “someone” arrived a few days before the year anniversary (the Yahrzeit) of Ellie’s death.
“Someone” is a four-year-old Havanese, former breeding mama, just like Ellie, though with her black and white coloring, she doesn’t remind me of Ellie too much, thank God. She hasn’t barked at all yet, and for the first few days the only thing I could see in her eyes was fear. But as time has passed, I’ve seen more and more curiosity. She’s eating well, and pooping in all the wrong places, but they are healthy poops. She spends most of her time sleeping, as if she is beyond exhausted and needs to fill up a tank that has never really been filled before.
Two weeks before we adopted her, she was driven up from a puppy mill in Missouri that had decided to “retire” a bunch of mamma dogs (I assume all of the puppies had already been sold). Mom had been calling the shelter (North Shore Animal League America, of Late Show with Stephen Colbert fame) for months, and then daily since news of the rescue of the little dogs. On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Mom was told that the dogs wouldn’t be ready for adoption until after Thanksgiving, but by Wednesday, adoption day was scheduled for Friday morning at ten (technically after Thanksgiving, but just barely). My brother and one of my nephews came along with us, because it was the only time they could come for a Thanksgiving visit, and because, you know, dogs. We weren’t the first ones online, but we weren’t the last either. For our entertainment, or just because, the shelter workers kept walking past the line of potential adopters with different dogs, including two Shiba Inu puppies who seemed to be dancing and doing a comedy act. At some point, one of the shelter workers came out to tell us to make two lines, one for dogs and one for cats, and no one moved. We were clearly all there waiting for the small dogs, and I was convinced that there would be no dogs left by the time we got inside.
But thankfully, I was wrong.
The way the shelter is set up, you have to walk through the long hallway of big dogs in order to get to the small dogs, in the hopes that someone will fall in love along the way and forget that they live in an apartment.
When we got to the small dog room, the first dog I noticed was a ten-year-old miniature poodle who was standing on her back legs and demanding attention from everyone who walked by. The dogs were kept in little glass-fronted apartments, with description cards on each door describing the dog or dogs inside: age, breed, gender, health issues, and any specifications (good with kids, needs to be with other dogs, needs to be an only dog, etc.). There were already a bunch of adorable little dogs being held by various humans, seemingly claimed. Then we saw the two Shiba Inu puppies, playing and laughing together, and my nephew said he’d want one of them, if only he wasn’t still living in a college dorm. The two five-month-old Shiba Inu brothers were the exception, though, because most of the dogs were former breeding mamas, from age four to age twelve (I can’t even fathom why a puppy mill still had a twelve-year-old breeding dog). I felt dizzy and overwhelmed by the noise and chaos, but then I saw a six-year-old apricot and white miniature poodle, who looked way too much like Cricket for my comfort, and just behind her, in the same little apartment, was a black and white Havanese. The card said she was four years old and that her name was “Bandita.” Both of the dogs were sleeping, but I asked to see “Bandita” anyway.
The reason for her name became clear right away, with her raccoon-like eye markings, and she looked terrified, but as soon as she was in my arms I was not willing to give her back. I was still curious about the other dogs in the room, of course, and started wondering if I could adopt two or three dogs at once, or if that would be selfish, given all of the other people still waiting in line. It took me just a minute or two to get the volunteer’s attention and tell her that we had chosen our new dog.
And then came the paperwork. They had to take “Bandita” from me and put her in another room, so she wouldn’t be claimed by anyone else, and then we waited on line and were given a three-page form to fill out in pencil, and then we waited on line again to review it all with one of the shelter workers, in pen. They needed names and phone numbers for three references, and our vet, and the manager of the co-op where we live. They also wanted information about our previous dogs: health, training habits, living conditions, etc. The shelter worker passed over the fenced-in yard requirement quickly, thank God, and told us that at four years old, “Bandita” qualified for the same senior to senior program under which we’d adopted Butterfly ten years earlier, which meant that the already low adoption fee would be reduced again, down to $25, and any health care provided by the clinic at the shelter would be subsidized. And then we were sent away while they checked through all of our information, in order to decide if we were qualified to adopt a puppy mill survivor.
Miss Butterfly
We sat at home for two hours waiting for the phone call, trying to distract ourselves, worried they’d find a reason to deny the adoption. In the meantime, I started thinking about names. I had promised myself I would give our next dog a Hebrew name, and my first thought was Tikvah, which means “hope.” But I was worried that calling her “hope” would put too much weight on her tiny shoulders, so I started researching Hebrew girl names: Aviva (spring), Ilana (young tree), Tzipporah (bird), Shir (song or poem), Yaffa (beautiful), Yofi (beauty), Dvash (honey), Rina (singing and joy), Osher (happiness), Adina (gentle), Dafna, Dahlia, Tiferet, Hadassah, and on and on.
When we finally got the call that “Bandita” was ours, I was thrilled! I didn’t expect to be so happy. I thought I would only feel relieved, or even trepidatious, but I was giddy. It was puppy time!!!
When we got back to the shelter, all of the parking spots within six blocks were taken by other potential adopters, so I dropped Mom at the front door and drove up the hill to find a spot on a side street.
While I was parking, Mom signed us up for pet insurance that would cover 80% of her health care, no matter where we chose to take her, and by the time I arrived it was time to read and sign a ton more paperwork, and visit with the vet tech to make sure we understood her health situation (spayed, still has a small scar, had a dental and would need one every year, would need two more vaccinations in two weeks), and then we were loaded up with gifts from the shelter’s corporate sponsors (a Swiffer wet jet, a bag of Rachel Rae dog food, and a dog toy from Subaru and one from a coffee company I didn’t recognize).
There was so much to carry that I left Mom with the baby, to take an adoption picture and buy some wet dog food, while I dragged all of the loot back to the car. Mom and puppy were waiting for me when I returned, and then they were safely ensconced next to the Swiffer box in the back seat, and we made our way home.
The first person we met in the back yard at the co-op was Kevin, the mini-goldendoodle who loved (and was very much loved by) Cricket, and he was very enthusiastic about sniffing the new dog and telling her all the news. She was, of course, terrified, of him, and of the grass, and of the leash, and of me, but she made a point of sniffing Kevin’s butt anyway.
As soon as we got into the apartment, I sat down on the couch, still wearing my winter jacket, and held her on my chest for the next few hours, afraid to move. When I finally put her down on the floor (because I really had to go to the bathroom), she ran for the smallest hiding spot she could find, which turned out to be Mom’s garden kneeler, which was sitting on its side in a corner of the dining room. She peeked out from behind the bench of the kneeler and then curled up behind it, using it as a shield.
We’d thought we still had a pet gate in storage, and had planned to put her and her food and bed and wee wee pad in the kitchen, but without the pet gate we couldn’t reinforce the boundary, so even though she started her first night in her bed in the kitchen, she quickly found her way down the hall to a little round rug on Grandma’s bedroom floor, where she spent the rest of the first night.
Without the pet gate, trying to explain to her where to pee and poop has been difficult (or impossible), but she’s been making progress anyway. We take her outside a few times a day, even though she has no idea what to do out there and just sits on the grass, waiting to be picked up and brought back inside.
By Sunday morning, we’d narrowed the name choices down to Tzipporah, Tikvah and Shir (or Shira or Shiri), but I still couldn’t quite figure out who she was, and I was afraid of getting her name wrong, forever and ever amen.
By Monday afternoon, she wasn’t shaking anymore, though she was still skittish when the humans came too close. Pretty quickly, she found the two dog beds, filled with Cricket and Ellie’s toys and blankets, and spent many hours making herself cozy in the midst of her sisters’ smells. We set up a cushion and blanket for her in my room., so she could feel safe and welcome there too, and she was beginning to venture further into the corners of the apartment, examining all of the smells and sounds and textures of her new world. She was starting to stretch out and try different sleeping spots and positions, instead of always being curled in a ball on the round rug in Mom’s room. She even started to look at us, and to continue eating while we were in the room. By then, I had narrowed the choices to Tikvah and Tzipporah. I was leaning more towards Tzipporah (bird), because the sound of it seemed to fit her, and because I could already see her yearning to fly. But I was still holding onto the idea of “hope,” for myself, and wasn’t quite ready to let it go.
By midweek, when we lit the (vanilla scented) candle for Ellie’s Yahrzeit, and sat with that grief again, something had shifted inside of me and I decided that I was ready to let go of my expectations, and hopes, and “someone” finally became Tzipporah (Tzippy for short).
Ellie’s Yahrzeit
Her fears are still prominent. She had an encounter with the vacuum cleaner the other day, a previously unknown evil, that sent her back to bed for half a day. She refused to crawl out from under her blankets for anything, even dinner. But we can already see a glimmer of her adventurous spirit hidden underneath the fear. Step by step, chicken treat by chicken treat, I hope that she will eventually decide that she was adopted by the right family, and she’ll discover that good things really are possible, especially love.
Tzipporah
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
rachelmankowitz 