I’ve never been more grateful to know Hebrew

When I was 16 years old, I won the Australian Chidon Hatanach, the International Bible Quiz. It’s a competition that has acquired legendary status in Israel and is televised on Yom Ha’atzmaut each year. As one of three Australian representatives, I got to spend two weeks in Israel with 60 of other nerdy kids from around the world, who like me, loved studying Torah and were in Israel for the final round of the Bible competition.

I spent months studying roughly half the Bible (approximately 450 chapters) and ended up finishing tenth in the world for the final competition. However, in hindsight, what stuck with me most about the trip was how it shaped my love of the Hebrew language.

Growing up in Australia, with two Australian Jewish parents, we did not speak Hebrew at home. Sure, when I was five years of age, I learned to read Hebrew and I knew all the prayers, but I couldn’t understand what I was reading, and I did not speak the language.

For me and most kids at school, any Hebrew lessons we had, which were at least three or four times a week, were the worst. They felt more like a punishment than a privilege. Hebrew lessons were full of difficult grammar, confusing concepts of feminine and masculine words, and so many tests, where it seemed getting the spelling right was nearly impossible.

However, as a 16-year-old Bible nerd, I found out that there were kids from other countries who were not only learning Hebrew at their schools but could perfectly communicate in the language I so detested. Like me, their parents were not Israeli, but they understood that speaking and understanding Hebrew was key to being part of the new Jewish future.

When I returned home, I decided that I had made a huge mistake. Seeing other children my age speak Hebrew fluently helped me to understand that without it, that I would always have trouble understanding the differences between Jews living outside of Israel and those in Israel.

Without Hebrew, I couldn’t understand the announcements on the bus, I couldn’t listen in to the chitchat of everyday people in cafes, I couldn’t read Israeli newspapers, and I wouldn’t be able to properly keep up with Israeli culture.

Until you speak Hebrew, it’s very hard to explain what phrases like Achla (אחלה) Awesome, Ani Meta Alayich (אני מתה עלייך) I adore you, Chaval Al HaZman (חבל על הזמן), A waste of time, or even Kapara Alecha (כפרה עליך) sweetheart mean. It’s a way of communicating to Israelis in a way that they understand, that shows a deep understanding of their way of life and their idioms.

 After seeing what I was missing out on by not speaking Hebrew, I knew that I wanted to be able to listen to Israelis and understand their words. I wanted to be able to read any Israeli newspaper and watch Israeli TV shows without even realising it was in another language.  I spent thousands of hours learning and conquering Hebrew and my Year 10 teacher Morah Debbie was thrilled with my newfound determination and commitment to excellence. Eventually I completed Year 12 Hebrew, and it was one of my top subjects.

Since October 7, I’ve never been more grateful for 16-year-old Nomi’s decision to learn and become accomplished at Hebrew. In the almost 10 months since the war began, I’ve been attached to the news. While I do read English newspapers, my feed is filled with Hebrew news and podcasts that can provide me with up-to-the-minute updates.

I’ve learnt a full repertoire of words that I never thought I would need to know in modern Hebrew, such as hostage (חטוף) or rocket (טיל). More concerningly, reflecting the current predicament that many Israelis are in, I am also familiar with the words for UAV, (כטב"ם) and hostage deal (עסקת חטופים).

Listening to daily Hebrew podcasts has helped me to understand the war from Israel’s perspective. I’ve read and heard things in Israeli newspapers that have not filtered their way into English. On daily Hebrew news podcasts, I hear from the children and parents of hostages in their mother tongue. Their longing and their fears, their tears and their worries.

I follow Israeli peace accounts, those who demand a ceasefire and relentlessly criticise Bibi and his government with a harshness that does not often make its way into translation. I read the comments on articles in Hebrew and hear the passion and the longing of so many regular people in Israel, who want a change to the constant cycle of war.

In Hebrew, I hear the passion of those who demand that things can be done differently at a time when violence seems to continue onwards without stop. I read everything, from the Left and Right, trying to make sense of this complex war. 

When I read in Hebrew or watch TV in Hebrew, the news hits me differently. It’s raw, it’s unfiltered. It’s in the language of the people that are living through one of the country’s longest wars. In Hebrew, it’s in the voices of those that are closest to the fire. I’m here, in Melbourne, but with some of my siblings living in Israel and so many friends there, I want to understand what they are living through.

Hearing and understanding Hebrew makes me feel that I am part of the Jewish story in a way that I could never feel in English. It helps me to understand the nuanced arguments of those I agree and disagree with, without the sanitisation and interpretation of translation.

Reading and listening to news in Hebrew helps me feel the raw unfiltered pain of so many in Israel. But more than that, it makes me feel, despite my distance, closer than I could have ever imagined.