Afternoon
Hebrew School, at least in Wichita, Kansas in the Sixties, was not a
particularly enriching learning experience for me and my classmates. We came
from public school several days a week eager to have fun, not to learn. Our teachers, usually overseas Israeli
students or their wives, were there to supplement their stipends. Most had come
to Wichita State University to learn science or math and few had any teaching
training.
Therefore, the
overwhelming memories of my Hebrew school experience do consist of having fun.
We had spitball fights during class and spent our breaks skating across the
spacious social hall in our stockinged feet. Somehow, we did manage to learn
some rudimentary Hebrew.
There is one
lesson that I do remember, though. That is when our teacher decided to teach us
the words to the Israeli national anthem, HaTikva.
As
long as deep in the heart,
The soul of a Jew yearns,
And forward to the East
To Zion, an eye looks
Our hope will not be lost,
The hope of two thousand years,
To be a free nation in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.
The soul of a Jew yearns,
And forward to the East
To Zion, an eye looks
Our hope will not be lost,
The hope of two thousand years,
To be a free nation in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.
Although I
didn’t understand it at the time, our teacher’s background was totally
different than ours. She had known terror, loss, and fear. We, born in the
Midwest eight years after the end of World War Two, knew nothing of
anti-Semitism except from the stories we heard.
Our teacher
approached the lesson with complete sincerity. We, as usual, were silly. As she
recited the line, Ayin l'tzion tzofiyah (To Zion the eye looks) one of my classmates interrupted.
“I
always thought this was a song about a lady named Sophia,” she giggled.
The
rest of us giggled along with her but our teacher did not appreciate the humor.
She was irritated and the lesson ended on a sour note. At the time I did not
mind. Now I am sorry.
Many
years have passed since I sat in that Hebrew School classroom in Wichita. Now I
live halfway around the world and I have heard HaTikva sung at countless
ceremonies. I now identify with the yearning and the hope to be a free nation
in our land, a nation that no longer suffers from terror, loss, or fear.
Time
after time, as I hear the song being sung, I am moved to tears, tears that my
Israeli-born friends cannot understand. When I hear the song I remember those
assimilated children of Wichita, Kansas. Then I look at the Israeli children
surrounding me. Like my teacher, these
children have known terror, loss, and fear. Yet, I do not envy those children
of Wichita, many of whom have married non-Jews. I am proud of our Israeli
children. They are our future. When I look at them I remember what we say every
year at the Passover Seder.
For not only one has risen against us to annihilate us, but in
every generation they rise against us to annihilate us. But the Holy One,
Blessed be He, rescues us from their hand.
Despite the terror, loss, and fear these
children are happy. They plan to remain in Israel, marry Jews, and continue to
build the Jewish nation. Our enemies may hurt us. They may make us cry. But
they will never break us. HaShem will always rescue us in the end. Am
Yisroel Chai. The Jewish People Live.
1 comment:
Ester, Shalom
After "lurking" for a while, I've started following your blog which I enjoy so much as to have nominated you for the Versatile Blogger Award. Check it out at my blog.
Shimona, Jerusalem
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