Bonjour, Mes Amis

As children, my parents studied Latin and French but never developed much skill. I too studied various foreign languages but became successful with only one. It was not Hebrew!

Both my paternal grandparents, having been born in Eastern Europe, were native Yiddish speakers. They seldom spoke it in their children’s or grandchildren’s presence.

My maternal grandparents enjoyed a considerable exposure to German. My grandfather’s paternal and maternal grandparents emigrated from Germany to Cincinnati before the Civil War. The German-born parents of my grandmother also found their way to the “Queen City,” which sounded a lot better than its other nickname, “Porkopolis.” Both my maternal grandparents studied German in school, and my grandmother also studied French.

Neither maternal grandparent ever learned a word of Yiddish (or ever ate a bagel!). Their education within the Reform movement did not require them to learn more than a few words of Hebrew. Nevertheless, they were deeply respectful of Jewish worship and active in their congregation, country club, and Jewish charitable organizations.

My maternal grandmother’s father became a trustee of Hebrew Union College, the Reform seminary, which was founded in Cincinnati in 1875. My maternal grandfather’s sister married a Reform rabbi, a native of San Francisco, who studied at HUC. They eventually settled in Los Angeles.

As children, my siblings and I were barely aware of the significant linguistic, religious and cultural differences that differentiated our two sets of grandparents. Fortunately, all four became our beloved and trusted mentors.

In L.A., our family lived about 50 minutes from our Reform congregation, Wilshire Boulevard Temple, where my great-uncle was senior rabbi for nearly 60 years. Beginning in kindergarten and continuing through confirmation, we kids rode a yellow school bus to and from religious school. My twin, Theo, and I were tutored in Hebrew at home.

Unfortunately, our Israeli-born tutor was a bully. Although we did not always prepare diligently for our weekly lessons, Amos never rewarded us for doing better. Theo and I often cried, and occasionally threw books at him. Our parents blamed us, and Amos remained our tutor for three years. The summerTheo and I turned twelve we were required to stay home and not go to camp to prepare for our early September rite of passage.

Somehow, we did well enough. Even if we didn’t particularly enjoy the service, which brought so many of our relatives and friends together, we felt rewarded by the luncheon that followed. With some of our junior-high friends (including some gentiles), we happily gave a concert on our woodwind and brass instruments.

In junior high school, our parents encouraged us to pursue a modern language. French was considered far more debonair than Spanish.

I was amazed to discover in eighth grade that my “student-teacher” of French, who attended UCLA, was a Jew. At the end of the year, she arranged a dinner for our class at a French restaurant, so we could display our skills. It turned out, however, that most of its servers spoke Spanish.

After Theo and I completed our junior year of high school we went on family vacation to Europe. When we stopped in Paris to use our French, our sister Betty, who began studying French in kindergarten, was by far the most polished speaker.

In college, Theo majored in French and spent his senior year in Paris. He went on to master Spanish, and in recent years has served for brief periods as a volunteer teacher of English in Guatemala.

As an art history major in college, I was encouraged to study Italian. I spent a marvelous portion of my junior year studying in Florence and traveling from Venice to Palermo.

My wife, Betsey, also studied French in school and she probably speaks it better than I do. Once she explained why a guy couldn’t understand me: He was Russian!

As a graduate student in art history, I had to pass reading exams in French and German. Then I flirted with Spanish.

A linguist I never became, however! But our children, who studied abroad, became accomplished. Molly did well in France, and Michael did even better in Spain and Greece. Having worked and traveled in numerous countries, he also learned some French, Brazilian Portuguese, Turkish, Arabic and Nepali.

So why couldn’t my childhood exposure to Hebrew have been more gratifying? Perhaps it was the same reason why my paternal grandfather, “Mike,” rebelled against his religious upbringing. The instruction felt punishing!

So that Molly and Michael would have far more rewarding experiences, Betsey and I sent our kids to the former Alperin Schechter Day School, in Providence, where they mastered basic Hebrew and became amazingly well prepared for their b’nai mitzvot. They also completed confirmation and post-confirmation studies at our congregation, Beth-El.

Can the study of foreign languages be fun and an engaging experience for young people? I’ll ask our seven-year-old granddaughter Chloe, who’s begun learning Spanish and Chinese.

Oy vey!

GEORGE M. GOODWIN, of Providence, is the editor of Rhode Island Jewish Historical Notes.