How Arabic Became the Best Thing in My Life

I never, ever thought I would write a post with this title. My previous experience with studying Arabic in the Middle East was quite a disaster, and I never, ever, ever in a million years wanted to hear Arabic or speak Arabic or even think about the Middle East. Even though I tried to be positive on my blog while I was in Jordan, the truth is that most days I would break down crying and go and hide in a corner of the university instead of going to class. I remember when my parents flew into Amman at the end of my program so I could give them a tour of Jordan, Israel, and the West Bank. Their flight was a little late, and as I stood there at the airport waiting for them, fearing that maybe they weren't really coming, and maybe I would never get home, and I just wanted out of this country (I stop thinking rationally when I'm waiting for late flights at the airport), I started weeping and cried until I saw them walk out of the terminal, relieved that I only had to stay for another week.

I was terrified to come back to the Middle East. I was terrified to touch the dead carcass of Arabic that I had so gladly left by the roadside on my way out of misery and anger. Because I not only had to touch that carcass, I had to resurrect it and live with it and somehow be happy about it.

When I first tried out the Arabic program at Hebrew University, I was very much less than happy with it. Taught in English, it was very much a focus on grammar. We opened up the dictionary every five minutes. The people in the highest level taught here couldn't form sentences in Arabic. And so, after fighting with the administration to get into the highest level, I dropped it after a couple of weeks. I didn't need any more incentives to be miserable in Arabic.

I hope you can understand at least a little bit of what I felt at this point. I had just spent a large amount of money to come to study in Jerusalem for a year because I felt very strongly that this was what God wanted me to do. I knew I needed to improve my Arabic. And now I had just walked away from my Arabic class (which was one of the best decisions I have ever made and the only regret that I had was that I had stayed there for so long). The only option I thought I had was studying on my own.

And then, I saw a sign at the university. "Learn Arabic in Arabic," it boasted. I emailed them the same day. Taught through the Polis Institute, a Catholic institution in Jerusalem, and one of several language options there, the Arabic program is taught completely in Arabic, patterned after the Hebrew Ulpan program here.

I can (and do) go on for hours about how amazing my Arabic teacher at Polis is. Although he is Jewish Israeli, he speaks Arabic like a native and knows so many random things about Palestinians and the West Bank. He learned Arabic by talking to the natives, all the time and all over, so he often tells about different accents all over the West Bank, Jerusalem, and even Jordan, Egypt, Syria, and Morocco. Somehow everything about Arabic is an absolute joy and delight to him, and he loves speaking and teaching Arabic. The best part is that he doesn't speak much English at all and all of the other students in the class are Israeli, so if he has to explain something in another language he will speak a few words in Hebrew, which helps both of my languages.

After half a semester in his class (I had joined halfway through), I was excited and thrilled about Arabic. I was starting to understand so much more colloquial (my MSA had been dominant when I was in Jordan), and I was stoked every time I heard something new so I could ask my teacher about it. I had this urge to travel all over the West Bank and see how they spoke in each city, and even politically frustrating things became interesting because I could talk about them in class (since it is very difficult for the other members of my class to enter many parts of the West Bank). I was on fire. I lived for Wednesdays--on difficult Fridays, or Mondays, or Sundays, I would think to myself, today was horrible...but just a few more days until Wednesday!

This was a huge transformation for me. Not only had I resurrected that Arabic carcass, but now it had become one of the most exciting things in my life. The dead carcass had become a beautiful steed that I could ride all over, exploring the wonderful world of Arabic. Maybe I have taken the metaphor a little far, but I hope you get the picture. :)

At the end of the semester, I said my goodbyes to everyone. They were continuing, but unfortunately I didn't have enough money to pay for another semester. I was in a very good place with my Arabic and felt confident that I could continue with the other classes and programs that I had in place.

A few days later, I was in Morocco. I was so excited about everything I heard--how they spoke, the words they used, how similar it was to Egyptian, and how I could tell my class and my teacher what I heard and saw in Morocco. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't in the class anymore. During my extensive time sitting on trains in Morocco, I stared out the window and thought about the next few months without my Arabic class. I suddenly realized that this Arabic class was seriously one of the best things that had ever happened to me and it would be absolutely ridiculous to give it up. Since I was less than happy with my classes at Hebrew University anyway, I decided to drop to half-time status and use some of the extra tuition for another semester at Polis.

The second semester of Arabic has been even better than the first. Somehow the excitement and joy that I get from my Arabic class on Wednesdays gives me the strength and the energy to do all sorts of difficult things during the rest of the week. Since my classmates have few opportunities to speak with Arabs in Arabic (due to the complicated political situation here), I offered to record conversations I had with girls at Bethlehem University and give them to Elad, my teacher, to share them with the class. I hate going up to random people and talking to them. Even though I served a mission. And even though I did it for 2 hours a day in Jordan. I still hate it. And I would go to the university before my class started, look around at all of the girls just sitting around chatting with each other, and go inside and sit in my classroom for 30 minutes instead of talking to them. I just couldn't find the motivation to do it.

Just because I thought this door was cool.

But after I offered to record conversations for my class, I had new inspiration. As I walked onto campus, I would think to myself, I have to talk to these girls. First of all it will help me improve my Arabic, but more importantly, I can give these recordings to my class! And when I would walk up to groups of chatting girls, introduce myself, and ask if I could record their answers to some of my questions about Palestinian weddings, funerals, the relationship between Muslims and Christians, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, etc, their willingness was, I'm sure, in part due to my excitement about talking with them and learning more Arabic. I listen to the recordings over and over on my ipod, gleaning new words and phrases and improving my Arabic exponentially. Recording the conversations was great both for my Arabic and for my graduate school research, since I now have all these language samples in colloquial Palestinian Arabic.

I recently started a project of interviewing women all over the West Bank for my MA research. And each time I go and record our interviews, I get excited about how much I am learning and what I can tell my class about what I heard and saw. Refugee camps, villages, big cities, checkpoints, areas of conflict, cultural experiences--they all have become exciting and inspiring. Even days without water in my apartment have become bearable.

I never thought I would be excited by Arabic. I definitely never thought it would be the best thing ever in my life. I am shocked and amazed by the transformation that my mind and my emotions, in addition to my language ability, has gone through. I am eternally indebted and grateful to my teacher Elad. And if I ever teach Arabic or any other teacher, I hope to be even half as inspiring to my students as he has been to me.