Culture in Language

Last summer when I was in Jerusalem, there was this giant block party in the shuk (market). Mostly there was techno playing and we all danced and drank Gold Star and took it all in. That's not really my element most of the time, but I try to get out of my element more when I'm abroad.

Anyway, there was one song that the entire crowd seemed to know.  And when it came on, all the Israelis in my group got really into it and sang along.  And one of them told me it was one of the most important Israeli songs ever, especially for Sephardic (Spanish heritage) Jews. Later on in the trip when we were in the Negev desert at the Bedouin tent, all of the Israelis sang it for us and danced. In Ben Gurion airport on the way home, I stopped in music store and asked if they had "um... I think it's called Haperach Begani?" He looked at me like "duh, of course we do."  And on the flight to Kiev, my two seatmates were Israeli, and asked if I liked any Israeli music, and I said this song, and they laughed and started to sing it.

I know most of the words just phonetically.  I knew the meaning vaguely from Rivka's translation as it played in the shuk: "It's a love song.  You're the flower in my garden."

But as I've learned Hebrew over this past year, my appreciation for it has really grown. The meaning has come together and it's made me really admire the rhyming and the phrasing.

One thing I've noticed is that it's definitely a love song, but specifically one from a man to a woman.

One interesting thing about Hebrew is that almost everything has a gender.  Like French, nouns have genders.  However, in Hebrew, pronouns and verbs also have genders.  So "you" feminine is "At" and "you" masculine is "Atah."  So you always know the gender of the subject of a love song - and the gender of the singer, as well.  "Ani" means "I" regardless of gender, however, if the verb "remember" in "I remember" is in masculine form, then you know "Ani" is masculine as well.

So the chorus:
At olami im shachar
You are my world at dawn.
at li kol hayom
You are mine all day.
at olami balayla
You are my world at night.
at hachalom.
You are the dream.
At bedami beruchi u'levavi
You are in my blood, my spirit and in my heart.
at ha'nicho'ach hamatok
You are the sweet fragrance,
haperach begani.
the flower in my garden.

Is specifically about a woman.  Now, most people would guess this based on subject matter alone... men are rarely likened to flowers, except maybe in Ancient Greece. But I wonder if there are other songs which might otherwise be more ambiguous.  I wonder about larger cultural differences stemming from the lack of there ever being gender ambiguity.

On the other end of the spectrum, look at one of my absolute favorite love songs, Iowa, by Dar Williams:

The first verse:
I've never had a way with women
But the hills of Iowa make me wish that I could
And I've never found a way to say I love you
But if the chance came by, oh I...
I would.
But way back where I come from
We never mean to bother
We don't like to make our passions other people's concern
And we walk in a world of safe people
And at night we walk into our houses
And burn.

There are a lot of questions, here.  Dar wrote this song, she's not covering it.  So...
1) Is she writing from a masculine point of view?
2) Or is this a lesbian love song?
3) Or are ways with women independent from the love she's singing about?

For the record, Dar is married to a man and has children and her other songs seem to be about men.

Anyway, this kind of ambiguity wouldn't really be possible in a language where "you" can't be ambiguous.  We'd know for certain if she's singing to a man or a woman, and her gendered verbs would also indicate if she's singing AS a man or a woman.

One thing I wonder about in Israel is... if a woman were singing HaPerach Begani, would she sing it as is, or change the genders of everything? Is there a tradition on this? Is it scandalous to do the latter? I'm sure it would be easy enough to find out. I'll post back here when I have an answer :)

Shalom

"The words of Koheleth son of David, king in Jerusalem.

Utter futility! - said Koheleth -
Utter futility! All is futile!
What real value is there for a man
In all the gains he makes beneath the sun?

One generation goes, another comes,
But the earth remains the same forever.
The sun rises, and the sun sets-
And glides back where it rises.
Southward blowing,
Turning northward,
ever turning blows the wind;
On its rounds the wind returns.
All streams flow into the sea,
Yet the sea is never full;
To the place [from] which they flow
The streams flow back again.
All such things are wearisome:
No man can ever state them;
The eye never has enough of seeing,
Nor the ear enough of hearing.
Only that shall happen
Which has happened,
Only that occur
Which has occured;
There is nothing new
Beneath the sun!"
(Ecclesiastes 1:1-10)

Every time I read Ecclesiastes, I'm surprised again by the teacher (Koheleth)'s pessimism.  There are a lot of famous passages in this book that are so comforting when taken in isolation. To everything, there is a season. People tend to hear this sentiment and think it means you should take life as it comes, that there are highs and lows, pains and comforts.  But Koheleth follows up that famous passage with "What value, then, can the man of affairs get from what he earns?" (3:9). Why bother?

Likewise, 1:1-10 is described by Koheleth as 'futility.'  Everything has happened before and everything will happen again, so why bother? But I always forget that's his point, because taken out of context I find this idea really comforting.

As a writer I find it comforting because writers are always struggling to come up with something 'new.' Something no one has thought of, something that has never occurred to people before. But that's not really possible, there's a vast range of human experience but we all exist within that range.  There's nothing you can feel that hasn't been felt before. There's nothing you can say that hasn't been said before. I don't find that discouraging, I find it soothing. No man is an island.  No one is alone. We're all treading familiar ground. I'm linking all of these songs just to demonstrate the way these ideas are borrowed and repeated.

That moment of recognizing yourself in someone else, in someone else's experience, is so precious. There's this quote from History Boys that I basically live by.  I quote it every time I'm interviewed, in practically every presentation I give (which you'll no doubt see in the course of this blog):

“The best moments in reading are when you come across something- a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things- that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.”

Since I visited Israel last summer on Taglit, I've spent a lot of time searching for a hand like this in regards to my feelings about Israel. I've read a lot of essays (even a lengthy study about the impact of Birthright), a lot of books, met a lot of people, gone to a lot of events, listened to a lot of music, read a lot of Torah, lit a lot of candles... but I haven't quite found it yet. I think I should write down my experience so maybe I can be that hand for someone else. That's my main goal in writing in general. To set down that unique and particular experience that resonates with another person out there somewhere. Let's hold literary hands!

The other point of this blog is so ya'll back in the US can see what I'm up to :).