Time, money, and sweat equity are all great ways for Diaspora Jews to support Israel, but falling in love with the language is a shortcut to the nation’s soul.

The first (of many) clues that my life as a committed L.A.-based Zionist was dramatically out of step with the mother ship was a text from a friend in Tel Aviv. He was responding to a panicked query I sent after having seen images on social media of his apartment, gutted and ablaze, with sirens howling and first responders everywhere. The lovely patio, where his wife sipped her coffee every morning; the cozy couch where I chilled with their dog during Purim last year; the cute café out front, heavenly scented with fresh pastries, now ravaged beyond recognition by the first (of many!) ballistic missiles Iran fired in a war that is still without a conclusion.

“I guess now I can say I’m a true Israeli,” my friend, who made Aliyah with his wife from Northern California, wrote me about the destruction of his entire city block. Then adding with a clarity and resolve that belied his decision to become an oleh, “It’s only stuff, right? Everything that matters is safe.”

That’s true. His wife, his kids, their loving pooch, all the irreplaceable living connections that are also on my L.A. checklist, were safe. But what about tomorrow, or the day after? I thought we might as well be living on different planets. Sure, the images of bomb shelter parties, apps for how long you can shower, and group-sing-a-longs in parking structures are valiant confirmations of national resilience. But let’s be clear: I do not have to get up each morning wondering if my house will be destroyed by a ballistic missile! (California property taxes will, one day, send us running, but that’s another blog.)

My next thought was: Am I doing enough? I’m all-over social media, posting, sharing, liking, re-posting to the world just how amazing Israelis are, how this tiny country punches far above its weight in humanity’s Octagon. We buy Israeli goods online and here in L.A.; we give to all manner of war recovery efforts – to Israeli farmers, impacted kibbutzim, IDF soldiers in rehab, mental health therapy guide dogs, the list goes on. I’ve helped fight to remove anti-Israeli content from K-12 California schools, and hosted Nova survivors eager to reclaim the simple joys they knew before October 7th. But then I began to understand that perhaps the single biggest contribution I’ve made since that fateful Simcha Torah was to start learning Hebrew.

 I certainly didn’t need to. My career in L.A.’s film industry didn’t require it; we have no plans to make Aliyah; and all the Israeli transplants at our daughter’s Jewish school, and my local Chabad, where I go every Shabbat, are fluent in English (more or less). So, why did I keep a longstanding promise, made to a friend who runs an Ulpan in Jerusalem, that I’d sign up for private online Hebrew lessons?

Simply put, Israelis not only bear the burden of forever living under wartime – ensuring that the only true haven for Jews is not wiped off the map, they also do the heavy lifting to learn and speak another language, often so that we Diaspora Jews don’t have to. This includes those who come to make a new life in America, and those forever welcoming non-Hebrew speakers “coming home for the first time.”

If that’s not reason enough to meet Israelis where they live, Hebrew is a miracle of continuity, the most successful example of “language revitalization” in world history. Knowing that the same aleph, bet, and gimel I gazed upon in the 3rd Century Dead Sea Scrolls are what I’ve spent too many hours plugging into verb charts in my buddy’s online learning center is wondrous, and humbling. The key to finding its heart, as my teacher describes of my Hebrew language journey, “is hearing the music.” And then there’s the fact that it mirrors the nation’s rapid-fire soul. “We use fewer words in Hebrew because every minute counts,” she always adds. “Missiles and drones are coming. Chik-Chak, let’s go!”

Yes, learning a Semitic language is not the easiest of transitions for a native English speaker. Yes, contemporary (i.e., street-spoken) Hebrew evolves so quickly, I may never get up to speed when our 4th grader hits her teenage years. And, yes, Israelis speak very fast, interrupt often, and can exhibit zero patience when English (even the heavily accented kind) is more expedient to get to the point you want to make. But take it from someone who has had a lifelong love affair with words: modern Hebrew, derived from the ancient Lashon Hakodesh, is among the most ephemeral, poetic, and emotional languages ever created – very much like Israel itself.

And at this inflection point in Jewish history, where global antisemitism rages beyond all rational explanation, and just speaking Hebrew in public can engender verbal and physical abuse, learning this language of kings may be the most emphatic statement of support for tiny Israel one can imagine.

That’s why I’ll continue to put nouns before adjectives, remind myself that grammar is gendered, and (thanks to a unique 2-3 letter root system) convey in a single word what would take me five or more words in my native tongue. After all, what Israeli (and lover of Israel) wants to waste time when there’s so much living to do?

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)