This narrative engagingly blends lexicographical erudition, personal history, the interpretation of dreams, and travels to Israel, of course. As a Mexican-born descendant of Eastern European and Russian Jews, and longtime professor at Amherst College, Stavans situates himself as a diaspora intellectual investigating his schooldays exposure to Hebrew, his revived curiosity with Hebrew, and his quest to unravel how it's tied to Jewish identity. Sparked by visions, Stavans wanders real life.
A short account, it roams across Eretz Israel, tracking the impact of Eliezer ben Yehuda, who emigrated there in the 1881 First Aliyah of settlers during the initial Zionist trek from the tsarist Pale of Settlement. He was the first pioneer to raise his first son speaking in a conversational form rather than religious form of the ancient tongue. Stavans analyzes how the amateur linguist labored against the disdain of the Orthodox, the dismissal by Yiddish advocates, and Theodore Herzl's expectation that German would by default become the common communication in the new land.
Stavans, although he gets bogged down in dictionary research and too many strained comparisons to the wonderful Dr Sam Johnson, also talks to scholars, Palestinians, and everyday residents (not enough in my opinion; this tilts towards the experts), who increasingly blur Arabic or English, which alongside Hebrew share official recognition in education. While he laments the use of English as a third language on street signs, perhaps it's to assist guides and tourists who flock there on pilgrimages and vacations? It's also unclear if such posted English is transliterated Hebrew or not.
He missed a chance to inquire with visitors from evangelical U.S. backgrounds about their adult acquisition of Hebrew, only mentioning this in passing. As a novice student of its biblical version myself, I've noticed my classmates come from many places, Europe, Asia, and disproportionately both descendants and natives of African origin. Such inherent interest transcends Christian efforts to.convert, and treating its manifestations online and in travel deserves detail, expanding range.
While the account ends movingly and memorably among cemeteries and epitaphs, it's marred. As an academic with many titles to his credit at an elite liberal arts institution, who acknowledges a slew of learned colleagues, how Stavans can twice claim incorrect origins for English baffles me, as a medievalist, and an Irish-speaker. First, that "Celtic" constituted what we know as Old English (after all, where does Anglo-Saxon come from but the Angles and Saxons of today's Scandinavian and German territories?). Later, asserting that "1066" marked the arrival of English, rather than the Norman conquest. Maybe he meant "English" more as we know it with the Latin-Frenchification, but this was not part of his bald statement. And his first one, as he claims academic expertise in language learning and linguistic cross-overs, leaves me dumbfounded. Outside of a few phrases, "Celtic" influences directly into my other mother tongue (one of his secondary ones) tally scarce.
Notwithstanding, I now will look up the work of I.L. Peretz, a Yiddishkeit champion of fervent, socialist "mamaloshen" in competition with upstart demotic Hebrew. Praised by novelist David Grossman in Stavans' conversation, the Israeli author crediting the storyteller as one of a trio of eminent Yiddish writers. I'd have liked for Stavans to ask who the other two were. As editor of Isaac Bashevis Singer's short stories, you'd think he'd follow up. Instead he seems to brush off his past subject's "Yinglish," and Singer's fancy, grating airs. Still, Stavans touches on both Edmund Wilson and Borges as models of Gentiles who admired Hebrew old and recent for non-missionary reasons, and such nods prove that one need not be a "member of the tribe" to be wooed by Hebrew's appeal.