Naomi

A couple of weeks ago, a girl named Naomi marched up to a few of my friends in shul at kiddush (when everyone is eating and hanging out, after services).

“Is it true you speak Yiddish?” she asked. My friends–all guys–had been speaking to her father, and she was immediately and joyfully intrigued, because she takes a Yiddish class in school. “I love Yiddish!” she said.

Naomi is ten years old.

I saw her talking to my friends, one hand on her hip, the other excitedly gesturing. She was bright, funny, and intensely comfortable in her own skin. I walked over to the small group, and she looked at me in wonder–perhaps because I was another girl–and said, “Do you speak Yiddish, too?”

“I do,” I said, “We all do.” She looked as though I had just told her that we were all bakers and were giving her a lifetime’s supply of cupcakes.

It turned out that one of my friends went to the same school as Naomi, and they shared quite a few teachers, despite the fifteen-year age difference. They chatted for a bit, and then he invited her, along with her parents, to come to his birthday party that night. He meant it, too; not every twenty-something would want a fifth-grader at his birthday party, but he’s quite wonderful in his earnest ability to connect with almost everyone.

Her father was hesitant. “That’s very nice of you,” he said, “But we already have a few other things going on tonight….”

Naomi turned quickly to her father and tugged at him. “Please? Please can I go?” she pleaded. “I’ll bring my machberet!” (Machberet is the Hebrew word for “notebook”.)

…

Today, at a birthday brunch, I sat next to a guy who had just moved to New York. Somehow Yiddish came up, and he got very excited: he had hoped, upon moving to the city, he would find someone who could teach him Yiddish. He just figured that it would be someone old. My husband, who was sitting on my other side, is a freelance Yiddish teacher and tutor. “Well,” I joked, “my husband has an old soul….”

…

Naomi did end up coming to the party that night, with her father, and they both had a great time. We had an impromptu talent show, and Naomi was one of the two emcees. I can’t help but think she’ll remember us for a long while. I wonder if she’ll still love Yiddish at fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five. I think she might.

And today–that guy I met was so happy to have stumbled upon a couple of Yiddish speakers–and his age!

In a way, though, I feel a little bit like a fake, because recently I have resisted Yiddish being my “thing”. I learned it from my husband, and it has enriched my life and my Jewish identity immeasurably, but lately I have felt like there are so many other things in my life that I would like to be, and do, and represent.

But on the other hand… I can’t forget the surge of happiness and pride and connection I felt when I answered that big-eyed question of Naomi’s: do you speak Yiddish, too?