Though I can’t verify this anecdote, I can imagine that this really happened:
An American girl studying in an Israeli seminary for the year went home for Pesach. She returned to Israel on the night of Yom HaZikaron. Not familiar with Yom HaZikaron, she was in a taxi when the taxi driver pulled over and announced, “tzfirah.” It was 8 p.m., and the siren began to sound a moment later. As they stood next to the taxi, the seminary girl recited the brachah and counted that night’s S’firas HaOmer.
She recounted afterward how beautiful it is that in Israel, they sound a siren to announce S’firah so everyone can count at the same time.
I get a kick out of “seminary Hebrew” – the unique Americanized Hebrew dialect American seminary girls use. Their Hebrew is sprinkled with Biblical words no longer in contemporary use, a few basic modern Hebrew words, and some English words said in a Hebrew type of way (I can’t explain that any better). The native bus and taxi drivers and vendors have little patience for the girls’ Herculean efforts to communicate in the language of the land. They often will cut the seminary girl off mid-sentence and answer in their heavily accented Israeli English.
Even worse than seminary girl Hebrew is American yeshivah guy Hebrew, where he knows almost no Hebrew except for what he learned in Chumash and Gemara and just tries to minimize all conversation. (I write this somewhat in jest and assume no one will take offense.)
Perhaps the most classic story of an American bumbling Hebrew is when a cop in Jerusalem began shouting at an American bachur for jaywalking. The poor bachur had no clue why the Israeli cop was intensely shouting at him. The student tried to diffuse the situation by apologizing, announcing, “Ani iparon.” He had no idea that he had just emphatically declared, “I am a pencil.” The cop burst out laughing and walked away.
When my students mix up Hebrew words, I often tell them to repeat after me: “Ani iparon.”
Some of my students still proudly say it to me, even though they now know what it means. My reply is, “Nachon! That’s true!” If nothing else, they will at least have learned from me how to say “I’m a pencil” in Hebrew.
Upon further review, however, it may not be so far-fetched for someone to declare that he is a pencil. We are constantly writing on the “pads” of others. The words we say leave an indelible imprint upon the souls and psyches of others. When people say hurtful comments, it can leave lifelong internal scars. On the other hand, encouraging words can literally change a person’s life, infusing him with confidence to strive for new horizons and to contend with challenges he encounters.
This is reflected in the pasuk in Mishlei (3:3), “Kindness and truth should not forsake you... Write them upon the tablet of your heart.”
Parents and teachers must be especially wary of the power and effect their words have. Educators are constantly writing upon the hearts of their children/students. Words said haphazardly can resonate within a person throughout his lifetime.
What’s more, we also write our own scripts, often without realizing it. Although, more often than not, we don’t choose our own life situations, we can choose our attitudes and reactions to those situations. How we perceive our own abilities and how we view ourselves generally colors our every decision and how we live our lives.
The Mishnah (Avos 4:25) quotes Elisha ben Avuyah, who taught: “One who studies [Torah] when he is young, to what can he be compared? To ink written on fresh, clean paper. And one who studies [Torah] as an old man, to what can he be compared? To ink written on smudged paper.”
In his commentary on Avos, Rabbi Abraham Twerski, MD, notes that those who feel that a child should be allowed to choose his own path when he grows up are mistaken. The notepad that is the heart of a child will not remain in a vacuum. In the absence of Torah values, other ideas will become ingrained within instead. One doesn’t remain “fresh paper” for long. If one doesn’t “write upon his heart” Torah values and ideals, his heart will instead invariably be filled with surrounding cultural norms and ideals.
David HaMelech writes, “My tongue is like the pen of a skillful scribe” (T’hilim 45:2). The Alshich explains that whatever a person says is recorded in Heaven. Therefore, the words uttered by the tongue are truly like a pen.
Perhaps we can add that our tongue is like a pen in the sense that our words become inscribed and embedded upon the hearts of others, and ourselves.
Ani iparon – I am a pencil – no less than you are a pencil. We are constantly writing upon the hearts and souls of others, for good or for better. As inevitable scribes, we should realize the power we wield and try to write only pleasant and encouraging words, and seldom a discouraging word.
The greatest words we “write” upon our hearts are the words of Torah that we state. Perhaps the cop shouldn’t have laughed at the American bachur after all.
Rabbi Dani Staum is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbi in Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, New Jersey, principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, New York, and a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. His writings can be found at strivinghigher.com. Looking for an inspirational speaker or scholar-in-residence? Contact Rabbi Staum at 845-641-5094 or at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
