The advantages of a language learned in adulthood.


I'm not the fastest of readers in English, but I certainly don't have to think about the fact that I'm reading. Words and phrases and whole sentences almost jump out at me from the page. Reading English for me is, as it should be, second nature.

I can't, however, say the same thing about Hebrew. As fluent as I am in the language, it's always slower going for me. For better and for worse. I don't read as quickly as I'd like to, but simply having to think, even concentrate, about what I'm reading, not having words jump out at me, creates a situation in which I can appreciate each word, and the relationships between words, more fully. It's the sort of thing that comes in handy when I'm reading literature or poetry, because it means that I taste each word, roll it over my tongue so to speak, before moving on to the next.

This partial fluency is another sort of filter that separates me from immediacy, and from a sort of across-the-board banality that it threatens me with. And though I've often reflected on the advantages of not being fully fluent in Hebrew, I wouldn't have connected it to the topic of this column without a serendipitous conversation.



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