Learn Aramaic, Part 3

By mid-semester, we have reached a consensus.

I'm beginning to see some of the reasons for my professor's inductive teaching methods. Biblical Aramaic was not organized by the Babylonian grammar police, if there were any. Aramaic words may be spelled more than one way, or they may be borrowed from another language (like Persian) which means they don't always follow Aramaic patterns. Also, margin notes on differences between what is written (ketiv) and how it should be pronounced (qere) occur frequently. Today, the corpus of Biblical Aramaic literature is slim, leaving scholars a comparatively small collection to analyze. Given this particular situation, a standardized vocabulary glossary or grammar guide is less helpful than we might expect.

At the same time, I am a Language Design Diva. I maintain that language usually has a design, because people create conventions for effective communication. Although active language is always changing, linguistic alterations serve a common purpose of expressing ideas, feelings, events, and needs. There are also issues of honesty, concealment, and deception to consider, because people use language to obscure as often as to reveal. But every aspect of language has purpose; even concealment and deception require order.

Grammar and syntax are part of language design. We are limited in our understanding of any language when we don't understand how its grammar and syntax are organized. So I'm pushing back on the class curriculum with my questions about structure. For example, is the vav letter used to connect clauses AND show relationships between them? Could a vav indicate emphasis or even intensification? Might the vav show condition, subordination, or purpose from one clause to the next? If so, it would be translated with more options than simply and, or, and but. A vav could be rendered in English as also, even, when, that, and so to express various relationships between clauses. I asked about this possibility in class last night, and after some initial hedging by the professor, I was finally rewarded with a "yes," supported by the Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (HALOT) and some reflective discussion.

My professor understands me better now. He knows that I'm not just being difficult. He recognizes that my desire to comprehend Aramaic propels me to ask such questions. After the third class, we briefly discussed my dissertation work (which will include the book of Daniel), so he knows I'm serious. He is patient with my mistakes and my pursuit of orderliness, while he functions by a fluid style of language learning which I don't quite grasp. Even so, I'm faithfully doing all the assignments he prescribes. I have found that there are benefits in simply reading a passage repeatedly, even when everything in it is not completely clear.

For my midterm, I practiced reading Daniel 2 and 3. I was surprised I could do this after six weeks of study. My professor's fluid, inductive style does work---especially with a little help from supplementary references. I suspect that I will never find it comfortable, but now I'm convinced that it has some strong points. He's right that we can't learn a new language only by drilling with vocabulary lists and grammars: we must use language in order to learn it. All to say, I'm beginning to establish a personal sense of equilibrium between order and spontaneity.

Then a new wilderness appeared on my horizon. Last night in class, our professor asked us if we were feeling more comfortable with Aramaic. We gave him a tentative "yes." He replied, "Good. Because I'm trying to decide how fast we can go forward from here and when we will start the Targums." In case you're wondering, these other ancient Aramaic documents use a different set of vowel markings. All I know is that the words look like Hebrew letters with little tree branches lying across the top of them.  

Learn Aramaic, Part 2

Now, what I'm about to tell you may seem unlikely and speculative. But I'm convinced that God went ahead of me to support my efforts to learn Aramaic under circumstances which are less than ideal, as I described in Learn Aramaic, Part I. These circumstances are especially difficult for five reasons:

1. No time to prepare. On orientation day, the dean of Old Testament studies strongly advised that I substitute Aramaic class for one of my other classes. Aramaic won't be offered for two more years, and language learning is far better in a class than alone. I had bought books for all my other classes. But I changed my class schedule that very day and ordered books for Aramaic. I had some trouble obtaining the main grammar and did not get my own copy for two weeks!

2. Preparation is usually my secret to success. In this situation, I was unable to prepare for language class in the way I had previously done for Greek and Hebrew. I prefer to start studyng 4-6 weeks before the first class, because graduate language classes are very fast. This leads to my second point.

3. I'm slow and methodical, not quick and intuitive. The teaching approach in our Aramaic course is suitable for quick, intuitive students who can use clues to figure it out as they go. There is no system to learn, just a lot of seemingly random data flowing across our desks. Of course, language is messy, and the more I study the Aramaic language, the messier it looks. My professor is a good man; he has reasons why he is teaching inductively---but inductive methods rarely work for me. This leads to my fourth point.

4. Without a deductive overview, I drown in a sea of information. It's the way I'm designed. I'm orderly and systematic. Occasionally, people have tried to change me, without success. There isn't a class or a curriculum which will cure me of my design, although I may slowly learn to borrow a few skills from my inductive, intuitive friends. But I have an even bigger problem: see my next point.

5. I'm not quite myself right now. The move has temporarily drained my energy and given me an overload of new information to synthesize. I make a lot of silly mistakes. My work takes longer than usual. I forget things. These are all symptoms of cognitive overload. But I don't have the luxury of slowing down or taking it easy until I recover, since I'm entering a rigorous doctoral program.

All of these factors, in combination with the inductive, research-oriented methods of my professor, are ingredients in a recipe for disaster. The situation and my design, taken together, put me at a tremendous disadvantage. Our professor told us to give ourselves a quick overview of the language, translate 19 verses, and take a quiz on the first five verses in in one week. Translation includes everything - parts of speech, verb system, syntax and grammar, new vocabulary, and morphology. That's normally the work of 6-12 months for me.

But I'm not doing this alone. God is with me. He never intended that I should do this work by myself. He is wise and good, and he loves me.

Last November, I was strongly drawn to a particular curriculum at a conference I attended. I picked up Beginning Biblical Aramaic (BBA) by Miles Van Pelt. I cannot explain my purchase, except for an irresistable attraction.  BBA seemed to be surrounded by sparkly lights and to be singing, "Dance with me, My Love." So I did. At that point, I did not expect any school to accept me into a doctoral program, so I had no real practical, justifiable reason for the purchase. Now, on the syllabus for my Aramaic class, BBA is listed at the bottom as an optional resource.

So in the first three weeks, I have read through BBA while translating for the class. In BBA, I find nearly everything I need for an overview of the language. Van Pelt's presentation is clear and systematic. It builds upon Hebrew, which I've already learned. This is absolute perfection.

In fact, while I was waiting for my Aramaic books to arrive in the mail, I could start reading BBA immediately, because I already owned it. I also discovered last week that I had unknowingly purchased key resources in my Logos Bible software academic bundle. With these things in hand, I can find my way through the sea of seemingly random information in our translations. I can make sense of the pieces.

These resources which I already owned were an exact fit for my need in this hour. I can only say with the writer of Psalm 139:

Even before a word is on my tongue,
     behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.
You hem me in, behind and before,
     and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. (139:4-6 ESV)

Such foreknown words on my tongue apparently include those in Aramaic, too.  This is only one example of what I've experienced repeatedly over the last month. God has gone ahead of me and already put in place what I need. The sheer saturation of prior provisions is staggering. To explain them all, I would have to write a book.

Learn Aramaic, Part I

In my first semester of this PhD program, I'm taking an Aramaic class. We are using the Inductive Guide to Reading Biblical Aramaic by E. Cook, F.W. Bush, and W.S. Lasor as the primary organizer. This guide is not a formal textbook which lays out the language in organized fashion. Instead, it directs me to look at the first verse in Aramaic, which is Daniel 2:4b. Then it directs me to examine the first word. Next, the guide tells me to look up facts about that word in A Grammar of Biblical Aramaic by Franz Rosenthal (originally written in German, decades ago, now translated into English). Rosenthal's grammar notes are cryptic. For example, grammar note R12 says:

In a number of cases, according to the Masorites, words written (ketiv) in one way are to be read (qere) in another . . . The often expressed a priori assumption that the consonant text (ketiv) represents the more original form of the text is, as far as BA is concerned, a dangerous oversimplification (16).   

"Well," I say to myself, "that would never do. We do not want to over-simplify the language as we learn it!" So I progress to more advanced notes. Grammar note R18 says:

Seeming exceptions to these rules require an explanation. Thus, "judges" in E 7:27 should be read ****(Hebrew word); consequently it cannot be Aramaic but a loan word from the Canaanite-Hebrew family. *** "innocence" must be a legal loan word from the Akkadian, because the original root was dkw. Likewise, **** "he completed" E 6:15 must be an Akkadian loan word if only because the development of the original root (###, Aramaic, ##, ##) has * (20).

This is the method. I look at the words. I look at the notes. I translate the word (if I can). But I do not attempt to read any Akkadian, since I have not learned it.

Unfortunately, the print in the second grammar is small. Sometimes I can't discern the vowel markings, so I must guess, or I must hunt for the specific Aramaic terms in my Bible software. With this inductive method, translating Daniel 2:4b takes two hours. In the first week, our assignment is to briefly overview the entire language (somehow), translate 19 verses from Daniel 2, and take a quiz on anything in the first 5 verses.

I feel a bit like Dorothy in Oz. I'm a long way from home. So I do as much as I can manage, then I make a strong cup of coffee and stare out the window.

This morning, when I look at the vowel pronunciation chart in Rosenthal's grammar, I read this description for pronouncing the Aramaic vowel ayin:

Voiced laryngeal (similar to the sound of incipient vomiting) (11).

I am not making this up. First, what does that even mean? Second, why would I want to become proficient at it? Third, why on earth would any culture develop such a sound and use it often? What is wrong with these people?

Your comments and condolences are welcome.

Step Away

"I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn to do it." - Picasso

Bit by bit, we are moving into our new home. Every day, we unpack or clean or construct something. After a week in Pennsylvania, we are still surrounded by boxes, but the shape of a dwelling place is beginning to surface.

As we move in, I'm also trying to become familiar with my surroundings and adapt to a new school and curriculum. It's is a lot to do all at once.

I'm trying to be patient with myself and remember that I'm learning, and that learning is not neat or linear. There are many unexpected developments. My expectations are merely estimates. Learning does not always feel like measurable progress. In fact, my feelings about my new life change from day to day.

Viewing myself as a learner helps me live under grace. This is very important. I'm committed to working hard, but I'm also relying on the grace of God to meet me when I work. So far, I have not performed as well I had hoped, in any area. But I know from experience that this matters less than I think it does. Instead, it's far more important to pace myself as I keep taking another step forward.

When I become overwhelmed or discouraged, I also need to take a break. I need to take a nap or go out for coffee or look at something interesting. I need to step away, physically and mentally. After many years of striving towards goals, I finally understand that I don't need to fix the feeling of being overwhelmed or discouraged. If I can step away and rest, then I will have enough energy to take the next step forward. That single tactic is better than all other solutions which might be applied to "fix" or "cure" my perspective.

Everything that happens to me can be a source of learning, if I let it be. I'm a life-long learner on a path of learning. And learning includes making mistakes, taking longer than I expected, and being concerned about progress. But if I manage my learning stress by stepping away for recovery, this will help me persevere.

Bear Fruit

The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life,

And whoever captures souls is wise.

- Proverbs 11:30

This weekend, we arrived in our new location. September is suddenly breezy, not muggy. Leaves outside our new dining room window curl at the edges with a suggestion of burgundy. An ornate stone church rises above the tree line, two blocks away.

At the nearby Fresh Market, I found my favorite coffee and some Pennsylvania apples. Soon, the apples will grace my grandmother's round table. After a seven-year hiatus,the table has been  pulled from storage at last. Today, I'm applying a layer of Johnson's paste wax with a soft cloth. The warm wood glows like amber in the autumn light, and I have begun to think about Christmas.

Being here is a gift.

A new season begins at the end of our last one. I pray that I will be awake to joy and meaning while I'm in it, even when pressed by the demands of my doctoral program. A heavy workload awaits, which I intend to embrace, but it would be a serious mistake for me to make this season only about work. For the fruit of it should be a changed life, which changes lives, and that means I need to be fully present.

Cross Over

Only those who will risk going too far will find out how far one can possibly go.                                                                                                            - T.S. Eliot

This week, we will cross over from one life into the next. Everything will be shifted, shaken, and scrambled. I'm grateful that we downsized ourselves before coming south seven years ago. At the same time, this move won't be quite like any other we've experienced. It will be a move in stages: we will drive ten hours north to our destination, and then another four hours north to pick up furniture from storage. The dust will barely settle onto our new floors before I start my doctoral program.

Last week, I read my fall syllabi and ordered  25 essential books. The coursework does not look humanly possible. But that's the least of my concerns at the moment. As much as I would like to start reading, I can't, because I'm still studying for the Greek and Hebrew exams which I will take on Monday and Tuesday. Then, we will move out on Wednesday. We will drive ten hours north on Thursday. We will go get some of our furniture from storage on Friday. After all of this, we will have a weekend to settle ourselves before I'm on campus all day on Tuesday.

As I look ahead, our schedule feels brisk and tight. I try not to worry. I try to sleep as long as I can. In my waking hours, I study, pack boxes, and run errands. Now, I find it very funny that I once thought the homeschooling years would be my most demanding. The pace, volume and intensity of my life seem to be increasing in middle age. I never would have guessed that this particular venture could be part of my story. God is merciful, for he only shows me one chapter at the time.

In the last few years, I have learned a truth which is both practical and encouraging. Wherever I go, the sanctuary of God's presence goes with me. When Jesus promised, "I will never leave you or forsake you . . . I am with you," he meant it. He wasn't talking figuratively. That wonderful stillness and peace, that center of calm, where perspective and strength are infused into my weakness and timidity, that place remains, and I can walk into it anywhere like an empty room, and talk to him and find my bearings again. His sanctuary gives me hope that I will endure, I will be steadfast, and I will be whole at the end.

Love

This morning I'm watching the light rise in the sky. The ceiling of the world shifts gradually from midnight navy to deep cerulean to baby blue. The sun catches the clouds one by one and washes them pink. DiMarco’s song, “It is Well,” is playing, and I remember all those nights over the last five years when I walked and sang to myself under the stars, trusting that somehow God’s grace upon grace would be enough to pull me forward. My life felt like a small boat in a storm, far from familiar shores. There were weeks when I could not get my bearings at all. The person I thought I was seemed to have been an illusion – a temporary skin which worked for me in a season and now must be shed. But the agony was that shedding my old skin left me raw and vulnerable. I did not recognize the new person staring back at me in the mirror. I have changed more in the last five years that in any other period of my life.

What transformed me? Most of all, reading the text of the Bible in the original languages. I’m grateful for our English translations, because they give us the basic content and narrative lines. We have the gospel—the good news, and it is life-giving! But encountering the original text was like finally meeting the child one has carried in the womb for nine months. I am deeply altered by a great, consuming love for the child. No one ever explained to me that I might love the text like this and, if I did, it would change my universe.

This educational journey all started with a simple decision: I wanted to love God with all of my mind. In order to do that, I wanted to focus on pursuing a disciplined, systematic study of the scriptures. Once my commitment was launched and it had a location (in a seminary), my life became stressful, complicated, and challenging. Every week, I wondered if I could actually get all the work done. It seemed strange that so many additional requirements could be attached to one simple decision to love. But isn’t that just like bringing a new baby home? At first glance, loving the baby is simple, and then it will never be simple again.

Now, as I look back over these five years, I see love. From this distance, I can see that love pushed my boat forward on stormy waters, far from home, and love inspired me to give my best years to study, and love changed me in the journey. The transformation came because love was directed towards grasping the truth of God, and God was pleased to meet with me and engage me in learning.  

Truth in love was the reason I came here to study. 
Truth in love is the reason why I have changed. 
Truth in love is why I'm moving forward to more learning.  

Here’s the song I used to sing to myself at night: “It is Well,” by Kristene DiMarco.