hcihw egaugnal werbeH eht tcepser tsum elbib eht fo srevoL

tcepser tahT  .ti fo sdriht owt rof esab citsiugnil eht smrof

fo daetsni tfel ot thgir morf daer ot ssenidaer eht sedulcni

.thgir ot tfel

Lovers of the  bible must respect the Hebrew language which forms the linguistic base for two thirds of it. That respect includes the readiness to read from right to left instead of left to right. That corresponds to the majority of us who are right-handed anyway. Somewhere along the line, probably among Greek-writing left-handers, more people got accustomed to starting on the left margin. Hebrew writing got a head start on Greek by a few hundred years, although that may be historically debatable, but there is no question that Hebrew moved from right to left a few thousand years before English took written form. The problem with duplicating this in English is that all the English letters are backwards.

Other distinctive differences can be confusing, especially if one simply depends on the phonetic characteristics of the languages. “Who” in Hebrew means “he” in English, while “he” in Hebrew means “she” in English. The English word for “who” must be translated “ma” in Hebrew, but you know what “ma” means in English, and she would need to be called “Ema” in Hebrew. Be careful not to pronounce it “emu” which is another bird entirely. “Me” in Hebrew means “who” in English. “Why” in Hebrew would be nothing at all since it is unpronounceable, but the word for “why” in Hebrew, the interrogative,  is “lama,” which sounds more like an South American camel.  Who needs two “els” anyway? Hebrew doesn’t even spell llama with two “els.”

Two “Els” has been theologically unacceptable in Hebrew for over three thousand years, except during the reigns of some of the kings “who did not do right in the sight of the Lord.” “El” is the generic word for a “god” in Hebrew and other Semitic languages, while the alphabetic letter “el” is “lamed.” Since only one God exists for the Hebrews, El came to be used for God’s name, which in its self-pronounced form, YHWH, cannot be pronounced by people. For speakers of English it is hard to pronounce words without vowels anyway, but Hebrew has no vowel symbols at all, although aleph, vav, and yud sometimes serve as space-holders for many vowel sounds.

Phonetics aside, Hebrew and English speakers have some difficulty deciphering each others’ meanings. The phrase “lo rah” in Hebrew sounds like “Behold the Egyptian god Ra,” but it literally means “not bad,” which can be translated “pretty good.” “Lo tov” on the other hand, sounding like a low bridge warning on a highway, means “not good,” which can be translated “pretty bad.”

Where the languages come together is in words from the modern era. Hebrew remained a language reserved for religious use until late in the Nineteenth Century, when people began to revive Hebrew for common everyday use. Since then you have been able to order a “hamburger” or drive an “automobile” or use a “computer” in Hebrew as well as English, with almost the same pronunciation. It’s good to know, with all the confusing differences that do exist, you already do know a lot of modern Hebrew.

“I enjoyed your Chaplines, but what did they mean?” So said one of my readers, and I have to admit that sometimes I too have wondered.

In college creative writing classes our teacher was a relic of 1920’s Paris. He had known all the “greats,” he preferred Venice to Paris, and why his own wonderful and winsome writings had not caught on, I do not know. But he guided our efforts with an artist’s touch. If you think you have a point to make, use an objective correlative, an image, a story. People will remember it longer if they can picture it, or touch it, or smell it, or taste it. Of course they will also come up with their own interpretations and meanings, but a well-chosen story will still tell more than an abstraction. “Above all, don’t preach to them!”

Pastor Harry was good at choosing a story. His congregation thought so much of his writings that they collected them in a book and gave them right back to him at his 25^th Anniversary of being their pastor. He got at least ten meanings out of every story he told, and he belabored every single one of them, so you wouldn’t misinterpret his intent.

I’m happier to be misinterpreted. My writing teacher noted that I was fond of O’Henry-like surprise endings. There is a chance that people will remember those endings, but they won’t remember the abstract stuff. Draw your characters well, but don’t make them say a lot unless you want people to think of them as windbags.

For several years I wrote and delivered a one minute “Walking and Talking” radio series. That exercise reminded me to make a point as quickly and concretely as possible. Still the room may have seemed a little windy when it came to sermon time. I worked on that for forty-five years before trading in my pulpit. (I became a Methodist local preacher at 16; they stopped allowing that after me.) It is a task that is worth doing, attempting to share Good News, so I kept trying, even when no one was listening. I did have lots of practice at that. I still write when no one is reading.

But wasn’t Jesus good at telling a story? He too left them wondering sometimes. And once in a while he too was misinterpreted. Talk about a well-drawn character!