Hebrew Hysteria

For some students, taking Hebrew at Luther Seminary is worse than dental surgery, worse than rush-hour traffic in August with broken air conditioning, worse than cleaning all the bathrooms in Grand Central Station with nothing but toothbrushes. For some Hebrew is tortureous. Students shed monsoons of tears over the enigmatic script and syntax of this ancient speech.

"Why? Why do I need to learn this &*#%! language?" they plead with me, their Hebrew teaching assistant, "Why must I do this to be pastor?"

Teaching assistants are hand holders, the "good cop" to the professor's "bad cop". We're there to see they make it through relatively emotionally unscathed. During this mid-term season, a student in the Hebrew class with which I help came to me in the Olson Campus Center asking that I allow her to retake the vocabulary test right there before chapel. She started to recount her exam schedule and work load, her eyes beginning to water.

I hesitated at first because I was in the middle of getting things set up for worship and just generally busy myself. I could have forced her to wait until one of my appointed tutoring times, holding her to the plumb line of my schedule. The plumb line, however, can be the hangman's noose.

"I just need to finish this now!" she blurted out.

Now, at this juncture I had two options.
1. I could announce cheerfully, "Buck up, soldier! It can't all be that bad. You'll get through it. Nose to the grindstone."
2. I could just give her the test then and there.

So, I gave her the 10 vocabulary words and she passed just fine. No problem. Done.

To her, however, an immense weight had lifted. Her life could go back to plan and order was reestablished.

Sometimes the simple things make all the difference. Sometimes what's right is not what's best.