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Maya Arad is often described as Israel's leading writer living in the diaspora. She is a scholar and most importantly, a storyteller with an ear for cultural nuance and an eye for the tensions of exile and identity. Her book, the Hebrew Teacher, is a trilogy of novellas that explore with wit and precision what it means to live between worlds, between countries, between languages, and between expectations. Welcome to the Van Leer Institute series on Ideas. I'm your host, Renee Garfinkel. Today we're honored to have with us a singular literary voice whose works have redefined the contours of modern Hebrew literature. Maya arad holds a PhD in linguistics from the University College London and currently resides in California, where she's affiliated with Stanford University. She's the author of more than a dozen books in Hebrew, ranging from verse novels to short fiction to literary essays. Her recent book, the Hebrew Teacher, won a National Jewish Book Award for Hebrew fiction and translation. Its stories hold up a mirror to the Israeli expat community in America, to academic life, to fading dreams, and to linguistic and cultural dislocation. Maya Arad, welcome to the podcast.
C
Thank you, Renee. It's a great pleasure being here, Maya.
B
Each story in the Hebrew Teacher touches on a different kind of dislocation. Cultural, linguistic, generational. Was that your intention from the outset?
C
So the Hebrew Teacher is a collection of three novellas, and these novellas were written over different periods of time, some of them, you know, when I was in between other books. But, you know, all three stories are about things that concern me as an Israeli living in the United States. So obviously they're related. And the thought of putting them together in a book was, of course, on purpose, because these are not just, you know, leftovers that I had. Like the way, you know, restaurants put together their scraps and call it Today's Special. No, it was. I wanted to have a collection of three novellas that have a common thread running through them. And, you know, when people ask me, what's the common thread? My initial thought was the women. And if I had two words, I would say women and immigration. But then other readers pointed out to me that there's another thread running through all three novellas, namely the generational gap. Because even in the first novella about the Hebrew teacher, there is a generational gap between two generations of Israelis in Diaspora, right? Ilana, the older generation, and Yoad, the younger Israeli. And then the other two, of course, are about families. And in families, you have a generational gap that's built in.
B
Was there a character that spoke to you personally more than the others? Is there someone you identify with in any of the novellas?
C
Okay, that's a question that always comes up. And, you know, I never write about myself, but I bring myself into everything that I write, so I guess I could identify with all of my characters in some way or the other. Perhaps, you know, the most obvious or the most. The closest to the surface is the character of the mother in the third story, Efrat. She's an Israeli abroad, and she's raising an American child in today's world. So there's the normal generational gap of every parent and child. Then immigration intensifies this gap because Efrat never went to school in America. She has no idea that in middle school, her daughter doesn't even have A classroom doesn't have one teacher who knows her well that she has to move from one class to the other, so she has no idea what her daughter's life is like. And finally, there's the technology gap, because her daughter lives in the world of smartphones and social media that Efrat has no idea about. So, you know, this reflects some of my experiences as a mother in the United States. And then, of course, you know Ilana, the Hebrew teacher. On the surface, if you look at her, we share very little in common because Ilana is about a generation older than me. She lives in the Midwest, I live in California. She belongs to a shul and lives within the Jewish community. I'm very much secular, and I live within the Israeli community of the Silicon Valley. So biographically, there's not much in common. But still, we're both Israeli women living in the United States, and we make some sort of living off Hebrew, and it's not a very good time for Hebrew. So on this level, I could connect with Ilana viscerally, because, you know, being a writer these days, people read less and less. I'm not complaining. I feel very blessed, you know, to have readers and to have a publisher in Israel whom I love and have been working with for 22 years. And now this book has appeared in translation, in English by the wonderful translator Jessica Cohen, who also translated another one of my novels, Happy New Years Im Hebrew Shenim to vote. So I'm not complaining, but it's a fact that people read less. Just like, you know, it's a fact that enrollment in Hebrew classes and in Russian classes in the entire field of humanities in America is declining. So this is a situation we're living in, and I write about it.
B
Well, you mentioned that one of the stories corresponds to many situations that families, non immigrant, non Israeli families in America deal with. They struggle with the same issues. If they're modern and upscale and secular American families, they have all the generational and complicated things that you just mentioned. The screenshot, interfering with family life, not enough time because of too much work and commuting. Is there something distinctive about being an Israeli American in that kind of a family on those issues?
C
That's a great question. And I've been thinking about it myself, and people ask me, you know, so if it's a book about women and immigration, it's a universal theme. So is it an Israeli book? Is it a universal book? No, it's not for me to tell. But, you know, my own personal feeling is that it is, you know, a book about universal topics, but it has an Israeli twist. I guess maybe I should illustrate it through the second story about Miriam, the grandmother who goes to visit her son, her daughter in law, and her young grandson whom she hasn't met yet. So Miriam's son is almost estranged from her all but and this is a topic that now concerns many people in America today, you read about it, you know, family estrangement and family ties that are being cut or eroded. And I think, I hope, you know, that anybody could connect with this story. But it does have a certain, you know, Israeli flavor in the sense that, you know, Miriam feels the pain of being estranged from her son. But as an Israeli, there's an extra shame added to it because in Israel, family ties are stronger than in America. Grandmothers are expected to be very much involved in taking care of their grandchildren, at least, you know, getting to meet them regularly. So Miriam not only feels the pain of not knowing her grandson, but also she's ashamed for her friends and neighbors to know about it. And she even thinks about it when she finally gets her friend, makes her a gift, a photo album of her pictures with her grandson. And she thinks, now I will show it to all of my friends and neighbors and they will see that I've been to America, I visited my grandson. So I think it's a mix and I hope it's universal and I hope it preserves the Israeli flavor in it.
B
Yes, I think that novella was very powerful in that respect because as an American who lives in Israel, it was quite eye opening to see how much is expected of grandparents in the care and raising and responsibilities for their grandchildren. Very different than the United States. Yeah. Let's shift a little bit from your book to the reality we're all living in. How did the last two years of war started by Hamas's invasion of Israel and the massacre of civilians on October 7, 2023. Tell us about how that affected the Israeli expat community.
C
Wow, that's a lot to unpack. And you know, I don't think I'm more qualified than anybody else just by living there.
B
Well, tell us about the people you know, how did it affect them?
C
Well, I can tell you that, you know, people always ask me about Stanford and Stanford has been quieter than other places. But I think it affected, you know, the closest person to me that of course, you know, October 7th hit close to home because I grew up in Kibbutz Nachal Oz, which is less than a mile from the Gaza Strip. And people I know and grew up with, I mean, I Left with my family after sixth grade. But, you know, family, friends, and neighbors were affected, Killed in one case, kidnapped. It was a shock. And, you know, only recently, the last hostage from Nachal Uz came back to his family. And it's not a closure yet. It will take many years to.
B
If there is such a thing as closure.
C
Yeah, no, for me, as an Israeli abroad, you know, my daughter is an art student at Cooper Union in New York, and she was affected, you know, people who she thought were her friends, you know, praise Hamas and called her, you know, a colonialist when she was making art that commemorated the Kibbutz Nachal and the victims of Kibbutz Nachal. So this was a bit of a shock. I think it was a shock for many Israelis to see that, you know, people whom they thought were their allies, liberals, progressives, not only did not denounce October 7, but actually in some cases rejoiced. Then it was another shock, you know, being here. I mean, I don't know how much you want to go into politics in this podcast, but, you know, I cannot disconnect it from my art, but I pretty much chose to leave Israel and to move abroad in June 1996, when Benjamin Netanyahu was elected for the first time. My feeling was that if this person was elected just a few months after Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated, then something is seriously wrong with Israel and, you know, maybe not even fixable. And honestly, as a pessimist, I thought bad things will happen, but I never thought that something this bad will happen, that, you know, he would let October 7th happen and that he would launch this terrible barbarian attack on Gaza that was completely disproportionate. So this was another shock after October 7th, when people ask me, you know, how October 7th affected you, I tell them, look, October 7th is not over. It's still going on. And as you said, there's no, not quite a closure. There will be a rebuilding for Israel and for Gaza. But now we're still there. We're still looking at it.
B
You've been in America for a long time. 1996 or it's almost 30 years, right?
C
Well, I moved to London in 1994 for my graduate school. I moved to America a little later, but, yes, I'm out of Israel for 31 years.
B
So how has your experience of being an expat changed over time?
C
You know, it changes as I change, as I get older. I told someone recently. You know, we talked about aging parents, and they told him that when I moved out of Israel, my Parents were in their 40s. I had no idea. You know, people were telling me, you know, I want to go back, be with my family. My parents are getting older and I had no idea what they were talking about. So, you know, time gives you perspective, you know, over. You know, I was young when I went to graduate school. I'm middle aged now. I raised two children in America. You know, I have two American children that this is the only home that they know. So this made the America and specifically Northern California and even more specifically Stanford campus, because this is where I live, made it home for me. But you know, I still, maybe because, you know, I'm a writer, maybe because my home is Hebrew speaking, I very much live in Hebrew. I read mostly Hebrew, I read some English, but I read mostly Hebrew. I write in Hebrew in order to be able to write well in Hebrew, I read Hebrew literature and Hebrew press online. So I'm trying to think. I came back from Oklahoma, I was there for a conference and I think this was the last time I came back on Wednesday. This was the last time I spoke English until I'm now speaking with you, even though I'm in America. And you know, I speak Hebrew with my family, with many of my friends, not all of them. So it's really a dual existence. I'm an American, but I'm also very much an Israeli and a Hebrew speaker.
B
So that's really very interesting to live in English most of the time, but also live and write in Hebrew. How does that influence your inner world? What language do you dream in, for example?
C
I guess I dream in Hebrew. You know, before I became a writer, I was a linguist and I have very little that stayed with me from my years as a linguist. But one thing that I remember is that, you know, we know our mother tongue in a way that we will not know any other language that we actively learned later in life. So in the story, the Hebrew teacher Ilana, the Hebrew teacher who has been living in America for over 40 years, wants to write her memoir mainly for her children to read. And she's debating what language would I write in it in English or Hebrew. And at some point she feels my Hebrew feels rusty, but my English isn't good enough. And I think this is the advantage that they have over Ilana. Having studied linguistics, I know that my English will never be good enough. So I'm trying to make sure that my Hebrew doesn't get rusty. Yeah, I live in Hebrew and you know, having the translation is so wonderful because finally I can give my English speaking Friends a book and show them that I wasn't making it up. I'm really a writer.
B
And it is a very good translation. It's a wonderful read.
C
It is wonderful. And it's by Jessica Cohen, who also, like me, you know, she's bilingual and bicultural. She was born in England, grew up in Israel, and now she lives not far from me in Denver. So she knows those things very well from her own experience.
B
So is the sense of your own identity as being part of the Israeli diaspora or something else?
C
I think so, yes. I do feel I'm part of the Israeli diaspora. You know, I'm an Israeli. I live in America. I feel. I'm. I'm. I feel like a personal offense when, you know, I Israelis telling, oh, those Americans. And I tell them, I'm American, my kids are American, you know, don't make generalizations. So I'm very much American. I'm also very much an Israeli. But I. I respect the fact that, you know, it's a very complex existence because I did not grow up in America. Every now and then, people have to explain things to me that, you know, I didn't pick up because I was not there. And I haven't been in Israel for the past 30 years. So it's really. I think Hebrew poet Leah Goldberg has a line in her poem about the pain of having two homelands. So I think I feel, you know, right now I feel pain in both of my homelands, politically speaking.
B
And as a writer, do you see yourself as a cultural critic as well as a pure, if we can say that, novelist?
C
I think that if there's any cultural criticism, it's like, you know, it's added between the lines. And my main goal is to write a good story, a good novel, to write it well, to have, you know, a good plot. When people ask me, so what were you trying to point out in this story? I wasn't. I really wanted to write, you know, a good story. And if there's, you know, people took the conflict between. In the story, the Hebrew teacher, between Ilana, the Hebrew teacher, and Yoad, the younger academic, they took it very personally. It's a personal conflict. It's also a political conflict. They wanted to know whose side I was on. And for me, of course, you know, it's interesting to write this conflict, but I was writing a story about growing older, about feeling marginalized. That's how Ilana feels about the feeling that your life's work that you think is so important is regarded as useless by many people. So for Me, this is what the story about and you know, the cultural criticism, it's like an extra layer of realism. It can bring some humor into the story because, you know, Yoad is very pompous and when he talks about his research, he sounds ridiculous. So it's like an extra layer, but it's not the main thing for me.
B
Yes, he was. He is a really recognizable and obnoxious character. Yeah, okay. You were telling the story, and what people read into or take away from it is not necessarily what you put in. So perhaps I'm wrong, what I'm about to say, but I see ambivalence in your work, that there's ambivalence about homeland, about tradition, about the future. Do you think that literature can offer clarity sometimes where politics fails?
C
No. I don't know. Which also probably means that you're right and there is ambivalence and there's always ambivalence. And it's very interesting that you said that literature could offer clarity because for me, often literature open questions, new questions, instead of answering the questions that I already had. Sometimes it makes me even more confused, and I guess it's a good thing.
B
Well, raising good questions is a kind of clarity.
C
Oh, that's an interesting point. Right? Yeah. So I guess you're right in this respect. Yes, absolutely. But, you know, literature can also, you know, just by the fact, after the translation of the Hebrew Teacher came out, somebody asked me if I think, you know, what do I see as know in my role as a writer after October 7th. And I told him, look, you know, I'm just a writer. I have a friend who is a talented writer and she's also a clinical psychologist. I yell at Gundar Goshen, and she did and has still been doing amazing work with survivors, trauma work with patients. I don't have this skill. Yeah, in Israel, I'm just a writer. But for me, even the fact that I'm writing Israeli, in today's climate, just writing a book about Israeli characters who are not perfect. In fact, they're quite flawed. But showing them as human is already an act of, you know, a political act, in a way. And, you know, writing about Israelis, in giving them a human face is for me, you know, one of my missions right now.
B
And it's a very important mission and one that takes some courage. It hasn't been easy for writers writing about Israelis or about Jews in America. Right.
C
Maybe it helped that the book takes place in America, not right now about Israel. But yeah, I know that Israeli writers are having a It has never been very easy. But right now, Israeli writers are having a very hard time getting their books translated. And specifically in the English speaking world. From what I hear, it's a little easier in Europe.
B
I'm surprised. I'm glad it's easier somewhere. Finally, Maya, what do you hope American readers or English speaking readers take away from your depiction of Israeli life abroad? And conversely, what do you hope Israeli readers take from your view of American academic and cultural life?
C
So I think maybe I will start with the second part of your question. Because my books are written in Hebrew, and first and foremost, they're being read in Israel, mostly by Israelis who live in Israel. And I don't take this for granted. I think it's really wonderful that Israelis are willing to read about Israeli expats and to read books that are written by a writer who is an expat herself, because it hasn't always been the case. And in previous years, there was quite a stigma associated with not living in Israel. And I can think of Rachel Eitan, a wonderful writer who lived in Israel and then moved to America, and she was pretty much ignored after she moved, her books were not read in Israel. So I'm very grateful for that. And I feel that Israelis are not only willing to read about Israeli expats in America, but in many cases, they're even eager, they're curious, they want to learn more about this experience of living abroad. And in this respect, literature just caught up with reality because, you know, so many Israelis are living abroad, even if it's just for a few years for school or for a couple years of work. So I'm very glad about that. So just, you know, reading about Israeli expats in a way that I hope is not judgmental and written from within. I'm part of this community. This would be great for me and for American readers. I think that at least among American Jews, the reactions that I'm getting is, wow, there is this subgroup of American Jews, Israeli expats, and they have their own characteristics and, you know, their own little circle, and they know nothing about it. So they're curious and they're willing to learn more. And I'm very happy about that. Now, as we said before, these books are about immigration in general. And I'll be very happy to see my books, you know, being a part of this very vast and respectable group of books about immigration in America. And hopefully, you know, I can bring my own little Israeli flavor into it.
B
Before I let you go, can you tell us what you're. What you're working on now. I know you always have something in progress.
C
Yes. So I am working on a novel. And unlike many of my previous novels, you know, I'm still moving between the two worlds. I'm sorry, my dog is barking. So unlike many of my previous novels, this will be set in Israel. So this is an interesting piece of work for me.
B
I look forward to reading it.
C
Thank you very much.
B
The book is the Hebrew Teacher by Maya Arad. Thanks for joining us today, Maya.
C
Thank you so much. It's a pleasure.
B
And thanks to our researcher, Bela Pasakov.
Date: November 3, 2025
Host: Renee Garfinkel
Guest: Maya Arad, Author of "The Hebrew Teacher" (New Vessel Press, 2024)
Series: Van Leer Institute Series on Ideas
This episode features a conversation with Maya Arad, widely recognized as a leading Israeli writer living in the diaspora. Arad discusses her acclaimed collection, "The Hebrew Teacher"—a trilogy of novellas exploring Israeli expat life in America, the immigrant experience, the complexities of generational and cultural dislocation, and the nuanced challenges of maintaining identity and language abroad. The episode delves into the personal, familial, and political dimensions embedded in her writing, as well as the impact of recent events on the Israeli-American community.
"I wanted to have a collection of three novellas that have a common thread running through them...My initial thought was the women...But then other readers pointed out...the generational gap." (03:17)
"She’s an Israeli abroad, and she’s raising an American child...immigration intensifies this gap..." (04:52)
"We make some sort of living off Hebrew, and it’s not a very good time for Hebrew...people read less and less." (06:30)
"Miriam feels the pain of being estranged from her son. But as an Israeli, there’s an extra shame...family ties are stronger than in America." (08:14–09:45)
"I grew up in Kibbutz Nachal Oz, which is less than a mile from the Gaza Strip...Family, friends, and neighbors were affected, killed in one case, kidnapped. It was a shock." (11:18)
"...People who she thought were her friends...praised Hamas and called her...a colonialist when she was making art that commemorated the Kibbutz Nachal..." (12:03)
"It’s really a dual existence. I’m an American, but I’m also very much an Israeli and a Hebrew speaker." (15:17)
"I guess I dream in Hebrew...we know our mother tongue in a way that we will not know any other language that we actively learned later in life." (16:25)
"My main goal is to write a good story...the cultural criticism, it’s like an extra layer of realism." (19:08)
"...just writing a book about Israeli characters who are not perfect. In fact, they’re quite flawed. But showing them as human is already...a political act, in a way." (22:28)
"...there was quite a stigma associated with not living in Israel...now Israelis are...even eager, they’re curious, they want to learn more about this experience of living abroad." (23:57)
"...Wow, there is this subgroup of American Jews, Israeli expats, and they have their own characteristics and...their own little circle." (25:00)
"For me, often literature open questions, new questions, instead of answering the questions that I already had." (21:13)
Host Renee: "Well, raising good questions is a kind of clarity." (21:39)
Arad: "Oh, that’s an interesting point...Yes, absolutely." (21:43)
"These are not just, you know, leftovers that I had...I wanted to have a collection...that have a common thread running through them." — Maya Arad (03:17)
"We know our mother tongue in a way that we will not know any other language that we actively learned later in life." — Maya Arad (16:24)
"Israeli writers are having a very hard time getting their books translated...specifically in the English speaking world." — Maya Arad (23:11)
"...writing about Israelis, giving them a human face is for me, you know, one of my missions right now." — Maya Arad (22:37)
"Hebrew poet Leah Goldberg has a line...about the pain of having two homelands. So I think I feel, you know, right now I feel pain in both of my homelands, politically speaking." — Maya Arad (18:55)
"As an American who lives in Israel, it was quite eye opening to see how much is expected of grandparents...Very different than the United States." — Renee Garfinkel (10:16)
The conversation with Maya Arad provides a thoughtful exploration of what it means to live between worlds—linguistically, culturally, and emotionally. "The Hebrew Teacher" emerges as a collection rooted in specificity but resonant with universal questions of migration, generational change, and identity. Arad’s refusal to offer easy answers, her insistence on the story’s primacy, and her commitment to nuanced humanization in fraught times, all mark the episode as a vital listen for anyone interested in diaspora literature, Israeli-American experience, and the life of the writer in turbulent contexts.
Book featured:
The Hebrew Teacher by Maya Arad, translated by Jessica Cohen (New Vessel Press, 2024)
[End of summary]