VIEWPOINT: The Power And Glory Of The Word

By Shari Adler

With the arrival of Labor Day, we anticipate the attributes of autumn.

September greets us with books, papers and computer equivalents, as well as the loveliest of plump orange pumpkins peeping through their leafy green stems adjacent to the brightest and shiniest red and green apples at our various neighboring farms, my favorite being Hank’s Pumpkintown in Water Mill. The infusion of the foods we pick with the cider we drink is so delectable, it allows for the end of summer to be somewhat palatable.

The first season of the school year normally marks a modicum of independence between the child and parent. This year, while rife with fear of the coronavirus, we wonder whether our children will be privy to learning methods that include in-person, remote, hybrid, or livestream with interactive capabilities.

However, there exists one element of learning that will be universally explored: the power and glory of the word.

The force of the word is palpably felt throughout our education, as well as in our daily lives. It forms the foundation of communication, while it simultaneously portrays stories, paints scenes, describes cultures, and elicits friendship, family, love, war, and peace. It influences economies.

It is the catalyst for camaraderie among people, as well as the conduit for dividing them into violence. It distinguishes the human from the animal. It draws children into fantasy and fun, as it permits the deceased into a peaceful rest through eulogies and prayer.

It states that forever is not long enough in wedding ceremonies, as it spouts vitriol and animosity whenever people sever ties. We are introduced with words of welcome, and we bid farewell with words of finality.

My love of the word and language itself was initially inspired by the life and lips of my grandmother. When I was a little girl, she enchanted me with her passionate eloquence, spoken in a code-switching blend of her four languages: Russian, Yiddish, French and English. She possessed the magical charm of a fairy godmother as she spoke Yiddish in a French accent sprinkled with English just for good measure.

This woman, who stood less than 5 feet tall, was diminutive in stature but never in discourse. She uttered her messages with conviction, emotion, strength and kindness. She was equally adept at listening, as a skill, to intuit the feelings of others through their words and expressions, their verbal and non-verbal cues. She was innately intelligent beyond any void in formal pedagogy. Our love was reciprocal.

Moreover, my grandmother’s life exuded the perseverance and plight of the immigrant; her paradigm proved that obstacles are mere annoyances, and rejection is just an excuse to try harder.

In addition to teaching me life skills such as sewing and baking, she demonstrated that even eating rugelach could be eventful by unwrapping each morsel and dipping it into tea, for the most gratifying consumption of calories. She conveyed compassion and instilled in me a profound appreciation for language as a method for depicting and sharing stories.

Inspired by her template, I studied French and Spanish, and returned to graduate school, after raising my two children into young adulthood, to help other immigrants just like her. I earned a master’s degree in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages: TESOL.

During my student teaching, I curated a curriculum that included biographical stories of remarkable people who overcame staunch adversity; my objective was to inspire my students as my grandmother had done for me.

The most poignant and relevant story is that of Malala Yousafzai, as we start the new school year. Yousafzai began to find her voice as a young 12-year-old Pakistani girl who wrote for her local news, and became the youngest Nobel Peace Prize laureate at age 17, in 2014.

Soon after the Taliban invaded Yousafzai’s hometown in Pakistan, they banned girls from their schools. This action was so anathema to Yousafzai, she spoke against the Taliban to protect girls’ right to education. For her “outspoken” advocacy, she was shot in the head while with friends on a bus, at age 15, in 2012.

Yousafzai survived and continued to tout her passionate pleas by speaking evocative words and delivering passionate speeches; she persevered without regard to life-threatening adversity. Today, at 23, she is a recent graduate of the University of Oxford.

Words elucidate the tenor and tone of a message. They influence a stock market and alter the direction of a country. On March 29, as COVID-19 was beginning to wreak its full havoc upon New York City, the president remarked upon the unfathomable and heartbreaking situation he witnessed in Queens, New York, and extended COVID safety protocols for one month. He stated, “I have never seen anything like it.”

Later that day, a CNN news headline read: “U.S. stock futures down after Trump extends social distancing guidelines to April 30th.”

The president’s expression of empathy was met with a descending stock market, the unfortunate antithesis of the measure of a flourishing economy.

Since then, White House messaging has seemed to be connected to assuaging financial concerns. The following day, on March 30, he claimed, “We have very little problem in this country at this moment … it is going away, and we are going to have a great victory.”

To date, we have lost over 187,000 Americans.

Since our national inception, we have seen the impact of the relationship between our prose and our politics. The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, states: “These truths are self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Today, we realize that “all men” excluded slaves, who were regarded as property, as well as women, who were denied the right to vote. Many experienced this bold proclamation as an untruth by exclusion.

When I was a 13-year-old adolescent, my wise and sage father advised me, “You can do whatever you want, and you will, but don’t tell me a lie.”

About a decade later, I recall a boss who counseled me, “Statistics don’t lie, but liars use statistics.”

My father attempted to forge a foundation of trust, while my manager gave guidance regarding the improprieties of manipulating data. Trust as well as the validity of data both remain moral issues with which we still grapple today.

I summon the melodious musings of Fleetwood Mac, circa 1987, through the harmony of their refrain, “Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.” After months of living with this once-in-a-century pandemic, I must admit to an intermittent covert desire of being swathed in a blanket of sweet lies.

In my fantasy, someone tells me: schools will convene without conflict of COVID; the November election will proceed smoothly, without corrupt intervention; and a therapeutic medication and vaccine are about to eradicate the coronavirus to prevent further loss and return us to possible normalcy.

The fall of 2020 approaches as we prepare to carve our pumpkins, sip our cider, and peruse our books and computer equivalents. Students are set to tackle their education, in their own words and messaging, with a conviction and tenacity not required since the Spanish Flu of 1918-20.

My personal hope is that all learners will internalize the power and glory of the word such that they feel inspired to chronicle and portray their own stories using a paintbrush coated in colorful letters and language.

I anticipate reading amazing works of art.

Shari Adler is a resident of Southampton and New York City.