Allow me to begin by saying that I grew up in Bais Yaakov. An outsider looking in might think that English grammar is one of the last things on a Bais Yaakov’s laundry list of lessons to impart to its students, right between Zionism and the latest Nicholas Sparks novel.
That outsider, however, would be mistaken.
In first grade, I was placed in a reading group—a single class devoted entirely to the lessons of writing, reading, and yes, grammar. For the next twelve years, I was taught by a cache of some of the strictest grammarians I have ever encountered, who each imparted her own lesson concerning the structure of the English language. In first grade, I learned about the silent ‘e’. In third grade, I was taught the difference between “can” and “may,” and was also prohibited from using the word, “yeah” (to be replaced by the proper usage, “yes”). In fourth grade, I was forcefully trained to identify “a lot” as two separate words (our teacher illustrated this to us by choosing two offending students, labeling one “Mrs. A” and one “Mrs. Lot” and placing them at either end of the room, thereby demonstrating their separation). In eighth grade, I was taught about the use of contractions (or lack thereof) in formal writing. In ninth grade, comma and semicolon usage took center stage in my tutelage. This continued all the way to senior year, when our writing teacher, who only came in once a week to impart her own wisdom while reviewing our seminary (and sometimes college!) application essays and explaining why idiomatic phrases should be excluded from our formal writing.
What is my goal in presenting this rough overview of my grammatical education within the confines of a Bais Yaakov institution? It is to let you know, dear reader, that disinterest is no excuse for ignorance. After leaving my high school, I was shocked to find people my own age who came from similar backgrounds and had no idea how to use a preparatory phrase or whether to precede a dependent clause with a comma or a semicolon.
As I have stated in previous Observer articles and in many a Shabbos table-rant, our generation seems to be under the impression that rules do not matter. I am here on a seemingly quixotic mission to inform my fellow Generation Y-ers that contrary to popular belief, rules do matter, rules have always mattered, and yes, rules always will matter. I cannot express how many times I have shaken my head in dismay and embarrassment at grammatical errors found, not only in Jewish books, but in books in general. One of my favorite high school teachers, a Hungarian-born history teacher, served as unofficial editor for some of ArtScroll’s published works and would snicker to her students about how clueless some of the writers were about grammar (I, a budding grammar-freak, would listen raptly, starry-eyed). In a generation of shorthand, where “I will be right back” has been replaced by “brb” and actual laughter has been usurped by lol’s, many of my peers seem to be under the impression that grammar is an archaic tool of the elderly, falling into the same general category as the typewriter and the record player: great if you have the time and inclination, but not really necessary “in our time.”
Grammar is the foundation of any language. In Hebrew, grammar is called “dikduk”, the root of which can be construed to mean ‘detailed’, ‘narrow,’ or ‘painstaking.’ Grammar is not easy, folks. Especially English grammar. Why is it ‘brought’ instead of ‘brang’? Why are ‘be’, ‘am’, and ‘was’ the same word in three different tenses? Nobody said that this was going to be easy. However, if one wishes to represent oneself as a well-educated, well-spoken, well-written, and generally smart person, one must adhere to certain rules. Contrary to popular belief, there are still people in this world who care about grammar. Have you ever received a less-than-satisfactory mark on a paper? Have you ever bothered to read through the comments? If so, you may have noticed that there were grammatical correction markings—spelling, capitalization, and typos likely the most prevalent among them. Proper grammar is less about rules and minutia and more about how you present yourself to the world. Think of grammar as an outfit. If your outfit is sloppy and unkempt, this will reflect in people’s perception of you. If your grammar (whether spoken or written), is atrocious people will form a similar opinion. Teachers, interviewers, and bosses are just a few of the People Who Matter who really do care if you speak or write like a novice of the language.
You can have your best-pressed blazer, your neatest run-free panty hose, and your hair in a seamless coif, but if your resume says “alot,” you can kiss that job goodbye. And that, dear readers, is reason enough to follow the rules.