Why I Now Read Slower, Complain Less, and Love the Torah More

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Learning Hebrew with dyslexia and an auditory processing disorder has been anything but easy. But it has changed the way I relate to sacred text, to tradition and to myself.

When I first set out to learn Biblical Hebrew, I expected it to be hard.
But I didn’t realise just how much it would stretch me, not just intellectually, but emotionally and spiritually.

As someone with dyslexia and an auditory processing disorder, language learning has always been a challenge. Hebrew, with its unfamiliar alphabet, unfamiliar vowel system, and right-to-left direction, was like learning to swim in reverse, in deep waters.

And yet, despite the on-going struggle, or perhaps because of it, something unexpected happened. As I slowly, clumsily worked through letters, roots, and verses, I began to encounter the Torah in an entirely new way. Not as a distant text to be decoded, but as a living, breathing conversation.

Here’s what I’ve learned (so far) on this winding path:

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1. Hebrew Doesn’t Just Say Things—It Connects Things

Hebrew is a language built on three-letter roots, and those roots form deep, thematic connections between words.

The root Sh–L–M, for instance, gives us shalom (peace), shlemut (wholeness), and shalem (completeness). The words aren’t just related, they speak to a shared spiritual thread.

When I encounter a root I’ve seen before, it’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd. And slowly, I begin to recognise the relationships between ideas the Torah is trying to show me.

This is how I often experience even texts I once thought I was familiar with in English. Somehow, through Hebrew, I realise I never really saw them before, I only skimmed the surface. Now, they hold new depth. Even if I’m only uncovering it letter by letter, word by word.

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2. The Torah Has Wordplay—and I Was Missing the Joke

Biblical Hebrew is clever. It plays with rhythm, repetition, and sound in a way that’s almost impossible to translate.

I used to skim English translations quickly, not thinking twice about what seemed like repetition or redundancy. But in Hebrew, nothing is wasted.

Even when my tongue stumbles, when my eyes and inner voice wrestle with pronunciation, I’m beginning to appreciate that every letter counts. Every echo between words adds texture and meaning. The repetitions aren’t filler, they’re emphasis, music, structure, soul.

It’s not just a book to be read. It’s a language to be heard, to be sung.

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3. Translation Is Theology Wearing a Mask

Every translation makes choices. Sometimes those choices are practical. Other times, they’re theological.

Take the Hebrew word nefesh, it can mean soul, life, person, or self. Which you choose as a translator says something about what you believe the verse is saying.

When I encounter these words in Hebrew, I get to feel the ambiguity. I’m not forced into a narrow meaning, I get to wonder, wrestle, and reflect.

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4. Learning Hebrew Slows You Down—That’s a Gift

With dyslexia, reading has always been slower. With Hebrew, it’s even slower. I re-read verses. I pause on roots. I check the dictionary. I lose my place. I forget that I “know” a letter or word.

And yet, through that humbling repetition, I’m growing in self-compassion—gently recommitting to the commitment I’ve made to study.

But somewhere in that struggle, I’ve found presence. I don’t skim anymore. I sit. I linger. I notice. I ask better questions.

And isn’t that the point of sacred text? Not to conquer it, but to be changed by it?

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5. I’ll Never Be Fluent—And That’s Okay

This is maybe the most surprising and humbling realisation: I’m not aiming to become a fluent Hebrew reader.

I’m learning the language slowly, irregularly, and often forgetfully. But each word I begin to recognise, each phrase I can say aloud, feels like a small act of reverence. A whisper that I, too, am part of this ancient conversation.

My learning may be imperfect, but it’s mine. And it’s real.

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Final Thought

I used to think that mastering Hebrew would unlock the Torah.
But now I see that the attempt, the showing up, the struggling, the returning again and again, is how the Torah begins to unlock me.

Shalom Aleichem