Not-so-broken Hebrew

This language, as it turns out, is coming along pretty well. Today was the first big test day, which produced a 92 that was heavily contingent on stupid mistakes. So I'm actually doing pretty well; I can say all sorts of useful things like "Danny is Ruthy's husband" or "Is the shower in the apartment new or old?", but somehow we're not yet ready to even look at the infitives of verbs yet. This I won't even attempt to figure out. But nevertheless, I can actually communicate with the roommates in sporadic Hebrew every once in a while, mostly when the right situation (i.e. one of the ridiculous ones that has come up in the textbook) comes up and they don't feel like practicing their English. The other Max (Brief aside: There's a second Max, Max Brodsky, that I've become good friends with. Despite being from Texas and going to Harvard, he's become known mostly for being short; thus he's Max Ktsat (Little Max) and I'm Max Gadol (Big Max). I'm seriously recommending that people call me Max Gadol in a loud voice around large groups of women. This is going to do wonders for my social career in Israel, I think. Now, back to the point.) has the advantage of actually knowing enough Hebrew so that he can practice with his roommates while they speak English to him, which is a great arrangement. But of course, I am functionally Hebrew-illiterate for the time being, so that'll have to wait.