As anyone who speaks English as a second language can attest, this mother tongue of ours can be very confusing. Things that seem innate and natural can fly in the face of the linguistic rules of other languages.
And when you have a style guide to adhere to as well, mastery of English is essential.
Our team of copy editors has to grapple with this challenge daily, reviewing the submissions of our reporters, analysts, and columnists to make sure they conform to both the rules of English and The Jerusalem Post style guide.
Supervising those copy editors is our aptly titled supervising editor, Audrey Lynn Leinoff.
While she and I don’t always see eye to eye – I’m not apologizing for thinking Pride and Prejudice is overrated – her understanding of an editor’s role, and how to manage the team, make her an irreplaceable asset to any publication. We at the Post are lucky to have her.
That isn’t to say she only supervises. Leinoff is in the metaphorical trenches every day, editing alongside our copy editors in the never-ending war on typos and spelling errors.
With her on our side, our team strives for pinpoint accuracy in everything we edit.
In Jerusalem sat down with Leinoff to talk about her life and work.
How did you get interested in editing?
Necessity and dread, not interest, laced my introduction to the fickle realm of editing. Good luck finding any two editors whose opinions perfectly align on the proper functionality and usage of the comma.
On my initial day as an undergraduate English literature student at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, I had entered the first class, Principles of Formal English A, feeling rather smug.
After all, I had beaten the odds by just being there.
“Let’s try and be practical, honey,” one of my social workers had told me, genuine concern underpinning her tone when, some years prior, I shared that I wanted to try and get into that challenging academic institution.
“You are 27 years old, and you don’t even have a high school diploma. We need to be realistic. Going to the Hebrew University – that’s just not an option, considering your circumstances and age,” she said.
Nevertheless, there I was, sitting in a classroom in that fine establishment at the ripe old age of 32.
It took years of studying while working odd jobs – including one as a cashier, where a large part of my daily duties involved detecting hidden merchandise that customers would stuff into their soft-drink cartons – to get to that stage.
Sitting in that classroom, I thought I had made it.
My smugness was all but quashed, however, as soon as an energetic, sharp-tongued instructor began that class by detailing the terms of Principles of Formal English A.
If, by the end of the first semester, we scored less than a grade of 70, we were out of the department. The lucky ones who scored between 70 and 80 would be allowed to continue their studies, but would get the ax at the end of the second semester if they scored below 80 in Principles of Formal English B.
The remaining students who achieved an 80 by that time would have one more chance to prove themselves by scoring the desired 90 in a final additional course the following year.
Launching into a story about a panda who shot up a restaurant due to a misplaced comma in a dictionary entry (based on journalist Lynne Truss’s novel, [Panda:] Eats, Shoots & Leaves rather than, Panda: Eats shoots and leaves), I could barely keep up with the rest of what the teacher in this practical course on English grammar and syntax had to say on that or any other day.
So, what got me interested in editing was sheer fear. I spent a lot of time that first year bawling my eyes out since, more than once, I came very close to losing everything I had fought for.
In the end, I had to take all three courses to survive in the department. Beyond making it there, I can confidently say that I now have an invigorated appreciation for the rules of formal English, though I’ll admit that I still don’t fully appreciate the comma.
Tell me about your academic background.
For my undergraduate degree, I completed a double major – English literature combined with sociology and anthropology – at the aforementioned academic institution.
My first academic year was grueling, but wonderful scholars, staffers, and students, as well as my own stubbornness and tenacity, helped pull me through.
In no time, I was flourishing, and my hard work seemed to be paying off. When the third and last year of my undergraduate studies came around, I received the Theodore A. Harris Prize for Excellent Work on the Novel. Only one is offered each year.
Then, I pursued a master’s degree in English literature, at which time I had the pleasure of teaching Masterpieces of World Literature A and B to a new generation of students.
Need I tell you what it is like to mentally sail across the high seas in search of a great white whale, face a giant windmill with an insane yet endearing withered dreamer, or clutch on for dear life as the memory of a beloved child threatens to drag your present back to the past?
I also earned a place in the Hebrew University’s excellence program for sociology. When I applied, my chances of getting in were slim, particularly given that it was clear from the get-go that the chair of that particular program did not like me.
After asking me in an interview why I had applied, I stupidly gave an honest answer: I wanted “excellency” written next to my name somewhere on my diploma.
Raised eyebrows, then a mini-lecture on why I was a deadbeat nobody who would never “go places” or “amount to anything” quickly followed, with the professor pointing unceremoniously at her office door, signaling that our interview was over.
But I knew who I was, where I was, and how hard and long it had taken me to get there. So instead of allowing the soul-crushing address to get to me, I asked in an annoyingly cheerful way if she would mind detailing how she had reached that deduction within five minutes flat.
Intrigue, not anger, caused those eyebrows to lift a second time, and challenging as the next few minutes were, although we still disliked one another at the end of them, some measure of respect was established in the back and forth that ensued. (“Your grades are atrocious!” “Which ones? The ones that read 98?”)
Finally, she asked me to look her straight in the eyes and tell her if I actually believed I was good.
“No,” I told her. “I don’t think I’m good.”
“I think I’m great,” I quickly said as she opened her mouth to respond.
And that’s why I was both admitted to the program and have a hoity-toity air about me at times. Now and again, a dash of hubris can’t hurt.
What brought you to ‘The Jerusalem Post’?
A who, not a what, brought me here. Her name is Tamar Uriel-Be’eri, a very bright, talented young woman who studied in the cohort after me, in the same English department.
She was an outstanding student. I still remember one of her award-winning essays, and she did a lot of impressive work while at the Post.
One day, as we students were sitting in the lounge area during a break, Uriel-Be’eri, schlepping a heavy bag, said she was on her way to work, then made an offhand comment, saying that I’d be good at what she does, too. The rest is history.
It is worth mentioning that every Shabbat, religiously, my family would read the Post’s weekend newspaper. While listening to the articles (I couldn’t read English at all when I was younger, let alone write it, so my mother would choose which excerpts to read out loud on Shabbat afternoons), I would wonder who the people behind the bylines were, and how they came to do what they did.
I never thought that I would meet any of them, or become one of them, or count them as my colleagues and friends. What was once a highly unlikely turn of events has become a reality.
What’s something about the job most people don’t realize?
Articles aren’t exactly like a box of chocolates, although, in this context, you never do know what you’re going to get.
The amount of material that editors have to contend with daily is vast. There is often a jarring transition from a piece regarding a spa in Taiwan to a graphic report covering the atrocities of Oct. 7.
We need to stay professional and stomach it. What the toll is, I don’t know. I don’t doubt that there is one, however.
What are some of your favorite anecdotes from your career?
It’s the extent to which editors who disagree on one notion or another are willing to go to establish their point. For instance, multiple arguments for and against whether we should embed Hebrew words into an English text.
Then, more editors may weigh in, offering insights, corrections, suggestions, or even amendments to the question. The result: A rich, never-ending story that develops in real time; one that offers a glimpse into what we cherish, who we are, and why we care.
Then again, maybe my answer is that there are numerous rubber ducks, in a manifold of shapes and sizes, that keep popping up all across our Jerusalem office. Each of us has a theory about this phenomenon. Mine is that the office is haunted by the spirit of a jolly quack – someone who just can’t let go of what this place meant to them, so they leave little reminders that we, too, should make a splash.
On a more personal note, my favorite anecdote is probably the time I was called in for a performance review that didn’t go so well. In hindsight, it was probably not as harsh as I thought it was.
At any rate, a senior editor caught wind of my agitated state and took the time to call me and find out what had transpired. He didn’t know me well; he certainly didn’t have to make that phone call. And yet, he did. He took the time to call with words of support and encouragement. That meant a lot.
The team we have is one of the reasons I am proud to work where I do, and do what I do, which, as the supervising editor, mainly means pointing and shouting. Sometimes I’ll mix it up to make things more interesting: Shout, then point.
What advice do you have for aspiring journalists and editors?
Don’t publish anything that might not be accurate. Ask yourself: Will this haunt me on my deathbed?
I am referring to misguided information, not troubling content that will give you nightmares. Plenty of stuff gives me nightmares. I still wake up drenched in sweat after dreaming that I forgot to grab a salt shaker for table nine, again.
With this in mind, go ahead and shake things up, if you dare.
I was mainly attracted to journalism for the same reason I was interested in literature: I am able, if only for a short while, to experience a different ontological standpoint and way of being.
In literature, there is no way to affect the course of events – but journalism’s power is that it just might.