perekh and parochet

The two Hebrew words, פֶּרֶךְ perekh and פָּרֹכֶת parokhet, look like they should be related. But are they?

The word פֶּרֶךְ appears six times in the Tanakh. Twice it describes the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt, three times in Vayikra in laws prohibiting harsh treatment of Israelite servants, and once in Yechezkel, in the prophet's criticism of the leaders of Israel.

For example, we read:

וַיַּעֲבִדוּ מִצְרַיִם אֶת־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּפָרֶךְ
"And the Egyptians made the Israelites work with harshness."
(Shemot 1:13)

The word פֶּרֶךְ is an abstract noun, and in every biblical occurrence it is preceded by the preposition ב־. The phrase בְּפָרֶךְ therefore functions adverbially, describing how the work or rule was imposed. It is commonly translated "harshly," "ruthlessly," or "with rigor."

Some translations make the meaning more specific. Robert Alter translates the verse, "And the Egyptians put the Israelites to work at crushing labor," and explains that he understands the word according to a root meaning "to break into pieces" or "to pulverize." Everett Fox similarly has "with crushing-labor," following the early rabbinic interpretation.

These translations capture one important understanding of פֶּרֶךְ, but "labor" is not actually contained in the word פֶּרֶךְ. It is supplied from the context. This becomes particularly clear in Vayikra, where בְּפָרֶךְ modifies the verb רדה, "to rule," rather than עבד, "to work." So a translation such as "with harshness" or "with severity" more closely reflects the grammatical form of the word.

The interpretation reflected by Alter and Fox has a long history. Rashi explains פֶּרֶךְ as עבודה קשה המפרכת את הגוף ומשברתו, hard labor that breaks down the body. And the root פרך is indeed used in later Hebrew with the meaning "break, crush, crumble." Klein defines it as "to break, crush, rub, grind, crumble." Related words include parikh פָּרִיךְ, something brittle or crisp, and hifrikh הִפְרִיךְ, which in modern Hebrew means "to refute," as in the sense of breaking down an argument.

Not all scholars, however, understand פֶּרֶךְ from the idea of crushing. Hayim Tawil compares it with Akkadian pirku and pariktu, words associated with “harm, wrong, injustice.” On that basis, בְּפָרֶךְ may originally have meant something like “with injustice” or “with ruthless oppression,” rather than “with crushing force.” The Encyclopaedia Mikrait likewise discusses Akkadian evidence connected with coercion and oppressive labor. To support this, Tawil quotes Rambam (Hilkhot Avadim 1:6), who writes that perekh indicates labor that is unnecessary, i.e., unjust/unjustified.

Parokhet is built on the same three consonants as perekh.  The פָּרֹכֶת was the curtain in the Mishkan separating the Holy from the Holy of Holies:

וְהִבְדִּילָה הַפָּרֹכֶת לָכֶם בֵּין הַקֹּדֶשׁ וּבֵין קֹדֶשׁ הַקֳּדָשִׁים
"...The parokhet shall separate for you between the Holy and the Holy of Holies."
(Shemot 26:33)

In later Jewish usage, parochet also came to refer to the curtain placed in front of the Torah ark in a synagogue.

The meaning of פָּרֹכֶת seems fairly easy to explain. A number of scholars compare it with Akkadian parāku, meaning "to lay across, block, obstruct, shut off." Akkadian also has pariktu, meaning a barrier, wall, curtain, or obstruction. That fits the function of the parokhet very well: it lay across the sanctuary and blocked both access and view.

Cassuto on Shemot 26:3, for example, writes that פָּרֹכֶת comes from a root פרך whose original meaning was "to close, shut." Kaddari similarly derives it from the root corresponding to Akkadian parāku, "to block a road." The Encyclopaedia Mikrait and TDOT also give this as a major explanation. TDOT notes that the curtain "functioned as a barrier obstructing access and view."

So it's not really a question as to what פָּרֹכֶת means. The debate is whether the פֶּרֶךְ of Egyptian slavery belongs to the same root.

Some dictionaries say no. BDB distinguishes two roots פרך. One is behind פֶּרֶךְ, "harshness, severity." The other is related to Akkadian parāku, "bar, shut off," and is the source of פָּרֹכֶת. Klein appears to make a similar distinction. He lists פֶּרֶךְ among the derivatives of the root meaning "break, crush, rub, grind, crumble," while his entry for פָּרֹכֶת instead compares Akkadian parāku, "to go across, bar."

In this approach, the resemblance between פֶּרֶךְ and פָּרֹכֶת is a coincidence. They represent two different roots that just happen to have the same consonants.

Other scholars are more willing to connect them. HALOT places both פֶּרֶךְ and פָּרֹכֶת under the same presumed, reconstructed root *פרך. The comparative evidence includes a surprisingly broad group of meanings: crushing and rubbing on the one hand, but also blocking, obstructing, violence, and injustice on the other. The word פָּרֹכֶת is explained as something that "blocks off, separates," while פֶּרֶךְ is associated with violence and oppressive servitude.

Kaddari likewise brings Akkadian parāku, "to block a road," into his discussion of both words, while also citing related forms meaning cruelty, rubbing, and pressing.

The Ben-Yehuda dictionary offers perhaps the most interesting attempt to connect them. It takes the older meaning of פרך to be "close, lock, confine." It then suggests that עֲבוֹדַת פֶּרֶךְ originally referred specifically to the labor of slaves who were confined or imprisoned. It describes them as עבדים כלואים, imprisoned slaves.

According to this interpretation, the connection of פרך with פָּרֹכֶת becomes quite solid The parokhet is something that shuts off a space; perekh may originally have described the forced labor of people who themselves were shut in.

So this leaves us with three main explanations of פֶּרֶךְ.

One sees it as deriving from "break, crush," the interpretation found in traditional Jewish commentary and reflected in modern translations such as Alter's and Fox's.

Another connects it with "block, shut off, confine," which would make פֶּרֶךְ and פָּרֹכֶת two derivatives of the same root. The Ben-Yehuda dictionary's suggestion that perekh referred to the labor of imprisoned slaves is the clearest version of this view.

A third understands it primarily in terms of injustice, violence, or ruthless treatment, based particularly on the Akkadian evidence emphasized by Tawil.

These meanings may seem far apart, but the Akkadian evidence itself makes the picture less tidy. Forms in this group can refer to obstruction and barriers, but also to violence and injustice. That may explain why HALOT is comfortable treating them as one broad etymological family, while BDB and Klein prefer to separate them.

So while פָּרֹכֶת is very likely connected with the idea of blocking or shutting off, the origin of פֶּרֶךְ remains less certain. It may refer to labor that crushes, labor imposed with ruthless injustice, or, as the Ben-Yehuda dictionary suggests, labor carried out under confinement.

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anah

The root (or perhaps better to say roots) ענה anah is generally said to have four meanings in Hebrew. Klein identifies them as follows:: 

• answer

• sing 

• afflict

• occupy 

Let’s look at each of them and the words deriving from them.

Answer

This includes the senses of “answer, reply, respond”. It’s the most popular use of the verb in Hebrew today. A particular type of response is responding as a witness, i.e., to testify. This is the sense found in the ninth commandment:

לֹא־תַעֲנֶה בְרֵעֲךָ עֵד שָׁקֶר

“You shall not testify against your neighbor as a false witness.” (Shemot 20:13)

Derivatives include: הֵעָנוּת he’anut - “response, consent” and מַעֲנֶה  ma’aneh - “answer, reply, solution.” 

Sing

Klein treats this as a distinct root. Others say that it reflects a form of singing - where one sings, and others respond with a refrain. This distinction can be found in translations of the phrase וַתַּעַן לָהֶם מִרְיָם (Shemot 15:21) describing the song Miriam led after the splitting of the Red Sea. Some translations render it as “And Miriam chanted for them” and others have “And Miriam answered them.”

One derivative of the verb is עַנּוֹת anot - “singing”, which only appears in one biblical verse, when Moshe tells Yehoshua what he hears from the activity around the Golden Calf:

וַיֹּאמֶר אֵין קוֹל עֲנוֹת גְּבוּרָה וְאֵין קוֹל עֲנוֹת חֲלוּשָׁה קוֹל עַנּוֹת אָנֹכִי שֹׁמֵעַ׃

“But he said: Not the sound of the song of prevailing, not the sound of the song of failing, it is the sound of choral-song that I hear!” (Shemot 32:18)

Afflict

Klein provides a number of different meanings for this verb sense: to be bowed down, be afflicted, was low, was humbled, or in the transitive sense, to humble, oppress, afflict, or violate (a woman). In Modern Hebrew, the most common meaning is “to torture.”

It has a number of common derivatives:

• עָנָו anav - “humble, modest”

• עֲנָוָה anava - “humility, modesty”

• תַּעֲנִית ta’anit- “self-affliction, fasting” (today used almost always for religious fasts, with צום tzom being a more general term also used for things like medical fasts)

• עָנִי ani - “poor (person)”

• עֹנִי oni - “affliction, oppression, poverty”

This last meaning is familiar from the identification of matza as לֶ֣חֶם עֹ֑נִי lechem oni, or as it appears in the Aramaic translation in the Pesach Haggadah, לַחְמָא עַנְיָא lachma anya.

The Hebrew phrase appears in Devarim 16:3, in the laws of Pesach:

לֹא־תֹאכַל עָלָיו חָמֵץ שִׁבְעַת יָמִים תֹּאכַל־עָלָיו מַצּוֹת לֶחֶם עֹנִי כִּי בְחִפָּזוֹן יָצָאתָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לְמַעַן תִּזְכֹּר אֶת־יוֹם צֵאתְךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם כֹּל יְמֵי חַיֶּיךָ׃

JPS translates it as follows:

“You shall not eat anything leavened with it; for seven days thereafter you shall eat unleavened bread [matzot], bread of distress—for you departed from the land of Egypt hurriedly—so that you may remember the day of your departure from the land of Egypt as long as you live.”

Lechem oni is translated here as “bread of distress.” Similar translations by others include the popular “bread of affliction” and “bread of anguish.” These renderings reflect an understanding of the phrase as referring to the distress the Israelites suffered in Egypt (this is Rashi’s approach in his commentary on the verse). Support for this reading can be found in the occurrence of oni, describing the oppression they suffered found in Shemot 3:7, 3:17, 4:31 and Devarim 26:7.

Others say that lechem oni refers to the poor quality or taste of matza, as compared to the better tasting leavened bread. Perhaps aligned with this, Alter translates the phrase as “poverty’s bread.” This is the approach of Bekhor Shor and Hizzkuni.

A slightly different take is offered by Tigay, in the JPS Devarim, who notes that bread of poverty suggests “that it is eaten by the poor or those intentionally deprived, such as prisoners.” He mentions a theory that as such, matza was eaten by the Israelites while they were slaves (see Seforno on the verse), but then rejects it because “eating unleavened bread recalls the haste of the Exodus, not the bondage.” 

In a footnote to his commentary, Tigay sees how this disagreement is reflected in different versions of the Haggadah. In the passage of ha lachma anya, some manuscripts have it as “this is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the Land of Egypt” (בְּאַרְעָא דְמִצְרָיִם)  and others read “when they left the land of Egypt” (דנפקו מארעא דמצרים).

Occupy

Here occupy means “to busy oneself.” It only appears in Kohelet, along with its derivative עִנְיַן inyan, such as in this verse:

וְנָתַתִּי אֶת־לִבִּי לִדְרוֹשׁ וְלָתוּר בַּחׇכְמָה עַל כׇּל־אֲשֶׁר נַעֲשָׂה תַּחַת הַשָּׁמָיִם הוּא  עִנְיַן רָע נָתַן אֱלֹהִים לִבְנֵי הָאָדָם לַעֲנוֹת בּוֹ׃

“I set my mind to study and to probe with wisdom all that happens under the sun.—An unhappy business, that, which God gave men to be concerned with!” (Kohelet 1:13)

Here the verb is translated as “to be concerned with” and the noun inyan as “business” However, others such as Ibn Ezra, prefer to translate the verb as “to be afflicted with” and the noun as “task.” 

But even if in Kohelet it means to afflict (a claim I agree with in my book, based on parallels with other biblical texts - see pages 132-133), the meanings “occupy, occupation” certainly do continue throughout later Hebrew. Klein notes that in Talmudic Hebrew, inyan means “matter, subject”, and in Medieval Hebrew it gained the sense “meaning.” In Modern Hebrew it also means “interest” (as in something that draws attention), and from here we get the words הִתְעַנְיֵן hitanyen - “to express interest”, מְעַנְיֵן me’anyen - “interesting”, and מְעֻנְיָן me’unyan - “interested.”

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A possibly related word is עוֹנָה onah - meaning “marital duty, cohabitation” in Shemot 21:10, and later Hebrew “time, period, season.” The etymology of this word is seriously debated, and I won’t get into it in this post. For further reading, see Klein’s etymology, and these essays: Onah: A Husband’s Conjugal Duties? - TheTorah.com  and The Etymology of “Onah” – The Seforim Blog. 

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kash and kashish

 A reader asked if there was a connection between the verb קשש - "to gather", and kashish קשיש - "elderly."  I didn't think it was likely, but according to Klein's etymologies, they are related.

Klein writes that the root קשש means "to gather, assemble (especially straw or stubble.)" We find this root in the story of the מקושש עצים mekoshesh etzim - "the stick gatherer" (Bamidbar 15:32-36), as well as the description of the Israelite slaves "gathering stubble [kash] for straw [teven]"   לְקֹשֵׁשׁ קַשׁ לַתֶּבֶן (Shemot 5:12).

Klein provides this etymology:

Related to Syriac קַשׁ, Arab. qashsha (= he collected, gathered). The original meaning probably was ‘to become dry’. Compare. Arab. qashsha in the sense ‘became dry, dried up, shriveled up, withered’.

He writes that this is the root of kash קש - "straw."  In modern Hebrew, as in English, kash refers to both straw as "dried stalks of grain" and "a thin, hollow tube for drinking." The latter (the drinking straw), however, is often called a kashit קשית.

Klein then goes on to say that the root קשש can also mean "to grow old", and comes from the earlier sense "to become dry, wither, fade." This gives us the word kashish - "old, elderly." 

Ben-Yehuda, however, says that perhaps kashish comes from the root קשה kasheh - "hard." So instead of an elderly person being like someone who has withered and faded, this kashish has been hardened, and strengthened, by the challenges of life. This is also the approach of Jastrow, who brings support from Shabbat 53a, where it says that animals can go out into the public domain on Shabbat with "splints" keshishin. These splints were meant to straighten the fracture, to make it stiff (kasheh).

But kashish itself doesn't actually mean "elderly" in its first appearances in Rabbinic Hebrew, just "older." So an older brother is referred to as kashish (Targum to Melachim I 2:22) even though he wasn't older. 

But in today's Hebrew it doesn't have that meaning, and "older than" is usually mevugar מבוגר. And kashish is specifically someone elderly. (This is similar to the English word "senior," which first meant "older" and then "elderly.") But even though kashish means elderly today, each of us, as we get older, can decide whether that will mean "withering away" or "becoming strengthened."

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midbar

I recently wrote an essay for the journal Tradition entitled "Words of Ailing, Words of Healing" where I discussed the origins of Hebrew words relating to illness and health, in the light of the current pandemic.

One of the words I mentioned was dever דבר - "plague." After discussing the word for pandemic, magefa מגפה, I continued:

A more common Biblical word for plague is dever. This word does not appear to be related to the very common word devar meaning “word, speech.” More surprisingly, it is not cognate with the word hadbara – “extermination.” That word comes from a third Hebrew root, which meant “to follow behind” or “to push forward.” This meaning led to the word midbar – “desert,” which was a place where cattle were pushed forward to graze. In the more intense hifil form of the verb, hidbir, “pushing forward” became “subdue, overwhelm,” and from there came the meaning “to eliminate, exterminate.” (“Yadber sonenu,” we recite in the Prayer for the I.D.F., asking God to “subdue our enemies.”) 

I wrote that midbar מדבר in English is "desert". But another common translation is "wilderness." Which is correct?

Well, in some ways, this is more a question about English semantics than Hebrew. Let's look at what the two English words mean.

Today most people would say that desert is a barren land, likely arid, and probably hot and full of sand. A wilderness, on the other hand, is full of wild vegetation, but not settled by humans.

However, these were not the original meanings of the words. "Desert" was an abandoned place (think of the verb "to desert" = "to abandon".)  Only in the 20th century did desert become associated with aridity. Before that there are many examples of desert being used in places that were clearly not arid (think of "desert island", which was the original phrase, not "deserted island", despite the increase in use of the latter recently.)

Wilderness also meant something similar - an uninhabited or uncultivated place. So while there may have been differences in nuance between desert and wilderness, until relatively recently, they were pretty much synonyms.

So if both words are used to translate midbar, that shouldn't concern us too much. But that said, what was the nature of the biblical word midbar?

The answer is found in what I wrote above, that midbar originally meant "a place where cattle were pushed forward to graze." This meaning is evident in Shemot 3:1 -

וּמֹשֶׁה הָיָה רֹעֶה אֶת־צֹאן יִתְרוֹ חֹתְנוֹ כֹּהֵן מִדְיָן וַיִּנְהַג אֶת־הַצֹּאן אַחַר הַמִּדְבָּר וַיָּבֹא אֶל־הַר הָאֱלֹהִים חֹרֵבָה׃
Now Moses, tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian, drove the flock into the midbar, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 

If Moses drove his flocks there, the land was not entirely barren (but not settled). As Sarna in the JPS commentary writes, midbar is "a region of uninhabited and unirrigated pastureland." Cassuto, following Onkelos (who interprets it as "choice pasture") , goes so far as to translate the word as "grassland." This may seem strange, but verses like this one show that a midbar did not have to be arid at all:

Fear not, O beasts of the field, for the pastures in the midbar are clothed with grass. The trees have borne their fruit; fig tree and vine have yielded their strength. (Yoel 2:22) 

The Sinai midbar that sustained the Israelites for 40 years also fits the definition - it was uninhabited, but could support the nomadic tribes (with some help from above.) The focus on "uninhabited" is captured in the midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 1:7) which writes:

Anyone who does not make themselves ownerless like the midbar cannot acquire the wisdom and the Torah. Therefore it says, "the midbar of Sinai."

There are however, other words to describe a particularly barren land in biblical Hebrew - arava ערבה and yeshimon ישימון.  Those words are offered as synonyms for a midbar that is particularly desolate, in Devarim 32:10 and Yirmiyahu 50:12.

So a midbar can be a desert - even according to the contemporary meaning. It can also be a wilderness - although a midbar in the Middle East is not likely to look like a wilderness in other parts of the world. As often happens, there is not a perfect translation. Just one more reason to try to read the Bible (or any book) when possible in the original language... 

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teiva

Today I was thinking about the word teiva תבה. In the entire Bible, it only appears twice: as the word for Noah's ark and for the baby Moshe's basket.

Here is Klein's entry for teivah:

1 ark, box. 

NH 2 Holy Ark (in the synagogue). 

PBH 3 word. 

[Prob. a loan word from Egypt. tbt (= chest; coffin). Arab. tābūt (= box, case, chest, coffer), is a Heb. loan word.]

I can easily understand how the word progressed from meaning 1 ("box") to meaning 2 ("Holy Ark in the synagogue" - although the word for the Ark that carried the Tablets of the Law in the desert is aron ארון.)  But how did teiva come to mean "word"?

This was surprisingly difficult to research. First of all, the dictionaries that I thought would help me - Ben Yehuda, Jastrow, Klein, Even-Shoshan - all mentioned the various meanings, including "word", but didn't explain the shift in meaning.

Secondly, since the meaning is "word", searching online is really challenging. If I'm looking for a web page or article, I often search for the the term and include the various meanings. That will usually pull up something helpful. But since the meaning is "word" - well, that appears on probably every page. Not really beneficial.

So I had to try a little harder. I did find some discussion of it in the dictionary Aruch Hashalem by Alexander Kohut. He says that some claim that teiva meaning "word" comes from a different source - an Arabic root meaning "to cut." And therefore, teiva means a word "cut and separate" from other letters in the text.

He then compares teiva to a common word for "word" - mila מילה.  This word is familiar from the phrase brit milah ברית מילה - "circumcision." So according to this theory, both teiva and mila come from the sense "to cut."

However, this theory is problematic. From their uses in Rabbinic Hebrew (where teiva first means "word"), mila refers to spoken words, and teiva to written words. This also fits the etymology of mila.  Klein points out that mila meaning circumcision comes from the root מול - "to circumcise", whereas mila meaning "word" comes from מלל - a root meaning "to speak, to say."

So while "cut" could be still be an origin of teiva, the parallel to mila doesn't hold up.

Kohut then provides a second theory, saying that in a teiva, the letters are connected as if they were in a box. This seems like a more reasonable theory - it keeps the various meanings of teiva with the same origin, as all of the dictionaries I checked claimed.

A further expansion on this idea is found in the Hebrew Wiktionary entry for teiva. The entry provides five meanings found in Biblical and Rabbinic sources:

1. boat (Bereshit 7:13, Shemot 2:3)
2. box (Mishna Tahorot 8:2)
3. ark (closet) that holds the Torah scrolls (Mishna Taanit 2:1)
4. a rectangle or square; the rectangle that one word is written in (Talmud Yerushalmi Eruvin 5:1, Talmud Bavli Menachot 30a)
5. a word with a space before and after it (Talmud Bavli 30a)

There is a note there saying that meaning 5 derived from meaning 4. This works well with Kohut's second theory. The only issue is that neither example provided in 4 are particularly convincing. The source from the Jerusalem Talmud says, "How did did the Israelites march in the desert? Like a teiva." This means they formed a square (in contrast with the other opinion, which says they marched in a column, like a beam.) That doesn't really mean that teiva meant "rectangle", but only that a rectangle is like a teiva, because of the shape. 

The second example, from Menachot 30a says that when writing a Torah scroll, the space between one teiva and another teiva must be the size of one small letter. While I suppose it's possible that teiva there could mean the rectangle that contained a word, the simpler meaning is that it just meant the space between one word and the following word. And the Wiktionary entry itself provides a quote from the same page in Menachot where teiva clearly means "word"!

Now, if I could find some evidence that all words were enclosed in rectangles, there would be more support for this theory. I'm not a scribe, so I can't speak from personal experience, and I couldn't find any mention of that in the sources I checked. And the nature of Wiki editing prevents me from contacting the person who wrote this theory. But if any of you out there have any proof, or even suggestions, one way or another - please let me know!

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lama and madua

A reader asked about the origin of and difference between the two Hebrew words lama למה and madua מדוע, both generally translated into English as "why". Let's take a look.

Madua appears in biblical Hebrew (but is not found in rabbinic Hebrew). Klein provides the following etymology:

Contraction of מה ידוע ma yadua (=what is known? i.e. 'for what reason').

And reflecting that etymology, it refers specifically to the cause (in the past) of a thing, event, etc.

Lama has a wider background and usage than madua, and is used more frequently today (madua is considered much more formal). Lama is also found in biblical Hebrew but appears in rabbinic Hebrew as well. It also can refer to the cause of a thing, but can also ask "what is the purpose, aim". Its etymology shows that flexibility, for it is a contraction  of ל-מה "for what". Lama asks about cause in Bereshit 4:7, 12:18 and about purpose in Shemot 5:22 and Iyov 30:2.

In this way, lama is indeed similar to the English "why", which contains both aspects - past and future. In other languages, there are different words for each meaning. For example, German has warum for "cause" and wozu for "purpose", and the same phenomenon can be found in other European languages.

Creating a dichotomy between lama and madua (even if it's not always faithful to the biblical lama, as we have seen), allows for some powerful interpretations about how we understand the world.

For example, in this fascinating video, Rabbi David Fohrman confronts the question that Moshe asks God after the sin of the golden calf (Shemot 32:11) לָמָה ה' יֶחֱרֶה אַפְּךָ בְּעַמֶּךָ - "Why (lama), God, should you be angry at your people?" Rabbi Fohrman asks:

What is he talking about? Why should you be angry at your people? They are  supposed to be accepting the Torah, and they are dancing around a golden calf, an idol that they have made with their very own hands, and you have the chutzpah to ask God, ‘Why should you be angry with your people?’ What is he talking about?

But then later he answers:

So here you have to understand the crucial distinction between the two Hebrew words for ‘why’, lamah and madua. Why would one language have two words for ‘why’ unless they didn’t mean the same thing? Madua, from the word mada, is the scientific ‘why’. It means what happened in the past to cause the present state of affairs? When Moses looked at the burning bush, madua lo-yivar hasneh, what is it about this bush that causes it not to burn? It is a question about the past that would explain the present. But that is not the only kind of ‘why’ that you can ask. You can ask a different kind of ‘why’. A lamah kind of ‘why’. Lamah is a contraction of ‘le mah’, to what, for what, for what purpose. It is a question about the future.

Yes, I understand what happened to make you angry, God. That’s not my question, we all get that. The question is, where will this anger take you? Let’s read the rest of the words. Lamah yechereh apcha be’amecha. Moshe says, ‘why should you be angry with your people?’ Don’t say it is my people, it is your people. You are attached to them whether you like it or not.

In that case, by using the word lama, Moshe was challenging God - and in the end was successful. A different case, where we need to make sure we ourselves are asking lama and not madua is found in this powerful story:

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I found myself on the uptown campus of Yeshiva University. As it was for the entire country and for much of the world, initial reactions to the attacks on the World Trade Center were little more than shock and disbelief. Particularly for those located so close to the disaster, it was difficult to absorb what transpired that morning.

In response to the events of the morning, student leaders at Yeshiva quickly organized an outdoor Mincha and Tehillim rally. The main speaker at this rally was Rabbi Norman Lamm … There is one thought that he stressed that I have not forgotten. David Hamelech exclaims in Tehillim "keili keili lama azavtani?".  [“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”]  Rabbi Shimshon Rephael Hirsh explains that in Hebrew, one can ask "why" with the use of the word madua or of the word lama.  The word madua means why in its purest sense, wanting to know the reason behind something, what caused it to happen. On the other hand, lama comes from the words "le ma," literally "to what," trying to figure out not what caused something to happen, but rather what is the purpose that is meant to come out of the occurrence. And so when David Hamelech feels deserted by Hashem, he does not ask madua. It is not his place to question the causes of the actions of Hashem. Rather he asks lama. What is meant to come out of the actions of Hashem? What responsibilities do they place upon me? 
        
This must be our response to tragedy as well, explained Rabbi Lamm to the hundreds of students and faculty assembled on the lawn outside of Rubin Hall. It is futile to try to understand the reasons or causes for such a horrible occurrence. What we can do, however, is to try our best to figure out the ends to which events such as the attacks of September 11th are meant to bring about in our lives.

In general on this site, I focus on the "madua" - why words came to take the meanings they have. But it is important not to forget the "lama" - what purpose words can have. In the week between Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day) and Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day for Israeli soldiers and victims of terror), this is indeed a very appropriate message.

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rahut and rahit

Two Hebrew words that seem to have similar roots, but very different meanings are rahut רהוט - "fluent" and rahit רהיט - "furniture" (as in a piece of furniture, the general term for furniture is rihut ריהוט).

Let's look at rahut first. This derives from the Aramaic root רהט, meaning "to run", and it's cognate with the Hebrew equivalent - רוץ. (The letters tzade and tet can switch between Hebrew and Aramaic, as can also be seen in the words tzel צל - "shade" and טלל - "to overshadow", the root of talit טלית). From the meaning "to run", we also get "to flow". This meaning appears in the word rahat רהט meaning "watering trough" in Bereshit 30:38,41 and Shemot 2:16, as well as the word rahut, which is first found in Medieval Hebrew (fluent and flow are related in English as well).

The story of rahit is less clear. It only appears once in the Tanach, in Shir HaShirim 1:17

קֹרוֹת בָּתֵּינוּ אֲרָזִים רַהִיטֵנוּ בְּרוֹתִים

"Cedars are the beams of our house, our rafters (rahiteinu) are cypresses"

Rahit as "rafter" appears in Talmudic Hebrew as well, but only in modern times did the meaning change to "furniture." Why?

In this article (and here in Hebrew), Elon Gilad writes that the synonym used in the verse, kora קורה - "beam" had become much more popular, and so rahit was in danger of being forgotten. So Eliezer Ben-Yehuda rescued the word for the concept of  "furniture", which was no longer an item just for the rich. He was influenced by the Arabic word rihat, which had a similar meaning. Stahl adds that in the Talmud we find the phrase רהיטי ביתו - rihitei beito, which then meant "the rafters of his house", but the early writers of modern Hebrew would find that an appropriate phrase for various articles used in the house.

The only question that remains is, are the two terms related? Klein doesn't say so, but there are some sources that hint to a possibility. The Daat Mikra on Bereshit 30:38 points out that the troughs were made of korot (beams), but doesn't actually say that this indicates a connection between rahat and rahit.  Steinberg, in Milon HaTanach, does say they derive from the same root, but doesn't explain how. Similarly, in this more recent book a connection is made, but I don't quite understand (other than an Aramaic connection).

The best citation I could find that does connect the terms is the BDB, which defines rafters as "strips running between beams." We find that usage in English as well, for a "runner" can also mean something spanning some distance, as in the runners of a sled or a carpet spanning a hallway.

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nitzul, hatzala and hitnatzlut

In Israel's last election cycle, there was much mention of the word hitnatzel התנצל - to apologize. This is the hitpael form of the root נצל. In its other forms, the root has very different meanings. The piel form nitzel ניצל, means "to exploit" or "to utilize". And the hifil form, hitzil הציל, means "to rescue, save". Considering how loaded with emotions those words are, it's understandable the desire to make a connection. For example, in this blog post, Avidan Freedman writes:

And if the word for apologizing (lehitnatzel) wasn't a reflexive form of the word for ‘taking advantage of’ (lenatzel), implying that someone who apologizes is essentially taking advantage of himself, (thus transgressing the 1st commandment of Israeliness ‘Thou Shalt Not Be A Freyer”), perhaps “No More Apologizing” would be a less attractive slogan.

(For more on freier, see my post here). After challenging his initial assumption, he then later he takes a different view:

If this is so, then the root of apologizing is not a way to take advantage of ourselves, but a way to bring ourselves salvation.

This was a very nice drasha on the words, connecting all three meanings, but let's take a deeper look at the etymology.

All three verbs are connected, and originate in an earlier meaning, pervasive in the Tanach, but not found in modern Hebrew. The root נצל, originally meant "to take away, tear away, remove". We can see that meaning in Hoshea 2:11 וְהִצַּלְתִּי צַמְרִי וּפִשְׁתִּי - "I will snatch away My wool and My linen", or in Shemot 33:6 -  וַיִּתְנַצְּלוּ בְנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-עֶדְיָם  - "So the children of Israel stripped themselves of their ornaments".

With that understanding, the hifil form - hatzala הצלה - "rescue", becomes easy to understand. When you rescue someone, you take them away, remove them from danger. So a lifeguard is a matzil מציל, and a survivor is a nitzol ניצול.

What about nitzul ניצול "exploitation" or "utilization"? The verb originally meant "to strip, to spoil" - in other words, to take something from someone else. We find this verb mentioned in regards to what the children of Israel did to Egypt (Shemot 3:22, 12:36) -  וַיְנַצְּלוּ אֶת-מִצְרָיִם - "they despoiled the Egyptians". Only in modern Hebrew did the word take on the more general sense of "exploit, take advantage of", and apparently the even less specific "utilize" came later, as it does not appear in Ben Yehuda's dictionary.

And now to hitnatzlut התנצלות - "apology". This too is a later development, first found in Medieval Hebrew. Klein says the verb first meant "he excused himself" and later "he apologized". Ben Yehuda (and later Even Shoshan), gives a slightly different explanation: "he made an effort to remove his guilt."

So we can see that the meanings of the word have changed significantly over time. So if you didn't know the original meaning before, no need to apologize. My pleasure to rescue you, and feel free to utilize my site in the future...

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misken, sakana, and sochen

In the beginning of Shemot, the Israelites were forced to build arei miskenot ערי מסכנות - "storage cities" (Shemot 1:11).

The root סכן is found in a number of Hebrew words going back to Biblical times - some still in use today, some less so. Let's first look at the different meanings, and then try to see if they are connected.

1) The verb סכן (in the kal form) can mean "was useful, benefited". This sense is found in Iyov 15:3, 22:2, 34:9, 35:3.

2) In the hifil form (הסכין), it means "was accustomed, was used to". This form appears in Bamidbar 22:30, Tehilim 139:3, and Iyov 22:21.

3) The familiar word sakana סכנה - "danger" does not appear in the Tanach (it appears frequently in Rabbinic Hebrew). But it does appear as a nifal verb once in Kohelet 10:9  יסכן - "will be harmed". In Rabbinic Hebrew we find the piel form, meaning "to expose to danger". Derivatives include sikun סיכון - "risk" and misukan מסוכן - which in the Talmud meant "in danger" but by Medieval Hebrew meant "dangerous".

4)  The noun sochen סוכן is found in Yeshayahu 22:15, and as sochenet סוכנת in Melachim I 1:2,4. It is usually translated there as "steward" or "attendant". In Modern Hebrew, sochen means "agent" and sochnut סוכנות is "agency".

5) The word misken מסכן means "poor, miserable", and appears in Kohelet 4:13;9:15-16.  The noun, miskenut מסכנות - "poverty" is found in Devarim 8:9. Klein (in his CEDEL) points out that the word "mesquin", defined as "mean, sordid" has its origins in this word:

French, from Italian meschino, from Arabic miskin, (in VArab. pronunciation meskin), 'poor, wretched, miserable', which is borrowed from Hebrew or Aramaic misken or Syriac mesken, 'poor', which are perhaps loan words from Akkadian mushkenu, 'beggar, needy'.

6) As I mentioned above, miskenot means storehouses. In addition to Shemot, the word also appears in Melachim I 9:19, and Divrei HaYamim II 8:4,6; 16:4;17:12 and 32:28.

So what are the connections between the words? Let's start with Klein. Without explaining why, he puts verbs 1 and 2 in the same entry. I assume that if one is good at something, he is both "useful" and "becomes accustomed". He says it is related to the Akkadian phrase sakanu ana as found in the Tel Amarna letters, which means "to care for". Based on this, he connects this root to sochen, who cares for people.

However, he also mentions that some scholars (possibly Kutscher, who has a chapter about it) say that sochen "is related to Akkadian shaknu (governor of a province)", which is connected to segan סגן - in Biblical Hebrew a government prefect, and later in Rabbinic Hebrew a deputy. He says that shaknu comes from shakanu, meaning "to lay, set, appoint", and is cognate with the Hebrew שכן - "to settle down, dwell". Both verbs he writes are

Shaph'el forms of כון (=to be, be set up, be established), hence literally mean 'to cause to be, cause to be set up, cause to be established'.

(Others disagree and say that shaknu ultimately has a Sumerian origin.)

Klein claims that miskenot is also related to שכן, and gives the following etymology:

Probably a loan word from Akkadian mashkanu (=storehouse, magazine), from shakanu (= to lay, place deposit, store up), which is related to the Hebrew שכן (= he dwelled, abode).

However, he doesn't connected misken or sakana to any of the others.

The Daat Mikra on Devarim 8:9 connects (5) and (6) by pointing out that storehouses are needed when food is not plentiful, and needs to be rationed, like with a poor person.

Steinberg connects all the meanings under the general header of "concerned about the needs of his master". This concern causes one to try to do his best job to help (1), and to be very careful about doing things (2), and to be aware of danger (3). Naturally, this is the role of the sochen, a poor person is concerned about food, and the storehouses stored food for a country concerned about famine in the future. He rejects the unnecessary complications of Gesenius and Furst, when it is clear to him that the words are related. His explanation is certainly clean and inviting. But I think in a way, it's a bit too clean, and language doesn't usually develop just like that. So I'm inclined to accept the opinions of the later scholars who show various sources for the different meanings of the root.

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yam suf - red sea or sea of reeds?

I was in Eilat last week, and while there I got to thinking about Yam Suf ים סוף. What's a better translation - Red Sea or Sea of Reeds? Somehow I had always thought that "Red Sea" was a corruption of "Reed Sea", because suf is generally translated as "reed". However, during the trip, I couldn't help notice the red mountains of Jordan, originally belonging to the land of Edom (signifying "red"), and wondered if there was reason to call the sea "red" as well. (And of course, I was curious if this was the same Yam Suf that the Jews passed through on their way out of Egypt, but that appeared to be less of a linguistic question.)

After a little research, it became clear to me that there was certainly no mix up between "red" and "reed", as the name "Red Sea" goes all the way back to the Greek Septuagint, who translated Yam Suf as Erythra Thalassa, whereas suf meaning "reeds" in the Bible (Shmot 2:3) was translated as helos. Since English only came around centuries later, the similarity between "red" and "reed" is only a coincidence.

However, there are those that claim that the term "Red Sea" did originate in a misunderstanding - and that the Greeks thought Edom אדום meant "red", in the verses describing the sea near Edom. These scholars therefore prefer the translation "Sea of Reeds" (or "Reed Sea" or "Sea of Weeds"). They point out that reeds only grow in fresh water, such as in the Nile or in the lakes to the east. This fits in well with the assumption that one of those lakes was the sea parted by Moshe in the Exodus. 

However, this approach seemed difficult to me. Aside from the red mountains that I saw during my visit, it didn't appear likely that a poor translation in the Septuagint would affect how the entire Red Sea would be named - and Erythra Thalassa actually referred to a much larger area - including the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean. (And this article claims that Herodotus used the phrase, and he preceded the Septuagint by centuries.)

I was therefore fortunate to find a fascinating new article by Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky, "What’s the Truth about . . . the Translation of Yam Suf?" in the Spring 2010 issue of Jewish Action (here's a PDF of the printed article.)  The article is so comprehensive (and well written) that I was thinking of just linking to it without adding anything at all. And I would like you all to read it, so I won't go into too much detail. But in short, Zivotofsky shows how the tradition of using the name "Red Sea" is ancient and found in many Jewish sources as well. (He also quoted a number of sources that I had seen before I read his article, particularly Sarna's Exploring Exodus and Kaplan's The Living Torah. One source I don't know if he saw - he didn't quote it - but sheds some more light is this entry in the Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament.)

In the end, there are many unanswered questions about the name (and location) of Yam Suf. Perhaps the best thing is for me to go back to Eilat and think about it some more. Anyone care to join me?

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dvash

My friend, the blogger and bee-keeper Treppenwitz berated thanked me (and others) for sending him a link discussing the discovery of beehives showing a beekeeping industry going back to First Temple times.

Well, to show him that he's not the only one discussing the issue, I'll take it on - but from a linguistic standpoint. (The fact that I was planning on discussing the word anyway, in my series on the simanim, is pure coincidence...)

This article discussing the discovery has this quote about the Hebrew word d'vash דבש:

While the term "honey" (dvash in Hebrew) appears 55 times in the Bible, it refers to date or fig honey in all but two references: Judges 14:8-9, when Samson took honey from the lion's carcass, and I Samuel 14:27, when Jonathan dipped his rod in a honeycomb during a battle and his countenance brightened.

Sarna has a similar note in his commentary on Shmot 3:8 -

Honey in the Bible (Heb. devash) is predominantly the thick, sweet syrup produced from dates and known to the Arabs as dibs. Apiculture seems to have been unknown in Palestine; the few explicit references in the Bible to bees' honey pertain to the wild variety. While the date itself is never mentioned, the inclusion of honey among the seven characteristic products of the land listed in Deuteronomy 8:8 indicates that, like all the others, it too derives from the soil.

I happened to take out a book from the local library that discusses this issue in detail: Fruit Trees in the Bible and Talmudic Literature, by Yehuda Feliks (Rubin Mass, 1994). The chapter on dvash is in Hebrew, and I can't quote the entire thing here, but I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the subject. I will summarize a few points he brings up:

• The phrase ארץ זבת חלב ודבש ("land flowing with milk and honey") in the Torah is clearly referring to honey from fruit trees, as it is praising the agricultural bounty of the land.
  
• However, in Yeshayahu 7:22, when it mentions כי חמאה ודבש יאכל כל הנותר בקרב הארץ "Everyone who is left in the land shall feed on curds and honey", it is a parody of the Torah verses. For here, the prophet is describing a time when the land is desolate - and therefore the bees can proliferate. (The milk for the curds will also be widely available, because the cows and sheep will be able to graze on the previously tended croplands).
  
• Bee honey is not seen as a sign of blessing for the land, even though it is seen as fortunate to find it (as in the story of Yonatan mentioned above). Yaakov also probably sent bee honey to Yosef (Bereshit 43:11), because it mentions מעט דבש - "a small amount of honey", and bee honey would have been hard to obtain.
  
• Many sources where the honey is mentioned as coming from rocks (Devarim 32:13, Tehilim 81:17) it is likely referring to fig honey, as figs (unlike dates) grow in rocky terrain.
  
• Although the rabbis generally identify the biblical dvash with dates (Sifrei Devarim 297, Mechilta D'Rashbi 13:5), when they used the word dvash themselves, they were referring to bee honey. For example, the Yerushalmi (Bikkurim 1:3) interprets the biblical word: "And dvash - this is dates. Could it be actual dvash (e.g. bee honey)?" They answer that since the dvash in the verse is obligated in tithes, it cannot be referring to bee honey, but rather date honey. We also see that if someone makes an oath that they will not eat dvash, they are allowed to eat date honey (Nedarim 6:9)

While the article was written before the recent discovery (and sadly Prof. Feliks passed away last year, and did not merit to review it), I don't think the discovery radically challenges anything in the article. Certainly bee honey was considered a rare treat, and there would have been efforts to make the product more widely available. And by Talmudic times, these efforts had succeeded so well, that bee honey became the dominant meaning of "dvash".

But the meaning of eretz zavat chalav u'dvash still refers to the agriculture of the Land of Israel, particularly, as Feliks points out, in comparison to that of Egypt, whose dates were much dryer and did not easily produce honey.

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acharon

For those that haven't noticed yet, I made it to the Finals of the Jewish and Israeli Blog Awards. As of this writing, it doesn't look like I'll end up first - rishon ראשון. But how bad would it be to be acharon אחרון ?

For the answer to this, I'll turn to a book by Avshalom Kor, Higiya Zman Lashon הגיע זמן לשון (strangely translated as It's Time to Tongue), 1994. I found it in my local library, but since it has a number of very interesting articles about things I'd like to write about (and some insights about topics I've already discussed), I'd love to get my own copy. If anyone knows where I can find one - please let me know.

Kor has a chapter in the book (page 63) where he discusses the meaning of the word acharon, generally translated as "last". He quotes Hagai 2:9

גָּדוֹל יִהְיֶה כְּבוֹד הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה הָאַחֲרוֹן, מִן-הָרִאשׁוֹן

"The glory of the acharon house will be greater than that of the rishon house".

Hagai was trying to solace the people who saw the Second Temple being built, but remembered the First Temple and were disappointed. He was telling them that the Second Temple will be more glorious than the first.

Kor then mentions a polemic between Christians and the Rashba about the meaning of acharon. They claim it means "last" - and therefore there will be no Third Temple. Rav Yisrael Rozen also quotes the Rashba here (note that he says "Yishmaelim" instead of Christians):

The Rashba (Rabbi Shlomo Ben Aderet, from thirteenth century Spain) tells about a debate he had with "one of the wise men of the Yishmaelites" with respect to the future redemption of Bnei Yisrael (responsa, volume 4, 187). The style of the debate was typical of the controversies of the Middle Ages, with both sides liberally quoting from traditional sources.

"He replied to me from another angle, saying: The Torah states that there will be no Temple after the Second Temple (that is, the Temple will not be rebuilt), as is written, 'The glory of this last house (habayit ha'acharon) will be greater than that of the first' [Chagai 2:9]. See, the Second Temple is called the 'last house.' How could this be if another house will be built after it?

"I replied: It is called 'last' only in relation to the first (that is, it is later than the first one, but not last in an absolute sense). This is similar to, 'He put the maid-servants and their children first, and Leah and her children last (acharonim), and Rachel and Yosef last (acharonim)' [Bereishit 33:2]. Leah and her children are called last even though Rachel and Yosef came after them.

"He said: This is true when people talk... but when a prophet, who knows the truth, speaks, it is not so! I replied: No, it even appears in Divine words to a prophet. For example, the Almighty said to Moshe, 'If they do not believe the first sign, they will believe the last sign (acharon). And if they do not believe these two signs, take water from the Nile... And it will be transformed into blood on the ground' [Shemot 4:9-10]. As you see, the second sign was called acharon, even though the sign of the water (the blood) came after it."

There are those who add a note from this week's Torah portion: "The blood will be a sign for you on the houses" [Shmot 12:13]. This is a hint that the sign of the blood, which came after the "last" sign, is a proof relevant to the "houses" - that is, a Third Temple will be built, even though the Second one that preceded it was called "last."

Kor points out that the later "proof" is from the Shelah.

I should mention that the meaning "last" does appear in the Tanach as well - see Shmuel II 2:26, 19:12.

And as Kor points out in another chapter, acharon can also mean "behind", as in Yam HaAcharon ים האחרון - the Mediterranean Sea, which is behind you, when you face forward, to the east. Klein writes that this is the earliest meaning of the word, and connects derivates of the root אחר to a sense of "he was behind, he was late". From here we get meuchar מאוחר - "late", achar אחר - "after", as well as achrai אחראי - "responsible", where Klein writes that the word:

literally denotes a person who stands behind someone or something, for whom or for which he has accepted responsibility

So if you stand behind me (and please vote here), I can perhaps be acharon (next) and not acharon (last)...

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tuna

Yesterday we discussed how the word nun נון can mean "fish" in Semitic languages. Stahl writes that there are those that say that the word tanin תנין is related to the word nun. In the Tanach the tanin clearly refers to more than one type of animal, and not all experts agree in every case which one. Kaddari writes that the tanin is a snake (Shmot 7:9, together with Shmot 4:3), crocodile (Yechezkel 29:3 - here tanim תנים, this is the meaning in modern Hebrew), viper (Tehillim 91:13), leviathan (Yeshayahu 27:1). Of course the identity of the leviathan is also not clear, and from here we get the tanin translated as "giant fish" (Rashi on Bereshit 1:21), whale, and the general "sea monster". (For an interesting article on the significance of the mention of the creation of the tanin, go here.)

Klein does not connect tanin with the word nun, but rather with a root תנן , which has cognates in a number of Semitic languages - such as the Ugaritic tnn , meaning "dragon".

However, both Stahl and Klein mention a theory that the Greek word thynnos was borrowed from the Hebrew tanin. From the Greek came the Latin thunnus - and from here the English words tuna and tunny. (Tuna is actually much more recent than tunny, and entered American English via Spanish, and the Spanish was borrowed from Arabic, which took the word from Latin.)

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achmar

Until now, the colors we've discussed have been directly used to describe objects. So while we may not know exactly what color kachol or yarok is, we do know it's a color. But today we're going to talk about a color that never directly appears in Hebrew or even Aramaic, and yet still may be the origin of many common Hebrew words.

In Arabic, achmar (ahmar) means "red." This is the origin of the name of the red palace, the Alhambra, in Granada, Spain:

from Arabic (al kal'at) al hamra "the red (castle)," from fem. of ahmuru "red." So called for the sun-dried bricks of which its outer walls were built.

Klein derives a number of Hebrew words from a root חמר, meaning "to be red":

• chemar חמר - bitumen, asphalt. "So called in allusion to its reddish-brown color". This view is quoted by Ibn Ezra ("Long Commentary") on Shmot 2:3.
• chamor חמור - donkey. "These words probably mean lit. 'the red animal'...For sense development cp. Spanish burro (= donkey), from Late Latin burricus, buricus (= a small horse), from burrus (= red), from Greek purros (= flame-colored, yellowish-red.)"
• yachmor יחמור - roebuck. "Probably lit. meaning 'the red animal."
• chomer חומר - clay, mortar and later meaning material, matter. "So called in allusion to the color of clay."

Klein provides two more meanings (apparently unrelated, according to him), for the root חמר.
a) To foam up, boil, ferment. From here he derives:

• chamira חמירא - leaven. This Aramaic word is familiar from the declaration said when burning chametz before Pesach.
• chemer חמר - wine. Again an Aramaic word, used for example in the halachic concept "chamar medina" חמר מדינה - a drink used in some locations instead of wine.
• חמרמר - to be in a ferment.

b) To heap, burden, make heavy, be stringent. From this meaning we get:

• chamur חמור - strict, and chumra חומרה - stringency. Also chomer of "kal v'chomer" קל וחומר- a fortiori, or major to minor inference.
• chomer חומר- heap, name of a dry measure.

Kaddari quotes one scholar as saying that this meaning - burden - may be the origin of chamor (donkey), for it serves as a beast of burden. There are those that see Shoftim 15:16 as a play on words in this regard. Rosenthal (here, discussing the root חמר in general) claims that the name chamor may derive from the stubborn nature of the animal (although in his slang dictionary, he says that a chamor is a fool.)

However, there are opinions that connect all three of these meanings to the color red. For example, there are those that claim that fermentation, boiling is related to inflammation - which is related to red. Kaddari and Daat Mikra translate חמרמרו in Iyov 16:16 as "became red". And wine, while certainly fermented, is also red - as seen in Devarim 32:14 וְדַם-עֵנָב, תִּשְׁתֶּה-חָמֶר "They drank the blood (dam) of grapes for wine (chamer)." Radak on Yishayahu 27:2 also comments that "chemer means redness, for the importance of wine is its redness, and red in Arabic is ilchamer."

From all these meanings - wine, be in a ferment - the Academy of the Hebrew language came up with the term chamarmoret חמרמורת - for "hangover".

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machsan

A number of puns and plays on words are being passed around dealing with the current situation. One is a poster that says:

לא לעולם חסן

This is a play on words on Mishlei 27:24, which translates as "riches (khosen) are not forever" but the poster reads "Hassan (Nasrallah) is not forever".

Another slogan says: חסן לא חסין - "Hassan is not immune, protected".

Is there any connection between the various meanings of this root?

I would like to preface my answer by saying that there is a wide range of opinions and theories in regards to this root. I will try to present many of them, but I can't guarantee one unified theory.

In Biblical Hebrew, the root חסן appears in words with two basic meanings: a) something stored or protected, and therefore also riches, treasure and b) strong, strength.

In Aramaic, starting with the book of Daniel, and continuing to Talmudic Hebrew, we find a number of additional meanings. It can mean to take possession of, to inherit (or to bequeath), and that is the translation used often by Onkelos to translate the Hebrew נחלה nachala - inheritance. It can also mean "to strengthen one's self, to control one's emotions" and appears in the Targum for התאפק.

Steinberg connects all these meanings under a general sense of "to close, to stop, to hold tightly". From here he derives the meanings of "strong and strength", and "inheritance" has the sense of "closing in his possesion". And the meaning of storage - something closed away from others.

Klein, however, says that the meanings "to be strong" and "to store" have different etymologies. The first has cognates in Aramaic and Arabic, where as the second - "to store" - is connected to the Akkadian hasanu (= to comprehend, shelter) and is probably connected to אסן (stored, piled up).

Our Hebrew word machsan מחסן - storeroom - actually comes to us via Arabic, although of course derives from the same earlier root we've been discussing so far. The same Arabic word gave us the English word magazine:

"place where goods are stored, esp. military ammunition," from M.Fr. magasin "warehouse, depot, store," from It. magazzino, from Arabic makhazin, pl. of makhzan "storehouse," from khazana "to store up."

(This site also describes the etymology of "magazine", and connects the meanings of storage and strength.) According to Kutscher, the Hebrew word machsan not only derives from the Arabic, but actually was "inspired" by the European languages using the word "magazine".

Kutscher also provides an interesting cognate. We are all familiar with the word chazan חזן - meaning a cantor, a leader of prayer. However, the original meaning was an officer, a superintendent. Kutscher finds a number of examples in the Talmud where a chazan meant a guard - for example Bava Metzia 93b, where it mentions חזני מתא, which Rashi explains as "guards of the city". This would seem to be similar to the Arabic machzan. However, there is an opinion (Barth, Geiger) that machzan is actually of Persian origin, and Kutscher writes that if this is true, then the connection between chazan and machzan is just a coincidence. He continues by saying that the origin of chazan may be from חזה - he saw, making a chazan an overseer. But there are theories that contradict this as well. In the end, he writes that we simply don't know if there is a connection between חזן and חסן - and provides a Rashi (Makkot 22b), where Rashi admits he also doesn't know the origin: ולא שמעתי שום משמעות "I have not heard any explanation (for the word חזן)."

Returning to machsan, Stahl quotes the French linguist Guillaume (not sure who exactly) as saying that the root חסן meaning "store" is related to the ערי מסכנות - cities of storehouses - mentioned in Shmot 1:11, with some switching of letters.

What of the name Hasan (Hassan)? This is a very common Arabic name, and we also find the similar names Hosni and Hussein. All of these derive from the Arabic hasuna - "was beautiful" and husn - "beauty". I don't know if this Arabic root is related to any of the previously mentioned meanings of חסן.

There is one theory that the origin of the English word "assassin" comes from the name Hassan - the leader of a Muslim sect known as al-Hassan ibn-al-Sabbah. Another theory is that it derives from the word "hashish" - read more about that here and here.

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mosaic

I recently discussed how pesifas פסיפס - mosaic - isn't connected to the words payis or piyus. A commenter wanted to know more about the development of the word pesifas. I wrote that "Pesifas comes from the Greek psephos, meaning pebble. Interestingly, the word for the study of elections, psephology, comes from the same root, since they would count pebbles when voting."

However, what about the English word mosaic? Any connection to Moses?

Take Our Word For It gives the following explanation:

This word means, etymologically, "of the muses". It comes from Greek mouseion "of the muses". In medieval Latin it was changed to musaicus/mosaicus and passed via Italian mosaico and French mosaique into English as mosaic. The Indo-European root from which mosaic, muse, museum, and music derive is men- "to think". Different forms of the Indo-European root refer to different states of mind and kinds of thought (some other derivatives are mind, mental and amnesia). Mosaic is an entirely different word, etymologically and otherwise, from Mosaic with a capital M which means "of Moses".

The Word Detective gives a bit more background on the Muses:

The root of "mosaic" is the Medieval Latin "musaicum," meaning "work of the Muses," itself ultimately from the Latin "Musa," or "Muse." In Greek mythology, the Muses, as I'm sure we all recall, were the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory. The Muses were (and still are, at least metaphorically)regarded as the inspiration of all art and music.The logical connection between the Muses and mosaic artwork is a bit uncertain, but it may be that Medieval mosaics were so often dedicated to the muses that the form and the inspiration became inextricably associated. Or it may be that ancient temples dedicated to the Muses ("mouseion" in Greek, source of our modern "museum") were often decorated with mosaic murals.

So it would seem that there's no connection between Moses and mosaics.
However...
Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, in his commentary, The Living Torah, has this note about Moses's name:

Other ancient sources claim that Moses' name was preserved among the Gentiles as the legendary Musaeus, teacher of Orpheus, from whom the Muses obtained their name (Artapanus, in Eusebius, Preparatio Evangelica 9:27).

I'm not sure how likely that is, but I suppose it does leave some room for a possible connection...

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