Monday, February 23, 2026

agartal

The word אֲגַרְטָל agartal, meaning "vase" in Modern Hebrew, doesn’t look like a native Hebrew word. But it actually has a biblical origin. It appears in only one verse, in a list of vessels taken by Nebuchadnezzar from the Temple in Jerusalem and then returned by Cyrus:

וְאֵלֶּה מִסְפָּרָם אֲגַרְטְלֵי זָהָב שְׁלֹשִׁים אֲגַרְטְלֵי־כֶסֶף אָלֶף מַחֲלָפִים תִּשְׁעָה וְעֶשְׂרִים׃

"This is the inventory: 30 gold basins, 1,000 silver basins, 29 knives" (Ezra 1:9

The verse only has the plural construct אֲגַרְטְלֵי־, so the singular isn’t written there. Older sources sometimes vocalized it אֲגַרְטֵל (agartél), but Modern Hebrew uses אֲגַרְטָל (agartál).

Agartal certainly refers to a type of vessel or container, but exactly which one isn't clear. Translations suggest basin (as above), along with bowl, platter, and dish. The Septuagint translation into Greek renders agartal as ψυκτήρ (psyktḗr) - a wine cooler, or cooling vessel. Some rabbinic sources, such as Ibn Janach, suggest it was a handwashing vessel or jug.

The construct form also leads to some ambiguity. While generally the understanding is of containers made of gold and silver ("gold basins ... silver basins"), some conjecture that they were made for holding gold and silver, in which case they could be baskets or bags made of other materials.

That possibility aligns with one theory as to the etymology of agartal. Klein writes:

Of uncertain origin. Prob. related to Aram. קַרטַלָּא, Gk. kartallos (= basket).

Another suggestion for a Greek origin, found in this article, proposes that it comes from κρατήρ (kratḗr). The author argues this fits better with "gold basin", since a krater is a large mixing bowl, which would be made from valuable metals.

Other theories suggest a Persian origin, often framed as a type of bag or container, or a Hittite word which might have meant basket.

Outside Ezra, the word is rare, but it later became the Modern Hebrew word for the fancy word "vase."

Monday, February 16, 2026

casbah and katzav

A casbah is a citadel or a fortified quarter of an Arab city. Does it have a cognate in Hebrew?

Casbah (sometimes spelled kasbah) entered English from French, which got it from North African Arabic, where kasba meant "fortress." In Hebrew today it is spelled קַסְבָּה.

In Arabic, in addition to fort/citadel, kasba can also mean "reed, cane, pipe." There are two theories as to how the two meanings are connected. Some say that word originally referred to reeds (cane) used in building (for example as insulation), and from there became associated with the kind of buildings/fortified compounds where that material was used. Others say that both meanings descend from a common root, "to cut." Just like pipes are cut when preparing them, a citadel or walled district is "cut off" from the area that surrounds it.

The meaning "to cut" is where we find the cognate in Hebrew - קצב katzav. It can either mean literally "to cut" (as in Melachim II 6:6) or more associatively, "to set aside a fixed amount." 

The root קצב only appears a handful of times as a noun or verb in Biblical Hebrew. But its use expands beginning in Rabbinic Hebrew, and then continuing into Modern Hebrew. 

Maintaining the original physical sense of cutting, is the word katzav קַצָּב meaning "butcher." But the associative sense gives more meanings.

Money / amounts / bureaucracy:

  • הִקְצִיב hiktziv - “allocated”
  • תַּקְצִיב takziv - “budget”
  • קִצְבָּה kitzba - “allowance / pension”
Measuring time:
  • קֶצֶב ketzev - "pace / rate / tempo / rhythm" (in music and in life)
Additional sources used:

Monday, February 09, 2026

20th anniversary of Balashon!

Today is Balashon’s 20th anniversary. I didn’t want to write a typical post about a single word or root, so I’m doing something different: an interview-style Q&A. I’ll ask myself the kinds of questions readers might be curious about - how the blog started, who it was for, what kept it going, what the numbers look like - and answer them as honestly as I can. It’s part nostalgia, part curiosity, and part excuse to share a few surprising stats.

Hard to believe this is real—Balashon is twenty?

Yes. I started Balashon on February 10, 2006. I’m marking the anniversary with something a little different: a quick interview, a little history, and a few stats.

What made you start Balashon in the first place?

I’d been interested in etymology since I was a little kid. And a couple of years before Balashon, I started blogging on a personal blog, just because blogging was what people did then.

The moment those two interests really collided was when I bought a Hebrew slang dictionary shortly before starting Balashon. I remember flipping through it and thinking: this is great. Israeli slang has all these stories and origins, and most people don't know where the phrases come from. Blogging was popular, the barrier to entry was low, and I thought: why don’t I just start?

When you started, who did you think you were writing for?

Honestly, I didn’t know. I assumed there were people out there who would be interested, but I didn’t have a specific audience in mind. It felt like a topic that wasn’t really being covered in the way I wanted to see it covered, so I wrote it partly for myself and partly to fill that gap for whoever might show up.

What did you think the blog would be, and what did it become?

I don’t know if I had a grand plan. In the beginning it was mostly about my own enjoyment: sharing discoveries, making connections, putting sources together, and writing it up for people who shared that interest. Over time it turned into something more stable than I expected - something I still identify with, even as my posting rhythm has changed.

If someone asks you, “What is Balashon?” what do you say?

I usually say it’s a blog about the origin of Hebrew words and phrases: how they relate to each other, how they connect to words in other languages, and how borrowing happens in both directions: Hebrew borrowing from other languages, and other languages borrowing from Hebrew.

And because I write in English, I often end up focusing on connections to English in particular. More broadly, it’s a way of talking about how Hebrew developed from biblical times until today.

What kinds of questions pull you in so much that you can’t let them go?

The ones where I feel like something hasn’t quite been put together yet, but it can be. I’ll find one person saying one thing and someone else saying something else, and it feels like the real story is the connection between them - the piece that nobody bothered to assemble into a complete explanation. When I can make that full connection, those are the posts I most enjoy writing, and most want to share.

When did it hit you that people were actually reading?

When people started coming up to me and asking me questions about Hebrew.

That’s happened for years now: someone will say, “I have a Hebrew etymology question for you,” or “I have a language question.” That was surprising at first. It’s one thing to write something into the ether; it’s another when it becomes part of how people think of you.

Okay, give me the numbers.

A few basic ones:

As of now, Balashon has 713 posts.

Traffic stats are a little split because the tracking changed over the years. In the earlier period I was using Sitemeter, and by that stage the blog already had a few hundred thousand pageviews. Later I relied on Blogger’s built-in stats; those numbers start around 2011, and from then to now Balashon has had 7.41 million pageviews.

That “7.41 million” is still hard for me to picture.

Do you still watch your stats the way people used to in the early blogging era?

Not really. In the early days I checked almost every day—partly curiosity, partly that blogging-era habit. I don’t do that now. But seeing the long arc is still amazing, especially because a lot of blogs that started back then simply stopped. The fact that Balashon is still around, and still attracting readers, feels meaningful.

What posts do people keep finding?

Blogger’s “most popular posts” list (from 2011 onward) is a funny window into what people are looking for. The top post is “ish and isha,” and the rest of the top ten is a mix of topics that people keep stumbling on:

ish and isha
avuka and ptil
rubia and lubia
gmar
arnona
pri
blo
Khartoum and hartumim
eshkolit
lion

I like that it isn’t my "greatest hits." It’s more like a record of what people needed explained when they landed on the site.

Does it make sense to you that “ish and isha” is number one?

It does, and it doesn’t. It’s the kind of question people assume has an obvious answer: ish and isha must be related. And the twist is that they aren’t related in the way people think. That counterintuitive element is part of what makes it sticky.

I don’t know exactly what brings people there. Maybe they heard somewhere that they’re not related, and they come looking for the explanation. But I hope they leave with a clearer sense of what the relationship is, and what it isn’t.

Where are readers coming from?

This one still surprises me. Here are the top countries since 2011:

United States — 3.26M
China — 449K
France — 231K
Israel — 193K
Germany — 186K
United Kingdom — 186K
Hong Kong — 150K
Brazil — 143K
Canada — 118K
Other — 2.5M

I don’t have a confident theory for every line in that list. My best guess is that some people are looking for words that appear in multiple languages, or words that mean something in their language and are surprised to find it on a blog about Hebrew. I hope they end up finding something that keeps them reading.

How has the writing process changed over twenty years?

Two big shifts.

First, sources: I have a large library of dictionaries and books, and I still use it, but the amount that’s available online now is enormous. There were times I used to have to go to the library regularly to chase something down. That’s much rarer now.

Second, rhythm: in the beginning I posted constantly. Sometimes almost every day. Over time life got fuller, and the blog moved in and out of intense periods. I remember taking a break around my son’s bar mitzvah. I took breaks while working on my Kohelet book. I’ve also been writing in other venues, which changes the balance.

I’d like to get back to writing on Balashon more regularly, and part of the reason I’m doing this anniversary post is that I’m hoping it nudges me back into that rhythm.

What do you get out of doing this that you wouldn’t get if you just kept private notes?

Sharing, collaboration, and something like participation in the public record.

Early on, a lot of my posts were: I found this in a book, here’s what it says. Over time I started developing my own ideas more - still grounded in sources, but also trying to assemble an argument or a history that wasn’t already laid out cleanly. And there’s something powerful about the idea that someone can search for something - first via Google, now increasingly via AI - and the answer they find may trace back to something I contributed, even if they never knew it was me.

That’s fascinating to me.

So what’s next?

I do hope to return to more regular posting. Every time I find a source (book, journal, website) that might provide interesting information for a post, I add it to my "sources" doc. That doc has over 2300 entries, and even though I've written about some of them, I have many many more to go.

I also have a dream of writing a book connected to Balashon: something with a particular angle that I don’t think has really been done before. I’m not ready to say more yet, but I’m hoping that within the next year or two I’ll be able to share what that looks like.

If someone discovers Balashon today, what do you hope they come away with?

That Hebrew is a fascinating language with a long, continuous history: an evolving, living language.

I hope readers don’t leave thinking Hebrew is purely ancient, frozen in time. And I also hope they don’t leave thinking modern Hebrew is purely new and disconnected. What’s interesting is the continuity: how the language changes, how it adapts, and how it still stays connected across biblical, rabbinic, medieval, and modern layers.

Where should people go if they want more than Balashon?

My homepage has links to other things I’ve written and published, and to the other places I post: https://davidcurwin.com

And to everyone who has read, shared, emailed questions, or simply wandered in from a search result and stuck around: thank you.

Monday, February 02, 2026

email subscriptions are back

If you’ve been wondering about Balashon email updates, here’s the good news: they’re working again.

I wrote up the background and why this has been complicated here:
https://www.balashon.com/2025/11/email-updates.html

To subscribe now, you can use the subscription box in the sidebar (it uses the same link), or subscribe directly here:

https://blogtrottr.com/?subscribe=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.balashon.com%2Fatom.xml

You’ll enter your email address, choose whether you want each post as it’s published or a digest, and then confirm via email.

I wanted to get email subscriptions working again so that anyone who prefers reading Balashon by email can do that, and now that it’s set up, I hope to start posting again soon.


Sunday, November 02, 2025

email updates?

For many years, I provided the ability to subscribe to Balashon posts via Google FeedBurner. That feature shut down in 2021. I've since switched a few times - including MailerLite and Mailchimp, and most recently "follow.it". All of them have now removed the option for free email subscriptions, and I have not yet found a replacement.

So first of all, you should know that I am aware that there are no email updates. I'm still not back to writing regular posts, but I do hope to soon(ish) and when I do I'd like to make sure that everyone who wants to can read them by email.

Therefore, if anyone is aware of a platform that provides free email updates for blogs (with at least a mention of the post title and link to the latest post - even better more of the post or all of it), please let me know.  Alternatively, if anyone would like to sponsor a paid email subscription service, I would certainly be grateful. Thanks!

Monday, August 18, 2025

where I've been writing lately

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here on Balashon. But I haven’t stopped writing about Hebrew and language. For some time now, I’ve been publishing a weekly column in HaMizrachi Weekly, where I explore language issues connected to the weekly Torah reading.

You can read the archives and subscribe here:
👉 HaMizrachi Weekly

In addition, I’m working on a new book - more details coming soon!

So while I do hope to continue posting here on Balashon, for regular language insights you can follow my weekly pieces in HaMizrachi.

Wednesday, April 02, 2025

ghibli and kibel

The latest viral internet trend is creating AI-generated images in the style of Studio Ghibli. You've very likely seen them by now—or maybe even created some yourself. 

They look something like this:



But did you know there's a connection between Ghibli and a very common Hebrew root?

As noted, the images are inspired by the style of Studio Ghibli, a Japanese animation (anime) studio. The Wikipedia entry gives this explanation for the origin of the studio’s name:

The name "Ghibli" was chosen by Miyazaki from the Italian noun ghibli (also used in English), the nickname of Italy's Saharan scouting plane Caproni Ca.309, in turn derived from the Italianization of the Libyan Arabic name for a hot desert wind (قبلي qibliyy). The name was chosen by Miyazaki due to his passion for aircraft and also for the idea that the studio would "blow a new wind through the anime industry.".Although the Italian word would be more accurately transliterated as "Giburi" (ギブリ), with a hard g sound, the studio's name is written in Japanese as Jiburi.

And where does the name of the wind come from? The Wiktionary entry for ghibli defines it as: "sirocco (a hot, dust-carrying desert wind in North Africa, somewhat similar to the foehn)." The sirocco is a similar type of wind to the hamsin familiar in Israel.

The same entry also provides this etymology:

From Italian ghibli, from the Libyan Arabic form of Standard Arabic قِبْلِيّ (qibliyy, “coming from the qibla”)

And what is the qibla? It is the direction Muslims face when praying toward Mecca, literally meaning "direction." For those in Libya, the qibla would be east, toward Saudi Arabia. The Wiktionary entry notes that the etymology comes from Arabic قِبْلَة (qibla, “that which is opposite”).

And this meaning, "opposite", brings us to the Hebrew root קבל kibel, which as I've written about here previously, also originally meant "opposite":

The root קבל in earlier biblical texts did not mean "receive", but rather "to be opposite", or "before, in front of". From the sense of "opposite" comes the meaning of makbil מקביל - "parallel" or "corresponding", as found in the description of the loops of the tabernacle (Shemot 26:5). As with the previous verb, קבל was also influenced by Aramaic, and so in the later books of the Tanach, came to mean "receive", since a person receiving stands opposite the person giving.

So while it's quite a journey from Japan to the Middle East, we've once again found a connection between a popular modern word and an ancient biblical cognate.


Wednesday, December 11, 2024

leitzan and mukion

Let's look at two Hebrew words for clown - לֵיצָן leitzan and מוּקְיוֹן mukion

Leitzan is the more common of the two, so we'll start by examining it. It first appears in Rabbinic Hebrew, meaning "scorner, scoffer, mocker, jester." It is parallel to the biblical לֵץ letz, which is both a verb "to scorn, scoff" and also a substantive noun meaning "scorner, scoffer." 

The word letz appears in the opening verse of the book of Tehillim:

אַשְׁרֵי הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר  לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב׃

"Happy is the man who has not followed the counsel of the wicked, or taken the path of sinners, or sat in the session of scoffers." (Tehillim 1:1)

In a Talmudic commentary on this verse, we can see the transformation from letz to leitzan:

ובמושב לצים לא ישב שלא ישב במושב אנשי פלשתים מפני שלצנים היו

"Nor sat in the seat of the scornful (Psalms 1:1) - this means that Abraham did not sit in the seat of the Philistines, because they were scorners who engaged in jest and buffoonery." (Avoda Zara 19a)

The word letz, in turn, derives from the root ליץ, which also provides the verb hitlotzetz הִתְלוֹצֵץ. That verb originally meant "to act as a scoffer" (as in Yeshaya 28:22), but today means "to joke, to jest."

There is another meaning of ליץ - "to translate, intercede." Klein lists this root as distinct from the one we mentioned earlier. However, the Academy of the Hebrew Language suggests that both roots (ליץ or perhaps לוץ) derive from an earlier meaning "to speak." One sense would have diverged to mocking speech, and the other to translating or interceding speech, like the melitz מֵּלִיץ (interpreter) mentioned in Bereshit 42:23. In the way an ambassador might serve as both a translator and an advocate, the sense of "intercessor" also developed (for example, Iyov 33:23). From here came the verb הִמְלִיץ himlitz - "to recommend".

Let's return to the sense of leitzan as "scoffer, scorner." This negative connotation is clear in another Talmudic passage in Avoda Zara. Again, the Talmud cites Tehillim 1:1, this time to criticize the Roman stadium culture:

ההולך לאיצטדינין ולכרקום וראה שם את הנחשים ואת החברין בוקיון ומוקיון ומוליון ולוליון בלורין סלגורין הרי זה מושב לצים ועליהם הכתוב אומר (תהלים א, א) אשרי האיש אשר לא הלך

With regard to one who goes to stadiums where people are killed in contests with gladiators or beasts, or to a camp of besiegers where different forms of entertainment are provided for the besieging army, and he sees there the acts of the diviners and those who cast spells, or the acts of the clowns known as bukiyon, or mukiyon, or muliyon, or luliyon, or belurin, or salgurin, this is categorized as “the seat of the scornful”; and with regard to such places the verse states: “Happy is the man that has not walked in the council of the wicked, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat in the seat of the scornful.(Avoda Zara 18b)

The Talmud says that one who watches the acts of those various clowns is like one who sits in the seat of the scornful - the letzim. Rashi, in his commentary on the passage, refers to these clowns as leitzanim:

בוקיון מוקיון לוליון סלגריון - כולן מיני ליצנים הן:

Elon Gilad, in this article, notes that neither the Talmudic passage nor Rashi were attempting to present these clowns in a positive light. They were derided negatively, as scoffers. But he suggests that the linkage between leitzan and "clown" (as opposed to simply "scoffer") was due to the immense influence Rashi had. In later medieval culture clowns took on a more positive, entertaining role, and when 19th century writers of early modern Hebrew were looking for a word for clown, leitzan fit the bill.

The Talmudic passage mentioned six types of clowns, but only one of them still is in use today - albeit much smaller than leitzan - the mukion. (The clown term luliyan לוּלְיָן was later adopted for the word "acrobat.") The term mukion, like the previous term bukion, likely refer to the characters Maccus and Buccus, found in the Roman plays known as the Atellan Farce. Maccus and Buccus were both clowns, Maccus being the most popular of the stock characters in those plays. The etymology of Maccus isn't fully clear, but some suggest that it might be related distantly to the English word "mock."

Today mukion is rarely used, but when it is, it will refer to a professional or artistic role of an actual performing clown, while a leitzan can also refer to anyone who is joking around or acting foolishly. 

One more Hebrew word should be mentioned in this discussion. In Tehillim 73:8, we find the root מיק (or מוק) in its only appearance in the Tanakh:

יָמִיקוּ וִידַבְּרוּ בְרָע עֹשֶׁק מִמָּרוֹם יְדַבֵּרוּ׃

"They scoff and plan evil; from their eminence they plan wrongdoing."

As with any word that only appears once in Biblical Hebrew, it's not easy to pin down its meaning. But most translations say it means "to scoff" or "to deride." Linguists suggest that it comes from Aramaic influence, where the cognate root has a similar meaning. In fact, the Aramaic Targum to Tehillim 1:1 translates letzim as מְמִקְנֵי memiknei, from that same root. So too does the Targum translate the verb ליץ in Mishlei 9:12 as מֵמִיק memik.

While the Hebrew root לוץ certainly has a parallel in the Aramaic מוק, there doesn't seem to be strong evidence that מוק is the root of mukion (and certainly not Maccus). It's likely just a coincidence, but one that may have strengthened the impression at the time that the mukion clown was also a scoffer.
 

Monday, November 25, 2024

inbal

A reader asked about an Israeli grape juice called Inbalim ענבלים. I presume this is the brand:


He asked why the juice had that name. 

I don't have an actual answer to that question. It's a label from the Arza Winery, and I don't see any official explanation online for that choice. But I can speculate, and I can certainly give more background to the word עִנְבָּל inbal.

The word inbal has two meanings. Either the clapper of a bell (the swinging metal piece that hits the bell and makes the sound) or the uvula (the little dangling ball in the back of the throat). As you can probably imagine, the two are related, since they both are small hanging spheres.

An early appearance of the word inbal is in the Mishna, Nazir 6:2. The mishna is discussing what kind of grape components are forbidden to the nazirite. The biblical verse (Bamidbar 6:4) uses two terms - חַרְצַנִּים chartzanim and זָג zag. By the time of the mishna, it was unclear what each of those words meant - the inner or outer parts of the grape?. One opinion is given by Rabbi Yosei:

כְּזוֹג שֶׁל בְּהֵמָה, הַחִיצוֹן זוֹג וְהַפְּנִימִי עִנְבָּל:

It is like a bell [zog] worn by an animal, in which the outer part, which corresponds to the skin of a grape, is called zog, and the inner portion of the bell, the clapper, which corresponds to the seeds in a grape, is called inbal.

Rabbi Yosei is stating the zag is like zog - a bell, and therefore the chartzanim, the seeds, are like the inner portion of the bell, the clapper.

So this association between grapes and inbal might have given inspiration to the brand of grape juice. 

More such connections can be found in the etymology of inbal. In Ben-Yehuda's dictionary, there are two suggestions.

In the first, he quotes Musaphia who says it derives from the Greek word ἒμβολον. Klein accepts this suggestion:

עִנְבָּל m.n. PBH clapper of a bell. [From Gk. embolon (= lit.: ‘something thrown in’), from emballein (= to throw in), from en (= in) and ballein (= to throw)
The Greek ballein is the origin of a number of English words, including ballistics and metabolism. Interestingly, it's related to the word "ball", as in "dancing party", but not the round object "ball", which derives from a different Indo-European root (the etymologies of both appear here).

However, Ben-Yehuda rejects this etymology, favoring one with a Hebrew origin. He says it's more likely to come from עֵנָב einav - "grape," with the letter ל lamed added at the end. Other such words with a similar suffix may include barzel ברזל and karmel כרמל.

Possible support for this approach could be found in the etymology of the word "uvula," which, as we've seen, is a meaning of inbal:

late 14c., from Late Latin uvula, from Latin uvola "small bunch of grapes," diminutive of uva "grape," from PIE root *og- "fruit, berry." So called from fancied resemblance of the organ to small grapes.

So perhaps the inbal was also seen to look like a small grape, and from there got its name in Hebrew as well.

However, this etymology is questioned by the Academy of the Hebrew Language, who note that in some Talmudic text, inbal is spelled with an alef instead of an ayin, which would make the Greek etymology more likely. They also note that Inbal has become a popular first name in Israel, perhaps because of the similarity to the European name Annabelle (and that it should not be confused with the similar sounding name Inbar.)

After all this, I think it's less likely that the Arza Winery was concerned about the etymology or even ancient use of inbal, and more interested in a nice sounding name that at least includes the Hebrew word for grapes. But if I ever find out, I'll be sure to let you all know.

Sunday, September 01, 2024

Elul

The Hebrew month of Elul אֱלוּל begins this week, so let's look at its etymology. As with the other names of the months in the current Hebrew calendar, it was adopted in Babylonia, and therefore has Akkadian origin. Klein writes that it derives from an Akkadian word reflecting its function as the beginning of the harvest period:

Akka. ulūlu, elūlu (= harvest, harvest time; lit.: ‘the time when the produce of the land is brought in’). Related to Aram. עֲלַל (= he brought in), Aram.-Syr. אֲלַלְתָּא (= that which is brought in, produce, harvest), Heb. עֹל (= yoke), Akka. allu, ullu (= yoke, chain), Arab. ahalla (= he put in, thrust in), ghall (= iron ring round a prisoner’s neck at which his hands are tied.

This etymology connects Elul to the root עלל, which is also the origin of ol עֹל - "yoke." However, עלל provides two roots, which Klein (and others) claim as unrelated.

We've been discussing the second meaning (according to Klein) of עלל, which he defines as "to insert, thrust in." This meaning is actually unused in Biblical Hebrew, but it does appear in the Aramaic sections of the book of Daniel. (Kaddari also suggests that the appearance in Iyov 16:15 has the same meaning, and was influenced by Aramaic.)

The other (first) meaning of עלל does appear in Biblical Hebrew. Klein defines it as "to act, do, work" and notes that it is related to the Arabic ‘alla, meaning "to do something a second time." While at times עלל can have the neutral meaning of "to act," in some instances it can mean to act severely or harmfully. 

Here are some of the words deriving from this meaning of עלל:

  • עָלוּל alul - "liable, likely, capable (of doing an action)." In 1944, the linguist Yitzchak Avinery (Yad HaLashon, p. 450) lamented that people are using alul in a positive sense, and not just the negative sense it should have. He wrote that the positive equivalent is asui עָשׂוּי. According to Morfix, today alul still has a negative connotation, and is used when something bad is likely to happen. But perhaps it's used more broadly, even in positive scenarios, because asui has another meaning - "made of."
  • עֲלִילָה alila - This word has two meanings, the more neutral "act, deed" (now also "plot, story") and the more negative "false accusation, libel."
  • עִלָּה ila - "cause, reason." 
  • הִתְעַלֵּל hitalel - "to act cruelly, to abuse."
Klein also adds olela עוֹלֵלָה - "gleaning (of grapes or olives)" but doesn't explain the connection. BDB, however, does provide an explanation, connecting it back to the Arabic root that Klein cited. They define gleaning as "going over a second time."

The similar word עוֹלָל olal, meaning "infant," does not derive from עלל, but rather from the root עול - "to suck, nurse."

I should note that Gesenius connects all of the terms we discussed. The nursing baby "drinks again", and the "thrusts" we saw in the second meaning of עלל (the one connected with Elul), are a "second blow." However, since the scholarship of Gesenius is older than the other sources I looked at, I don't know if it's still considered accurate.

Sunday, August 25, 2024

kartis

Rabbi David Bashevkin (of the enjoyable 18Forty podcast) recently posted on his Substack an essay entitled "The Revival of Hebrew." It's an interesting review of the history of the renewal of Hebrew and the religious response. I won't cover all of my thoughts about it here (you can read on Twitter/X some of my initial thoughts), but it mentioned a particular word that I'd like to explore here.

Bashevkin wrote:

Growing up in New York, high school students must take the Regents, a state-wide exam. Nearly all Jewish high school students take the Hebrew regents as their language requirement. I did not go to an elementary school that spoke Ivrit B’Ivrit (classes using instructional Hebrew), so I was pretty terrified for my 9th-grade Hebrew Regent. I still managed to get a 99 on the exam—hold your applause—I got stuck on one word during the oral conversational part of the exam. In conversation with our Hebrew teacher, Rabbi Dr. Joseph Ozarowski, I was supposed to ask him for a replacement train ticket. Except I forgot the Hebrew word for “ticket.” Hence a 99 instead of 100. I will never forget my כרטיס again.

Then later in the post, he found support in a quote from Theodore Herzl's Der Judenstaat (The Jewish State):

“We cannot converse with one another in Hebrew,” Herzl said, “Who amongst us has a sufficient acquaintance with Hebrew to ask for a railway ticket in that language?” As someone who personally got a point off on his Hebrew Regent for exactly that word—a train ticket—I find great comfort in Herzl’s skepticism. “Such a thing cannot be done,” Herzl concluded—instead he advocated for German to be the language of the Land of Israel.

So to help him (and any of you) not forget the Hebrew word for "train ticket", let's take a look at its history.

The word for train ticket is כַּרְטִיס kartis, and in Modern Hebrew it can mean "ticket" or "card" (as in credit card, greeting card, membership card, etc.) It first appears in Talmudic Aramaic meaning "document" and sometimes has the variant spelling קַרְטֵיס. In that last entry, Jastrow notes that it can also mean "paper." That meaning reflects its etymology, as Klein writes:

כַּרְטִיס m.n. PBH card, ticket. [Aram. כַּרְטִיסָא (= document), a loan word from Gk. chartes (= a leaf of the Egyptian papyrus, papyrus, paper), which is of foreign, possibly Egypt., origin.]

The word kartis remained obscure until the dawn of Modern Hebrew, when it was reintroduced for "ticket" (presumably due to the similarity to words in European languages like the German Karte and the Russian kartochka of similar meanings.)

Its Greek origin chartes is also the source of many words in English. For example, Here's the Online Etymology Dictionary's entry for card:
early 15c., "a playing card," from Old French carte (14c.), from Medieval Latin carta/charta "a card, paper; a writing, a charter," from Latin charta "leaf of paper, a writing, tablet," from Greek khartēs "layer of papyrus," which is probably from Egyptian.
Other words with the same origin include: chart, charter, cartel, cartography, carton, cartoon and cartridge.

The Egyptian origin mentioned by Klein and Etymonline is not universally accepted. Professor Gary A. Rendsburg, in his essay "The Etymology of χάρτης 'Papyrus Roll'" rejects the theory, since no convincing Egyptian etymon (the word from which the later word is derived) has been found. He then writes:
If, after generations in pursuit of an Egyptian etymon for the key Greek word χάρτης 'papyrus roll', none has been identified, perhaps it is time to set our eyes on a different horizon for the source of this lexeme [...] If Egyptian does not serve as a source [...] then our eyes should be set to the other great source of cultural influence on ancient Hellas, namely, the Semitic world in general and the Phoenician sphere in particular.

He then goes on to note mention of a Phoenician word, חרטית ḥrṭyt, which was generally assumed to mean "sculptures," but he suggests could mean "writings" or "scrolls." Based on this, and other evidence, Rendsburg proposes that khartēs could be therefore cognate with the Hebrew חרט, which as we've discussed here, meant "to chisel, engrave" and had associations with writing. He goes on to explore the further development of kartis in Aramaic and other languages. It's a really interesting investigation - I recommend reading it in full.

One Hebrew word related to kartis that Rendsburg did not cover was luckily reviewed by Elon Gilad. (By the way, I highly recommend his YouTube / Instagram videos - short clips discussing the history of Hebrew words in English.)  Gilad discusses (in English and in Hebrew) the word khaltura חַלְטוּרָה - "side job, gig, part-time work."

After noting how the Greek chartes meant "page," he continues:

We move onto the Middle Ages, when the word chartularium, a diminutive meaning little page, came about. This medieval Latin word was used in churches for the list of people (usually donors and their family members) for whom prayers needed to be said every day, to facilitate their acceptance to heaven.

Somehow chartularium made its way into the Russian Orthodox Church in the corrupted form khaltura - and with a new meaning: the prayer that a priest says at a funeral.

Priests got paid extra for these private appearances at the homes of the deceased. But after the Communist Revolution in 1917, which discouraged the practice of religion, Russian theater folk commandeered the word for "moonlighting" - performances done outside the theater companies they worked for.

From this sense of "moonlighting" came the Hebrew meaning of "side gig." 

I hope Bashevkin can now remember chaltura as well!

Wednesday, August 14, 2024

zonda

The Hebrew word for "feeding tube" (or more technically a nasogastric or orogastric tube) is זוֹנְדָּה zonda. This is clearly not a natively Hebrew word. In fact, the Academy of the Hebrew Language coined machder מַחְדֵּר (from the root חדר - "to penetrate, enter") as a good Hebrew alternative. However, I've never heard it used, whereas zonda is common. So where does zonda come from?

This site suggests it comes from the German Sonde (when pronounced, it sounds very similar to the Hebrew zonda). Sonde in German means "probe" or "tube," and can mean specifically "feeding tube." The German in turn derives from the French sonde, with the same meanings as the German, but also used to describe a tool to determine the depth of water.

English has the cognate word "sound". The most common meanings of "noise" and "in good condition" are not related to sonde. (The latter usage, originally meaning "healthy", finds a related root in the German gesundheit meaning "Health!".) But there are two other uses of sound that are cognate with sonde. The Online Etymology Dictionary first presents a meaning of "sound" as verb that relates to the French noun we saw above:

sound (v.2)

"fathom, probe, measure the depth of water" with or as if with a sounding line and lead, mid-14c. (implied in sounding), from Old French sonder, from sonde "sounding line," perhaps from the same Germanic source that yielded Old English sund "water, sea."

This last suggestion appears in the etymology for another meaning of "sound," this time a noun:

sound (n.2)

"narrow channel of water," c. 1300, sounde, from Old Norse sund "a strait, swimming," or from cognate Old English sund "act of swimming; stretch of water one can swim across, a strait of the sea," both from Proto-Germanic *sundam-, from a suffixed form of Germanic *swem- "to move, stir, swim."


The sound I'm most familiar with is Puget Sound in Washington State. There are many others you might recognize.

Thursday, August 08, 2024

chayil and chayal

Devarim 8:17-18 includes a well-known passage where the people are warned against attributing their successes to their own talents, instead of attributing them to God:

וְאָמַרְתָּ בִּלְבָבֶךָ כֹּחִי וְעֹצֶם יָדִי עָשָׂה לִי אֶת־הַחַיִל הַזֶּה. וְזָכַרְתָּ אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ כִּי הוּא הַנֹּתֵן לְךָ כֹּחַ לַעֲשׂוֹת חָיִל...

A repeated word in these verses is chayil חָיִל. Since the word for "soldier" in Hebrew is the similar chayal חַיָּל, I assumed that the Torah here was talking about military success. And yet, the translations consistently offer a very different meaning. Here is a typical translation:

And should you say to yourselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” Remember that it is the LORD your God who gives you the power to get wealth...

Chayil here is translated as "wealth." What is the connection between "wealth" and "soldier"?

To answer this, let's look at the various meanings of chayil in Biblical Hebrew. It appears frequently, with over 200 occurrences in the Tanakh. Kaddari breaks down the various appearances into these meanings:

  1. Physical strength (e.g., Tehilim 76:6)
  2. Spiritual strengths, such as bravery, virtue, quickness, aptitude (e.g., Mishlei 31:10, the famous Eshet Chayil, "woman of valor")
  3. Military power, army (e.g., Shemot 14:28)
  4. Wealth (e.g., Tehilim 49:7)
Even-Shoshan, in his Concordance, has a somewhat different division: 

  1. Strength, bravery (either physical or spiritual)
  2. Military
  3. Success, wealth
(For an interesting comparison of those usages, see the various medieval commentaries on Shemot 18:21, who give different interpretations to the use of chayil in that verse.)

When we have such a variety of meanings, it's natural to try to find a common thread between them, and if possible, a shared origin. And linguistic sources do make those efforts. However, what I've found so far, I haven't found very convincing.

For example, here's Klein's entry:

חַֽיִל m.n. 1 strength, power. 2 wealth. 3 army, host, force. [Related to BAram. חַיִל, Aram. חֵילָא, Syr. חַיְלָא (= strength, army), Arab. ḥaul, ḥayl (= strength, force), Akka. ellatu (= army), Ethiop. ḫayl (= strength, army).]
I don't see an obvious connection between strength/power and wealth, other than a general sense of power including control over resources like wealth. BDB has a similarly vague entry, defining chayil as "strength, efficiency, wealth, army", and deriving from the roots חיל/חול meaning "be firm, strong." While it is possible that there's a general association between strength and wealth (as well as military might), from my experience, words like this typically move from a more specific meaning to the more abstract ones, and so this doesn't quite sit right with me. Ben Yehuda, at least, admits that the origin of the root is unclear.

I, however, propose (cautiously) another theory. To get there, we need to return to Ben-Yehuda.

I mentioned earlier that the word chayal means "soldier." Unlike chayil, this is not an ancient word, but rather was devised by Ben-Yehuda. As Klein notes: 

coined by Eliezer ben Yehudah (1858–1922), from חַיִּל (= strength, army), on the analogy of Arab. ḫayyāl (= horseman, rider) from ḫayl (= horses).
The linguist Reuven Sivan (pp. 194-195 here) includes this coinage as part of Ben Yehuda's move from clumsier multiple-word phrases (common in Hebrew from the period of the Haskalah) for a term to single words. Prior to Ben Yehuda, a soldier may have been  referred to as an איש צבא, איש חיל, איש מלחמה, etc. Ben Yehuda took an Arabic word (ḫayyāl), related to a Hebrew word which sometimes has military associations (hayil) and created the catchy chayal, which was quickly adopted.

But notice that Arabic word, ḫayl (or chail), meaning horses. There are cases in Biblical Hebrew where chayil is associated with horses as well, such as Tehillim 33:17, where horses are presented in parallel to chayil:


שֶׁקֶר הַסּוּס לִתְשׁוּעָה וּבְרֹב חֵילוֹ לֹא יְמַלֵּט׃

"The horse is a false [hope] for deliverance, neither does its great strength provide escape."

I would like to suggest that perhaps the earliest meaning of the root חיל is "horse." Later, it developed into the more abstract senses we've seen before.

Chayil meaning strength could certainly have come from horses. In English, we have the term "horsepower," which came about much later, but the association between horse and power is a very old one.

The military association is also not surprising, as the most powerful militaries of the ancient world were supported by cavalry on horseback.

But what about wealth (the original cause of my investigation)? Well, we've seen in the past here several words that associate horses (or cattle) with property:

  • rekhesh  רֶֽכֶשׁ meaning "team of horses" (Esther 8:10) and רְכוּשׁ meaning "property"
  • mikneh  מִקְנֶה - "cattle" and the verb קנה - "to purchase"
  • nekhes  נֶכֶס - "wealth, assets" related to the Aramaic root נכס meaning "to slaughter" and so nekhes was originally "cattle (to be killed)
  • segula  סְגֻלָּה meant both "herd of cattle" and "property, treasure"
So perhaps chayil can be added to this list as well, as another word where horses (and cattle) became associated with the more abstract concepts of property and wealth. There is even support from the very passage I quoted in the beginning. A few verses before the warning of claiming credit for the acquired wealth, the Torah describes the source of that wealth:

וּבְקָרְךָ וְצֹאנְךָ יִרְבְּיֻן וְכֶסֶף וְזָהָב יִרְבֶּה־לָּךְ וְכֹל אֲשֶׁר־לְךָ יִרְבֶּה׃

"And your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold have increased, and everything you own has prospered" (Devarim 8:13)

While gold and silver certainly contribute to wealth, by placing the herds of cattle at the very top of the list, we can see the ancient association between the two concepts.
 

Monday, July 22, 2024

emunah, amen, emet, and umanut

Someone recently asked me if I had written about the root אמן. I thought for sure I had already, but it turned out I only mentioned it very briefly as a sidenote in this post:

Jastrow and Steinberg connect ימין yamin to the root אמן, meaning "firm, steady".

There's no question that the root אמן deserves its own post. It's one of the most significant and meaningful roots in Jewish literature over the ages. If anything, that provides a challenge. One could easily write an entire book about the meanings, uses, and implications of the various words deriving from it. For now, at least, I can't do that. But I will at least try to cover some of the main words it produced, and discuss some of the more interesting developments in those words that I noticed.

The root אמן has several core meanings, all within a general spectrum. Klein suggests: "to be firm, trustworthy." BDB says "confirm, support." Gesenius suggests "to stay, sustain, support." TDOT has "faithful, reliable, secure."

Here are the verbs that it forms:

  • אָמַן aman (kal form) - "to nurse, nurture, foster, bring up (a child)." TDOT notes that "it is used of men and women who are entrusted with the care of, or take it upon themselves to care for, dependent children." It also notes that even when describing women, it does not always refer to physically nursing. For example, in Ruth 4:16 it says that Naomi was the omenet אֹמֶנֶת of Ruth's son Oved, but she certainly did not nurse him. Rather, she was responsible for the child.
  • נֶאֱמָן neeman (nifal form) - "was [found] firm, trustworthy, true, reliable." In modern Hebrew this same word, as a noun, means trustee, ally.
  • אִמֵּן imen (piel form) - "to train, make skillful, coach." Unlike the previous two forms, this only first appears in post-Biblical texts (for example, Shabbat 103a). Ben Yehuda's dictionary notes that the kal version also means "to educate" - offering the example of Mordechai being the omen of Esther (Esther 2:7).  Therefore it seems that he claims that this piel form is an extension of that earlier meaning. On the other hand, the Hebrew Wiktionary site focuses on the transitive nature of the piel form, saying imen means "to make someone capable" or "to grant authority." That would imply that imen derives from a transitive use of the original root - i.e., to make trustworthy, reliable.
  • הֶאֱמִין he'emin (hifil form) - "to believe, trust." While also used between people, it is commonly associated with one's relationship to God. In Biblical Hebrew its use meant that one trusted in God. In later times, it came to mean believing in God's existence (as opposed to His promises.)
  • הִתְאַמֵּן hitamen (hitpael form) - literally "to train one's self." Today used to mean "to practice; to exercise, work out."
Many nouns and adjectives also derive from the root אמן, including:
  • אֱמוּנָה emunah - over time this word progressed from "firmness, steadfastness" to "faithfulness, faith, fidelity, confidence" to "belief, dogma, religion." (For an extensive review of the changes in meaning, see this Hebrew essay by Rabbi Yoel Bin Nun.)
  • אִמּוּן imun - "training, exercise, practice"
  • מְאַמֵּן me'amen - "trainer, coach"
  • אֲמָנָה amanah - "agreement, treaty, pact, covenant"
  • אָמְנָם amnam - "truly, surely, indeed." When used as a question, it takes the form 
    הַאֻמְנָם ha'umnam - "Indeed? Is it true that ..."
Two words deriving from אמן are so significant that they deserve their own paragraphs.

One is אֱמֶת emet. Most commonly defined as "truth," Klein suggests that it had these meanings earlier: "stability, sureness; faithfulness; certainty." He writes that it probably derives from the unattested  אמנת amint, a noun form of אמן, but as often happens in Hebrew, the letter nun dropped out. Emet provides its own set of derived words, including the verb אמת - "to verify" and אֲמִתִּי amiti - "true, real, genuine." For a detailed exploration of the word emet, see the chapter "Emeth, the Concept of Truth" in Man and God, by Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits.

The other is the word אָמֵן - "Amen." As seen in Yirmiyahu 28:6, it means "May [God] do so." It appears in a number of Biblical books (I was actually surprised to see that it only appears 30 times in the entire Tanakh.) In the Greek translation of the Bible, the Septuagint, it was generally translated as "so be it."  However, in later Biblical books, such as Nechemiah and Divrei HaYamim, it was transliterated as "amen" instead of translated. In the Christian bible, the word appeared also in its transliterated form in Greek and Latin. As such, it entered every language where the Bible was translated, including of course English. Allegedly, this makes it the word found in the most languages worldwide

There is one meaning of אמן that I have not yet discussed. In the Tanakh it only appears once in the phrase מַעֲשֵׂה יְדֵי אׇמָּן (Shir HaShirim 7:2). The noun oman אׇמָּן in the phrase is variously translated as "the handiwork of a master," "of a workman," or "of an artist." In Rabbinic Hebrew, it was usually vocalized as uman אֻמָּן, and had more or less the same meaning.

Modern Hebrew distinguishes between the two, with uman being the artisan, and oman being an artist. Their fields are also likewise distinguished: אֻמָּנוּת umanut is craftmanship, and אָמָּנוּת omanut is art. 

But is there a connection between this use of אמן, and the one we discussed earlier, relating to "trust"? Some scholars say no, there is no connection, with the "craft" sense ultimately coming from the Sumerian language. For example, here is Klein's entry for oman:

Together with Aram. אֻמָּן, אֻמָּנָא, Syr. אוּמָנָא (= workman, craftsman, artificer), borrowed from Akka. ummānu, earlier ummiānu, which itself is of Sumerian origin.
A similar claim is found in Non-Semitic Loanwords in the Hebrew Bible (p. 55).

Others do suggest a common origin. Horowitz (p. 26) defines an oman as a "master workman, as one who is firm and sure in his workmanship." Almagor-Ramon, in Rega Shel Ivrit (241) writes that an oman  is one strong and well-trained. And Gesenius, who as we noted earlier considers the basic meaning of אמן to be "to prop, stay, sustain, support", sees the development to oman going via a sense of "to build up" (which also applies to omen meaning "one who brings up a child.")

As I wrote in the beginning, there's still much more to say, but at least now I can point to this post when I get questions about אמן.


Monday, July 15, 2024

bara and bari

The Hebrew root ברא has three distinct meanings. Two are very familiar, one much less so.

One meaning is "to create" and is found in the very first verse of the Tanakh: בְּרֵאשִׁית בָּרָא - "In the beginning God created..." (Bereshit 1:1). The noun form of this verb is beriah בְּרִיאָה - "creation."

Another is related to healthiness, and is found in such words as bari בָּרִיא - "healthy" and beriut בְּרִיאוּת - "health." It is generally accepted that the original usage of this meaning was "to be fat, to grow fat." Klein suggests that the Talmudic term bari בָּרִי meaning "surely, certainly" is related to בריא meaning "healthy, sound."

The last usage of ברא is "to cut down trees," as found in Yehoshua 17:15 and 17:18, and in the more metaphorical sense in Yechezkel 23:47, where it means "to cut down people."

Are there any connections between those three meanings?

Gesenius, admittedly an older source, claims that they are related. He writes that the common meaning to all is "to cut, to carve out, to form by cutting." That leads to the sense "to create, produce, fashion." He then writes that the meaning "to eat, feed, to grow fat," comes from "cutting food." And the connection between "to cut" and "to cut down" is fairly obvious. Gesenius also adds another meaning: "to beget", from which the word bar בַּר derives, connecting it to "creation.". I haven't seen anyone else say that bar comes from ברא, so I won't discuss it further here, but I did discuss that meaning of bar in this post.

Klein, however, does not make any of those connections. These are his three entries, unrelated to one another:

1) ברא  to create. [cp. Aram., Syr. בּֽרָא (= to create), OSArab. (= to found, build), מברא (= building, structure), Mahri bere (= to bear a child). Arab. bara’a (= to create) is an Aram. loan word.]

2) ברא to be fat. 1 he made fat; PBH 2 he recovered (from illness), recuperated; PBH 3 he became fat; MH 4 he made healthy. [Arab. bari’a (= to recover from disease), JAram. בְּרָא, בְּרִי (= to get well, strong). cp. the related base מרא ᴵᴵ.]

3) ברא  to cut down (a forest). [Arab. barā (= he hewed with an axe).]
In particular, he notes that ברא as "to be fat" is cognate with another root, מרא, with the same meaning. This is due to the occasional substitution of the letters bet and mem (for example, נשב and נשם, as we mentioned here.) That relationship to מרא would not be found in the other two meanings of ברא.

Here is Klein's entry for מרא:
מרא ᴵᴵ to be fat.
    — Hiph. - הִמְרִיא he fed, stuffed. [Akka. shumrū (= to fatten), marū (= well-fed, fat), Ugar. mra (= to become fat), Arab. mari’a (= agreed with — said of food). Stem of מְרִיא (= fatling), מֻרְאָה (= crop).]

This root and its related words aren't common in Modern Hebrew. There is a homonym, המריא, meaning "to take off" (as in an airplane), which originally meant "to soar, fly" (found in the Tanakh only in Iyov 39:18). According to Klein, these two meaning of מרא are also unrelated. This is what he writes for the flight meaning of מרא:

Of uncertain origin. The orig. meaning was perhaps ‘to beat (the air) with the wings’, in which case מרא would be relative to Arab. marā (= he whipped or urged on a horse).

Back to ברא. There are scholars who do, however, connect some of the meanings. For example, BDB does not connect the meaning "fat, healthy", but does say the meanings "create" and "cut down" are connected. They write that the original meaning is "shape, create", and note an Arabic cognate meaning "form, fashion by cutting, pare a reed for writing, a stick for an arrow." 

The TDOT (entry ברא) writes that "the Hebrew root br' probably has the original meaning 'to separate, divide.'" This would mean that ברא might derive from bar (or both have a common origin), not the other way around as Gesenius claimed. It also notes a Punic cognate meaning "a sculptor," and while the entry doesn't cite the meaning "to cut down trees," I can see a connection between sculpting and cutting (down).

Kaddari quotes a theory that claims that the use of ברא in Bamidbar 16:30 implies a type of fissure:

וְאִם־בְּרִיאָה יִבְרָא ה' וּפָצְתָה הָאֲדָמָה אֶת־פִּיהָ...

"But if the Lord creates a new-creation and the ground opens its mouth..."

I found the connection there to "cutting" fascinating, but Kaddari rejects it, saying that the Arabic root mentioned above by BDB means specifically sharpening reeds and cutting trees, but not cutting in general.

There is also a theory suggested the Wikitionary editors for ברא, in which the two meanings - create and cut down - are contronyms, similar to חטא meaning both sin and cleanse. Unfortunately, they did not provide a source, so I can't give further information.

As a final note, I've often been asked, "Which is the correct pronunciaton of לבריאות said after a sneeze - livriut לִבְריאות or labriut לַבְּרִיאות?" Well, the Academy of the Hebrew Language has determined that both are acceptable. This blessing is of relatively late import (borrowed from the German gesundheit), and so isn't found in traditional sources which could determine the correct pronunciation. The livriut version is supported by other phrases like lichaim לְחַיִּים, whereas the labriut version (which includes the definitive article heh) finds support in similar forms in verses such as Iyov 36:11 and Tehilim 24:4. 


Tuesday, July 09, 2024

halakha and charig

Halakha הֲלָכָה can refer to the system of Jewish law as a whole, or the set of laws dealing with a specific subject. Most etymologies connect it to the root הלך, meaning "to walk" or "to go". Here is a sample of those:

Klein brings support for this approach by noting that the word sugya  סוּגְיָה also means walking:

סוּגְיָה, סֻגְיָה f.n. MH    subject for study.  [Aram. סוּגְיָא (= lit.: ‘walking, going’), from אַסְגִּי (= he walked, went). For sense development cp. הֲלָכָה (= law, rule, ‘Halachah’), which derives from הלך (= to go).]
I certainly thought that halakha was related to halikha הֲלִיכָה - "walking." This may have been supported by the well-known derasha found in several locations in Talmudic literature. For example, Megillah 28b:

תָּנָא דְּבֵי אֵלִיָּהוּ: כׇּל הַשּׁוֹנֶה הֲלָכוֹת, מוּבְטָח לוֹ שֶׁהוּא בֶּן עוֹלָם הַבָּא, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״הֲלִיכוֹת עוֹלָם לוֹ״, אַל תִּקְרֵי ״הֲלִיכוֹת״ אֶלָּא ״הֲלָכוֹת״.

 The school of Eliyahu taught: Anyone who studies halakhot every day, he is guaranteed that he is destined for the World-to-Come, as it is stated: “His ways [halikhot] are eternal” (Habakkuk 3:6): Do not read the verse as halikhot [ways]; rather, read it as halakhot.
However, another theory gives halakha an entirely different, less obvious etymology. Prof. Saul Lieberman (quoted here) and others suggest that it may be related to the Aramaic word halakh הֲלָךְ meaning “toll, tax,” and therefore הֲלָכָה ultimately has the meaning of “obligation.” (See a challenge to Lieberman in "Alaktu and Halakhah Oracular Decision, Divine Revelation" by Tzvi Abusch, as well as furhter discussion here.)

Halakh is found in Ezra 4:13, 4:20, and 7:24. In each verse, it is listed as one of three types of taxes:

מִנְדָּה־בְלוֹ וַהֲלָךְ

The three are minda, blo (which we've discussed before), and halakh. The NJPS translates them as "tribute, poll-tax, and land-tax." The 1917 JPS translation has "tribute, impost, and toll." The Talmud (Nedarim 62b) identifies halakh with arnona אַרְנוֹנָא (a word we discussed here).

We see a related word in Talmudic Aramaic, karga כְּרָגָא (Bava Batra 8a) also meaning a type of tax.  And a land tax called kharaj in Arabic is found in Islamic law.

Lieberman quotes Genenius-Buhl (the German dictionary, not the English one) here as noting that halakh derives from the Akkadian ilku

The collaborative dictionary project Wiktionary claims that this Akkadian root also is the source of the Arabic root kh-r-j:

From خ ر ج (ḵ-r-j) in the sense “to extract” or “take out” [...] on the model of Imperial Aramaic 𐡄𐡋𐡊𐡀 (hlkʾ /⁠hălāḵā⁠/, “tribute, tax, any public charge based on land property”), itself calqued from Akkadian 𒅋𒆪 (il-ku /⁠ilku⁠/, “corvée, tribute, any public charge based on land property”). Also attested several times in Biblical Aramaic הֲלָכָא (/⁠hălāḵā⁠/) but otherwise missing in Aramaic. 

I don't know the source of this entry, so I'm wary of making too many conclusions from it. But Klein write that the Hebrew root חרג is cognate with this Arabic root:

חָרַג he came out in terror, quaked. [Arab. ḫaraja (= he came out).]

That root is only found once in the Tanakh, in Tehilim 18:46:

בְּנֵי־נֵכָר יִבֹּלוּ וְיַחְרְגוּ מִמִּסְגְּרוֹתֵיהֶם׃
Foreign peoples lose courage, and come trembling out of their strongholds.

That meaning is not found in Modern Hebrew. Today it means "to deviate, to exceed; to digress, to diverge, to stray." Klein doesn't include that meaning in his dictionary, but he does include the words choreg חוֹרֵג - "step" (as in step-child), which he says literally means "born outside" and the Modern Hebrew word charig חָרִיג, meaning "execptional, unusual, irregular."

Klein doesn't connect halakh and khoreg, and I didn't see anyone else who did. And it's important to note that although the Wiktionary entries connect the meanings of the Arabic roots meaning "to extract" and "to exit", they might not be related. But if they are, it would be interesting to see that halakha and  charig are cognates.






Sunday, June 30, 2024

Nukhba and Nahbi

I was curious about the etymology of Nukhba, the Hamas special forces unit that carried out horrific terrorist attacks on October 7.

The root n-kh-b in Arabic means "choose, select, elect," and so nukhba is an elite military unit. It's a fairly common root in Arabic, appearing in many words related to elections. However, I couldn't fnd any Hebrew cognates. 

The Arabic Etymological Dictionary, while including words from that root, didn't provide any additonal Semitic cognates. It left it unknown with the entry (the etymology and cognates go in the brackets):

nachaba: choose, select [?]

I didn't see any entries in Stahl's Arabic dictionary, and a search of Klein's dictionary for related Arabic words also came up blank.

I was about to give up, when I found this brief mention in the Ben Yehuda dictionary:

נחב

ממנו אולי השֵם נַחְבִּי.

בערב' יש שני שרשים, נחב نحب במשמ' בכיה חזקה, ונח'ב نخب במשמ' בחירה ובררה.

This was a strange entry. It was for the root נחב nakhav for which the only word provided was perhaps the Biblical name "Nahbi". Nahbi, the son of Vofsi, appears only once in the Tanakh, in Bamidbar 13:14. He was one of the spies - the representative from the tribe of Naftali.

The Ben-Yehuda dictionary notes that in Arabic there are two (possibly related) roots. One is nahab which means "strong cry." The other is our nakhab, meaning "choice, select." 

I still don't exactly understand why this hypothetical root was included in the dictionary, which might have been the source of a name, and may have a connection to one of two cognates. But it does at least leave the door open that Nahbi is related to nukhba, which could make sense, considering he was a prince of the tribe.

Once again, I looked to see if there was support for this theory. I suppose I was surprised how little is written (or at least I could find) about the name Nahbi (even speculation). The Encyclopedia Mikrait (EM) and Daat Mikra both said that no convincing etymology has been found. The EM did note the scholar Martin Noth, who proposed it is related to an Arabic root meaning "coward."

Noth's suggestion is also mentioned by James Barr in his essay, "The Symbolism of Names in the Old Testament." (also found here). On page 23 (of the document), in footnote 2, he writes:

Noth, p. 229, n. 12, derives from Arabic nakhb with the sense "fearful"; but one could also consider the sense "choice" on the same Arabic basis, and also derivation from a quite different root, cf. Huffmon, Amorite Peraonal Names in the Mari Texts, p. 189.

So Barr does entertain the connection. He also points us in the direction of Huffmon, who mentions yet another Arabic root, nhb, this time meaning "vow, implore, lament" (perhaps the last of these words equals the "strong cry" mentioned in Ben Yehuda).

One other suggestion for Nahbi doesn't include the letter nun as part of the root. Rather it says the name comes from the root חבא, meaning to hide. Prof. Alexander Rofe quotes his teacher Umberto Cassuto as noting:

Sethur, derived from the root str (to hide), brought to mind the son of Vophsi, Nahbi, from the root hb', with the same meaning. 

Cassuto was pointing out that the name before Nahbi in the list of spies was סְתוּר בֶּן־מִיכָאֵל, whose name also indicates hiding. If that's the case, both names implying hiding would be fitting for spies.

That same theory is proposed by the BDB dictionary, as well as in a midrash in Sotah 34b:

אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן, אַף אָנוּ נֹאמַר: ״נַחְבִּי בֶּן וׇפְסִי״, ״נַחְבִּי״ — שֶׁהֶחְבִּיא דְּבָרָיו שֶׁל הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא.

Rabbi Yoḥanan says: We can also say an interpretation of the name: “Nahbi the son of Vophsi” (Numbers 13:14): He is called Nahbi, as he concealed [heḥbi] the statement of the Holy One, Blessed be He, that the land is good, by delivering a distorted description of it.

All of these theories testify to the fact that other than the two spies who brought a faithful report of the land (Yehoshua and Kalev), the rest were soon forgotten and so their legacies are obscure. I hope that someday soon we can say the same about the Nukhba terrorists as well.