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I pointed out this time last year that the Hebrew month of (Mar)cheshvan actually comes from the Akkadian for “eighth month”. So it means the same as October.

Nonetheless, October is the tenth month, and (Mar)cheshvan is the second.

On festivals, before Kohanim bless the congregation, Ashkenazim insert an alternative nusach for the “avodah” beracha of the amida prayer:

ותערב לפניך עתירתנו כעולה וכקרבן. אנא, רחום, ברחמיך הרבים השב שכינתך לציון עירך, וסדר העבודה לירושלים. ותחזינה עינינו בשובך לציון ברחמים, ושם נעבדך ביראה כימי עולם וכשנים קדמוניות. ברוך אתה ה’ שאותך לבדך ביראה נעבוד.

May our petition be pleasing before you as a sacrificial offering. Please, the Merciful, in your great mercy, return your presence to Zion your city, and the temple service to Jerusalem. And may our eyes see your return to Zion with mercy, and there we shall serve you in awe as in ancient times and earlier years. Blessed be you, Lord, for you alone will we serve in awe.

As well as being a beautiful prayer and, it seems, having an interesting history, I was alerted a few days ago to a variation in the vowels of the first word. We find:

וְתֵעָרֵב – v^etēʿārēv

in Artscroll

וְתֶעֱרַב – v^eteʿĕrav

in “Adler”, “Birnbaum”, Hebrew Publishing Co. 1928, Koren, Meforash, Routledge, Shilo, “Singer”

The meaning is apparrently unaffected by the change of vowels. I have become used to the Artscroll version, and yet I prefer the alternative, and not just because it is much more popular. Rather, here’s why…
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I’ve been reading the Laws of Tefillin in the Mishna Berura, particularly its descriptions of the laws for scribes. It gives incessant detail for what makes a particular letter valid and what doesn’t. And then it prescribes that in cases of doubt, one should ask a “תינוק שאינו לא חכם ולא טיפש” (Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayim 32:16), a child that is neither clever nor stupid, to attempt to identify the letter.

In modern Hebrew, a תינוק is a baby (and etymologically is implied, deriving from ינק, to suckle). But in order to read, it obviously needs to be older than that. The Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (24:5) writes that such a child is one “שאין מבין את העניין, אבל יודע ומבין את האותיות”—he doesn’t understand the issue, but knows and understands the letters. Similarly, the Mishna Berura (32:49) explains that such a child-decisor is too clever if he understands the issues of when letters need to be fixed, but not too clever if he knows the letters well and can’t read the words. On the other hand, one too stupid cannot read the letters; all-in-all one who can read the letters, even if not proficient or expert in them, may judge in such a case (32:50).

So here comes the issue. Most children nowadays are not taught scribal letters first-off. Most would be taught the alphabets of modern printed Hebrews: either what we find in our siddurim, or in Modern Israeli printed texts. And these are all significantly different from the prescribed scribal art. Even I, for instance, might initially read a valid but thin scribal ך (final kaf) as a ן (final nun), because although the nun of the scribe is very different to their kaf, I am more familiar with a printed nun.

How is a child raised on one script meant to identify letters in another?

Is there a halakhic solution to this problem?

There was some strange Runic-looking graffiti along the southern entrance to Efrat that I saw a number of times on the way to the Trampiada before finally identifying it. I eventually recognised the rightmost symbol of the large text as being the Hebrew letter yod (י) in an ancient Hebrew script (כתב עברי). The script we use today is a variant of the Assyrian script (כתב אשורי; or “square script”) adapted from that borrowed from Imperial Aramaic around the Babylonian Exile.

After recognising the first letter, I realised that I could identify (with confirmation online) that this large text was actually the Tetragrammaton, in Judaism the ineffable and most sacred name of God, albeit that its letters were highly stylised. Altogether, we have the phrase “יראת ה’“, “fear of God”.

Now because, for those who can read it, the graffiti includes the Name of God, does this mean it cannot be erased as would usually be the case with this four-letter name? (more…)

In the parasha read this past shabbat, Parashat Pinchas, I noted a sentence fragment that is grammatically troublesome (Num. 26:55):

אַךְ־בְּגוֹרָל יֵחָלֵק אֶת־הָאָרֶץ; לִשְׁמוֹת מַטּוֹת־אֲבֹתָם יִנְחָלוּ׃

I can only translate it approximately while retaining some of the problematic detail:

Moreover, by lot will be divided (ACC) the land; according to the names of the tribes of their fathers will they inherit.

The first stark problem here is that יֵחָלֵק (will be divided) is a passive (נפעל) form, and so should not take a direct object as is marked by the אֶת (ACC) particle. In the present case, the verb seems to take “the land” as exactly this direct object it shouldn’t have. Semantically, one should expect “the land” to be the subject of the passive verb, and not to be marked as an object.

Moreover, it cannot be the subject either, because “the land” is a feminine noun, and the verb requires a masculine subject. I should say that there are a few cases where אֶרֶץ clearly is masculine in the bible (Gen. 13:6; Isa. 9:18 for instance), but this is far from the general rule for what is a fairly common word. (more…)

Part of proper Purim partying is the preparation and packaging (as presents) of triangular pocket pastries of poppy seeds or other pleasant puréed produce (jams; marmalades; honey and walnuts). You take a circle of cookie dough, drop a dollop of something sweet in the centre and fold in three sides to make this popular Purim delicacy. There are plenty of recipes available if you need more detail (but mum’s are the best).

As the Yiddish name “Hamentaschen” (hamentashen, hamantaschen, hamantashen, homentaschen, homentashen, hamentash, hamantasch, etc…) suggests, these are an exclusive tradition of European Ashkenazi Jewry, and yet they have been borrowed into Israeli (and thus international Jewish) culture as “אוזני המן” (Oznei Haman, “Haman’s ears”). It might seem predictable enough for something named after the infamous Book of Esther character Haman to become part of the Purim tradition, but it’s not quite so simple… (more…)

I was using the siddur (prayerbook) “Mizkeret Yerushalayim” for a change this morning, and came across the following line in Psalm 100:

דְּעוּ– כִּי יי, הוּא אֱלֹהִים: הוּא עָשָׂנוּ, ולא (וְלוֹ ק’) אֲנַחְנוּ– עַמּוֹ, וְצֹאן מַרְעִיתוֹ.

Know that the LORD, He is God; He made us and not (as written; read instead: His) [are] we, His people, and the flock of His pasture.

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Last Sunday night, we entered a new month on the Hebrew calendar. Throughout our childhoods it was often related to us:

The month of Cheshvan (חשון) is the only month in the Jewish calendar that has no special days. Some say this is why we call it Mar-Cheshvan (מרחשון), or Bitter Cheshvan. According to another legend, all the months got together to cheer up Cheshvan by giving it the title, Mar (Mister.)

Even a more adult-focused web site insists: “Cheshvan, the eighth month of the Jewish calendar, is often referred to as Mar Cheshvan (“Bitter Cheshvan”) because it has no holidays.” And many young Jews grow up feeling very compassionate and sorry for the month.

Adding titles to a month’s name is not unheard of in Judaism, and we entitle the month of “Av” as “Menachem Av” (comforting Av) for reason of the tragedies that are commemorated in that month. But it turns out this “mar” isn’t quite the same. (more…)

Yesterday in “Neuroscience of Language”, a woman in the front row was identified by the lecturer as Efrat, a post-graduate student. The guy next to me felt the need to point out (by way of name, accent, appearance) that she might be Israeli. I told him after the class that I wasn’t surprised: I estimate that about a quarter of the class is Jewish, a common phenomenon in linguistic circles. (more…)

I recently discovered (well, not before he told me), that my brother, Simon, has also started a blog. It turns out he’s written on something a little up my alley, on the idea of not eating nuts in the new year in Judaism. (more…)