🧵 THREAD: Hebrew didn't borrow the English suffix "-able." It accidentally invented its own version — and the story shows how languages can solve the same problem in completely different ways. 1/9
2/ English has "readable," "drinkable," "breakable." Hebrew now has qari, shati, shavir. Same function, totally different system. But Hebrew had to build this from scratch.
3/ Here's why: Semitic languages work differently from English. Meanings come from root letters plugged into patterns — not suffixes. Ancient Hebrew had the qatil pattern, but it meant random things: amir ("treetop"), khalil ("flute"). No "-able" equivalent.
4/ The accidental breakthrough started in 1897 when Eliezer Ben-Yehuda coined gamish — "flexible." Then in the 1920s, American Hebrew medical publishers added massis ("dissolvable") and shavir ("breakable").
5/ Hebrew speakers started noticing a pattern: Take any verb root, plug it into qatil, and you get "able to be X-ed." Just like English "-able" but using Semitic morphology instead of suffixes.
6/ By the 1950s, it exploded: nagish (accessible), qari (readable), shati (drinkable). Hebrew had reverse-engineered one of English's most useful grammatical tools and made it work in a Semitic language.
7/ Now, whenever Hebrew needs a new "-able" word, it knows exactly how to make one. The system works instantly because it follows Hebrew's own grammatical logic, not borrowed English patterns.
8/ This is linguistic innovation at its finest: Hebrew didn't copy English — it used its own 3,000-year-old grammar system to achieve the same communicative goal. Different tools, same result.
9/ Sometimes the most elegant solutions come from working within your language's existing strengths rather than borrowing from others. Hebrew proved that ancient patterns can solve modern problems.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
🧵 THREAD: The Hebrew word for duck — barvaz — only appeared in 1908. But its origin story spans 5,000 years and shows how words can travel through civilizations to land in the most unexpected places. 1/7
2/ It started with the Sumerians, who invented writing and called geese uz. This word began an epic journey: the Akkadians adopted it, then Aramaic speakers turned it into awaz (adding an alef for easier pronunciation).
3/ The Talmud preserves the Aramaic phrase bar awaz — literally "son of goose." For centuries, this phrase sat in Jewish legal discussions, with no connection to modern Hebrew vocabulary.
🧵 THREAD: The Hebrew word for "one"—ekhad—seems ancient and unshakable. But here's the twist: it's a linguistic imposter that overthrew the original word across almost every Semitic language.
A story of ancient revolution hiding in plain sight. 1/10
2/ Thousands of years ago, ALL Semitic languages used the same word for "one": 'isht. You can still see its fossils: Akkadian ishten, Ugaritic 'isht, Ancient South Arabian 'isht. A perfect linguistic family tree.
3/ Even in the Bible, you can catch glimpses: 'ashtei asar chodesh—"the eleventh month." That 'ashtei? It's the dying breath of the ancient 'isht. The last survivor clinging to life in a compound number.
🧵 THREAD: Think English spelling is chaos? Hebrew says "hold my beer" with 22 letters, zero vowels, and pure linguistic anarchy.
Let me introduce you to the most unhinged writing system ever created... 1/12
2/ Meet Alef (א): the ultimate shapeshifter. In ani (אני), it's "a." In eretz (ארץ), "e." In eem (אם), "ee." In rosh, somehow "o." And in or (אור)? Dead silent. One letter, five personalities, zero consistency.
3/ Then comes Ayin (ע): usually silent, but somehow makes four different sounds. Silent in or (עור), "ee" in eem (עם), "e" in etz (עץ), "a" in al (על). It's literally a mime having an identity crisis.
1/12 🧵 Epic travel day—three flights across four countries with my wife and kids. So naturally, here’s the etymology of the Hebrew word for airplane ✈️
2/12 December 17th, 1903. Two bicycle mechanics from Ohio achieve the impossible—human flight. But they have no word for what they’ve just invented. They simply call it “The Machine.”
3/12 The world scrambled to name this marvel. The French called it aéroplane—“flat flying machine”—a term minted by sculptor Joseph Pline as a sleek alternative to the lumbering hot-air balloons.
1/12 🕯️ Jews pray three times daily for a messiah to come. But here's the twist: the Torah never mentions this idea. At all.
So how did Jews go from having no messiah to obsessing over one? 🧵
2/12 The word "messiah" DOES appear in the Torah, but it just means "anointed priest"—nothing cosmic, nothing world-changing.
The answer to this transformation is heartbreak.
3/12 For centuries, Jews already had their anointed one: King David and his descendants. God made an eternal promise—David's throne would last forever. "Your house and kingdom shall be established forever."
1/12 ✈️ How did Israeli flight attendants get their name? It took a lexicographer, an author, and a politician to give Israeli stewardesses the word "dayelet."
This is that wild story. 🧵
2/12 Let's start with the lexicographer: Eliezer Ben-Yehuda. Early 1900s, he's reviving Hebrew and needs a word for "waiter."
3/12 He finds a passage in the Talmud where a man called "dayla" was serving food to rabbis. The Aramaic word probably comes from Greek "doulos" meaning... slave.