It turns out readers (and writers) have some first-rate first words to share - nearly all of them unforgettable mistakes.
By LIAT COLLINSHebrew Hear-Say logo(photo credit: )
It turns out readers (and writers) have some first-rate first words to share - nearly all of them unforgettable mistakes. After the September 26 Hebrew Hear-Say column, the bloopers flooded in, making me laugh and occasionally blush (but since this is a family paper, there are some things that I cannot share with you).
Some misunderstandings were common (in more sense than one) to several readers. For example, Post youth magazines editor Gilah Kahn-Hoffmann, who came here from Montreal at age 17 to spend a year at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, relates this story: Arriving at the central bus station, she assumed the task of seeking out a sherut (shared taxi service) to the Givat Ram campus. She asked the first person she saw where the sherutim were and "blithely proceeded to lead seven tired and disheveled teenagers down a flight of filthy, narrow stairs to the even filthier bathrooms below."
Indeed, irregular or unexpected plurals seem to give rise to double trouble, judging from the readers' input. And where better to make a public faux pas than on public transport? Ida Selavan Schwarcz of Ganei Omer recalls an incident when she lived in Jerusalem in the early 1950s and heard a young man asking the bus driver about zonot, which he assumed was the plural of zones, rather than "streetwalkers," to put it politely.
More than one reader told the story of a pregnant new immigrant screaming at a bus driver to stop because she wanted to laledet (give birth) instead of laredet (get off/down). But since no one admitted to witnessing this first hand, I assume it's an urban legend.
Jerusalem Report arts editor Joe Hoffman recalls his first teaching job as an educational experience: He stood in front of a noisy class and tried to say: "I am ready to teach if you are ready to listen." Confusing lehakshiv and lehashkiv, what he ended up saying was, "I am ready to teach if you are ready to go to bed with me." I bet that got their attention.
A doctor and a dentist both got startled looks when they asked their young female patients to remove their pants (michnasayim) instead of glasses (mishkafayim). Talk about making a spectacle of yourself!
Some readers took studying Hebrew very seriously, but still made some funny mistakes. Tel Aviv resident Sandra Mishalov, who came here "many, many years ago" from London, used to write down new words in a notebook and find out their meaning at the first opportunity. When she asked about the word neft, her 14-year-old cousin explained that it's "black, comes out of the ground and is used for heating." Hence Mishalov duly recorded "coal" as the translation - of course, she could have chosen anything from oil, paraffin, petrol or kerosene.
Sometimes problems have names. Or names come with problems.
Jerusalemite Larry Wachsman remembers when he was regularly visiting Israel in the early '70s and saw a sign on a few apartment doors that said "Rav Bariach." "I made the observation that the Bariach family was a large one and that they were all rabbis," he admits of the name plate announcing the name of what is now known as the Mul-T-Lock system.
Post managing editor (and Israel Radio broadcaster) Steve Linde learned something in an ulpan - not the language class-type ulpan, the broadcasting studio ulpan. When he first started working at the radio almost 20 years ago, the English News was situated in the same building as Reshet Bet, the Hebrew news ("or the Heebs, as we called it"). Every hour, the broadcast would begin: "Harei hahadashot mipi [Here is the news read by] Kobi Barkai ve'Ikaran Tehila." Linde gradually figured out who Kobi Barkai and the other news readers were - all but the elusive "Ikaran Tehila." Finally, Barkai enlightened him that ve'ikaran tehila means "and the main points first."
Many years ago as a Jewish Agency summer camp counselor I had to stop myself from laughing when an American teen with an attitude told me she would be going back home and "had a thing or two to say to that Mr. Shalom U'lehitraot." Well, as she pointed out, that's how he signed the letters. It took a while for her to believe that shalom u'lehitraot was simply "Good-bye and be seeing you."
And a surprising number of those who made aliya admit mistaking the "Rut, sof" on police/Civil Guard/army walkie-talkies to mean a certain "Ruth" was talking rather the Hebrew equivalent of "roger and out."
The last word on first words has yet to be said, but for now: "Rut, sof."
liat@jpost.com
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