Israel's Language Warriors

The room that houses the museum-like reproduction of Eliezer Ben Yehudah's 19th century study in the Academy of Hebrew Language is silent as a sanctuary. Hundreds of books with brittle spines line the walls. Elaborately carved Damascus chairs face the wooden rostrum that once served as a writing station for this Jewish scholar (1858–1922) who single-handedly transformed a language of religious study and devotion into a living vernaclar.

Up the stairs and across the courtyard, the wordsmiths of Jerusalem's Academy of Hebrew Language—established by law in 1953—carry Ben Yehudah's work forward. Like similar institutions in France, Brazil and Belgium, the Academy of Hebrew Language spins out new words and advises speakers on language, spelling, grammar and related questions. The 44 active members and 50 staff employees of this independent government agency are the kind of people you wouldn't want to meet on the other side of a Scrabble board.

One of them, Ronit Gadish, 51—predictably bookish in rimless glasses—excitedly pulls a yellowing 1938 volume of clothing illustrations with modern Hebrew fashion terms from her office bookshelf. "Now here's a great dictionary,'' remarks Gadish, the secretary of the Academy committee that invents general-use words like those in the 1938 dictionary, but with a particular focus on new Hebrew monikers for popular foreign language words.

During modern Hebrew's first half century, Ben Yehuda and his successors' mission was to invent enough words to provide a new society with the means of communication. But now that the entire country operates in modern Hebrew, the Academy's challenge is to keep Hebrew relevant as English seeps into Israelis' daily chatter. For example, just as Americans have morphed Google into a verb, masses of Israeli web surfers have Hebraicized English nouns into verbs such as telephone, fax and torpedo. In Israel "to Google" is le'gagel. "Our problem is because of the Internet, because of globalization—there's an unending flow of English into Hebrew," says Gadish. "It's not only words, it's also in terms of thinking. We're returning to the situation before the Tower of Babel."

The Academy has had some success with kovetz (computer file), tochnah (software), mekuvan (online) and magar netunim (database). The creation of these words and others like them is usually a joint effort rather than the work of a single inventor, says Gadish. Her department identifies holes in the language primarily through faxes and emails it receives from the general public. After researching a foreign word's usage, Gadish and her staff brainstorm appropriate Hebrew terms and submit their choice to the Academy's general assembly for final approval. The new words are then primarily disseminated by Israel Radio and through official government publications.

But the new inventions don't always stick. Take the relatively recent Hebrew word chafeetz, for gadget. Gadish helped coin the word three years ago amid the rising hunger of Israelis for consumer technology. Chafeetz comes from the root meaning an "article" or "to desire." Although not scientific, Gadish often uses Google to check on a new word's acceptance. She types in chafeetz in Hebrew and when the search engine returns 17,500 entries, she declares, "That says something. Chafeetz has a presence." But then she Googles "gadget" in Hebrew transliteration, and more than a million references pop up. "That means that there's more time needed [for the word to catch on], but we hope for the best," she says. "Even when a word is known, it comes down to what people prefer."

This means the Academy's wishes are sometimes ignored. Marketing executives never used ne'imon, which draws on the Hebrew word for joy, for cellular phone "ring-tones." Why should they? The original English is perceived as more authoritative and affluent, she says. It's also the reason Israeli technology firms select English words like "Hot," "Yes" and "Wow" to market their cable television, satellite television and high speed internet services. "The language of marketing rests on the assumption that English sells better," says Gadish. "They think if you're getting something in English, you're getting something more important, more exclusive, something international."

While English words are functional, they don't fit into any of the three-or four-consonant roots that are the building blocks of Modern Hebrew. In addition, if the Academy were to adopt them, Hebrew would quickly become a mirror image of English. "Balance is the name of the game," says Gadish.

Recently Time Out Tel Aviv blamed the Academy for being too slow to approve new terms and not being creative enough. "The Academy for Hebrew Language isn't successful in grappling with the strength of the languages of the network," laments Hanoch Marmary, a former editor of Ha'aretz. "Hebrew hasn't succeeded in naturally absorbing the refreshing inventions created by network lingo."

The Academy is adapting to the times, says Gadish, by launching its own marketing campaign. Gadish and her colleagues are now advising Hebrew-language authors on Wikipedia and, for the first time, flexing their gray matter in the virtual world.

—Joshua Mitnick