Sunday, May 31, 2026

ra'al and re'ala

Is there any connection between the words ra’al רַעַל - “poison, toxin” and re’ala רְעָלָה - “veil, scarf”?

There are three primary theories. Let’s review them.


The first suggests a connection between the root רעל and the root ערל, via a metathesis (a rearrangement of the letters). The adjective עָרֵל arel means “uncircumsized”, and this theory proposes a common sense of both roots meaning “to cover.” A veil covers the wearer, poison (in this view) “covers” the heart, and the orlah עָרְלָה - “foreskin” - is a type of cover. Support for this view is found in this verse:


שָׂבַעְתָּ קָלוֹן מִכָּבוֹד שְׁתֵה גַם־אַתָּה וְהֵעָרֵל תִּסּוֹב עָלֶיךָ כּוֹס יְמִין ה' וְקִיקָלוֹן עַל־כְּבוֹדֶךָ׃


“You, sated by scandal rather than filled with glory, 

now you too drink from the poisoned cup and become exposed; 

the cup of the Lord’s right hand will turn upon you, 

and shame will replace your glory.” (Habakkuk 2:16)


While there are other translations to the word וְהֵעָרֵל here, and some scholars don’t see a connection between the root here and the meaning "uncircumcised", there are those who claim a common origin. 


Rashi is a prime proponent of this theory. See for example his commentary on Yeshaya 51:17, where he identifies the word תַּרְעֵלָה as a “drink that clogs and weakens the strength of a person, like one bound, tied, and enwrapped.” Similar comments by Rashi can be found in his commentaries on Tehilim 60:5 and Zecharia 12:2.


Further discussion of this theory can be found in Ben Yehuda’s dictionary here.


The second theory claims that the root רעל means “to stagger, quiver, dangle” (see for example the BDB definition). This meaning appears in Aramaic, which is found in Targum Yonatan’s translation of Yeshaya 35:3. Many scholars, such as Gesenius and Aruch HaShalem, suggest a possible connection between רעל and the root רעד, meaning “to tremble.” The meaning “veil” reflects the way a veil billows or dangles, similar to a staggering or wavering motion. This theory also has support from the Septuagint translation of Yeshaya 51:17, which renders כּוֹס הַתַּרְעֵלָה as “the cup of falling/collapse” and of Tehillim 60:5 as "wine of stupor/piercing,” neither of which mention poison.


The promoters of this interpretation find that none of the biblical appearances of the root refer to poison, which they claim only appears in Medieval Hebrew (for example, see Klein here.) When exactly this usage began is unclear. Mandelkern in his concordance writes that the meaning of רעל is trembling (like in Syriac and Arabic), but the קדמונים (“early ones”) say it means poisons - and it’s unclear who the early ones are. Steinberg, in his Milon HaTanakh, also identifies רעל with trembling, but says that בלשון ימינו (“in the language of our days”), it means poison. Steinberg wrote that dictionary between 1891 and 1895, so he couldn’t have been referring to Modern Hebrew in the Zionist/Israeli sense, but I can’t say how far back he felt it was adopted. The most recent Even Shoshan dictionary offers the meaning poison for ra’al “על פי המשמע הרווח” - according to popular usage. Even that definition is clearly hedging a bit, not accepting the usage as fully legitimate.


In any case, we do find רעל meaning poison in Jewish commentaries in the Middle Ages. For example, Radak mentions this theory in his commentary on Yeshaya 51:17 and in his Sefer HaShorashim,  contrasting his interpretation to the identification of רעל with trembling that his father offered. This later meaning of poison could have first developed from the staggering walk of an intoxicated person, which later suggested “toxicity” (as the two similar words, intoxicate and toxic, indicate.) 


This second theory (“staggering/ quivering”) appears to be the most widespread theory, found both in traditional Jewish medieval (like Ibn Ezra) and modern commentaries (like Shadal), as well as in scholarly literature.


The third theory does not assume a connection between ra’al and re’ala, but does claim that the meaning of poison is found in Biblical Hebrew. Their proof is the parallel appearance of רַעַל with חֵמָה chemah. While chemah can mean “anger, rage” in many biblical verses, in others it clearly means poison or venom (for example, Devarim 32:24, 32:33, Tehillim 58:5). In fact, Tawil in his entry for chemah writes that the original meaning of the word was “poison” and only later developed into the meaning “rage”. (More on that here).


The parallelism found in Yeshaya 51:17 and 51:22 has convinced these linguists that ra’al did mean poison in those texts, and the Medieval scholars who identified ra’al with poison weren’t coming up with an innovative meaning, but rather were revealing the original meaning of the word. 


This theory has grown in popularity in recent decades. It is found in the Daat Mikra commentary (on Nachum 2:4 and Zecharya 12:2), Even Shoshan’s concordance, and in Kaddari’s dictionary of Biblical Hebrew (in the entries for חמה, רעל and תרעלה). Robert Alter, in his commentary on Yeshaya 51:17 writes:


The usual translation of the term tarʿeilah is “reeling” or “staggering” but it is more plausibly related to raʿal, which definitely means “poison” in postbiblical Hebrew, as it may also do in Zechariah 12:2. This understanding is supported by the fact that the word for “wrath” in “the cup of His wrath” also means “venom.”


The earliest modern academic sources I found were from the linguist Prof Chaim Cohen. For example, in his entry in the 1971 edition of the Encyclopedia Judaica, entry “Poison” (Vol 13, p 703), Cohen writes


Ra‘al, Tar‘elah. The exact meaning of ra‘al and tar‘elah is unknown. That it must refer to some kind of poison is clear from Isaiah 51:17, 22, where tar‘elah parallels hemah. The occurrence with yayin (“wine”) in Psalm 60:5 (yayin tar‘elah) also fits in well with the usage of hemah and mererah as stated above. The other few passages (Isa. 3:19; Nah. 2:4; Hab. 2:16 [read יהועל, as in 1QpHab]; Zech. 12:2) in which this substantive or its denominative verb occurs are far from clear, however, and offer nothing in the way of identification. What is clear from the little evidence is that the biblical ra‘al cannot be derived from Aramaic r‘l (“to reel, tremble”) because its usage is identical with that of two known biblical words for poison, hemah and mererah. While the etymology of the Modern Hebrew ra‘al (“poison”) is unclear (ra‘al “poison” is almost nonexistent in the Talmud and Midrash), because its usage in modern Hebrew appears consistent with biblical usage, it is more likely that it is derived from the biblical term than from the Aramaic r‘l.


While I don’t quite understand the value of Cohen’s citation of “its usage in modern Hebrew”, the parallel to chemah is persuasive. And there was an ancient practice of using poisoned wine as a punishment, as we discussed here.


The challenge in determining which of these theories is correct is primarily due to two factors: the appearance of רעל in only a few biblical verses - and those verses allow multiple interpretations, and the lack of the use of רעל in Talmudic literature, except in one case where it clearly means “veiled” in a discussion of what articles of clothing aren’t considered carrying on Shabbat:


עַרְבִיּוֹת יוֹצְאוֹת רְעוּלוֹת

“[Jewish] women [in] Arab [countries] may go out veiled (reulot) [with a scarf covering their face]” (Mishna Shabbat 6:6)


This use is found today in the phrase רְעוּל פָּנִים - a masked person, usually someone involved in a violent act or crime.


But there is no other appearance that could be interpreted as “poison”, and the cognates in other Semitic languages, while certainly allowing for the trembling/reeling position don’t rule out the possibility of the ancient Hebrew meaning of רעל being “poison.”.


So if we take a look at the Biblical verses where רעל appears, we see even today a variety of translations. In most translations, only the second and third theories I’ve presented are represented, and you can see that in this table:



Translation

Nachum 2:4

Zecharia 12:2

Yeshaya 3:19

Yeshaya 51:17

Tehilim 60:5

Original Hebrew

וְהַבְּרֹשִׁים הׇרְעָלוּ׃

סַף־רַעַל

וְהָרְעָלוֹת

כּוֹס הַתַּרְעֵלָה

יַיִן תַּרְעֵלָה

New JPS

The [arrows of] cypress wood are poisoned

a bowl of reeling

the veils

the cup of reeling

wine that makes us reel

JPS 1917

And the cypress spears are made to quiver

a cup of staggering

the veils

the cup of staggering

the wine of staggering

Koren (Old)

the spears of cypress wood are brandished

a cup of staggering

the scarves

bowl of staggering

the wine of staggering

Alter

the cypress shafts are poisoned

a bowl of poison

the veils

the chalice of poison

poison wine

Koren (New)

the cypress spears are poisoned and ready

a cup of reeling

the scarves

the poisoned goblet

poisoned wine

Artscroll

his cypress [spears] are poisoned

a cup of poison

the veils

the cup of bewilderment

wine of bewilderment


There is one sense in Modern Hebrew that while it might appear to be related to either of the above roots, most certainly isn’t. The adjective מֻרְעָל mur’al means “highly motivated.” This term is found in army slang, and as the linguist Ruvik Rosenthal points out, the Hebrew phrase רוּחַ הַלְּחִימָה ruach halechima - “the fighting spirit”, was later abbreviated to רה”ל, and that became pronounced ra’al, leading to the eventual spelling רעל, and the adjective mur’al.

Friday, May 01, 2026

rachatz

In Hebrew, the verb רחץ rachatz means “to wash” or “to bathe.” In Aramaic, it means “to trust” or “to rely.” Is there any connection between the two?

Let’s start by looking at the Hebrew root. It appears frequently in Biblical Hebrew — 72 times throughout the Tanakh. When talking about physical washing, as opposed to metaphorical cleansing, it refers to washing the human body, as in bathing, or parts of the body. It can also refer to rinsing parts of sacrificial animals. Washing clothes has a different verb — kibes כבס, The reflexive התרחץ means “to wash oneself.”

In Talmudic Hebrew, רחיצה also becomes a legal category of washing, for example as one of the five prohibitions of Yom Kippur.

In Modern Hebrew, the verb isn’t used as frequently, and often sounds more formal or official. For example, to wash hands or to wash a car, it’s more common to use the root שטף than רחץ. To shower, the common verb is התקלח when showering oneself, or קילח / לקלח when showering others, like a child.

When רחץ is used in Modern Hebrew, it often maintains that formal sense. For example, a sign near a beach might say רַחֲצָה אֲסוּרָה — “bathing is forbidden,” but an average person wouldn’t say they were going to the sea for רַחֲצָה. They’d either say they were just going to the sea — הוֹלֵךְ לַיָּם — or going to swim — לִשְׂחוֹת. That said, רחצה could be used when describing entering or being in the water, as a bather, as opposed to the more active form of swimming. Similarly, a doctor or medical protocol preparing hands carefully before surgery might use the more official רחיצה, as compared to an average person who would use שטיפה.

The Academy of the Hebrew Language notes that in the twentieth century a distinction developed between two gerund forms of רחץ, with רַחֲצָה referring to “bathing oneself” and רְחִיצָה indicating cleaning, usually with water and soap.

The Aramaic verb רחץ, meaning “to trust,” only appears once in the Tanakh, in Daniel 3:28. It appears more frequently in the Aramaic of the Talmudic period, and is perhaps most familiar today from a prayer recited when taking the Torah out of the ark. Coming from a passage in the Zohar on Parashat Vayakhel, the prayer includes the phrase בֵּהּ אֲנָא רָחִיץ — “in Him I trust.”

As to a connection, there is a theory that connects the two meanings, “through the accessory idea of ministering as a servant at the bath,” which led to a broader sense of “attend upon” and from there “to trust.” However, that hasn’t been adopted by modern scholarship.

Yet there is an interesting possible connection between the two meanings. In Tehilim 60:10 and Tehilim 108:10, we find the root in an unusual phrase:

מוֹאָב סִיר רַחְצִי עַל־אֱדוֹם אַשְׁלִיךְ נַעֲלִי עָלַי פְּלֶשֶׁת הִתְרוֹעָעִי׃

The JPS translates the verse as:

“Moab would be my washbasin; on Edom I would cast my shoe; acclaim me, O Philistia!”

This translation, which is found in most English translations, identifies סִיר רַחְצִי as “my wash-basin” or “my washpot.” As Robert Alter explains it, “Moab is a humble receptacle for bathing water.” That certainly fits our understanding of the Hebrew root רחץ.

However, the Greek Septuagint provides an unusual translation of this same verse:

“Moab is the cauldron of my hope; over Idumea will I stretch out my shoe; the Philistines have been subjected to me.”

Where did the phrase “cauldron of my hope” come from? Why does it not refer to washing or bathing?

In this book, Prof. Seulgi L. Byun writes:

The rare BH word רַחְץ “washing” is represented by ἐλπίς “hope” in the LXX, which corresponds semantically to Aramaic רחץ, “trust, lean on.” Frankel was the first to suggest that the LXX translator was influenced by Aramaic רחץ, and the evidence is convincing. Though the Hebrew verb רחץ “bathe, wash” continues to be used in PBH, the noun רַחְץ “washing” is not attested in PBH. If, as it appears, the translator did not know a nominal form of the root רחץ “wash,” he could easily have made a guess on the basis of the verb, which he correctly translates elsewhere in LXX Pss (26[25].6; 58[57].11; 73[72].13). Instead, he renders it on the basis of an Aramaic meaning that was available to him.

The Frankel here appears to be Zecharias Frankel, in his study of the Septuagint, Vorstudien zur Septuaginta (Leipzig, 1841). I don’t know how accurate the claim is, but it’s fascinating to think that an example of :false friends" could go so far back in history.

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.