Revivalistics: From the Genesis of Israeli to Language Reclamation in Australia and Beyond 0199812772, 9780199812776

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Revivalistics

Revivalistics From the Genesis of Israeli to Language Reclamation in Australia and Beyond G H I L ‘A D Z U C K E R M A N N

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad, author. Title: Revivalistics : from the genesis of Israeli to language reclamation in Australia and beyond / Ghil‘ad Zuckermann. Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2020] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2019051782 (print) | LCCN 2019051783 (ebook) | ISBN 9780199812776 (hardback) | ISBN 9780199812790 (paperback) | ISBN 9780190097035 (epub) | ISBN 9780190097042 Subjects: LCSH: Language revival—Case studies. | Hebrew language—Revival. | Barngarla language—Revival. Classification: LCC P40.5.L357 Z83 2020 (print) | LCC P40.5.L357 (ebook) | DDC 306.44—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019051782 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019051783 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Paperback printed by LSC Communications, United States of America Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States of America

Contents Acknowledgements xi Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation: General Orthographic Conventions xiii Phonetic Transcription xiii Hebrew xv Yiddish xv Arabic xvi Chinese xvi Transliteration and Native Orthography xvii Hebrew/​Israeli xvii Russian xix Translation xix Introduction xxi

1. The Hebrew Reclamation: Myth and Reality



1.1 Background 1.2 A New Approach to the Genesis of Israeli: A Phoenicuckoo Cross 1.3 The ‘Hebrew Mythology’

1

1 4 9

1.3.1 The Mutual Intelligibility Assumption vs My ‘Translate the Bible to Israeli’ Approach 9 1.3.2 The Stammbaum Model vs My Congruence Principle Approach 15 1.3.3 The ‘Hebrew Continued’ Approach vs My Founder Principle Approach 15 1.3.4 The Second Language as Mother Tongue Idea vs the Native Language Uniqueness Approach 19 1.3.5 The Lazy, Mistaken Language Thesis vs My ‘Native Speakers Do Not Make Mistakes’ Approach 20

1.4 Proposed Periodization of Hebrew and Israeli 23 1.5 The Genetic Classification of Israeli: Thesis, Antithesis and Synthesis 26 1.6 Israeli as a Mixed, ‘Semi-​engineered’ Language 28 1.7 The Founder Principle 33 1.8 The Success Rate of the Hebrew Revival 36 1.9 The Congruence Principle 38 1.9.1 Forms vs Patterns 1.9.2 Hybridity and the Congruence Principle

39 42

vi Contents

2. ’Nother Tongue: Subconscious Cross-​Fertilization between Hebrew and Its Revivalists’ Mother Tongues

2.1 Phonetics

44 44

2.1.1 Consonant Inventory 46 2.1.1.1 Neutralization of the Pharyngeals ‫ק‬, ‫ט‬, and ‫ צ‬46 2.1.1.2 Neutralization of ‫ע‬, ‫ח‬, ‫ה‬, and ‫ א‬46 2.1.1.3 Hebrew Alveolar Trill vs the Israeli Unique Lax Uvular Approximant 46 2.1.1.4 The Suffering of Israeli Dyslexics 47 2.1.1.5 Implications of the Lack of Vocalization 49 2.1.1.6 Palindromic Stories 51



2.2 Phonology

52



2.3 Syntax

60

2.4 Morphology

65











2.2.1 Hebrew Allophones vs Israeli Phonemes 2.2.2 Syllable Structure 2.2.3 Unaspired Spirantization 2.2.4 Word-​Initial Schwa Mobile 2.2.5 Penultimate Stress 2.2.6 Intonation 2.3.1 2.3.2 2.3.3 2.3.4 2.3.5

Word Order Verb-​Subject Disagreement Copula Enhancement Modifier Preceding Noun Tautological Infinitives

2.4.1 Analytic Israeli: Possessive Analyticization and Weakening of the Construct-​State 2.4.2 Auxiliary Verbs 2.4.3 Prosodic Structure, Verb-​Template Productivity and Uprooting the Semitic Root 2.4.4 Neologisms that Do Not Follow Pre-​existent Patterns 2.4.5 Selected Productivity of Verb-​Templates 2.4.6 Israeli as Habere Language: Reinterpretation of a Hebrew Form to Fit a European Pattern 2.4.7 Numeral and Noun (Dis)agreement 2.4.8 Inchoativity 2.4.9 Tense/​Aspect/​Mood 2.4.10 Suffixes 2.4.11 Intransitivization 2.4.12 Decliticization-​in-​Progress of the Proclitics Be-​‘In’, Le-​ ‘To’, Mi-​/​Me-​ ‘From’, Ve-​ ‘And’ 2.4.13 Linguistic Gender and Noun-​Pattern Productivity 2.4.14 Portmanteau Blending

2.5 Lexis

2.5.1 Overt Borrowing

52 53 54 56 56 58 60 62 63 63 64

65 67 68 72 73 74 76 77 80 81 84 84 86 87

89

90

Contents  vii





2.5.2 Calquing 2.5.3 Phono-​Semantic Matching 2.5.4 Etymythology and Reality

2.6 Practical Implications and Terminology 2.7 Social and Political Implications

3. Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood: Conscious Ideological Secularization of Hebrew Terms

91 92 101

105 108

112



3.1 Background



3.2 Ex Interno Lexical Enrichment in Israeli

114



3.3 Ideologically Neutral Secularization in Israeli

118



3.4 Ideological Secularization in Israeli

122







3.1.1 Sources of Lexical Expansion

3.2.1 Creating Secondary (and Tertiary) Roots from Nouns 3.2.2 Semantic Shifting of Pre-​existent Words 3.2.3 Semantic Secularization 3.3.1 Phono-​Semantic Matching (PSM) 3.3.2 Calquing 3.3.3 Semantic Shifting: Temple Utensils 3.3.4 Other Secularized Semantic Shifts 3.3.5 Survival of the Best Fit

3.4.1 Confession on the Subject of Our Language 3.4.2 Survival of the Best Fit 3.4.3 Semantic Shifting Deifying Nationhood 3.4.4 Transvaluation 3.4.5 Pejoration 3.4.6 Mild Amelioration (Negative→Neutral) 3.4.7 Extreme Amelioration (Negative→Positive) Defying Religion 3.4.8 Ameliorative Recycling of Biblical Names: Using Deep-​Rooted Hebrew Forms Ignoring Their Original Negative Associations 3.4.9 Trivialization (‘Israelis Have No God’) 3.4.10 Allusion

3.5 Concluding Remarks

4. Realistic Prescriptivism: The Hebrew Language Academy and the Native Speaker





4.1 ‘Purifying’ the Israeli Language 4.2 The Academy of the Hebrew Language 4.2.1 4.2.2 4.2.3 4.2.4

General Information Goals and Functions Day-​to-​Day Work Plenum Dynamics

4.3 Possible Explanations for Failed Neologisms 4.4 The Academy’s Deliberate Slowness

112

114 114 116 117 118 119 120 121 121 122 124 125 127 130 130 132

142 144 145

149

150 150 151

151 151 152 155

156 157

viii Contents



4.5 ‘If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them!’: U-​Turn Decisions by the Academy 159 4.5.1 Lexis: Lahít 4.5.2 Morphology: Construct-​State

4.6 ‘. . . And If You Join Them, Cover Your Arse!’: Rationalizing the Surrender 162 4.7 Predic(a)tion: Numeral and Noun (Dis)agreement 163 4.8 Comparing Revival Languages to Constructed Languages 164



5. Shift Happens: Tarbutomics, Israeli Culturomics

159 161



5.1 Trans-​disciplinarity, Genomics, and Linguistics 5.2 From Culturomics to Tarbutomics 5.3 Scanned Hebrew and Israeli Books 5.4 Cultural Trends in Israel 5.5 Hebrew Failure 5.6 Hebrew Success 5.7 Arabic Lexical Items within Israeli 5.8 Celebrities’ Contribution 5.9 Competing Hebrew-​Derived Neologisms 5.10 Competing Spelling Variations 5.11 The Bigger Picture

6. ‘Stop, Revive, Survive’: Revivalistics from the ‘Promised Land’ to the ‘Lucky Country’





165

165 167 171 173 174 176 179 180 181 182 184

186

6.1 Linguicide, Glottophagy 186 6.2 Comparative Analysis of Hebrew and Aboriginal Language Revival 192 6.3 Be Spoken Rather Than Bespoke: Universal Constraints of Language Revival, Authenticity vs Emblematicity 195 6.4 Revivalistics 199 6.4.1 The Reinvigoration of Yiddish as a Secular Language 6.4.2 Trans-​disciplinarity 6.4.3 Language Revival and the Community

6.5 LARD, from Theory to Practice—​Language Revival Diamond: Language Owners, Linguistics, Education and Public Sphere 6.5.1 Language Owners 6.5.2 Linguistics, Translation, and Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) 6.5.3 Education 6.5.4 The Public Sphere 6.5.5 LARD Dynamics

201 204 209

211

212

214 220 222 225

Contents  ix

7. Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language Reclamation 227

7.1 Brief Historical Background of the Barngarla Aboriginal Language 227 7.2 Barngarla Language Reclamation Activities 231 7.3 The Barngarla Dictionary App 233

8. Native Tongue Title: Compensation for Linguicide

240



243 244 245



8.1 Legal Rights and Revivalistics 8.2 Why Should We Invest Time and Money in Reviving Languages?



8.3 8.4 8.5 8.6

8.2.1 Ethical Reasons 8.2.2 Aesthetic Reasons 8.2.3 Utilitarian Benefits

Case for Compensation for the Loss of Language Linguistic Human Rights Ex Gratia Schemes: Native Tongue Title Further Steps towards Language Revival

240 243

247 251 258 262

9. Our Ancestors Are Happy: Language Revival and Mental Health 266

9.1 Is There a Link between Language Revival and Improved Wellbeing? 266 9.2 The Current State of Mental Health of Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People 268 9.3 Cultural Identity, Language, and Cultural Continuity 271 9.4 Revivalistics in the Service of Mental Health 273

References Index

281 307

Acknowledgements This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, Efraim (Scipione) Zuckermann (1933, Rome—​2017, Tel Aviv), a traumatized survivor, polymath, artist and teacher, who inspired me—​in an implicit, indirect way—​to become a philosopher in the original sense of ‘lover of wisdom’. I would like to thank my wife Qinjie (Jay) Yang and our three exquisite Jewrasian sons—​Giulio Xíngtiān Yehuda Zuckermann, Giovanni Lahav Zhīrán Zuckermann, and Gianluca Gadi Yuèyáng Zuckermann—​for accepting my infinite love. I am grateful to Howard Richards (1951–​2019, member of the Stolen Generations) and the Barngarla Aboriginal people (South Australia) for allowing me to facilitate the reclamation of their dreaming, sleeping beauty tongue that was unfortunately subject to linguicide (language killing); Ministry for the Arts, Federal Government of Australia, for supporting the Barngarla reclamation and thus righting the wrong of the past; National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) for supporting our 2017–​ 2021 project examining quantitatively and systematically the correlation between language reclamation and wellbeing; and the University of Adelaide, where I am the endangered languages chair (so endangered that I am the only such chair in Australia). I thank Professor Yitzhak Pilpel of the Weizmann Institute of Science for conceiving and performing the Google data analyses presented in Chapter 5. I am grateful to Azzan Yadin for his significant contribution to Chapter  4, Shiori Shakuto and Giovanni Matteo Quer for their contribution to Chapter 8, Michael Walsh for his contribution to Chapter 9, Robert Amery for his contribution to §6.5, and Meredith Keffer and Macey Fairchild (Oxford University Press, New York), Lili Sekhmet Bollen and Jeroen van de Weijer for comments on a draft. It goes without saying that I assume full responsibility for everything contained in this book. Ghil‘ad Zuckermann

Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation General Orthographic Conventions x á à [x]‌ /​x/​ σ *x √abc

phonetic transcription (sometimes transliteration, see below) major stress secondary stress transcription according to the International Phonetic Alphabet phonemic transcription syllable x is an undocumented form abc is a root

In the case of Hebrew or Israeli verb-templates, noun-patterns and adjectival patterns, I use ⌂⌂⌂ for the radicals rather than 123, √qṭl or √ktl. Thus, mi⌂⌂á⌂ stands for the Hebrew noun-​pattern miqṭål, currently pronounced miktál. The Hebrew term for noun-​pattern (and adjective-​pattern) is ‫משקל‬, I mishkál, whilst the Hebrew term for verb-​template is ‫בּ ְניָן‬, I binyán. However, I use noun-​(and adjectival) pattern and verb-​template respectively. To assist the reader, and to make foreign phonetics completely accessible, I provide my free online recordings of foreign lexical items analysed in the book (e.g. in the phonetically-​rich §2.1.1.4) at www.oup.com/us/zuckermann.

Phonetic Transcription Unless stated otherwise, I use the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA).

Israeli (a revival language resulting from the Hebrew reclamation) As this book may be of interest to linguists who are not familiar with Oriental Transcription, it uses—​along with the Hebrew orthography—​the

xiv  Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation most user-​friendly Anglicized form of transcription: sh rather than [ʃ] or š; kh and not [χ] or ch/​x/​h/​ħ/​ḥ/​kh; ts and not [t s͡ ] or tz/​c; zh and not [ʒ] or ž, ch and not [t ʃ͡ ] or č/​tsh. To prevent confusion with other transcription forms I use dzh rather than j (for IPA [d ʒ]). For the convenience of the ͡ reader, stress is indicated although it is not represented in Israeli orthography. I use the acute stress system: í, é, á, ó, ú. Importantly, the transcription adopted here matches the one used for Yiddish (see below). My transcription is very descriptive: I transcribe the Israeli word as it is pronounced by the majority of (young) native Israeli-​speakers today. For example, the Hebrew pharyngeal gulp ‫( ע‬ʕ) and the Hebrew glottal stop ‫א‬ (ʔ) are generally not represented because they are usually not pronounced in Israeli. They are only represented (both as ‘) when in a post-​consonantal position within uncom mon words, in which c ase they are pro no unc ed. Compare the frequently used I ‫ נראה‬nirá [niˈʁa] ‘seemed (masculine, singular)’ (where the glottal stop is not pronounced) to the rare ‫ תשאל‬tish’él [tiʃˈʔel] ‘interrogated, questioned (masculine, singular)’ (where the glottal stop is pronounced). The consonant ‫( י‬y) i s usu ally not repres ented unless it is pronounced, cf. kháim rather than kháyim (‫)חיים‬. That said, ‫( ה‬h) is sometimes represented although in reality it is hardly pronounced (it is pronounced only in the case of uncommon words, and by some speakers at the beginning of phrases). In special cases, when the exact pronunciation is needed, IPA is used. Using IPA, the Israeli unique uvular approximant—​transcribed in this book as r—​is transcribed as [ʁ] although it is pronounced by most native Israeli-​ speakers born in Israel [ʁ̞], which is much ‘softer’ (lax) than the Arabic consonant ‫[ غ‬ʁ] (as in ‫ّزة‬۰‫ˈ[ ء‬ʁazza] ‘Gaza’) and different from the French uvular trill [ʁ]. However, some native Israeli-​speakers pronounce r as the voiced alveolar trill [r]‌. In the case of Israeli names, titles, sentences, and meta-​ language expressions: 1. If their English parallel is given in the book source or if they have a common transcription, I usually adopt it. This is also the reason for the apparent inconsistency in the transcriptions of the Israeli publisher name ‫קרית ספר‬: Kiryath Sepher (Kutscher 1965), Kiryat-​S efer (Even-​Shoshan 1997). I simply employ the transcription whi ch appears in each book. Similarly, I do not Britishize American forms. 2. Otherwise, I use a user-​friendly Anglicized form of transcription.

Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation   xv

Hebrew In addition to providing the Hebrew orthography, I use the IPA, modified according to the following traditional Hebrew transcriptions: [bh], [kh], and [ph] represent spirantized [b]‌, [k], and [p], cf. [ß], [x], and [ɸ], and Israeli [v], [χ], and [f], respectively. Using IPA for Hebrew—​as opposed to the user-​friendly Anglicized transcription used for Israeli—​helps the reader differentiate easily between Hebrew, the ancient language, no longer spoken, and Israeli, a modern, spoken tongue that is a revival language resulting from the Hebrew reclamation. My tr anscription of Biblical Hebrew, Rabbinic Hebrew, and the medieval versions of Hebrew represents in detail the Hebrew vocalization (‘vowel marking’, cf. ‘pointing’, a calque of ‫ נקוד‬nikúd) even though this traditional Tiberian vocalization (as well as the other forms of Hebrew vocalization such as the superscribed Babylonian and Palestinian) is post-​rabbinic, having been introduced between ad 600–​850. The following are the signs used (with their names in Israeli): ǝ i ī e ε ε̆ a

shvá (Schwa) khirík khirík malé tseré (some prefer ē), long/​tense segól (some prefer e) khatáf segól patákh

ӑ

khatáf patákh

å å̆ o o ō u ū

kamáts (some prefer ā, others ɔ) khatáf kamáts kamáts katán kholám kholám malé kubúts shurúk

Yiddish Besides the Hebrew orthography of Yiddish lexical items, I provide a phonetic transcription for them. I use ǝ (though not in the bibliographical references, where e/​i is used instead), as well as syllabic n (as ņ) and syllabic l (as

xvi  Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation ļ). However, I use o for [ɔ], and e for [ε]. As in the case of Israeli, the most user-​friendly Anglicized form of transcription is employed: sh rather than [ʃ] or š; kh and not [χ] or ch/​x/​h; ts and not [t s͡ ] or tz/​c; zh and not [ʒ] or ž, ch and not [t ʃ͡ ] or č/​tsh. To prevent confusion with other transcription forms I use dzh rather than j (for IPA [d ʒ]). For the convenience of the non-​Yiddish-​ ͡ speaking reader I indicate stress although it is not represented in the Yiddish orthography; I use the acute stress system: í, é, á, ó, ú. Note that the prevalent pronunciation of the Yiddish ‫( ר‬r) is [ʁ̞] (examples of exceptions are Vilna, and the Moscow State Theatre), and this shaped the widespread pronunciation of the Israeli ‫( ר‬which I transcribe here as r): [ʁ̞].

Arabic I use the broad International Phonetic Alphabet for both Standard Arabic (phonemic transcription) and Vernacular Arabic (phonetic transcription). However, with regard to the emphatic (pharyngealized) consonants, I follow (i) The Encyclopaedia of Islam 1960 (cf. vol. i, p. xiii); (ii) Library of Congress (cf. Cataloging Service, Bulletin 118, Summer 1976); (iii) International Journal of Middle East Studies (cf. vol. xxxi, 1999:  724); and (iv) Wehr’s Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic (e.g. 1994). Thus, I use ṣ for ‫( ص‬cf. IPA [sʕ]), ḍ for ‫( ض‬cf. IPA [dʕ]), ṭ for ‫( ط‬cf. IPA [tʕ]), and ẓ for ‫( ظ‬cf. IPA [ðʕ]). Final hamza (following ʔalif) is represented by ʔ. Long vowels are represented by IPA [:]‌following the vowel, rather than by a bar over the vowel. The letter ‫ ج‬is represented as IPA [d ʒ]) ͡ although in most Arabic dialects in Israel it is pronounced [ʒ].

Chinese Most of the Chinese lexical items are from Modern Standard Chinese [MSC], which is based on the Mandarin language, one of the ten Chinese languages. Besides the Chinese characters, I use the (Hànyǔ) Pīnyīn transcription, the official spelling system of mainland China—​as opposed to Wade-​Giles system of romanization and Taiwan’s Tōngyòng Pīnyīn. Note that although Pīnyīn uses consonants such as b, d and g, MSC has no distinctively voiced consonants and those stand for unaspirated voiceless consonants. I also indicate tones. MSC has 5 tonal options (4 tones and neutral):

Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation   xvii 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

level tone rising tone dipping tone falling tone neutral

e.g. 妈 e.g. 麻 e.g. 马 e.g. 骂 e.g. 吗

MSC MSC MSC MSC MSC

mā má mǎ mà ma

‘mother’ ‘hemp, flax (a plant)’ ‘horse’ ‘to curse, swear, speak badly of ’ (an interrogative particle)

I use the ‘solid’ method (see Ramsey 1989: 61), i.e. within the boundaries of a word I do not leave spaces between the (usually) monosyllabic morphemes; this method is currently preferred by most linguists and government agencies although it follows neither the traditional writing system (e.g. in Vietnamese, ibid.: 60) nor the native Chinese-​speaker’s tendency to conceive of a word as a combination of monosyllabic morphemes (unlike native English-​speakers who would not write establish ment or Fin land). The advantage of using the ‘solid’ method is that it enables an easy distinction between words in a compound. However, one must be careful not to extend this method ‘hypercorrectly’ beyond the word boundaries since this can result in a Polynesian-​or German-​like sesquipedalian polysyllable such as 沈阳师范学院学报 Shěnyángshīfànxuéyuànxuébào ‘The Journal of Shenyang Teachers College’ (ibid.: 61). If a word existed in Chinese prior to MSC, ‘MSC’ is mentioned after the Chinese characters and before the Pīnyīn transcription since the original Chinese pronunciation might have been different from MSC and since the same characters are used by other Chinese languages such as Cantonese, where the phonetic realization is different. If a word were introduced in MSC itself, ‘MSC’ is mentioned before the Chinese characters since this combination of characters is new. That said, when a distinction is made between an earlier form of a Chinese character and the simplified form used by MSC, ‘MSC’ precedes the simplified character.

Transliteration and Native Orthography Hebrew/​Israeli Some linguistic works that mention Hebrew and Israeli words only provide a phonetic transcription. This practice is flawed for two main reasons: (i) There are many instances of Israeli homophonous words sharing the same phonetic transcription, but spelled differently; (ii) Almost all Hebrew/​Israeli dictionaries are organized according to spelling, not sound, so that people

xviii  Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation unfamiliar with the spelling of a word would have trouble finding it without transliteration or native orthography. To avoid this difficulty, I sometimes use transliteration, but usually provide the original orthography. For readers unfamiliar with Hebrew/​Israeli, the Hebrew letters—​with their current names (* indicates a non-​standard name) and transliterating signs (the latter used in this book only when transcribing roots, abbreviations or individual letters)—​are as follows: álef

‫א‬

Ɂ

bet gímel/​gímal *dzhímel/​dzhímal dáled/​dálet hey vav záin *zháin khet tet

‫ב‬ ‫ג‬ '‫ג‬ ‫ד‬ ‫ה‬ ‫ו‬ ‫ז‬ '‫ז‬ ‫ח‬ ‫ט‬

b g g’ d h w z z’ ħ

yud/​yod kaf lamed mem nun sámekh/​sámakh áin pey tsádi(k)

‫י‬ ‫כ‬ ‫ל‬ ‫מ‬ ‫נ‬ ‫ס‬ ‫ע‬ ‫פ‬ ‫צ‬

*chádi(k)

'‫צ‬

kuf/​kof resh shin sin taf/​tav

‫ק‬ ‫ר‬ ‫ש‬ ‫שׂ‬ ‫ת‬

ṭ or ţ j k l m n s ʕ p ṣ or ş ṣ’ q r š ś t

Transcription, Transliteration, and Translation   xix

Russian Although I  often use the Cyrillic alphabet, I  have chosen transliteration rather than phonetic transcription. I use the ‘British System’ of transliteration as given in British Standard 2979:1958, for which see Hart’s Rules (1993: 119–​ 20). The choice of the British System—​as opposed to the International System—​was motivated by the fact that the former is more similar to the Israeli and Yiddish transcription that I use here in that IPA [j]‌is transcribed as y, not j. Note that in the ‘British System’, the soft sign ь (мягкий знак myágkiĭ znak) is indicated by an apostrophe; the automatic palatalizations before the letters e (ye), and ё (yo), and и (i) are not marked (cf. the vowels э [e] and o [o], before which there is never palatalization); and the pronunciation [a] of an unstressed /​o/​is not shown.

Translation All translations from non-​English sources used in this book are my own unless otherwise indicated. However, whenever an English translation of a title is provided in a non-​English book or article, I have used it even if it does not correspond precisely to the original title. Whenever I have not found such an English version, I have used my own translation.

Introduction I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain. John Adams, 1735–​1826, second president of the United States, in a letter to Abigail Adams in 1780

This book introduces revivalistics, a trans-​disciplinary field of enquiry surrounding language reclamation (of a no-​longer spoken language such as Hebrew or the Barngarla Aboriginal language of South Australia), revitalization (of a severely endangered language such as Adnyamathanha) and reinvigoration (of an endangered language that still has a high percentage of children speaking it, for example Welsh and Irish). The book is divided into two main parts that represent my own journey into language revival, from the ‘Promised Land’ to the ‘Lucky Country’: • Part One: Chapters 1–​5 critically and innovatively analyse the most famous l anguage reclamation so far: th at of Hebrew. The Hebrew reclamat ion, which took place in Eret z Yisrael (‘Land of Israel’; Palestine) in 1880s–​1930s, resulted in a fully-​f ledged language that is the native tongue of millions of people. Therefore it constitutes an unparall eled laborato ry for examining what is eas ily revivable and what is not, and what the role of cros s-​fertiliz ation is in language revival. Although in language reclamation, unlike the usual case, the parents learn the emerging language from the children. Israeli linguists, by and large, have insisted in analysing what I  call ‘Israeli’ (my term for the

xxii Introduction ‘revival language’ that emerged from the reclamation of Hebrew) as if it were Hebrew with mistakes. This book corrects this unintellectual flaw. • Part Two: The book then applies practical lessons (rather than clichés) from the critical analysis of the Hebrew reclamation to other revival movements globally (Chapter 6), and goes on to describe the why and how of language revival. The how (Chapters 6–​7) includes practical, nitty-​gritty methods for reclaiming sleeping beauties, such as the Barngarla Aboriginal language of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia, e.g. using what I call talknology (talk + technology). The why includes ethical (Chapter 8), aesthetic, and utilitarian reasons such as mental health (Chapter 9). I use the term ‘sleeping beauty’ as a positive, poetic way to champion and celebrate these dormant tongues, and to avoid the negative connotations of alternatives such as ‘dead’ or ‘extinct’, which are often rejected or rebuked by indigenous people. Furthermore, I use the term ‘dreamin g beau ty’ to refer, poetically and positively, to an Australian Aborigin al sl eeping beauty, specifically. The reason is the Australian Aboriginal concept known in English as ‘Dreaming’ or ‘Dreamtime’—​ cf. jukurrpa in Warlpiri, or altjira in Arrernte, see §6.5.2. If you are more interested in contemporary revival movements than in the Hebrew revival, you can skip Chapters 1–​5 and only read Part Two. It might well be the case that by the time you finish Chapter 9, you may have a new appetite for exploring critically the Hebrew revival, i.e. for reading Part One. Just like any intellectual book, a fortiori when championing multiple causation, this book includes components of ‘on the one hand . . . on the other hand’: On the one hand, the book suggests, controversially, that the Hebrew reclamation resulted in a hybrid language that contradicts the over-​applied Family Tree (Stammbaum) model of historical linguistics, popularized in 1853 by August Schleicher (1821–​1868). Furthermore, it proposes that, under the current talknological level, any successful language reclamation can only result in a cross-​fertilized hybrid rather than in the original tongue that the revivalists wish to reclaim. One day we may invent devices to ‘inject’ a language into our DNA, an envisioned ‘Babel fish’ as in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, in which a fish is inserted into the ear for instant simultaneous translation of any language spoken in the universe. But until then, any attempt to reclaim a dreaming, sleeping beauty tongue will result in a syncretism that combines components from the revivalists’ (and documenters’) mother tongues and, of course, the target language.

Introduction  xxiii On the other hand, although one might jump to the wrong conclusion that I am anti-​revival (as I argue that Israeli is distinct from Hebrew), this book not only champions and promotes language revival, but also offers practical advice as to how to reclaim hibernating languages. I argue that there is an urgent need to provide clear, direct, practical, and comparative revivalistic insights from all over the globe. Indeed, with globalization, homogenization, and Coca-​colonization, there will be more and more groups all over the world added to the forlorn club of the lost-​heritage peoples. Language revival will become increasingly relevant as people seek to recover their cultural autonomy, empower their spiritual and intellectual sovereignty, and improve their wellbeing. The book thus explores the various moral, aesthetic, psychological, cognitive, and economic benefits of language revival. This encompasses social justice, social harmony, diversity, wellbeing, mental health, and employability. Personally, the deontological, ethical, moral reasons for language reclamation (righting the wrong of the past) are sufficient for me: those human languages that became dreaming, sleeping beauties due to linguicide (language killing) simply deserve to be revived. It is simply the right thing to do. But some civil servants and politicians feel obliged to look for utilitarian benefits too: ‘If I give you one million dollars, prove to me that you will save me two million dollars’. This book responds to that demand too. Another link between the first part of the book (Chapters 1-​5) and the second part is the preference I give speakers over the language. In the Hebrew revival case, whilst traditionalists begin from the language, I look at whether or not there is a genetic chain of native speakers between Hebrew and the emerging Israeli. Furthermore, I embrace the native Israeli speaker whilst traditionalists rebuke them for ‘slaughtering’ Hebrew. Similarly, in the second part of the book I prefer revivalistics than documentary linguistics as only the former puts the speakers—​rather than the language—​at the centre. From a practical perspective, the reader of this book will learn both how to analyse the emerging revival-​tongue and—​importantly—​how to revive languages. One of the implications of this book is that languages resulting from reclamation constitute a linguistic category (cf. ‘language family’) of their own. Thus, Israeli (the result of the Hebrew reclamation) ought to be linguistically categorized along with Reclaimed Barngarla rather than as a member of the Semitic language family, the latter being a branch of the Afro-​Asiatic language family. In the ‘revival language’ category, scholarly research should focus on the constraints of language revival, on cross-​fertilization between the language

xxiv Introduction being revived and the revivalists’ mother tongues, and on the differences between the original sleeping beauty and the actual emergent revival language. Unfortunately, the arts and humanities in the neo-​liberal, over-​capitalist West at the end of the second decade of the twenty-​first century remind me of the three marks of existence in Buddhism: 1. Impermanence (Pāli:  anicca):  nothing is constant. Therefore attachment to things (which are ipso facto impermanent) is futile and leads to suffering (Pāli: dukkha). 2. Suffering (Pāli:  dukkha; Sanskrit:  duḥkha):  everything is painful and stressful. We ought to be realistic. 3. Not-​self (Pāli: anatta; Sanskrit: anātman): there is no Self. But as John Adams, the second President of the United States in (1797–​1801) wrote to Abigail Adams in 1780 (see the aforementioned introductory note): I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.

After ‘porcelain’, I  would add:  Language, Heritage, Culture, Revivalistics, Language Revival. I believe that so far there have been four linguistic revolutions in history: (1) The emergence of speaking: more than 70,000 years ago; (2) The emergence of writing: approximately 5,200 years ago; (3) The emergence of type-​printing: first half of the second millennium ad: Bì Shēng develops in 1041-​1048 the first moveable type printing press; Johannes Gutenberg develops in c.  1450 the first European moveable type printing press, enabling mass production of books. (4) The emergence of talknology (talk + technology): twentieth century-​ present: digital mass media, CNN, Facebook, Twitter etc., resulting in ‘big data’. Whereas the Industrial Revolution (1760–​ 1840) turned people from seeking food to seeking things, I  propose that the current Talknological

Introduction  xxv

SELFACTUALIZATION Pursue Inner Talent, Creativity Fulfillment SELF-ESTEEM Achievement, Mastery, Recognition, Respect BELONGING—LOVE Friends, Family, Spouse, Lover SAFETY Security, Stability, Freedom from Fear PHYSIOLOGICAL Food, Water, Shelter, Warmth WI-FI BATTERY

Figure 1  Abraham Maslow’s 1943 hierarchy of needs, addenda by Zuckermann

Revolution will eventually turn the hoi polloi from seeking things to seeking ideas. In his seminal article ‘A Theory of Human Motivation’, Maslow (1943) explored the hierarchy of needs—​see the slightly modified pyramid in Figure 1. In accordance with searching for ideas, resulting from the Talknological Revolution, more and more people in the future will go up Maslow’s ladder and be interested not just in, say, large houses and speedy cars but also in heritage, culture, and language. This is when language revival would become more prevalent than it is today, and this is when my book will be sought after. This book is divided into nine chapters. Here are very brief punchlines of each chapter in this book: Part One: Chap. 1: Reclaimed Hebrew is a Hybrid Language, a Mosaic Rather Than Mosaic Tout Court Chap. 2: Grammatical Cross-​Fertilization with the Revivalists’ Mother Tongues Is Inevitable Chap. 3: Language is Most Useful for Nationhood, and Vice Versa

xxvi Introduction Chap. 4:  Language Academies are Good, Unless a Language is Fully-​ Fledged, Alive, and Kicking Chap. 5: Culturomics is a Useful Quantitative Tool for Revivalistics and Linguistics Part Two: Chap. 6:  Revivalistics is a Beneficial Global, Comparative, Trans-​ Disciplinary Field of Enquiry Chap. 7: Technology and Talknology are Language Killers, But can also be used to Reverse Language Shift Chap. 8: People whose Language was Subject to Linguicide Should be Compensated for Language Loss. Chap. 9: Language Revival can Improve Wellbeing and Mental Health.

Following are further details about each chapter in the book: Part One:

• Chapter 1, entitled ‘The Hebrew Reclamation: Myth and Reality’, introduces an original analysis of the Hebrew reclamation, resulting in ‘Israeli’, a term first used by Zuckermann (1999). A language is a col-​lect-​ion (a collection of lects), an abstract ensemble of lects (idiolects, sociolects, dialects, and other lects) rather than an entity per se. It is more like a species than an organism. (Therefore, a linguist must generalize; a linguist who does not generalize is a spy). Still, the genetic classification of Israeli as a consistent entity has preoccupied linguists since the language emerged at the end of the nineteenth century. As a consequence, Isr aeli aff ords insights into the politics and evolution not only of language, but also of linguistics and revivalistics. The chapter proposes that the language spoken in Israel today is a mosaic rather than Mosaic tout court. Israeli is a semi-​ engineered, Semito-​European hybrid language. Its complexity should be acknowledged and celebrated, regardless of what one chooses to call it. The Chapter also introduces two useful principles to the analysis of revival languages: The Founder Principle and the Congruence Principle. In revivalistics, the Founder Principle proposes that the impact of the mother tongues of the revivalists—​in the critical period of the emergence of the revival language—​is much greater than that of following generations. The Congruence Principle in revivalistics proposes that the more contributing languages a feature exists in, the more likely it is to persist in the emerging revival language.

Introduction  xxvii • Chapte r 2, en titled ‘Nother Tongue: Subconscious Cross-F ertilization between Hebrew and Its Revivalists’ Mother Tongues’, analyses salient phonetic, phonological, morpho logical, syntactic, and lexical featur es in t he fully-​ fledged Israeli language. It illustrates the difficulty in determining a single source for the grammar of Israeli. The European impact in these features is apparent inter alia in structure, semantics, or productivity. The chapter demonstrates the ubiquitous multiple causation in Israeli and that the revival of a no-​longer spoken language is unlikely without cross-​fertilization from the revivalists’ mother tongue(s). Thus, one should expect revival efforts to result in a language with a hybridic genetic and typological character. • Chapte r 3, en titled ‘Defying Religion and Deify in g Nat ionhood: Consc ious Ideolog ical Secularization of Hebrew Term s’, exp lores the widespread phenomenon of semantic secularization. An example of an ideologically-​neutral semantic secularization is visible in the transition of the meaning for the English word cell from ‘monk’s living place’ to become instead ‘autonomous self-​replicating unit from which tissues of the body are formed’. The main focus of this chapter, however, is on secularizations involving ideological what I call ‘lexical engineering’, as exemplified by deliberate, subversive processes of extreme semantic shifting, pejoration, amelioration, trivialization, and allusion. An example of such transvaluation, the transition of semantic value, is [bəloˈri:t]. In Mishnaic Hebrew this term means ‘Mohawk, an upright strip of hair that runs across the crown of the head from the forehead to the nape of the neck’, a distinctive of the abominable pagan and not to be touched by the Jewish barber. But, defying religious values—​as well as negating the Diaspora (where Jews by and large had tidy hair), secular Socialist Zionists use blorít with the meaning ‘forelock, hair above the forehead’, which becomes one of the defining characteristics of the ‘Sabra’ (‘prickly pear’ a metaphor for a native Israeli)—​as if proposing that the ‘new Jew’ is a pagan. In line with the prediction made by Gershom Scholem in his famous letter to Franz Rosenzweig (Bekenntnis über unsere Sprache, 1926), some ultra-​orthodox Jews have tried to launch a ‘lexical vendetta’: using secularized terms as dormant agents, as a shortcut to religious concepts, thus trying to convince secular Jews to go back to their religious roots. • Chapter 4, entitled ‘Realistic Prescriptivism: Language Academies and the Native Speaker’, explores the futile lexpionage (lexical + espionage) of the Academy of the Hebrew Language. During the past century, Israeli has become the primary mode of communication in all domains of Israel’s public

xxviii Introduction and private life. Issues of language are so sensitive in Israel that politicians are often involved. For example, in an article in Ha’aretz (21 June 2004), the late left-​wing politician Yossi Sarid attacked the (most widespread) ‘common language of éser shékel’ as inarticulate and monstrous, and urged civilians to fight it and protect ‘Hebrew’. However, most Israelis say éser shékel ‘ten shekels’ rather than asar-​á shkal-​ím (original Hebrew pronunciation: [ʕǎśåˈrå ʃəqåˈli:m]), the former literally meaning ‘ten (masculine singular) shekel (masculine singular)’, the latter ‘ten (feminine singular) shekels (masculine plural)’, and thus having a ‘polarity-​of-​gender agreement’—​with a feminine numeral and a masculine plural noun, which is a Biblical Hebrew norm, not so in Israeli. Brought into being by legislation in 1953 as the supreme institute for Hebrew, the Academy of the Hebrew Language prescribes standards for Israeli grammar, lexis (vocabulary), orthography, transcription, and vocalization (vowel marking) ‘based upon the study of Hebrew’s historical development’. This chapter critically analyses the Academy’s mission, as intriguingly—​and in my view oxymoronically—​defined in its constitution: ‘to direct the development of Hebrew in light of its nature’. It throws light on the dynamics within the committees’ meetings, and exposes some U-​turn decisions made by the Academy. I suggest that the Academy has begun submitting to the ‘real world’, accommodating its decrees to the parole, the speech, of native Israeli-​speakers, long regarded by the Academy as ‘reckless’ and ‘lazy’ whilst simply being native speakers of a language whose grammar is distinct from that of Hebrew. • C hapt er  5, entitled ‘Shift Happens: Tarbutomics, Israeli Culturomics’, explore s, f or th e first time, culturomics in Israeli. Culturomics is a trans-​disciplinary form of computational lexicology that studies human behavio ur, la ngu age, and cultural and historical trends through the quantit ative ana lysis of texts. My term tarbutomics is based on ‫תרבות‬ tarbú t, Is rae li for ‘culture’, thus calquing (loan-translating) the term culturomics. Tarbutomics ought to be a new tool for evaluating the linguistic, cultural, and social trends occurring throughout a historical period. To see how Hebrew lexis has changed from 1500 until 2009, the chapter analyses data from Google Books. To do this, the Google Books database was downloaded. Tarbutomics takes the raw Hebrew 1-​gram data and puts it in a relational database, allowing us to ask more sophisticated questions. It can shed light on questions about Israeli culture, Hebrew language reclamation, and about the development of the Israeli language throughout the twentieth century.

Introduction  xxix Part Two: • Chapter 6, entitled ‘Stop, Revive, Survive’: Revivalistics from the ‘Promised Land’ t o th e ‘Lu cky Country’, introduces revivalistics, a new trans-​ disciplinary field of enquiry, and explores lessons from Israeli that are applicable to the reclamation and empowerment of Aboriginal languages in Australia and elsewhere. Any language reawakening should involve a long period of thoroughly observing, carefully listening to the language custodians, and learning, mapping and characterizing the specific Indigenous community. Only then can one inspire and assist. That said, this chapter proposes that there are linguistic constraints (as seen in the Hebrew reclamation) applicable to all revival attempts. Mastering them would be useful to endangered languages, particularly to Indigenous linguistic revival. The chapter introduces a practical tool:  the quadrilateral Language Revival Diamond (LARD), featuring language owners, linguistics, education, and the public sphere. Each of these four core quadrants is necessary in reviving any language. • Chapter 7, entitled ‘Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Reclamation’, introduces the fascinating and multifaceted reclamation of the Barngarla Aborigi nal la ng uage of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia. In 2012, the Barngar la c om mu nity and I launched the reclamation of this sleeping beauty. The presence of three Barngarla populations, several hours drive apart, presents the revival linguist with a need for a sophisticated reclamation involving talknological innovations such as online chatting, newsgroups, as well as photo and resource sharing. The chapter provides a brief description of our activities so far and describes the Barngarla Dictionary App. The Barngarla reclamation demonstrates two examples of righting the wrong of the past: (1) A book written in 1844 in order to assist a German Lutheran missionary to introduce the Christian light to Aboriginal people (and thus to weaken their own spirituality), is used 170 years later (by a secular Jew) to assist the Barngarla Aboriginal people, who have been linguicided by Anglo-​Australians, to reconnect with their very heritage. (2) Technology, used for invasion (ships), colonization (weapons), and ‘Stolen Generations’ (governmental black cars kidnapping mixed-​race (‘half-​caste’) Aboriginal children from their mothers in order to forcibly assimilate them), is employed (in the form of an app) to assist the Barngarla to reconnect with their cultural autonomy, intellectual sovereignty, and spirituality.

xxx Introduction • Chapter 8, entitled ‘Native Tongue Title: Compensation for Linguicide’, proposes t he enactment of an ex gratia compensation scheme for the loss of In di ge nous languages in Australia. Although some Australian states have enacted ex gratia compensation schemes for the victims of the ‘St ole n Ge nerations’ policies, the victims of linguicide are largely overlooked by the Australian Government. Existing competitive grant schemes to support Aboriginal languages should be complemented with compensation schemes, which are based on a claim of right. The chapter first outlines the history of linguicide during colonization in Australia. It then puts a case for reviving lost Aboriginal languages by highlighting the deontological, aesthetic and utilitarian benefits of language revival. After evaluating the limits of existing Australian law in supporting language revival efforts, I propose ‘Native Tongue Title’, compensation for language loss—​modelled upon Native Title, compensation for land loss. • Chapter 9, entitled ‘‘Our Ancestors are Happy’: Language Revival and Mental Health’, explores the correlation between language revival and wellbeing. It suggests that there is an urgent need to systematically assess qu ant it at ively the mental health impact of language reclamation on Indigenous communities. The primary hypothesis is that there will be significant improvements in mental health during the language revival process, reduced suicide ideation (i.e. people would be less likely to come up with the idea of suicide as a possibility), reduced self-​harm, and reduced instances of suicide. Language is postulated as core to a people’s wellbeing and mental health. The link between poor mental health and suicide has been clearly demonstrated. But, it is one thing to have a statement about the importance of language and mental health; it is another to have the statistical evidence that governments often require to implement policies that will affect personal, community and social wellbeing. Hallett, Chandler, & Lalonde (2007) report a clear correlation between youth suicide and lack of conversational knowledge in the native language in British Columbia, Canada. However, there has been no systematic study of the impact of language revival on mental health and suicide, partly because language reclamation is still rare. This chapter suggests that just as language loss increases suicidal ideation and depression, language gain reduces ill mental health.

1 The Hebrew Reclamation Myth and Reality

One of the greatest Reasons why so few People understand themselves, is, that most Writers are always teaching Men what they should be, and hardly ever trouble their heads with telling them what they really are. Bernard de Mandeville (1714, cf. 1723: 25, [italicization mine])

1.1  Background Hebrew was spoken after the so-​called conquest of Canaan (c. thirteenth century BC). Following a gradual decline (even Jesus, ‘King of the Jews’, was a native speaker of Aramaic rather than Hebrew), it ceased to be spoken by the second century ad. The Bar-​Kokhba Revolt against the Romans in Judaea in ad 132–​5 marks the symbolic end of the period of spoken Hebrew. For more than 1,700 years thereafter, Hebrew was comatose, a sleeping beauty. It served as a liturgical and literary language, and occasionally a lingua franca for Jews of the Diaspora, but not as a mother tongue. The formation of the revival language known as ‘Israeli Hebrew’ (henceforth Israeli, see Zuckermann 1999; 2005ab; 2008a; Zuckermann 诸葛漫 2008) was facilitated at the end of the nineteenth century by Eliezer Ben-​ Yehuda (1858–​1922, the most famous Hebrew revivalist), schoolteachers, authors, and other intellectuals to further the Zionist cause. Earlier, during the Haskalah (enlightenment) period of the 1770s–​1880s, writers such as Méndele Móykher-​ Sfórim (originally Shalom Abramowitsch) produced works and neologisms which eventually contributed to Israeli. However, it was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that the language was first spoken.

2 Revivalistics During the past century, Israeli has become the official language of Israel, acting as the primary mode of communication throughout all state and local institutions and in all domains of public and private life. Yet, with the growing diversification of Israeli society, it has come also to highlight the very absence of a unitary civic culture among citizens, who, unfortunately, seem increasingly to share only their language. Israeli is currently the only de jure official language of the State of Israel (established in 1948), with Arabic being recognized as having a special status and with English as a de facto in langscape (linguistic landscape) but not a de jure official language. Israeli is spoken to varying degrees of fluency by approximately 9 million Israeli citizens; it is a mother tongue for most Israeli Jews (whose total number is approximately 6.75 million), and a second language for Israeli Muslims (Arabic speakers), Christians (e.g. Russian and Arabic speakers), Druze (Arabic speakers), among others. As aforementioned, language is a col-​lect-​ion, an abstract ensemble of lects. It is more like a species than an organism. ‘Linguistic change is inadvertent, a consequence of “imperfect replication” in the interactions of individual speakers as they adapt their communicative strategies to one another or to new needs’ (Mufwene 2001: 11). Still, linguists attempt to generalize about communal languages, and, in fact, the genetic classification of Israeli has preoccupied scholars since the beginning of the twentieth century. The still regnant (not to mention politically pregnant) traditional view suggests that it is Semitic:  (Biblical/​Mishnaic) Hebrew revived (e.g. Rabin 1974). Educators, scholars and politicians have propagated this view. There are four existing studies which this book seeks to complement:  Harshav (1993):  Horvath and Wexler (1997):  Kuzar (2001):  and Wexler (1990). Whereas Harshav’s and Kuzar’s books are invaluable for cultural studies, they do not provide a linguistic theory about the genesis of Israel’s main language. This book could be considered a response to Kuzar’s plea: ‘[i]‌n order to understand how Israeli emerged, a fresh perspective is needed, free of revivalist preconceptions’ (2001: 120). Horvath and Wexler (1997) do propose a linguistic programme that reacts against revivalism. Considering Israeli as Indo-​European, they argue that it is Yiddish relexified (Yiddish with Hebrew vocabulary). However, my own hypothesis—​which is neither anti-​revivalist nor mono-​parental—​rejects relexification and suggests a new theory of Israeli genesis: hybridization. In his book The Schizoid Nature of Modern Hebrew (1990), Wexler defines the process by which ‘the German and Slavic vocabulary of Yiddish was replaced

The Hebrew Reclamation  3 by Hebrew components’ (according to Wexler, ultimately leading to the creation of Israeli) as relexification (ibid.: 4). Horvath & Wexler (1997) claim that an Israeli speaker actually speaks Yiddish but instead of using Yiddish words, they use Hebrew words. Their reasoning is that almost all creators of Israeli were native Yiddish speakers (many of them also spoke Russian or Polish). Wexler and Horvath’s relexification—​as opposed to traditional relexification—​can also import grammatical features, which is how they explain the Semitic verbal conjugation system of Israeli. In other words, they suggest that the relexification also imports fossilized, ossified, lexicalized morphology—​cf. English lexical items phenomenon-​phenomena or formula-​ formulae, in which the plural form is imported, lexically, from Latin, and is not part of the English morphology. But I am reminded of the Jew who bumps into another one on the street and says: ‘Hello, Joseph, you look so different. You used to have a scraggy little beard and now you are clean shaven. You used to walk with a stoop and now you are tall and straight. You used to dress like a tramp and now you dress so chic . . .’ The other person says: ‘Excuse me, I am Jacob, not Joseph’, to which the Jew replies: ‘Oh, you’ve changed your name too!’ Already in 1928, Gotthelf Bergsträsser (1928: 47) referred to the language that he heard in Israel as follows: ein Hebräisch, das in Wirklichkeit eine europäische Sprache in durchsichtiger hebräischer Verkleidung ist, mit gemeineuropäischen Zügen und einzelsprachlichen Besonderheiten, aber nur ganz äußerlich hebräischem Character. A Hebrew, which in reality is a European language in transparent Hebrew disguise, with Standard Average European characteristics and peculiarities of specific European languages, but only totally external Hebrew character.

Setting aside his problematic, racist social views, K. Katzenelson (1960: 39) argued about what I call Israeli: ‫] שׂפת עזר שכל המתבטא בה‬...[ ‫] עברית היא‬...[ ‫] היא יידיש ו‬...[ ‫לשון הבסיס‬ .‫מוקרן אליה מן היידיש‬ leshón abasís i yídish veivrít i sfat ézer shekól amitbaté ba mukrán eléa min ayídish.

4 Revivalistics The base language is Yiddish and Hebrew is a language of assistance with all that is expressed in it projected from Yiddish.

Katzenelson (1960: 65) then says: ‫ ומאחר שמכל‬.‫ ערבית ואנגלית במלים עבריות‬,‫ רוסית‬,‫אנו מדברים יידיש‬ ‫הלשונות שבפה היהודי יידיש היא האדירה ביותר הרי היא מטביעה את‬ ‫ הצלחתה של העברית‬.‫חותמה על דיבורנו העברי וקובעת לו צורה אחידה‬ ‫המדוברת אינה הצלחתה שלה אלא הצלחתה של היידיש שבאיזה שהוא אופן‬ ‫ כשם שהיהודים דוברי היידיש השתלטו על‬,‫השתלטה עליה ושעבדה אותה‬ .‫כל שאר היהודים של המדינה והכניסו אותם למסגרות השונות שיצרו‬ We speak Yiddish, Russian, Arabic and English—​in Hebrew words. And since of all the tongues spoken by the Jew Yiddish is the greatest, it leaves its trace on our Hebrew speech and determines a uniform form for it. The success of spoken Hebrew is not its own success but rather the success of Yiddish, which in some way took control over it and enslaved it, much as the Yiddish-​speaking Jews took control of all the other Jews of the State and put them into the various frameworks that they have created.

My multi-​parental perspective allows a novel approach to analysing the grammar of Israeli. It challenges the four existing ‘Modern Hebrew’ grammars published in English:  Berman and Bolozky (1978); Glinert (1989); Schwarzwald (2001); and Coffin and Bolozky (2005).

1.2  A New Approach to the Genesis of Israeli: A Phoenicuckoo Cross Just like Sharpless, the American consul in Giacomo Puccini’s 1904 opera Madama Butterfly, said ‘non ho studiato ornitologia’ (‘I have not studied ornithology’), I also take the liberty of using an ornithological metaphor: on one hand, Israeli is a phoenix, rising from the ashes (Hebrew), on the other, it is a cuckoo, laying its egg in the nest of another bird, tricking it to believe that it is its own egg (Yiddish). And yet, it also displays the characteristics of a magpie, stealing from Arabic, English etc. Israeli is a rara avis, a phoenicuckoo cross with some magpie characteristics, see Figures 1.1 and 1.2. Figure 1.3 summarizes my model for Israeli

Figure 1.1  Israeli as a rara avis, drawing: Lili Sekhmet Bollen

Figure 1.2  Israeli as a phoenicuckoo-​cross with some magpie characteristics, drawing: Efraim Scipione Zuckermann

6 Revivalistics ISRAELI phoenicuckoo-cross with some magpie characteristics HYBRID VIGOUR

SEMI-ENGINEERING MOTHER ‘cuckoo’

SUBCONSCIOUS

primary contributor YIDDISH

CONSCIOUS ‘phoenix’ FATHER

HEBREW primary contributor

Judaeo-Spanish, Arabic etc. secondary contributors Russian, Polish, German, English etc.

Figure 1.3  The Hybridity of Israeli

genesis.The ultimate question is whether or not it is possible to bring an unspoken language back to life—​without the occurrence of cross-​fertilization with the revivalists’ mother tongue(s). The advantage of my balanced, multiple causation approach is that it recognizes within Israeli the continuity not only of liturgical Hebrew, but also of the mother tongue(s) of the founder generation (mostly Yiddish). Such a shift in perspective facilitates a new era in Israeli linguistics. As a result, existing publications will have to be re-​examined and revised as they have assumed that Israeli is the same as Hebrew (see the ‘Hebrew continued’ approach below). As mentioned in chap. 1, Israeli should be linguistically categorized along with other revival languages rather than as a member of the Semitic language family. The syncretic nature of Israeli has important theoretical implications for historical linguistics, sociolinguistics, language contact, language planning and engineering, revival/​survival, linguistic genetics, and typology, creolistics, and mixed languages. Thus, my research supplements influential works such as Clyne (2003); Heine and Kuteva (2005); Winford (2003); Mühlhäusler (1986); Myers-​Scotton (1993, 2002); Aikhenvald (2002); Aikhenvald and Dixon (2001); Weinreich (1953); Appel and Muysken (1987); and Muysken (2000). I argue that genetic affiliation—​at least in the case of semi-​engineered (‘semi-​’ because the impact of the revivalists’ mother tongues was often subconscious), ‘non-​genetic’ languages (cf. Thomason and Kaufman 1988)—​is not discrete but, rather, a continuous line. Thus, for example, a language can be 40 per cent Hebrew, 40 per cent Yiddish, 10 per cent Polish, 10 per cent

The Hebrew Reclamation  7 Russian, 10 per cent English, 7 per cent Arabic, 5 per cent German, 5 per cent Judaeo-​Spanish, and so forth. Consequently, the comparative method of reconstruction (cf. Hock (1986 ); Anttila (1989); McMahon (1994))—​as well as mutatis mutandis the notorious comparative lexico-​statistics (cf. Swadesh 1952)—​though useful in many cases, cannot alone explain the ‘genetics’ (the study of how languages came to be) of all languages. At this point, the Congruence Principle comes in useful. By acknowledging the possibility of overlapping (multiple contributors), it weakens the Family Tree model in historical linguistics, which might imply that every language has only one parent. The Congruence Principle casts light on the complex genesis of Israeli and explains why the sum of the previous figures can—​and usually does—​ amount to more than 100 per cent. Such a conclusion adds new aspects to the general linguistic assertion that ‘[i]‌t may not be possible to show conclusively for any particular innovation that it results from genetic inheritance rather than [that] it is motivated by contact with another language’ (Dench 2001: 113–​14). One of the practical implications of this book is that universities, as well as primary and secondary schools, should employ a clear-​cut distinction between Israeli and Hebrew. Studying Yiddish should be an available option, if not a requirement, for students of Israeli linguistics. As it stands, languages such as Aramaic and Akkadian are obligatory, whereas Yiddish, whose impact on Israeli was far more significant, is overlooked. When Israeli teachers tell their students that they ‘speak the language of Isaiah’, they should have in mind Isaiah Leibowitz, the twentieth-​century Israeli polymath and visionary, rather than the Biblical Isaiah. Comparing revival attempts, for example in Hebrew, Barngarla, Hawai’i, Māori, and Sanskrit, can be useful to both revivalists (e.g. Amery (1994; 1995; 2016); Clyne (2001); Fishman (1991; 2001); Thieberger (1988) and community leaders seeking to apply the lessons of Israeli to the revival of no-​ longer spoken languages (see chap. 6). ‘Revitalized Māori’ (cf. Reedy (2000); Benton and Benton (2001)), for example, is losing typical Polynesian cross-​ referencing, which makes the older generation complain they cannot understand the young. My basic argument is that when one revives a language, one should expect to end up with a hybrid. My research involves an intensive collection and systematic analysis of data about Israeli today, as well as in its critical phase of emergence (i.e. the fin de siècle) and throughout the twentieth century. I examine the radical impact of Yiddish, other European languages, and Standard Average European on

8 Revivalistics the one hand, and Hebrew, Arabic, and other Semitic languages on the other, across a spectrum of linguistic domains:  phonetics and phonology, morphology, syntax, semantics, and lexis. The term ‘Standard Average European’ was first introduced by Whorf (1956 [1941]: 25) and received more attention from Haspelmath (1998; 2001); and Bernini and Ramat (1996)—​cf. ‘European Sprachbund’ in Kuteva (1998). My methodology of typological analysis encompasses all linguistic components. It follows the accepted principles of empirical, inductive typological comparison, which involve establishing grammatical categories and construction types for a language on language-​internal criteria, and then recognizing correspondences with other languages on the basis of semantic and functional properties. The analysis is cast within the well-​established functionalist framework, which is the foundation for major typological studies—​ cf. Dixon (1997); and Aikhenvald (2002). Special attention is given to consonant and vowel inventory, syllable structure, lack of spirantization, stress, intonation; uprooting the Semitic root, tense system, inchoativity, imitating the gender of European words, possessive analyticization, and weakening of the construct-​state, decliticization-​ in-​progress of the special proclitics be-​ ‘in’, le-​ ‘to’, mi/​me-​ ‘from’, ve-​ ‘and’, numeral ‘disagreement’, suffixes (e.g. éser shékel rather than asará shkalím ‘ten shekels’), auxiliary verbs, intransitivization; constituent order, habere structure, verb-​subject disagreement, tautological infinitives, and increased use of copula. There are people who believe that language consists only of ‘nouns and sounds’ (see Wertheim (2003) for an account of such perceptions in the Tatar language). Form—​rather than pattern—​is more visible and thus more accessible to the unsophisticated language analyst. This book shows that the (often invisible) productivity, semantics, and mindset of the allegedly ‘completely Hebrew’ verb-​template system of Israeli actually reflects European languages. But my work is not restricted to typology; it also aims to comprehensively rewrite the history of the genesis of Israel’s main language. There has never been any serious research analysing unedited diaries, personal letters, and session protocols of first kibbutzim and moshavim (different types of Jewish Israeli communities). Such research could give us a crucial, albeit indirect (recordings would have been much better), testimony about the revivalists’ language, the input on which the first native Israelispeakers based their new language. Or (2016) is a good start though.

The Hebrew Reclamation  9

1.3  The ‘Hebrew Mythology’ Holzman (2016) finds religious elements in the way that Israeli scholars consider Hebrew: (1) Hebrew and Israeli are one and the same. This can be paralleled to the belief that there is one God; (2) Israelis must adhere to Hebrew grammatical rules. This can be paralleled to the belief that Jews should follow good deeds (mitzvoth); (3) The language needs an authoritative institution (Academy of the Hebrew Language). This can be paralleled to the belief that the Jews needed to be controlled by religious leaders; (4) The Hebrew revival is a miracle. This can be paralleled to the belief in biblical divine miracles. The following are further myths, believed by many Israeli speakers.

1.3.1  The Mutual Intelligibility Assumption vs My ‘Translate the Bible to Israeli’ Approach Frequently, new research emerges that allegedly demonstrates how ‘bad’ Israelis are at reading comprehension vis-​à-​vis pupils in other countries. I wonder whether these exams test reading comprehension in Hebrew rather than in Israeli. The former might be a second language for Israelis. The Mutual Intelligibility Myth posits that Israeli is Hebrew because an Israeli speaker can understand Hebrew. Edward Ullendorff (personal communication) has offered the ipsedixitism that the biblical Isaiah could have understood Israeli. I am convinced that this would have not been the case. The reason Israelis can be expected to understand the Book of Isaiah—​albeit with a plethora of difficulties—​is because they study the Hebrew Bible at school for eleven years, rather than because it is familiar to them from their daily conversation. Ravitzky claims the following: Modern Greek, for example, boasts many similarities to its ancestor, yet a speaker of the current language must struggle to read ancient texts. The Modern Hebrew speaker, however, moves smoothly through the Bible (Ravitzky 2000: 13–​14)

10 Revivalistics But in reality, Israelis read the Hebrew Bible as if it were Israeli, and thus often misunderstand it, without realizing it. Israelis do not really understand Genesis  1:1-​2: ‫אשית ָּב ָרא אֱל ִֹהים אֵ ת הַ ּׁשָ מַ יִם וְ אֵ ת הָ אָ ֶרץ וְ הָ אָ ֶרץ הָ יְתָ ה ת ֹה ּו ָוב ֹה ּו‬ ִ ׁ ‫ְּב ֵר‬

Israeli pronunciation: bereshít bará eloím et ashamáim veét aárets veaárets aytá tóu vavóu. Very few Israeli speakers would be able to explain the construct-​state nomen regens (nismákh) bereshít-​: in the beginning of what? And how many Israelis fathom the fact that ‘the heaven and the earth’ is a merism, referring to ‘the world’ in general? Merism (Latin merismus, Greek μερισμός merismós) is a linguistic phenomenon characteristic of Biblical Hebrew in which a combination of two contrasting parts of the whole refers to the whole. Other famous examples of biblical merisms are Genesis 1:5, where ‘evening’ and ‘morning’ refer to ‘one day’; and Psalm 139, where the psalmist declares that God knows ‘my downsitting and my uprising’, i.e. God knows all the psalmist’s actions. Whil st a n Israeli speaker understands ‫( תהו ובהו‬pronounced in Israeli as tóu v avóu) as ‘mess, chaos, balagán’, this tautological compound (tóhu = bóhu = emptiness) actually means the opposite: ‘emptiness, nothing’ (note that in order to create mess, one has to have some things). When a n Is raeli reads ‫ ילד שעשעים‬yéled sha’ashu’ím in Jeremiah 31:19 (King James Version 31:20), they do not understand it as ‘pleasant child’ but rather as ‘playboy’. The sentence ‫ באו בנים עד משבר‬ba’u baním ‘ad mashbér in Isaiah 37:3 is interpreted as ‘children arrived at a crisis’ rather than ‘children arrived at the mouth of the womb, to be born’. Kol ha’anashím hayyod’ím ki meqaţţrót neshehém le’elohím ‘aħerím in Jeremiah 44:15 is understood by many as ‘al l the men who know that their wives are complaining to other gods’ rather than ‘all the men who knew that their wives had burned incense unto other gods’. Isra el i ‫ פרס‬pras means ‘prize’ (cf. Milón leMunekhéy haHitamlút, Diction ar y of Gymnastics Terms, 1937: 49, Item 625), nativizing the internationalism prize—​cf. Russian приз priz [pris] ‘prize’, German Preis ‘prize, price’, Eng lish priz e (cf. price) and Yiddish ‫ פּריז‬priz ‘prize’. [Note: Cf. also Yiddish ‫פּרײז‬ ַ prayz, Polish Yiddish prās, ‘price’, that has gained the additional meaning ‘prize’. Thus, dóvid hófshteyn prayz means ‘Dovid Hofshtein Prize’—​ see Fó rv er ts ‘Yiddish Forward’, 28 July 2000, p. 16. This is an ‘incestuous’

The Hebrew Reclamation  11 (Zuckermann 2003: 94–​102) phono-​semantic matching by semantic shifting of English prize.] Originally, Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ פרס‬pəˈrås] meant ‘half a loaf ’—​cf. Mishnah, Tractate Kritot 3:3. Consequently it referred to ‘payment, reward’—​‫[ שלא על מנת לקבל פרס‬ʃεlˈlo ʕal məˈnåt ləqabˈbel pəˈrås] ‘not motivated by the wish to get a reward/​payment’ (Mishnah, Tractate Avot 1: 3). The latter expression is currently understood by many native Israeli speakers I have studied as meaning ‘not motivated by the wish to receive a prize’. Their belief that Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ פרס‬pəˈrås] meant ‘prize’ is thus no more than the etymological truth turned upside down. This brings to mind the 1999 advertisement (in the United Kingdom) for Toblerone chocolate (which ‘inspires the world’), which showed a photo of pyramids in Egypt, asking: ‘Ancient Tobleronism?’ There are hundreds of examples of Hebrew-​Israeli faux amis (false friends), Hebrew words that are frequently misunderstood by Israeli speakers, and we must keep in mind that the Hebrew Bible contains only 8,679 different words. I am referring to types, distinct words, as opposed to tokens (there are more than 300,000 tokens in the Hebrew Bible). Let us look at some further examples: • ‫​לֵב‬(pronounced in Israeli as khasár lev) (a few references in the book of Proverbs) is ‘stupid’, not ‘cruel’—​since in Hebrew the heart is where thoughts are placed, not feelings. ‘Cruel’ is how Israeli speakers would understand it. • ‫( דֵּ עָ ה‬pronounced in Israeli as deá) (e.g. Isaiah 11:9) is objective, not subjective knowledge, the latter sense being how Israeli speakers would understand it. • ‫( ָּב ְטנִים‬pronounced in Israeli as botním) (Genesis 43:11) is a type of fruit, but certainly not the Israeli ‘peanuts’. • ‫( צְ לִ יל‬pronounced in Israeli as tslil) (Judges 7:13) is ‘bread’ rather than ‘sound’, the latter sense being how Israeli speakers would understand it. • ַ‫( נִיחו ֹח‬pronounced in Israeli as nikhóakh) (e.g. Exodus 29:18) is ‘giving pleasure’ rather than ‘good smell’. • ‫( י ְַר ְק ַרק‬pronounced in Israeli as yerakrák) (Leviticus 13:49) is not ‘weak green’ but rather ‘strong green’. • ‫( יוֹצֵא צָבָ א‬pronounced in Israeli as yotsé tsavá) (Chronicles II 25:5) has not yet joined the army. • ‫( לְ ר ֹב אֶ חָ יו‬pronounced in Israeli as leróv ekháv) (Esther 10:3) means ‘to his many brothers’ rather than ‘to most of his brothers’.

12 Revivalistics • ‫( ּ ֶפחָ ם‬pronounced in Israeli as pekhám) (e.g. Isaiah 54:16) is ‘fire, heat’ rather than ‘coal’. Consider also the following two striking examples, see Cohen in Holzman and Zuckermann (2018): • ‫( לָפַ ת‬pronounced in Israeli lafát) (see e.g. ‫[ ַו ּיִלְ ּפ ֹת‬wajjilˈpot] in Judges 15:29) is ‘touch gently’ rather than ‘grope strongly’ as Israelis, even the leading biblical scholar Professor Yair Zakovitch (Hebrew University of Jerusalem) misunderstand it. • ‫( ּ ֶפסַ ח‬pronounced in Israeli as pésakh) (e.g. Exodus 12:11) is ‘[divine] protec tion’ rather than ‘pass over’ (see Passover), as misunderstood by Rashi. Is it the case that Rashi simply had a good sense of humour? Stephe n Fr y told me once that Moses’ mother was very upset: everywher e sh e went people said: ‘What an ugly baby. Good lord, that Moshe is s o unattractive. Heavens, I’ve never seen such a horrible-​ lookin g in fa nt ...’. The mother said (as film directors do the world over): ‘Well, he looked great in the rushes . . .’. I responded: Why do we eat marór [bitter herbs] at the Seder? God commands Moses to dig up a magic ginger root, which will take him to the Promised Land in a jiffy. He digs up a horseradish root, and reckons that will do instead. Fort y years later, the Children of Israel finally make it across the de ser t. Zipporah, Moses’ wife, apologizes on his behalf, ‘We would have got here sooner, but my husband insisted on taking the alternative root.’ The available examples of misunderstanding the Hebrew Bible by Israelis are not only lexical: generally speaking, Israelis are usually incapable of recognizing moods and aspects of Biblical Hebrew. The Hebrew Bible should be—​and has been—​translated into Israeli—​see Tanakh Ram (Ahuvia 2010). It would be a difficult task to convince Israel’s Ministry of Education that Israelis need a translation of the Old Testament in Israeli as there is such limited understanding of the differences. Israeli children are told that the Old Testament was written in their mother tongue. In other words, in Israeli primary schools, Hebrew and the mother tongue are, axiomatically, the very same. Thus, one cannot expect Israelis to easily accept the idea that the two languages might be genetically different. In English terms, it is as if someone were to trying to tell a native English

The Hebrew Reclamation  13 speaker that their mother tongue is not the same as Shakespeare’s. Between Shakespeare and the current native speaker of English there has been a continuous chain of native speakers. Between the biblical Isaiah and contemporary Israelis there has been no such chain: Jews have had many mother tongues other than Hebrew. On the other hand, even if Israelis understand some Hebrew, that does not mean that Israeli is a direct continuation of Hebrew only. Mutual intelligibility is not crucial in determining the genetic affiliation of a language. After all, few speakers of Modern English understand Chaucer, but no one would claim that his language is genetically unrelated to contemporary English. By contrast, a Spanish speaker might understand some Media Lengua (a mixed language spoken in Ecuador), which consists of Quechua grammar but whose vocabulary is 93 per cent Spanish. Who would argue that Media Lengua is genetically (only) Spanish? In Thailand I could understand a Thai person speaking to me in a sort of ‘pidgin English’. Does this make their speech genetically English? It appears as though Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda would have liked to have cancelled the heritage of the diaspora and would have been most content had Israelis spoken Biblical Hebrew. Had the Hebrew revival been successful, they would indeed have spoken a language closer to ancient Hebrew than Modern English is to Chaucer, because they would have bypassed more than 2,000 years of natural development. Let us assume for a moment that Hebrew had never died as a spoken language by the second century ad. It continued to be the mother tongue of generations of Jews. They eventually returned to the Land of Israel, continuing to speak Hebrew. It might well be the case that that Hebrew would have differed more from Biblical Hebrew than does Israeli. But this says nothing about the genetics of actual Israeli. Ironically, the very same people who may argue that Israelis can easily understand Hebrew often abuse the vagueness or ambiguity resulting from secularization. They nourish grey areas of mutual intelligibility as a means of getting out of a legal or political quagmire. Consider the beginning of the concluding sentence of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, construed to pacify both the religious and secular: ,ֹ ‫ִש ָׂראֵ ל ִהנְנ ּו חו ְֹת ִמים ַּבחֲ ִתימַ ת י ֵָדנ ּו לְ עֵ דוּת עַ ל הַ כְ ָרזָה זו‬ ְ ‫ִמ ּת ו ְֹך ִ ּב ּ ָטחו ֹן ְ ּבצוּר י‬ ,‫ הַ ּיו ֹם הַ ֶז ּה‬,‫​אָ בִ יב‬-‫ ָּבעִ יר ּ ֵתל‬,‫ עַ ל אַ ְד מַ ת הַ ּמוֹל ֶֶדת‬,‫הַמ ִדינָה הַ ְז ּמַ ִנּית‬ ְּ ‫ְבּמו ֹׁשַ ב מו ֹעֶ צֶת‬ .1948 ‫ ְּב מַ אי‬14 ,‫ ה' ִא ָּיר תש"ח‬,‫עֶ ֶרב ׁשַ ָּבת‬

14 Revivalistics mitókh bitakhón betsúr israél hinenú khotmím bakhatimát yadénu leedút al hakhrazá zo, bemosháv moétset hamdiná hazmanít, al admát hamolédet, baír tel avív, hayóm hazé, érev shabát, hey iyár tashákh, 14 bemáy 1948. Placing our trust in the almighty/​Placing our security in the rock of Israel, we affix our signatures to this proclamation at this session of the Provisional Council of State, on the soil of the homeland, in the city of Tel Aviv, on this Sabbath Eve, the 5th day of Iyar 5708 (14 May 1948).

Bib lic al Hebrew ‫[ בטחון‬bitˁtˁåˈħon] means ‘trust, faith (in God)’. The semantic range of its root ‫√ בטח‬bţħ is not limited to ‘trust/​faith in God’, but this is certainly one of its main meanings. Indeed, in many instances, the biblical text promotes faith or trust in God over earthly persons or institutions. The psalmist exhorts ‘O Israel, trust in the Lord! He is their (sic) help and shield’ (Psalms 115:9). Isaiah teaches ‘Trust in the Lord for ever and ever’ (Isaiah 24:4). The phrase, ‘Happy is the man who trusts in You’ (Psalms 84:13) is incorporated into the Havdalah liturgy. The question of earthly versus divine trust comes to the fore in the nominal form ‫[ בט חון‬bitˁtˁåˈħo:n]. When Hezekiah King of Judah (eighth century bc) rebels against Sennacherib, the latter sends an emissary, Rabshakeh, to convince the Jerusalemites to lay down their arms. Rabshakeh sends the following question to Hezekiah: ‘What is this confidence (‫[ ִּב ּ ָטחו ֹן‬bitˁtˁåˈħo:n]) you have?’ (Isaiah 36:4), then asserts the futility of claiming ‘we are relying (ּ‫[ ָּב טָ ְח נו‬båˈtˁåħnu:]) on the Lord our God’ (Isaiah 36:7). But of course, the [bitˁtˁåˈħo:n] was not misplaced, as God does turn back the Assyrians, and Hezekiah remains on the throne. In l at er strata of literary Hebrew, the specific sense ‘faith in God’ is th e do minant, almost exclusive in meaning. Thus, Shlomo Ibn Gabir ol ( eleventh century ad) devotes a chapter in his ethical treatise The Im pr ovement of the Moral Qualities (tiqqún middót hannéfesh) in Yehud ah I bn Tibbon’s translation of the moral attribute [bitˁtˁåˈħo:n]. The o pe ni ng statement of that chapter is ‘This is the exalted trait by which an individual comports himself according to his faith in God and his reliance on Him’. In Israeli, however, ‫ ביטחון‬bitakhón no longer derives from God but rather from mi li tary power. The word means ‘military power’ as in the phrase ‫ מער כת ה ביטחון‬maarékhet abitakhón ‘the military’ and ‫כוחות הביטחון‬ kokhót abitakhón ‘the security forces’, while the minister charged with the

The Hebrew Reclamation  15 army an d other security forces is ‫ שר הביטחון‬sar abitakhón, lit. ‘Minister of Security’ (rather than Defence)—​as per an ideological decision made by Israel’s first Prime Minister David Ben-​Gurion (1886–​1973). I shall discuss such ideological secularizations in Chapter 3.

1.3.2  The Stammbaum Model vs My Congruence Principle Approach The Stammbaum (Family Tree) model insists that every language has only one parent. The reality of linguistic genesis, however, is far more complex. It might well be the case that ‘each language has a single parent’ ‘in the normal course of linguistic evolution’ (Dixon 1997: 11–​13) but not in the case of a new hybrid language resulting from ‘semi-​engineering’. Thus, the comparative historical methodology, which I often rely on—​as well as, mutatis mutandis, the notorious comparative lexico-​statistics (cf. Swadesh 1952)—​ cannot explain the intricate genesis of Israeli. However, an important principle which casts light on the complex genesis of Israeli is the Congruence Principle (cf. Zuckermann 2003; 2009): The more contributing languages a feature exists in, the more likely it is to persist in the emerging tongue (inadvertently, regardless of whether or not the revivalists want that).

Mufwene’s (2001) concepts of ‘feature pool’ and ‘feature competition’ are most germane here. Thus, the subject-​verb-​object word order (or what some linguists call AVO(E)/​SV(E) constituent order) of Israeli might be based simultaneously on that of Standard Average European and on the marked order (for emphasis/​contrast) of Mishnaic Hebrew (rather than (early) Biblical Hebrew).

1.3.3  The ‘Hebrew Continued’ Approach vs My Founder Principle Approach Most Israelis (including linguists) believe that their language is different from Biblical Hebrew in the same way as the English of the American novelist John Grisham (b. 1955) is different from that of William Shakespeare

16 Revivalistics (1564–​1616), let alone Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1343–​1400). Others might refer you to the Greek spoken in today’s Athens, in contrast to that of the playwright Aristophanes (c. 448–​380 bc) or the historian Thucydides (c. 460–​400 bc) or the language of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. In any linguistic book one ought to mention Chomsky. In his 1957 book (p.  218), Hebrew—​The Eternal Language, Hebrew grammarian William Chomsky argues that It may be safely assumed that there were always somewhere in the world, especially in Eretz Yisrael, individuals or even groups, who could and did employ the Hebrew language effectively in oral usage.

But Chomsky—​just like Haramati (1992; 2000)—​is misleading. It is true that, throughout its literary history, Hebrew was used as an occasional lingua franca. However, between the second and nineteenth centuries it was no one’s mother tongue. As the research of William’s son Noam implies, the development of a literary language is very different from that of a fully-​fledged native language. But there are many linguists who, though rejecting the ‘eternal spoken Hebrew mythology’, still explain every linguistic feature in Israeli as if Hebrew never died. For example, Goldenberg (1996:  151–​8) suggests the ipsedixitism that Israeli pronunciation originates from internal convergence and divergence within Hebrew. I wonder, however, how a literary language can be subject to the same phonetic and phonological processes (rather than analyses) as a mother tongue. I argue, rather, that the Israeli sound system continues the (strikingly similar) phonetics and phonology of Yiddish, the native language of almost all the revivalists. These revivalists very much wished to speak Hebrew, with Semitic grammar and pronunciation, like Arabs. However, they could not avoid the Ashkenazic Weltanschauung—​and consonants—​arising from their European background. The formation of Israeli was not the result of language contact between Hebrew and a prestigious, powerful superstratum such as English in the case of Arabic, or Kurdish in the case of Neo-​Aramaic. Rather, ab initio, Israeli had two primary contributors: Yiddish and Hebrew. While Kurdish is a superstratum of Neo-​Aramaic, Yiddish is a primary contributor to Israeli. The two cases are, therefore, not parallel. Had the revivalists been Arabic speaking Jews (e.g. from Morocco), Israeli would have been a totally different language—​both genetically and

The Hebrew Reclamation  17 typologically, it would have been much more Semitic. The impact of the founder population on Israeli is incomparable with that of later immigrants. The following is how Zelinsky (1973 [1992]: 13–​14) describes the influence of first settlements, from the point of view of cultural geography: Whenever an empty territory undergoes settlement, or an earlier population is dislodged by invaders, the specific characteristics of the first group able to effect a viable self-​perpetuating society are of crucial significance to the later social and cultural geography of the area, no matter how tiny the initial band of settlers may have been [ . . . ] in terms of lasting impact, the activities of a few hundred, or even a few score, initial colonizers can mean much more for the cultural geography of a place than the contributions of tens of thousands of new immigrants generations later.

Harrison et  al. (1988) discuss the ‘Founder Effect’ in biology and human evolution, and Mufwene (2001) applies it as a creolistic tool to explain why the structural features of so-​called creoles (which he regards as ‘normal languages’ just like English) are largely predetermined by the characteristics of the languages spoken by the founder population, i.e. by the first colonists. I propose the following Founder Principle in the context of Israeli: Yiddish is a primary contributor to Israeli because it was the mother tongue of the vast majority of revivalists and first pioneers in Eretz Yisrael (‘Land of Israel’, Palestine) at the critical period of the beginning of Israeli.

The Founder Principle works because by the time later immigrants came to Israel, Israeli had already consolidated the fundamental parts of its grammar. Thus, Moroccan Jews arriving in Israel in the 1950s had to learn a fully-​ fledged language (even though it often did not appear so to the Hebrew-​ obsessed language planners). Initially, they developed their own variety of Israeli, but ultimately the influence of their mother tongue was relatively negligible. Wimsatt’s (1999a, b) notion of ‘generative entrenchment’ is of relevance here. As Mufwene puts it, ‘the oldest features have a greater chance of prevailing over some newer alternatives simply because they have acquired more and more carriers, hence more transmitters, with each additional generation of speakers’ (2001: 29). Supporting my demythologization here is Or (2016), who studies the language ideologies represented in the minutes of the Hebrew Language

18 Revivalistics Committee (1890–​1953) and the Academy of the Hebrew Language (1953 to present). In his work on the early years of language planning, Or detected a series of contrasts or axes between ideals of language revival vs. engineering, between Biblical and Mishnaic Hebrew, between Semitic and Western identity, as well as between preservation and modernization. The language planners perceived the language of their creation as Hebrew, even though some of their language planning decisions represented a clear break with tradition. Although members of the language committee claimed to have revived an ancient language, none were content with the ancient form of the language, and they variously strove to modify or engineer it in ways that would achieve some of the other ideological goals of language planning. Thus, one of the first discussions of the committee led to the introduction of Mishnaic (early post-​ Biblical) elements into the grammar of Hebrew, which they perceived as modernizing the language, although this move was controversial and contrary to the widely accepted assumption that Biblical Hebrew should set the norm for the modern grammar. Some members of the committee wanted the newly revived language to be Semitic and ‘Oriental’ (Middle-​Eastern) in nature, and they tended to view the influence of Arabic positively. Others, however, wanted the language to be more ‘Westernized’, and their main sources of inspiration were the grammars of German, French, Latin, and Greek. In many cases, the actual policy decisions made by the committee show a strong tendency to engineer a new, modern language rather than relying on the grammar of Classical Hebrew. Thus, in the field of pronunciation, they preferred the modern (Western) ideal of one-​to-​one correspondence between letters and sounds, and their main model was the spelling of German. Therefore, they decided to retain the Ashkenazic pronunciation of the letter ‫( צ‬ts), since no other Hebrew letter was similarly pronounced, even though this pronunciation contradicted the scientific reconstruction of this phoneme in ancient Hebrew. Using methodologies of critical discourse analysis (CDA), Or is able to shatter a series of myths about the planning of Israeli. Consider the following myths, according to him: (1) Hebrew language planners wanted to revive Biblical Hebrew (this was the intention of a very small, hesitant minority); (2) The Hebrew Language Committee decided to make Sephardic pronunciation the norm (most aspects of the pronunciation were formed before or regardless of the Committee’s time and the Committee had very little power to change them);

The Hebrew Reclamation  19 (3) The Committee strove to make the language ‘Oriental’ (many favoured a Westernized form of language); (4) The Committee unequivocally fought against loanwords (it was often ambiguous and accepted foreign words such as télefon [telephone] and yod [iodine]); (5) The early language planning of Hebrew was conservative (in fact, a wide range of extremely innovative ideas were discussed by the Committee).

1.3.4  The Second Language as Mother Tongue Idea vs the Native Language Uniqueness Approach Following the Chomskian revolution, many linguists would agree that there is a difference between the acquisition of a mother tongue and the learning of a foreign language. The brain is congenitally equipped with a linguistic module responsible for the acquisition of our first language(s). No matter how intelligent we are, we all acquire our mother tongue perfectly, given oral stimuli. This nativist principle supports the idea that native speakers do not make mistakes. And yet, laymen and some linguists continue to ignore the differences between native and non-​native, as well as between spoken and literary languages. Blau (1981) makes a comparison between Israeli and Modern Standard Arabic, claiming that Western European influence on Israeli is similar to Western European influence on Modern Standard Arabic. He admits that Israeli is more distant from Classical Hebrew than Modern Standard Arabic from Classical Arabic, but insists that the difference is quantitative rather than qualitative (1976: 112). However, as acknowledged by Blau himself, whilst Israeli is a spoken mother tongue, Modern Standard Arabic—​as opposed to the various vernacular Arabics and though an important means of (both spoken and written) communication—​is not, a distinction which does not prevent some American universities from advertising for professors with ‘native or near-​native fluency in Modern Standard Arabic’ (see Linguist List, 1 July 2004). On the other hand, many linguists classify Israeli in the category of modernized Semitic vernaculars, just like Palestinian Arabic. However, comparing Israeli to Semitic languages characterized by both Indo-​European traits (like Israeli) and a continuous chain of native speakers (unlike Israeli) is problematic.

20 Revivalistics Any credible answer to the enigma of Israeli requires an exhaustive study of th e ma nifold influence of Yiddis h on this ‘altneulangue’ (cf. the classic Altneuland, written by Theodor Herzl, the visionary of the Jewish State in the old-​new land; I analyse altneu also as Israeli ‫ על תנאי‬al tnáy ‘on condition’ [that we embrace its hybridity]). At the beginning of the twentieth century, Yiddish and Hebrew were rivals to become the language of the future Jewis h St ate. At first sight, it appea rs that Hebrew has won and that, after the H ol oc aust, Yiddish was desti ned t o be spoken almost exclusively by ultra-​Orthodox Jews and some eccentric academics (see §6.4.1). Yet, closer scrutiny challenges this perception. The victorious Hebrew may, after all, be partly Yiddish at heart. In other words, Yiddish survives beneath Israeli phonetics, phonology, discourse, syntax, semantics, lexis, and even morphology, altho ug h traditional and institu tiona l linguists have been most reluctant to admit it. Israeli is not ‫ רצח יידיש‬rétsakh yídish (Israeli for ‘the murder of Yiddish [by Hebrew]’) but rather ‫ יידיש רעדט זיך‬yídish rédt zikh (Yiddish for ‘Yiddish speaks itself [beneath Israeli]’). This fact weakens the punchline of the following anecdote: a woman in Israel was travelling on a bus with her young son. Whilst she talked to him in Yiddish, he answered in Israeli. So, she urged him again and again: ‫רעד‬ ‫ אויף י יד יש‬red af yídish ‘spea k in Yiddish!’. An intolerant Israeli was listening to the private conversation and told the woman: ‫ למה לעזאזל את‬,‫גברת‬ ‫ פה זה ישראל‬,‫ מתעקשת שהילד ידבר יידיש ולא עברית‬givéret, láma leazazél at mitakéshet sheayéled yedabér yídish veló ivrít, po ze israél ‘Madame, why on earth do you insist that your son speaks Yiddish and not Hebrew? This is Israel here!’ The mother replied: ‫ אני לא רוצה שהוא ישכח שהוא יהודי‬aní lo rotsá sheú yishkákh sheú yeudí ‘I don’t want him to forget that he is Jewish’.

1.3.5  The Lazy, Mistaken Language Thesis vs My ‘Native Speakers Do Not Make Mistakes’ Approach Israeli educators and politicians, as well as laymen, often argue that Israelis ‘slaughter’ or ‘rape’ their language by ‘lazily’ speaking ‘bad Hebrew’ full of ‘mistakes’. Most Israelis say bekitá bet rather than the puristic bekhitá bet ‘in the second grade’ (note the spirantization of the /​k/​in the latter); éser shékel rath er t han asar-​á sh kal-​ím ‘ ten shekels’ (the latter having a polarity-of-​ gender agreement—​with a feminine numeral and a masculine plural noun, see §2.4.4); ‫ אני יביא‬aní yaví (with the epenthetic [j]‌glide to prevent hiatus)

The Hebrew Reclamation  21 rather than ‫ אני אביא‬aní aví ‘I will bring’ and so forth. Issues of language are so sensitive in Israel that politicians are often involved. For example, Moshe Sharett (born Shertok; 1894–​1 965), Israel’s second prime minister (1954–​ 1955), neologized commonly used lexical items such as ‫ מידע‬meydá ‘information’ and ‫ ביון‬biyún ‘espionage’. David Remez (born Drabkin, 1886–​1951), Israel’s first minister of transportation (1948–​1949), coined common Israeli terms such as ‫ תעסוקה‬taasuká ‘employment’ and ‫ כנס‬kénes ‘conference’. In a session at the Israeli Parliament on 4 January 2005, Prime Minister Ariel Sharon (1928–​2014) rebuked Israelis for using the etymologically Arabo-​English hybrid expression yàla báy, lit. ‘let’s bye’, i.e. ‘goodbye’, instead of ‘the most beautiful word’ shalóm ‘peace, hello, goodbye’. In an article in the daily newspaper Ha’aretz (21 June 2004), the prominent politician Yossi Sarid (1940–​2015) attacked the common language of éser shékel etc. as inarticulate and monstrous, and urged civilians to fight it and protect ‘Hebrew’. Sarid and many others could not free themselves from [ʕǎśåˈrå ʃəqåˈli:m] (‘10 shekels’ in Hebrew) and the other the shackles of what I call the ‘imprisoning purism prism’. But just as the ‘Jerusalem artichoke’ has to do with neither Jerusalem nor artichoke (even though some Jerusalem restaurants take pride in serving it), what Sarid regarded as ‘corrupt Hebrew’ is neither corrupt nor Hebrew: it is grammatical Israeli, a beautifully multi-​layered and intricately multi-​sourced language that one should embrace and celebrate. What such public figures are doing is trying to impose Hebrew grammar on Israelis’ speech and ignoring the fact that Israeli has its own grammar, which is very different from that of Hebrew. For example, whereas the Hebrew phrase for ‘my grandfather’ was sav-​í ‘grandfather + 1st person singular possessive’, in Israeli it is sába shel-​ì ‘grandfather of me’. Similarly, whilst Hebrew often used smikhút (noun-​noun construct-​state), in Israeli it is much less common. In a construct-​state, two nouns are combined, the first being modified by the second. Compare the Hebrew construct-​state ‘em ha-​yéled ‘mother the-​child’ with the Israeli phrase ha-​íma shel ha-​yéled ‘the mother of the child’, both meaning ‘the child’s mother’. Similarly, note the position of the definite article ha in the Israeli construct-​state ha-​òrekh dín ‘the lawyer’ (lit. ‘the arranger of law’), as opposed to the Hebrew construct-​state ‘orékh ha-​dín ‘id.’. Most Israeli pupils say l-​a-​bet séfer ‘to the school’ (lit. ‘to the house book’), rather than the puristic le-​vét ha-​séfer. Thus, Israeli is far more analytic than Hebrew. In his famous song Aní vesímon vemóiz hakatán, Yossi Banay writes benaaléy shabát veková shel barét, vebeivrít yafá im áin veim khet ‘With Sabbath

22 Revivalistics shoes and a beret hat, and in beautiful Hebrew with Ayin and with Het’, referring to the Semitic pharyngeals áin (‫[ ע‬ʕ]) and khet (‫[ ח‬ħ]) respectively, which most native Israeli speakers do not pronounce. Furthermore, I  remember a beloved primary-​school teacher Mírale Harél lionizing the ‘right’ pronunciation of the Sephardi Yitzhak Navon (former Israeli president) and mizrahi Eliahu Nawi (former mayor of Be’er Sheva). Mizrahim (plural of mizrahi) are Jews descending from the Middle East (as opposed to those from Europe and other places), mostly from Muslim-​majority countries. I believe, that such pronunciation of áin (‫[ ע‬ʕ]) and khet (‫[ ח‬ħ]) should be viewed as non-​mainstream (cf. the charged term ‘non-​standard’), exactly the opposite of what Israeli children (pronouncing [none] and χ) are told. The l inguist Menahe m Zevi Kadda ri has cr itici ze d y oung Israeli author Etgar Keret for using a ‘thin language’—​a s opposed to Shmuel Yosef Agnon. Kaddari compares Keret to Agnon as if they wrote in two different registers of the same language. I propose that Keret is, in fact, writing in a different language. Whilst Agnon attempts to write in (Mishnaic) Hebrew, which is obviously not his mother tongue (Yiddish), Keret writes authentically in his native Israeli. When Agnon wrote ‫ אשתו מתה עליו‬ishtó méta alàv, lit. ‘ his w ife di e d(/​d ies) on h im’, he me ant ‘he became a widower’ (1944, cf. 1977: 13). When Keret says so, he means ‘his wife loves him very much’. Israelis are not less intelligent than their ancestors. Their language is not thin and their vocabulary not poor, just different. Educators imposing Hebrew grammar on Israelis’ speech ignore the fact that Israeli has its own internal logic. One could see in these rebukes the common nostalgia of a conservative older generation unhappy with ‘reckless’ changes to the language—​cf., for example, Aitchison (2001) and Hill (1998). However, prescriptivism in Israeli contradicts the usual model, where there is an attempt to enforce the grammar and pronunciation of an elite social group. The late linguist Haim Blanc once took his young daughter to see an Israeli production of My Fair Lady. In this version, Professor Henry Higgins teaches Eliza Doolittle how to pronounce /​r/​‘properly’, i.e. as the Hebrew alveolar trill [r]‌(characteristic of Sephardic Jews, who happen to have been socially disadvantaged), rather than as the Israeli unique lax uvular approximant [ʁ̞] (characteristic of Ashkenazic Jews, who have usually controlled key positions in society). ‘The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain’ is translated as barád yarád bidróm sfarád haérev ‘Hail fell in southern Spain this evening’. At the end of the performance, Blanc’s daughter tellingly asked:

The Hebrew Reclamation  23 ?‫ למה פרופסור היגינס לימד את אלייזה לדבר כמו העוזרת שלנו‬,‫אבא‬ ába, láma profésor íginz liméd et eláyza ledabér kmo aozéret shelánu? Daddy, why was Professor Higgins trying to teach Eliza to speak like our cleaning lady?

The reason is that the prescribed pronunciation of the Israeli r happens to be commonly used in Israel by people disadvantaged socio-​economically (e.g. migrants from Arabic-​speaking countries). It is paradoxical here, as Professor Higgins is supposed to teach Eliza to speak like a lady, not the cleaning lady. Perhaps I should add that Eliza’s (rather than the professor’s) ‘rain’ pronunciation, too, is more faithful to the original English (prior to the Great Vowel Shift). I propose that the language spoken in Israel today is a beautiful hybrid, marvellously demonstrating multiple causation throughout its genetics and typology. Whatever we choose to call it—​Israeli, Reclaimed Hebrew, (spoken) Israeli Hebrew, Modern Hebrew, Contemporary Hebrew, Hebrew, Jewish etc.—​we should acknowledge and celebrate its complexity.

1.4  Proposed Periodization of Hebrew and Israeli Biblical Hebrew (c. tenth through first centuries bc) is the Hebrew of the Old Testament and of inscriptions from the First Temple period. Its use spanned three main periods: 1. Archaic Biblical Hebrew: Pentateuch and the Early Prophets; 2. Standard Biblical Hebrew: The prose preceding the Babylonian Exile (597–​538 bc); and 3. Late Biblical Hebrew: Chronicles and other later books of the Hebrew Bible composed between the period after the Babylonian Exile and the birth of Rabbinic Judaism (Pharisees). There are also ‘minimalist’ views, according to which all the Hebrew Bible books were written at the same time, e.g. in the fifth century bc.

24 Revivalistics Although the relationship between the written language of the Bible and the actual language spoken at the time is unclear, I believe that Hebrew was a mother tongue when the Bible was written. This may not be the case with Mishnaic Hebrew, sometimes known as Rabbinic Hebrew (c. first century bc through sixth century ad), which consisted of the Mishnah (codifying, and eventually putting into writing, the Jewish oral traditions, rabbinic interpretation of the Pentateuch) and (the Hebrew parts of) the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmud (including the Gemara, which consists of discussions on the Mishnah). I  propose that the Mishnah was codified in the first and second centuries ad (it was written later) because the Tannaim (e.g. Hillel, Shammai, Rabbi Akiba, and Simeon Bar Yohai) realized that Hebrew was dying and feared the loss of oral tradition. Medieval Hebrew(s) refer(s) to the varieties of literary Hebrew in the Middle Ages (c. sixth through c. seventeenth/​eighteenth centuries): piyyutim ‘liturgical poems’, scientific writings, interpretation and Rabbinic literature. There are various views concerning the time at which so-​called Modern Hebrew began. The most comprehensive solution was suggested by W. Chomsky (1967: 206–​11), who maintained that there was a ‘transitional period’ from Medieval Hebrew to Modern Hebrew (the latter in this case meaning Israeli). This transitional period lasted between the Jewish medieval ‘Golden Age’ in Spain and the ‘Hebrew revival’ in Eretz Yisrael and included early Modern Hebrew literature in Italy, as well as the German Haskalah (lit. ‘intellect’, referring to the 1770–​1880 Enlightenment movement), led by Moses Mendelssohn and Naphtali Herz Wessely. Almost all the dates suggested by others for the beginnings of the language fall within this transitional period (Zuckermann 2008a). Unlike Maskilic Hebrew (i.e. the Hebrew of the Haskalah), a literary language, Israeli is a living mother tongue. Its formation was facilitated in Eretz Yisrael only at the end of the nineteenth century by Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda (1858–​1922, born Perlman), schoolteachers, and enthusiastic supporters. Itamar Ben-​Avi (1882–​1943, born as Ben-​Zion Ben-​Yehuda), Eliezer Ben-​ Yehuda’s son, is symbolically considered to have been the first native Israeli speaker. He was born one year after Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda, a native Yiddish speaker, conversant in Russian and French, arrived in Eretz Yisrael. Almost all revivalists—​e.g. Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda—​were native Yiddish speakers who wanted to speak Hebrew like Arabs, with Semitic grammar and pronunciation. Not only were they European, but their revivalist campaign

The Hebrew Reclamation  25 was inspired by European—​e.g. Bulgarian—​nationalism. At the time, although territory and language were at the heart of European nationalism, the Jews possessed neither a national territory nor a national language. Zionism could be considered a fascinating manifestation of European discourses channelled into the Holy Land—​cf. George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda (1876). Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda understood, in my view, the necessity of the inseparable ‘trinity’ langue-​land-​lens (i.e. language—​land—​Weltanschauung/​heritage/​people) for nationhood (cf. §6.2). It was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that Israeli was first spoken by a community, which makes it approximately 120 years old. The first children born to two Israeli-​speaking parents were those of couples who were graduates of the first Israeli schools in Eretz Yisrael, and who had married in the first decade of the twentieth century (Rabin 1981: 54). At the beginning of the third millennium, the oldest native Israeli speaker was Dola Wittmann (12 July 1902–​18 November 2004), Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda’s daughter, who also happened to have been one of the first native Israeli speakers. E li ezer Ben- ​Yehuda would have been most content had Israelis spoken Bibl ic al Hebrew , which he considered the ‘purest’ form of Hebrew. The Seph ar dic pronu n ciation—​e.g. with ‘more Semitic’ consonants and word final stress—​w as preferred to the Ashkenazic one. Ben-Yehuda’s numerous neologisms were often based on Semitic languages such as Arabic. For examp le , Israel i ‫ ריבה‬ribá ‘jam’ was coined by Ben-​Yehuda in 1888 on the bas is of Arab i c [muˈr abba] ‘jam’ (from √rbb), as t hough it derived from Hebrew √rbb. Similarly, Israeli ‫ אהד‬aád ‘liked, sympathized (masculine, singular)’ was Ben-Yehuda’s phono-​semantic matching (see §2.5.3) of Arabic [ˈha:wada] ‘returned to, made peace with, felt sympathy towards, complied (with the humour of) (masc. sing.)’—​cf. also Israeli ‫ אהדה‬aadá ‘sympathy’, Ben-​Yehuda’s 1899 parallel to Arabic [haˈwa:da] ‘complaisance, clemency, sympathy, indulgence’. The rationalization might have been the Hebrew biblical names ‫[ אהוד‬ʔeˈhu:d] (Judges 3:15) and ‫ˈ[ אהד‬ʔohad] (Genesis 46:10) (the current pronunciation of the latter is the hypercorrectly, penultimately-​ stressed: oád) (Zuckermann 2003: 215). The following sequence (Figure 1.4) depicts my proposed new periodization for both Hebrew and Israeli. One should acknowledge literary overlaps between the various phases. Furthermore, none of the so-​called ‘periods’ in the history of Hebrew is clearly delineated. More than one ‘Hebrew’—​e.g. Biblical, Mishnaic, and Medieval—​may have coexisted with another one at

26 Revivalistics Spoken Hebrew ~135 AD

~C13 BC Biblical Hebrew ~C10 BC 597–538 Archaic Standard

~C1 BC Late

(cf. ‘minimalist’ views, according to which all the Hebrew Bible books were written at the same time, e.g. in C5 BC) Mishnaic Hebrew C6 AD C1 AD 200 400 Mishnah Palestinian Talmud Babylonian Talmud Medieval Hebrew(s) C6 AD C18 Maskilic Hebrew 1770 1880 Israeli ~1886

→

Figure 1.4  Proposed periodization of Hebrew and Israeli

any given time. In fact, Israelis tend to, and are taught to, perceive the various Hebrews as one language.

1.5  The Genetic Classification of Israeli: Thesis, Antithesis and Synthesis Unlike the traditionalist thesis and revisionist antithesis, my own hybridic synthesis acknowledges the historical and linguistic continuity of both Semitic and Indo-​European languages within Israeli. Therefore, the term ‘Israeli’ is far more appropriate than ‘Israeli Hebrew’, let  alone ‘Modern Hebrew’ or ‘Hebrew’, since any signifier including the term Hebrew gives the linguistically and historically wrong impression that Israeli is an organic evolution of Hebrew, whereas it was created ab initio in a hybridic genesis. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s (1770–​1831)—​actually Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s (1762–​ 1814)—​ dialectic of thesis-​ antithesis-​ synthesis is one the mechanisms for the development of ideas and even music. From the point of view of development of ideas and history of linguistics, I would like to propose that whereas the traditional revival view is the thesis, and the relexification view is the antithesis, my own hybridization model is the synthesis. Whilst I reject both the thesis and the antithesis, I acknowledge some insights from both of them. I believe that my synthesis will eventually become the new thesis, subject to a new antithesis, and so forth.

The Hebrew Reclamation  27 What makes the genetics of Israeli grammar so complex, thus supporting my synthetic model, is the fact that the combination of Semitic and Indo-​ European influences is a phenomenon occurring already within the primary (and secondary) contributors to Israeli. Yiddish, a Germanic language with a Latin substrate (with most dialects having been influenced by Slavonic languages), was shaped by Hebrew and Aramaic. On the other hand, Indo-​ European languages, such as Greek, played a role in pre-​Medieval varieties of Hebrew (see, for example, Hellenisms in the Old Testament). Moreover, before the emergence of Israeli, Yiddish and other European languages influenced Medieval and Maskilic variants of Hebrew (Glinert 1991), which, in turn, shaped Israeli (in tandem with the European contribution). The main problem facing those attempting to revive Hebrew as the national language of Israel was lexical voids, which were not semantic voids but rather cases in which purists tried to supplant unwelcome guestwords, foreignisms, and loanwords. Friling (2003: 40) mentions the jocularly constructed, albeit telling, example of a twelve-​word Israeli sentence that includes six ‘foreign’ internationalisms (boldened within the Israeli transcription): ‫הדיסוננס הקוגניטיבי בין הפוזיטיביזם הקולקטיבי לנגטיביות הדטרמיניסטית‬ ‫היא מהרעות החולות של הציונות‬ a-​disonáns a-​kognitívi ben a-​pozitivízem a-​kolektívi l-​a-​negatívyut a-​ determinístit i me-​a-​raót a-​kholót shel a-​tsionút The cognitive dissonance between the collective positivism and the deterministic negativisim is among the major problems of Zionism.

Compare it, mutatis mutandis, with Art Buchwald’s parodization of French President (1969–​74) Georges Pompidou’s concern about franglais in which Buchwald gave a speech using a plethora of Frenchisms within English (International Herald Tribune, 3–​4 February 1973; see Gordon 1978:  45, footnote 4). The revivalists attempted to use mainly internal sources of lexical enrichment but were faced with a paucity of roots. They changed the meanings of obsolete Hebrew terms to fit the modern world. This infusion often entailed the secularization of religious terms. All of these elements add to the importance of the Congruence Principle. The obvious competing hypothesis is the classical language contact analysis, according to which Israeli is (axiomatically) Hebrew (revived) with

28 Revivalistics extensive influence from Yiddish, as well as other European languages spoken by its creators. I hope that this book weakens the viability of such a hypothesis, which to me sounds implausible—​even if only from a historical sequence perspective. If the phonology, phonetics—​and, in fact, all linguistic components—​of Israeli were shaped by European languages in the revival process, I wonder why one should argue that Israeli is Hebrew, influenced by Yiddish. Such a contact linguistic analysis may suit Modern Italian, influenced by American English, but how can one expect it to suit the case here in which neither Israeli nor Hebrew were mother tongues between the second and nineteenth centuries ad? In other words, Israeli is not a simple case of Hebrew with an ‘imposition’ (van Coetsem 1988, 2000; Winford 2005). I cannot argue that every revived language must be hybridic. But given that the Hebrew revivalists, who wished to speak pure Hebrew, failed in their purism, it is simply hard to imagine more successful revival attempts. It would be hard to compete with the Hebrew revival for the following two components: (1) the remarkable strength of the revivalists’ motivation, zealousness, Hebrew consciousness, and centuries of ‘next year in Jerusalem’ ideology, and (2) the extensive documentation of Hebrew (as opposed to, say, ‘sleeping’ (i.e. ‘dead’) Australian Aboriginal languages). At the very least, this should make linguists refrain from referring to Israeli as a case of complete language revival. I believe that Israeli does include numerous Hebrew elements resulting from a conscious revival but also numerous pervasive linguistic features deriving from a subconscious survival of the revivalists’ mother tongues, e.g. Yiddish. Looking at it positively, taking the liberty to apply psychology to revivalistics, from a Jungian psychological perspective, I see this conscious cum subconscious process resulting in hybrid vigour.

1.6  Israeli as a Mixed, ‘Semi-​engineered’ Language Nicht dass man etwas Neues zuerst sieht, sondern dass man das Alte, Altbekannte, von Jedermann Gesehene und Uebersehene wie neu sieht, zeichnet die eigentlich originalen Köpfe aus. Not that one is the first to see something new, but that one sees as new what is old, long familiar, seen and overlooked by everybody, is what distinguishes truly original minds. (Nietzsche 1882: Section 200)

The Hebrew Reclamation  29 So, how should we categorize Israeli then? It is certainly not a ‘normal language’, if there is such a thing. Let us first see whether it is similar to standardized, engineered languages, creoles, and relexified languages. Is Israeli a ‘standardized language’ like High German (Hochdeutsch) or Standard Italian or Modern Standard Chinese? Not exactly. These languages, by and large, were based on the dialect or dialects of some native speakers. It might well be the case that Modern Standard Chinese was not initially identical to any specific Mandarin dialect. However, a Beijing resident at the time would have been able to continue to speak their mother tongue—​gradually employing the modifications introduced by the authorities. So, despite the engineering, there still was a chain of native speakers. This is very different from the Israeli scenario. No one spoke Israeli—​or any reduced form of it—​ prior to the end of the nineteenth century! That said, we should explore further whether there are, in fact, standard languages which came into being from entirely unspoken languages. If there are, how different are they from Israeli? The case of Standard Arabic might be an interesting case study. Somewhere in the world, have there been children exposed to Standard Arabic as their mother tongue? If there has, what is their Standard Arabic like? I  would guess that the parents’ mother tongue would have a huge impact, which is likely to be a specific vernacular Arabic. Is Israeli a creole? Although it has a lot in common with creoles, I do not think that Israeli is one for the following reasons: (1) Whilst a creole is based on at least three spoken languages (traditionally classified as substratum and superstratum), one of the primary contributors of Israeli was Hebrew, clinically dead as a spoken language. In the emergence of a creole, the pidgin speakers are exposed to native speakers of the superstratum. (2) That said, the pidgin speakers are not literary in the superstratum and they have a limited access to it. Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda and the other revivalists, on the other hand, knew literary Hebrew very well. (3) Creoles usually emerge out of a pragmatic, instrumental need for communication. This is not the case with Israeli. There would have been much better candidates than unspoken ‘Hebrew’ for communication. (However, one might consider ‘Hebrew’ fairer as Jews from all over the world had to acquire it, as opposed to, English, Yiddish, German, or Arabic, for example, which would have discriminated against

30 Revivalistics non-​native speakers). Rather, it was a result of the strong Zionist ideology of national revival. Mufwene (2001) and Michel DeGraff (2001) argue against the structural distinctions between creole languages and ‘normal languages’. They believe that creoles are very similar to languages which we do not regard as creoles, English, for example. However, even they might agree that sociologically, creoles have an additional spin. If this is enough to continue the distinction between creoles and non-​creoles, it looks as if Israeli is not a creole. The reason is that sociologically, it is very different from a creole. Is Israeli a non-​creole, relexified language? I do believe that Israeli has many cases of micro-​relexification. In §2.5.2 I discuss calquing (loan-​translation), and in §2.4.6 I demonstrate that yesh li + accusative calques the habere construction as in Yiddish ikh hob + accusative. However, I do not think that the language as a whole is the result of relexification. The genesis of Israeli was much more complex than that and often involved revival of Hebrew elements, relexification of Yiddish elements, and most importantly, convergence of elements from various languages. Hence, my theory that Israeli is a hybrid language. There is a common story of two women who quarrel in court over a chicken. The first tells the judge: ‘Judge, this chicken was born in my house to my old chicken. It is therefore mine’. The Jewish judge says, ‘You are right!’ The second woman then says, ‘Judge, from the age of one day, this chicken arrived in my house and I have been feeding it for years. It is my chicken!’ The judge says, ‘You are right!’ Then a Jew from the audience shouts: ‘But, judge, how is it possible? The first woman says the chicken is hers, and you say that she is right, and then the other woman also claims that the chicken is hers, and you tell her that she is also right’. Everybody is on their feet when the judge retorts: ‘You know what? You are also right!’ And, still, how should we categorize Israeli? Let us think about Giacomo, who goes to the maternity hospital to see Giuseppe, his newborn baby. When he arrives at the delivery suite, he finds various sign boards. Under ‘blond babies’ there are twenty babies. Then he sees ‘small babies’ with fifteen specimens. Then ‘problematic babies’ with ten. But he cannot find his son under any of them. Finally, at the very end of the corridor, he suddenly notices a sign saying ‘Giuseppe’. Should Israeli constitute a category of its own? Well, it could, but if I were forced to choose a category, I would have classified it as a ‘mixed language’.

The Hebrew Reclamation  31 What is a ‘mixed language’? One might argue that every language is mixed to some extent (cf. Schuchardt (1884); and Hjelmslev (1938)). For example, English lexis is approximately 29 per cent Latin, 29 per cent French, and only 26 per cent Germanic. However, the term ‘mixed language’ in linguistics specifically means a ‘non-​genetic language’—​see the ‘mixed language debate’ (Matras & Bakker 2003). Consider Michif, the language of the Métis people of Canada and the United States; Ma’a, a.k.a. Mbugu, spoken in Tanzania, with Cushitic basic vocabulary and Bantu grammatical structure; and Mednyj Aleut, a.k.a. Copper Island Aleut, a severely endangered mixed language spoken on Bering Island, Russia. These languages are neither a creole nor a pidgin. They often arise in bilingual settings as markers of ethnic separateness. In other words, as a result of a conscious effort by a community, a ‘mixed language’ is a natural language (a mother tongue) which—​as opposed to ‘normal languages’—​does not descend from a single ancestor but which has been assembled by combining large chunks of material from two or more existing languages. In a mixed language par excellence, large and monolithic blocks of material are imported wholesale from each of the ancestral languages. Thus, whilst the verbal system of Michif is entirely Cree, its nominal system is entirely French (see Bakker 1997). Sui generis Israeli is markedly different: the impact of Yiddish and Standard Average European is apparent in all the components of the language but usually in patterns rather than in forms (see §1.9.1). Moreover, Israeli demonstrates a unique spectacular split between morphology and phonology. Whereas most Israeli morphological forms are Hebrew (e.g. discontinuously conjugated verbs), the phonetics and phonology of Israeli—​including these very forms—​are European. One of the reasons for overlooking this split is the axiom that morphology—​rather than phonology—​is the most important component in genetic classification. In fact, such a morpho-​phonological split is not apparent in most languages of the world and is definitely rare in ‘genetic’ languages. Israeli’s ‘non-​ geneticness’ makes it a hybrid language (cf. Zuckermann 2005a). Whilst ‘classic mixed languages’—​such as Michif and Mednij Aleut—​ involve living mother tongues, Hebrew was clinically dead when Israeli emerged. That said, Lachoudisch—​the term actually being traceable to Hebrew låshōn + qodεsh ‘language + holiness’ (denoting the ‘holy language’ as referring to ‘Hebrew’)—​might be an exception. It was used as an argot until the twentieth century in Schopfloch (a village in Bavaria, Germany, district of Central Franconia (Mittelfranken), close to Rothenburg). Its grammar

32 Revivalistics was Germanic, but its lexicon was based on German Ashkenazic Hebrew (sometimes via Yiddish). Ashkenazic Hebrew was not a mother tongue for the Jewish traders who spoke Lachoudisch (cf. Klepsch 1996). However, in the case of Lachoudisch, only the lexicon came from a dormant language, whereas ‘sleeping beauty’ Hebrew provided Israeli with morphological forms as well as lexical items. Israeli makes the politics, not only of language but also of linguistics, available for scrutiny. It is not just Israeli that is regarded as låshōn + qodεsh. The process of its emergence is also endowed with a sanctity that has so far forbidden any historicization. While existing grammars describe Israeli as (bad) Hebrew, I hope to produce a new grammar of the language of Israelis. The study of Israeli as such, rather than as ‘Modern Hebrew’, offers unique insights into the dynamics between language and culture in general and in particular into the role of language as a source of collective self-​perception. Some scholars believe that the situation in Israeli is similar to that of Mishnaic Hebrew, which is different from Biblical Hebrew and was influenced by Indo-​European languages. A  contact linguistics book about Mishnaic Hebrew would be relevant as it would allow a comparative analysis between hybrid Israeli and foreign-​influenced Mishnaic Hebrew. My hypothesis, however, is that—​notwithstanding foreign influences—​ spoken Mishnaic Hebrew is a continuation of Hebrew variants from the time of the Bible. Thus, it is comparable more with Modern Greek rather than with Israeli. It would also be useful to find out whether or not the Mishnah was codified because the Tannaim were afraid of losing important information as Hebrew was dying during their lifetime (see §1.3). If my hypothesis is correct, it contradicts some Jewish scholars who advocate a non-​catastrophic explanation for the timing of the Mishnah. I  believe that there might have been a catastrophic explanation: a linguistic one. This chapter contributes towards recognizing that the revival of a no longer spoken language is unlikely without cross fertilization from the revivalists’ mother tongue(s) and towards understanding Israeli as a hybrid language. In Israeli, the impact of Yiddish and other European languages is apparent in all the components of the language but usually in patterns rather than in forms. Moreover, Israeli demonstrates a split between morphology and phonology. Whereas most Israeli morphological forms, e.g. discontinuously-​conjugated verbs, are Hebrew, the phonetics and phonology of Israeli—​ including

The Hebrew Reclamation  33 the pronunciation of these Hebrew forms—​are European (Zuckermann (2005a)). Future research should examine each linguistic feature of Israeli individually vis-​à-​vis Hebrew, Yiddish, and all the other contributing languages. The grammatical contact in the emergent language was too complex to fit sweeping models such as ‘Hebrew reclaimed’, ‘Yiddish relexified by Hebrew’, or universalist simplification. Such en bloc explanations overlook valuable statistics of each grammatical feature in the feature pool, e.g. how many contributors happened to possess it. The aforementioned Congruence Principle is most significant to the study of Israeli: if a feature exists in more than one contributing language (or idiolect, sociolect, ethnolect etc.), it is more likely to persist in the emerging language. This principle is applicable to all languages, and indeed to linguistic evolution in general. It is of particular importance, however, to new languages, i.e. to linguistic genesis. Thus, there are numerous conclusions one could draw from Israeli about language in general for the following reasons: (i) The impact of—​and preferences in—​language engineering share similarities with more natural processes of contact-​induced change; (ii) The role of the European languages in Israeli was not deliberate, i.e. there are many aspects in Israeli which can be regarded as ‘natural’. The case of Israeli demonstrates that the reality of linguistic genesis is far more complex than a simple family tree system allows. Revival languages are unlikely to have a single parent. The Hebrew revivalists’ attempt to deny their European roots, negate diasporism and avoid hybridity (as, in fact, reflected in Yiddish itself, which most revivalists despised) failed. Thus, the study of Israeli offers a perspicacious insight into the dynamics between language and culture in general, and in particular into the role of language as a source of collective self-​ perception. I maintain that Israeli is a Eurasian (Semito-​European) hybrid language: both Afro-​Asiatic and Indo-​European. Whatever we choose to call it, we should acknowledge its complexity. When one revives a language, one should expect to end up with a hybrid.

1.7  The Founder Principle Most revivalists were Yiddish-​speaking Ashkenazim. I propose that, had the revivalists and their followers been Arabic-​speaking Jews (e.g. from

34 Revivalistics Morocco), Israeli would have been a totally different language—​both genetically and typologically. Had Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda been an Abarjel rather than a Perlman, Israeli would have been much more similar to Arabic. The impact of the founder population on Israeli is much more significant than that of later immigrants, no matter how large the latter may have been. For example, the influence of several hundreds of Russian speakers at the beginning of Israeli was significantly larger than that of one million Russian speakers arriving in Israel at the end of the twentieth century—​please see the aforementioned Founder Principle. Harrison et  al. (1988) discuss the ‘founder effect’ in biology and human evolution, and Mufwene (2001) applies it as a creolistic tool to explain why the structural features of so-​called creoles are largely predetermined by the characteristics of the languages spoken by the founder population, i.e. by the first colonists. My proposition is that the Founder Principle should be applied in the context of Israeli, as follows: Yiddish is a primary contributor to Israeli because it was the mother tongue of the vast majority of revivalists and first pioneers in Eretz Yisrael at the crucial period of the beginning of Israeli. The Founder Principle works because by the time later immigrations came to Israel, Israeli had already entrenched the fundamental parts of its grammar. Thus, Moroccan Jews arriving in Israel in the 1950s had to learn a fully-​fledged language. The influence of their mother tongue on Israeli was relatively negligible. Wimsatt’s (Wimsatt 1999a, b) notion of ‘generative entrenchment’ is of relevance here. (Although the Founder Principle refers to an obvious, long-​known fact, there are cases suggesting otherwise, e.g. the influence of a late wave of African slaves on the structure of Haitian Creole; see Singler (1995).) Figure 1.5 illustrates the generalization according to which there are elements that are more revivable than others. For example: whilst it is extremely hard to reclaim sleeping beauty phonology and phonetics, it is easier to reclaim lexis. Phonology is claimed to be less revivable than phonetics because intonation, for example, is less revivable than a specific consonant. Within semantics, connotations and associations are less revivable than senses. Unrevivable (European)

←

‘Spirit/Mindset’ Discourse Phonology Phonetics Semantics Morphology Syntax Lexis → Revivable

Figure 1.5  Cline of revivability

(Semitic)

The Hebrew Reclamation  35 On ‘spirit’ or ‘mindset’ (or ‘genius’), see Dawkins (1916) on Asia Minor Greek: ‘the body has remained Greek, but the soul has become Turkish ([italics mine], cf. Thomason & Kaufman 1988: 65). Some scholars may find these metaphors inappropriate, but perhaps we should not ignore what they refer to only because it is unquantifiable.We should not automatically ignore what we cannot measure simply because we cannot measure it. Discourse here includes the style of the conversational interaction. For example, Aboriginal people who lost their language and speak Australian English might find it hard to reclaim the traditional Aboriginal conversational interaction, which is both ‘communal’ and ‘continuous’. Walsh (1997); and Zuckermann et al. (2015: 11–​12) show that, by and large, whilst typical Western conversational interaction is both ‘dyadic’ and ‘contained’, traditional Aboriginal conversational interaction is both ‘communal’ and ‘continuous’: • The relationship between participants can be ‘dyadic’ or ‘communal’: In the dyadic Western communication, which is usually between two people, the talk is directed to a particular individual. People face each other, eye contact is important, and the control is in the hands of the speaker. In the communal Aboriginal communication, on the other hand, the talk is not directed to a particular individual but is rather ‘broadcast’. People usually do not face each other, eye contact is less important, and the control is in the hands of the hearer. • The communication channel can be ‘contained’ or ‘continuous’: In the contained Western conversation, the talk is packaged into discontinuous bits. For example, when one asks a question, one expects an immediate answer. Another example: One turns on the TV when one would like to watch it. In the continuous Aboriginal conversation, on the other hand, one is not expected to answer a question immediately. Furthermore, one can come up with the answer to the question much later, and without mentioning the question. The TV is turned on upon acquisition and remains on until caput. It would be wishful thinking to believe that specific conversational style can be reclaimed if it is very different in the revivalists’ mother tongues.

36 Revivalistics

1.8  The Success Rate of the Hebrew Revival If we are to be brutally truthful with ourselves, the modern-​day vernacular spoken in downtown Tel Aviv is a very different language—​both genetically and typologically—​to that of the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) or of the Mishnah, the redaction of Jewish oral tradition. The revival and vernacularization of Hebrew were partially a success and partially a failure (failure according to the measures of the revivalists themselves). It is hard to provide an exact quantification for such a multi-​variable enterprise, but I would roughly estimate that on a one-​to-​ten scale, ten being a complete success and one being a complete failure, the Hebrew revival is a seven. More specifically, I propose the following continuum approximations for the extent to which Israeli can be considered Hebrew:

• mindset/​spirit: 1 (i.e. European) • discourse (communicative tools, speech acts): 1 • sounds (phonetics and phonology): 2 • semantics (meaning, associations, connotations, semantic networking): 3 • constituent/​word order (syntax): 4 • general vocabulary: 5 • word formation: 7 • verbal conjugations: 9 • basic vocabulary: 10 (i.e. Hebrew)

The factors leading to the partial failure of the Hebrew revival have little to do with a lack of motivation or zealousness, or with economic or political variables—​not even with the fact that the revivalists, such as the symbolic father of Israeli, Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda, were not as linguistically sophisticated as contemporary linguists. It is simply the case that one cannot negate one’s most recent roots, be they cultural or linguistic, even if one is keen to deny one’s parents’ and grandparents’ heritage (diasporic Yiddish) in search of cultural antiquity (Biblical Hebrew). It is therefore most unlikely to revive a clinically dead language without cross-​fertilization from the revivalists’ mother tongue(s). Thus, when most native Israeli speakers speak Israeli, their intonation is much more similar to that of Yiddish, the mother tongue of most revivalists, than to that of Arabic or any other Semitic language. It is high time to acknowledge that Israeli is very different

The Hebrew Reclamation  37 from ancient Hebrew. We should embrace—​rather than chastise—​the multisourcedness of Israeli. That said, the Hebrew revival cannot be considered a failure. Without the zealous, obsessive, enthusiastic efforts of Ben-​Yehuda and of teachers, writers, poets, journalists, intellectuals, social activists, political figures, linguists and others, Israelis would have spoken a language that could hardly be considered Hebrew. To call such a hypothetical language ‘Hebrew’ would have not only been misleading but also completely wrong. To call today’s Israeli ‘Hebrew’ is misleading but not completely wrong: hybridic Israeli is based on Hebrew as much as it is based on Yiddish. Although the revivalists could not avoid the subconscious influence of their mother tongue(s), they did indeed manage at the same time to consciously revive important components of Hebrew. Is raeli is a new hybrid language rather than an evolutionary phase of Hebre w. Yiddish is not a ‘foreign language’ vis-​à-vis Israeli, and the word ‫ אינטואיציה‬intuítsya ‘intuition’—​to give but one example out of thousands of alleged loan words—​is not a loan word (from Yiddish intuítsye, Russian intuítsiya, Polish intuicja etc., all meaning ‘intuition’) but rather an integral part of Israeli from its very beginning. When I said to a prominent Israeli scholar that I was thinking of exploring the influence of Yiddish on Israeli, his response was: ‘But we already know everything about it’. However, when examining the (usually concealed) Yiddish component in Israeli and previous research on this subject, I have found that his opinion was far from correct. It appears to be ideologically motivated, reflecting a fear of discovering the extent of the European impact, in general, and the role of Yiddish, in particular. This book proposes the Founder Principle: Yiddish is a primary contributor to Israeli because it was the mother tongue of the vast majority of the revivalists and first pioneers in Eretz Yisrael at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century. All the other languages which have influenced Israeli—​except for Hebrew—​are secondary contributors. One of the most important motivations for this book was to discover and explore concealed linguistic processes. Thus, I  allowed myself—​besides dealing with areas fundamental to language: morphology, syntax, phonetics, and phonology—​to explore non-​basic lexis. Non-​basic lexis cannot help us much to determine the genetic affiliation of a language (despite what laymen might think). However, it may cast some light on the matter. Hybridization of words and hybridization of languages share common features.

38 Revivalistics One of the surreal observations of this book is that revival of one language does not necessarily result in the death of another, but rather in its survival. As indicated in the introduction to this book, although it might initially appear that the victory of ‘Hebrew’ over Yiddish (as the national language of the Jewish people) condemned Yiddish to be spoken almost exclusively by Orthodox Jews and some eccentric academics, this book suggests that much of the victorious ‘Hebrew’ is indeed Yiddish. Ta ken to i t s extreme , t his approach might lead to the bitter question: ? ‫ הר צחת וגם י ר שת‬ha rot sákhto vegám yoróshto (Israeli aratsákhta vegám yaráshta) ( H ebrew fo r ‘ Hast thou killed, and also taken possession?’, 1 Kings 21:19)? But I would advocate a more positive, reconciliatory attitude: cultures—​through language—​have their intriguing ways of developing and evolving. One should not bear a grudge. What one might consider as ‘mistakes’ today might well be the grammar of tomorrow; the stop gaps of the present are the infrastructure of the future. Yet, if you are a mámə lóshņ (Yiddish for ‘mother tongue’)-​lover who is reluctant to accept such a liberal view, you might be consoled by the fact that, after all, Yiddish survives beneath one of its ‘killers’, Israeli. Thus, as long as Israeli survives (and American English will not kill her during our lifetime), Yiddish survives too.

1.9  The Congruence Principle My lexicological research (Zuckermann 2003) has strengthened the importance of the Congruence Principle (Zuckermann 2006d; 2008a), according to which: the more contributing languages a linguistic feature occurs in, the more likely it is to persist in the emerging language. This principle is applicable to all languages and indeed to linguistic evolution. After all, every language is mixed to some extent (Hjelmslev 1938), as well as Schuchardt’s (1884) ‘Es gibt keine völlig ungemischte Sprache’, i.e., there is no fully unmixed language. Such congruence is a commonplace observation in pidgin and creole studies, as well as in research into many other languages. Kerswill (2002) describes how features found in several varieties are the most likely to survive in koine formation. The Congruence Principle can be profitably used to allow for grammatical features of Israeli. Hebrew grammatical features which—​either serendipitously or due to an earlier Indo-​European influence—​were congruent with those of Yiddish and other European languages were favoured, and

The Hebrew Reclamation  39 vice versa. According to the Congruence Principle, the more revivalists speak contributing languages with a specific linguistic feature, the more likely this feature is to prevail in the emergent language. Based on feature pool statistics, this principle weakens August Schleicher’s Family Tree theory (Stammbaumtheorie), which may give the wrong impression that every language has only one parent. For example, most revivalists spoke languages, mainly Yiddish, that lacked that Semitic pharyngeal gulp ‘ayin (represented, for instance, by the apostrophe in my ‘Christian’—​actually Jewish—​name Ghil‘ad). The result is that most Israelis do not have this sound in their speech. Ju st be for e the end of t he second millennium, Ezer Weizman, then President of Israel, visited the University of Cambridge to familiarize himself with the famous collection of medieval Jewish notes known as the Cairo Genizah. He was introduced to the Regius Professor of Hebrew, who had been allegedly nominated by the Queen of England herself. Hearing ‘Hebrew’, the friendly president clapped the professor on the shoulder and asked ‫מה נשמע‬ m á nishmà , the c omm on Israeli, ‘What’s up?’ greeting, which some take to literally mean ‘what shall we hear?’, but which is, in fact, a calque—​loan translation—​of the Yiddish phrase ‫ וואָס הערט זיך‬vos hért zikh, usually pronounced vsértsəkh and literally meaning ‘what’s heard?’. To Weizman’s astonishment, the distinguished Hebrew professor didn’t have the faintest clue whatsoever about what the president ‘wanted from his life’. As an expert of the Old Testament, he wondered whether Weizman was alluding to Deuteronomy 6:4: Shəmáʕ Yisråél (Hear, O Israel). Knowing neither Yiddish, Russian (Что слышно chto slyshno), Polish (Co słychać), Rom an ian (Ce s e aude ) n or Georgian (რა ისმის ra ísmis)—​let alone Isr ae li—th e p r o fessor h ad n o chance whatsoever of guessing the a ctual meaning of this beautiful, economical expression. The point is that má nishmà entered Israeli not only from Yiddish but also from Russian, Polish, Romanian and Georgian—​in accordance with the Congruence Principle.

1.9.1  Forms vs Patterns Th e dis tin c t ion bet w ee n forms and patterns is crucial too as it demonstrates multiple causation. In the 1920s and 1930s, gdud meginéy hasafá, ‘Th e Batt ali o n for th e D ef ence of the Language’ (see, e.g., Shur (2000)),

40 Revivalistics whose motto was ‫ דבר עברית‬,‫ עברי‬ivrí, dabér ivrít ‘Hebrew [i.e. Jew], speak Hebrew!’, used to tear down signs written in ‘foreign’ languages and disturb Yiddish theatre gatherings. However, the members of this group only looked for Yiddish forms, rather than patterns in the speech of the Israelis who did ch o ose to sp e ak ‘Hebrew ’. The language defendants would not attack an Israeli speaker uttering the aforementioned ‫ מה נשמע‬má nishmà. Astonishingly, even the anthem of the very Battalion for the Defence of the Language included a calque from Yiddish: ‫ועל כל מתנגדינו אנחנו מצפצפים‬ veál kol mitnagdénu anákhnu metsaftsefím, lit. ‘and on all our opponents we are whistling’, i.e. ‘we do not give a damn about our opponents’, ‘we defy our opponents’. Whistling here is a calque of Yiddish ‫ פייפן‬fáyfn ‘whistle + not give a damn’. Israeli patterns have often been based on Yiddish, Russian, Polish, and sometimes ‘Standard Average European’. This is, obviously, not to say that the revivalists, had they paid attention to patterns, would have managed to neutralize the impact of their mother tongues, which was often subconscious. Although they engaged in a campaign for linguistic purity (they wanted Israeli to be Hebrew, despising the Yiddish ‘jargon’ and negating the Diaspora and the diasporic Jew; see Zuckermann (2008a), the language that revivalists created mirrors the very hybridity and foreign impact they sought to erase. The revivalists’ attempt to (1) deny their (more recent) roots in search of biblical ancientness, (2) negate diasporism and disown the ‘weak, dependent, persecuted’ exilic Jew and (3)  avoid hybridity (as reflected in Slavonized, Romance/​Semitic-​influenced, Germanic Yiddish itself, which they despised) failed. This chapter proposes that in the case of revival languages such as Israeli, whereas the language’s forms are given attention to, its patterns are ignored. For example, the (hidden) productivity and semantics of the allegedly completely Hebrew system of Israeli verb-​templates (the latter are regarded here as Semitic forms—​as opposed to their semantic patterns) are often Europeanized. Generally speaking, while most forms of Israeli are Semitic, many of its patterns are European. Figure 1.6 illustrates this observation.This is not to say that Israeli does not have European forms (these are outside the basic vocabulary though—​ cf. the productive English -​able/​

European ← Patterns

Forms → Semitic

Figure 1.6  Semitic forms cum European patterns

The Hebrew Reclamation  41 -​ible—​and obviously cannot alone prove hybridity). In addition to thousands of common lexical items of non-​Semitic descent, Israeli abounds with various non-​Semitic derivational affixes, which are applied to words of both Semitic and non-​Semitic descent. Consider the following words consisting of a Hebrew-​descent word and a non-​Semitic-​descent suffix: • ‫ ביטחוניסט‬bitkhon-​íst ‘one who evaluates everything from the perspective of national security’, from ‫ ביטחון‬bitakhón ‘security’ (see §1.3.1) + the productive internationalism ‫ט‬ ​ ‫יס‬- -​ist; • ‫ מערביזציה‬maarav-​izátsya ‘Westernization’, from ‫ מערב‬maaráv ‘west’ + the productive internationalism ‫ה‬ ​ ‫יזצי‬- -​izátsya ‘-​ization’. See many more examples in §2.4.10. Examples of Israeli words which include an international prefix are • ‫​מלחמתי‬post-​milkhamtí ‘postwar’; • ‫​ערבי‬pro-​araví ‘pro-​Arab’; • ‫​התנתקות‬anti-​hitnatk  út ‘anti-​disengagement’. Consider also the productive derogatory prefixal phonestheme shm-​, which results in an ‘echoic expressive’ (Haig 2001: 208–​9). For example, ‫או"ם שמום‬ um shmum, lit. ‘UN shm-​UN’, was a pejorative description by Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-​Gurion, of the United Nations. When an Israeli speaker would like to express his impatience with or disdain for philosophy, they can say ‫​שמילוסופיה‬-‫ פילוסופיה‬filosófya-​shmilosófya. Israeli ‫שמ‬-​ shm-​ is traceable back to Yiddish. (Cf. the Turkic initial m-​s egment conveying a sense of ‘and so on’ as in Turkish dergi mergi okumuyor, lit. ‘magazine + “shmagazine” + read (negative, present, third person singular)’, i.e. ‘(He) doesn’t read magazine, journals or anything like that’ (Haig 2001: 209).) Another Yiddish-​descent linguistic device used to convey impatience is the ‘involvement discourse marker’ ‫ נו‬nu as in Israeli ‫ נו כבר‬nú kvar (< Yiddish ‫ נו שוין‬nu shoyn); and ‫ נו באמת‬nu bemét, lit. ‘nu, in-​truth’, meaning ‘stop it’ or ‘what kind of behaviour is that!’. Maschler (1994) finds that this is the second-​most prevalent interpersonal discourse marker. Among its functions are (i) hastening a nonverbal action, (ii) urging further development within a topic, (iii) granting permission to perform an action, and (iv) providing a joking/​provoking tone (Maschler 2003).

42 Revivalistics

1.9.2  Hybridity and the Congruence Principle Just as the beautiful hybridic Israeli tradition of music (see Uzi Hitman, a former Israeli singer (rather than an assassin, hitman, using a submachine gun, uzi)) and film often bridges Middle-​Eastern and Western culture, the Israeli language demonstrates that genetic affiliation—​at least in the case of the so-​called ‘non-​genetic’ languages—​is not mono-​parental and can be a continuum. The comparative method and lexico-​statistics, though elsewhere useful, are not here sufficient. Interestingly, Yiddish itself is multisourced—​with an important Hebrew (and Aramaic) component. Thus, there are cases of Yiddish and Hebrew simultaneously influencing Israeli, in which the relevant Yiddish features themselves actually stem from the very same Hebrew elements involved. Figure 1.7 illustrates such a scenario. In the case of calques, for example, the form preferred by Israeli is often the Yiddish one, rather than its Hebrew equivalent, which could well be its ultimate source. Consider, for example Israeli ‫​נהיה לו חושך בעיניים‬/ ‫ נעשׂה‬naasá/​niyá lo khóshekh baenáim, lit. ‘Darkness has been made in his eyes’, i.e. ‘He saw blackness (after bad news)’. This is a calque of Yiddish ‫ ס'איז אים פֿינצטער געוואָרן אין די אויגן‬siz im fíntstər gevórņ in di óygņ ‘ditto’, which might in turn be an adaptation of Hebrew ‫חשכו עיניו‬ [ ħ åʃˈ k hu: ʕeˈnåw], lit. ‘His e yes became dark’, i.e. ‘He saw blackness (after bad news)’. The latter is rare in Israeli while the former is commonly used. Similarly, Israeli ‫ לך תדע‬lekh tedá, lit. ‘Go, know!’, i.e. ‘Go figure!’, is a calque of Yiddish ‫ גײ ווײס‬gey veys ‘id.’ (cf. French va savoir), which could perhaps in turn be an adaptation of Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ צא ולמד‬sˁe ulˈmad], lit. ‘Go learn!’, or Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ צא וראה‬sˁe urˈʔe], lit. ‘Go see!’, or Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ צ א וחשב‬sˁe waħǎˈʃob h], lit. ‘Go think!’, all of which in practice meant ‘Pay attention!’. Go figure! I n cidentally, English Go figure! might be an ‘adapted calque’ of Yiddish ‫ ג ײ ווײ ס‬gey veys, lit. ‘Go know!’ The hypothetical, more faithful (but less be autifu l) c alque would have been *Go know!. This is but one example of Israeli

Hebrew

Figure 1.7  Hebrew/​Yiddish amalgamation

Yiddish

The Hebrew Reclamation  43 ‘adapted calquing’ or ‘modigfied calquing’. Consider also Israeli ‫מדע בדיוני‬ madá bidyoní, lit. ‘fictional science’, which calques—​with a morphological change—​English science fiction. The hypothetical, more faithful calques are ‫ בדיון מדע‬bidyón madá, lit. ‘science fiction’ and ‫ בדיון מדעי‬bidyón madaí, lit. ‘scientific fiction’. However, cf. Italian fantascienza, fanta-​being a prefix referring to fantasia ‘fantasy’, scienza meaning ‘science’. Note that the Russian parallel is научная фантастика naúchnaya fantástika, lit. ‘scientific “fantastics” ’ or ‘scientific fiction’, i.e. ‘science fiction’. Consider the word for ‘computer’ in Modern Standard Chinese:  电脑 diànnǎo, deriving from 电 diàn ‘lightning (electricity)’ and 脑 nǎo ‘brain’. The consequent word for ‘computer’ in Te Reo Māori (note the word order) is rorohiko, deriving from roro ‘brain’ and hiko ‘lightning’ (i.e. ‘electricity’). The proposed word for ‘computer’ in the reclaimed Barngarla Aboriginal language of Eyre Peninsula (South Australia) is gabiwa, a clipping of gagabibiwaribirga, deriving from gagabibi ‘brain’ (gaga ‘head’ + bibi ‘egg, marrow, jelly-​like substance’) and waribirga ‘lightning’ (i.e. ‘electricity’). Having introduced two useful principles to the analysis of revival languages: The Founder Principle and the Congruence Principle, we can now examine salient phonetic, phonological, morphological, syntactic, and lexical features in the Israeli language.

2 ’Nother Tongue Subconscious Cross-​Fertilization between Hebrew and Its Revivalists’ Mother Tongues Israeli possesses distinctive socio-​historical characteristics such as the lack of a continuous chain of native speakers from spoken Hebrew to Israeli, the non-​Semitic mother tongues spoken by the revivalists, and the European impact on literary Hebrew. Consequently, it presents the linguist with a fascinating and multifaceted laboratory in which to examine a wider set of theoretical problems concerning language genesis, social issues like language and politics, and practical matters, e.g. whether it is possible to revive a no-​longer spoken language. The multisourced nature of Israeli and the role of the Congruence Principle and the Founder Principle in its genesis have implications for historical linguistics, language planning, creolistics, and the study of grammars in contact. The aim of this chapter is to propose that—​due to the ubiquitous cross-​ fertilization and multiple causation, cf. Dorian (1993) and Zuckermann (2003)—​the revival of a no-​longer spoken language is unlikely without cross-​ fertilization from the revivalists’ mother tongue(s). Thus, revival efforts result in a language with a hybridic genetic and typological character. Revival languages are unlikely to have a single parent. I highlight salient morphological constructions and categories, illustrating the difficulty in determining a single source for Israeli grammar. The European impact in these features is apparent in structure, semantics, or productivity.

2.1  Phonetics The Israeli consonant and vowel inventory, and its intonation, reflect Yiddish. When abroad, Sabra Israelis (Jews born in Israel) are often asked whether they are German or Dutch rather than Arab when the listener tries to identify their accent.

’Nother Tongue  45 O n e lin gu i s tic example of the difference between an Orthodox, a Conservative, and a Reform Jew is that the Orthodox says borukh ato adonóy ‘B l essed a re you Lord’; the Conservative—​just like Israelis—​pronounces the same phrase as barukh ata adonáy; the Reform says barukh ata I don’t know! Ashkenazim used to pronounce adonáy ‘Lord’ as adonóy, but Israelis’ pronunciation of the kamáts vowel (Hebrew [å], known in Hebrew as ‫קָ מַ ץ‬ [qåˈmasˁ]) now follows the Sephardic ([a]‌), rather than Ashkenazic Hebrew ([o]). Consider also Standard Yiddish khókhəm ‘wise guy’ (Polish Yiddish khúkhəm) versus the Israeli pronunciation of the same word khakhám (‫)חכם‬. Li k ewise , a non-geminate t is pronounced [t] following the S ephardim, rather than [s] as in Ashkenazic Hebrew, as in Ashkenazic Hebrew leshóynəs ‘tongues’ versus the Israeli pronunciation leshonót (‫)ל שונות‬. When asked about the phonetics of Israeli, many distinguished linguists therefore claim th a t the s o u nds of Israeli reflect the Sep hardic pronunciation tradition. However, this is just ‘lip service’. Unlike Israeli purists, I believe that the pronunciation of a Yemenite (a Jew originally from the Yemen) speaking Israeli is the exception, rather than the norm. In fact, such mizrahi pronunciation is gradually disappearing, one of the reasons being that Israeli was created mostly by Yiddish-​speaking Ashkenazic Jews and thus its standards are different from the Semitic standards of Hebrew. Furthermore, as indicated by sfirát yehudéy érets israél, a census conducted in 1916–​18 (cf. Bachi 1956: 67–​9), the Ashkenazim were the ones most receptive to the ‘Hebrew revival’: 61.9 per cent of Ashkenazic children and 28.5 per cent of Ashkenazic adults spoke Israeli in 1916–​18. The percentage of Israeli-​speakers among Sephardim (constituting most of the veteran residents in Eretz Yisrael) and the other mizrahi Jews (excluding the Yemenites) was low: only 18.3 per cent of Sephardic children and 8.4 per cent of Sephardic adults spoke Israeli in 1916–​18, whilst 18.1 per cent of mizrahi children (excluding Sephardim and Yemenites) and 7.3 per cent of mizrahi adults spoke Israeli (cf. 53.1 per cent among Yemenite children and 37.6 per cent among Yemenite adults). As aforementioned, mizrahim (plural of mizrahi) are Jews descending from the Middle East (as opposed to those from Europe and other places), mostly from Muslim-​majority countries. To obtain an idea of the approximate ‘real’ numbers, note that between 1850 and 1880 approximately 25,000 Jews immigrated into Eretz Yisrael (mostly Ashkenazim), in 1890 a total of only 40,000 Jews lived in Eretz Yisrael, cf. Bachi (1977: 32, 77). Between 1881 and 1903, 20,000–​30,000 Jews arrived

46 Revivalistics in Eretz Yisrael (ibid.: 79). Let us examine Israeli’s phonetics and phonology more closely, so as to uncover its real origins.

2.1.1 Consonant Inventory Yiddish has determined the consonantal inventory of Israeli in the following ways:

2.1.1.1 Neutralization of the Pharyngeals ‫ט‬,‫ק‬, and ‫צ‬ Neutralization of the Hebrew pharyngealized (emphatic) consonants ‫( ק‬q), ‫( ט‬ţ), and ‫( צ‬ş). The sounds [q]‌, [tˁ], and [sˁ] do not exist in Yiddish at all. Consequently, Hebrew ‫[ ק‬q] is pronounced in Israeli [k], equal to Israeli ‫כּ‬ [k], and to Yiddish ‫ק‬. Hebrew ‫[ ט‬tˁ] is pronounced in Israeli [t], equal to Israeli ‫( ת‬t), and to Yiddish ‫ט‬. Hebrew ‫[ צ‬sˁ] is pronounced in Israeli [ts], which did not exist in Classical Hebrew but which did exist in Yiddish and in Ashkenazic Hebrew, pronounced [ts]. Naturally, this does not only apply to the pronunciation of pre-​existent Hebrew words. In borrowing foreign lexical items, ‫ק‬, ‫ ט‬and ‫ צ‬are the letters used in Israeli to represent imported [k], [t] and [ts], respectively. 2.1.1.2 Neutralization of  ‫ה‬, ‫ח‬, ‫ ע‬and ‫א‬ Neutralization of the Hebrew pharyngeals and glottals ‫( ע‬ʕ), ‫( ח‬ħ), ‫( ה‬h), and ‫( א‬ʔ). In Yiddish there is neither [ʕ] nor [ħ], whereas [h]‌and [ʔ] are very weak. By and large, Hebrew ‫[ ע‬ʕ], ‫[ א‬ʔ], and ‫[ ה‬h] are all ‘pronounced’ in Israeli in the same way: most of the time, they are not pronounced. They are only pronounced (both ‫ ע‬and ‫[​—א‬ʔ], while ‫[​—ה‬h]) when in a post-​consonantal position within uncommon words. Israeli ‫[ ה‬h] is also pronounced by some speakers at the beginning of phrases. Compare the frequently used Israeli ‫ נראה‬nirá [niˈʁa] ‘seemed (masculine singular)’ (where the glottal stop is not pronounced) to the rare ‫ תשאל‬tish’él [tiʃˈʔel] ‘interrogated, questioned (masculine singular)’ (where the glottal stop is pronounced). Hebrew ‫[ ח‬ħ] is pronounced in Israeli [χ], equal to Israeli ‫[ כ‬χ], (from Hebrew [kh]). 2.1.1.3 Hebrew Alveolar Trill Versus the Israeli Unique Lax Uvular Approximant Phonetic shift of the Hebrew alveolar trill r [r]‌to a lax uvular approximant [ʁ̞], similar to the [ʁ] in many Yiddish dialects.

’Nother Tongue  47

2.1.1.4 The Suffering of Israeli Dyslexics Recent research has proved that some languages are harder than others for the dyslexic. If you have to be dyslexic, make sure you are born in Spain or Ge r many, r at her than Engla n d. You should definitely av oid present-​day Israel. There is no doubt in my mind that Israeli is much more problematic than Hebrew, the reason being that while Israeli’s phonetic system is primarily European, it still uses the Hebrew orthography. As aforementioned, there is no one-​to-​one correlation between signs and sounds: ‫( כ‬k) and ‫( ק‬q) are both pronounced [k]‌, ‫( ת‬t), and ‫( ט‬ţ)—​[t], while more and more Israeli children use interchangeably ‫( ע‬ʕ), ‫( א‬ʔ), and ‫( ה‬h). The result is that there is usually no phonetic difference between ‫מכבסים‬ m eχa b s ím ‘doing la u ndry (m asculine plural)’ an d ‫ מחפ שׂים‬meħapsím ‘l ookin g f or ( masculine p lural)’ —both are pronounced mekhapsím [meχapˈsim] (note the anticipatory assimilation of the voiced b to the voiceless s in the former, resulting in the voiceless [p]‌). Similarly, ‫ ידע‬yada’ ‘(he) knew’ is pronounced like ‫ ידעה‬yad’a ‘(she) knew’ and like ‫ ידהּ‬yadah ‘her hand’—​all yadá [jaˈda]. Israeli ‫ קריאה‬qri’a ‘reading’, ‫ קריעה‬qri’a ‘tearing’, ‫כריה‬ kriya ‘mining’, and ‫ כריעה‬kri’a ‘kneeling’ are all pronounced kriá [kʁiˈa]. So, do not be too surprised to see an Israeli child spelling ‫( עקבותיו‬pronounced ikvotáv) ‘his traces’ as ‫( אכּווטב‬cf. Hopkins 1990: 315). In Yiddish one would say that this child spells ‫ נח מיט זיבן גרייזן‬nóyekh mit zíbn gráyzn ‘ ‫“( נח‬Noah”) with seven errors’ (e.g. ‫ נאייעך‬nóyekh)—​cf. ‫ נח מיט זיבן קרייזן‬nóyekh mit zíbn kráyzn, ‘ “Noah” with seven circles’, see Figure 2.1. Consider also ‫משקנטה‬ mashkánta, a misspelling of ‫ משכנתא‬mashkánta ‘mortgage’. O n e mi ght claim t hat the neutralizations des cribed prev iously are not universally true since there are still some mizrahim whose pronunciation is ‘Hebrew’. However, more and more mizrahim are losing their Semitic pronunciation to an Israeli one. The normal spelling of some Israeli foreignisms

Figure 2.1  ‫ נח מיט זיבן קרייזן‬nóyekh mit zíbn kráyzn, ‘ “Noah” with seven circles’

48 Revivalistics re flect s t hese phonetic neutralizations. Consider the Israeli slangism ‫ארס‬ ars ‘yob, someone with an attitude’, usually ‘a poorly educated, chauvinistic, young “L e vantine” (Middle Eastern) man’ (cf. English chav ‘young lower-​ class person typified by brash and loutish behaviour and the wearing of [real or imi t a t ion] designer clothes’, and American Guido). Despite its origin, (Vernacular) Arabic ‫[ عرص‬ʕarsˁ] ‘pimp, cheeky, bastard’, it is usually written in Israeli as ‫( ארס‬rather than the etymologically faithful ‫)ערצ‬, as though it were the same lexical item as in the Latin phrase Ars longa, vita brevis ‘Art (or science) is eternal, life (of the individual) is short’. Arabic [sˁ]—​which is etymologically related to Israeli ‫​—צ‬is the first sound in the name Saddam Hussein. Note that Saddam is written in Israeli with a ‫ ס‬rather than with the etymologically parallel ‫צ‬. Sometimes the process is more overtly analogous. I think it was former Israeli President Ephraim Katzir who visited a boarding school in the Negev and asked one of the pupils where he lived. The pupil replied: be-​sderót ben-​ guryón ‘in Ben-​Gurion Boulevard’ (with the sound s in sderót). The president was very impressed, obviously because most Israeli kids pronounce sderót as shdérot. Possible reasons are the lack of the diacritic on the ‫( ש‬a dot on the left would make it s, a dot on the right sh) and the analogy with (Hebrew>) Is rae l i ‫ שדרה‬shidrá ‘spine, spinal column’ (see Sarfatti 1972 : 186). When the President pressed the point and asked: ‘in which city?’, the pupil disappointedly replied ber séva ‘Beer Sheva’ (instead of ber shéva), thus exposing his lisp. I once gave a talk at the University of Hawaii in Manoa, Honolulu. I was ta ken to see the Polynesian Cultural Centre, and remember two things in particular. First, a Tongan presenter gave us a lovely ice cream in a big grapefruit and said: ‘This ice cream is for free’. Moments later he added: ‘The spoon costs 15 dollars!’. Second, I was approached by a blonde woman, who asked in a peculiar accent: ‘Excuse me, do you like Havaii’, pronouncing ‘Hawaii’ as Israelis pronounce ‫ הווי‬haváy ‘way of life, cultural pattern’. In the local language, ‘Hawaii’ is indeed pronounced haváy’i (with an ’okina, glottal stop). So, I replied: ‘Yes, I like Havai’i and thank you very much for pronouncing it so beautifully!’. Her response, which took me by surprise, was ‘You are velcome!’. It turned out that the woman was a native German-​speaker. Similarly, the German-​based final devoicing (although it is now established that the natural default of all speakers—​not only of Germans—​is final devoicing, cf. Singh 1987), means that instead of pronouncing négev, many yékes (Jews originally from Germany) say négef, which happens to have the

’Nother Tongue  49 Israeli meaning ‘plague’. I  was reminded of my German friend in Oxford who pronounced liver hypercorrectly as [ˈliwər] as if to counter-​balance her frequent pronunciation of English w as [v]‌—​cf. ‘What question invites the answer “9W!”?’  –​‘Do you spell your name with v, Herr Wagner?’ (‘Nein, w!’). Consider the hypercorrection of a Chinese speaker who pronounces in English [ˈhɛlɪkɒpt] (helicopt) instead of [‘hɛlɪkɒptə(r)] helicopter as if to counter-​balance her frequent r-​intrusion—​cf. kuài diǎn, lit. ‘quick a little’, i.e. ‘quickly’ > kuài diǎn-​r.

2.1.1.5 Implications of the Lack of Vocalization There are additional problems in the writing system used by Israelis, arising from the avoidance of vocalization (vowel marking, nikúd ‘pointing’, cf. diacritics). In other words, Israelis write the consonants of the word without mentioning the vowels. I often hear the following ‘mispronunciations’: (1) ‫ מתאבנים‬is often prono unc e d as mitabním ‘becoming fossilized (masculine p lural)’ instead of m e t aavním ‘appetizers’, the latter deriving from ‫ תאבון‬teavón ‘appetite’, wh ere a s the former deriving from ‫‘ אבן‬stone’; (2) ‫ מ עלה אדומים‬is often pr ono u n ced as maalé edomím instead of maalé adumím, the latter being th e top onym Biblical Hebrew ‫ מעלה אדמים‬in Joshu a 15:7, 18:17 (see Ziv 19 96:  7 7; Kol Makóm veAtár 1985: 313); (3) The hype rcorrect yotvetá inst ead of yotváta—​for the toponym Biblical Hebrew ‫יטבתה‬, mentioned in Deuteronomy 10:7 (see Kol Makóm veAtár 1985: 231); 4) fára fost instead of fára fóset—​for the anthroponym ‫ פארה פוסט‬Farrah Fawcett (an American actress). The l ack of vocalization in Israeli might even result in a new name. For inst a n ce, there is an Israeli named Reviel who is thus called because his mother heard a child misreading ‫רויאל‬, pronouncing it reviel instead of royal (a brand of cigarettes). Often, the only way of discovering what the writer means is by putting their words in context. Consider the homographs spelled ‫בלבן‬: balében ‘in the sour milk’, belaván ‘in white’, balabán ‘Balaban (a surname)’, belibán ‘in their heart’ (cf. ‫)בליבן‬. I remember looking for a Morasha Shooting Range (thinking it might be near Morasha Junction, not far from Tel Av iv) because I was asked to go to ‫ מטווח מורשה‬in order to renew a handgun licence. Israeli ‫ מורשה‬actually stood for murshé (√rʃy) ‘authorized, allo w e d, permitted’ (and also ‘deputy, representative, delegate’). In other words, I should have gone to any authorized shooting range that I could find. Israeli morashá (√yrʃ) literally means ‘legacy, inheritance, heritage’. Finally,

50 Revivalistics ‫ מורשה‬could also stand for mivársha ‘from Warsaw’ (written in ktiv khasér, i.e. scriptio defectiva; otherwise spelled ‫)מוורשה‬. Similarly, Israeli ‫ הילדה‬can represent both ayaldá ‘the girl’ and hílda ‘Hilda (a name)’, and Israeli ‫השפלה‬ can stand for both ashfelá ‘the lowland’ and ashpalá ‘humiliation’. Intriguing exam p l es include misreading the newspaper headline ‫ הנשיא היה בבון‬as anasí ayá babún ‘The president was a baboon’ instead of anasí ayá bebón ‘The president was in Bonn’. Thu s , éven gviról is the common pronunciation in Tel Aviv of ‫אבן‬ ‫ גבירול‬Íbn Gabiról, a street named after Solomon Ben-​Yehuda ibn Gabirol (in L atin: Avicebron, 1022–​70). This is probably a (subconsc ious /​ semi-​ deliberate) de-​Arabicization assisted by (Hebraized) surnames such as ​‫ שושן‬Even-​Shoshan (a lexicographer; Milón Even-​Shoshan in one edition or another, is familiar to almost all Israelis), toponyms such as ‫ אבן יהודה‬éven yehúda (a tow n in the Sharon, named after the Hebrew rev iva list El iezer Ben-​Yehuda), ‫ אבן ספיר‬éven sapír (a moshav near Jerusalem), ‫ אבן מנחם‬éven menakhém (a moshav in the Galilee) and ‫ אבן יצחק‬éven itskhák (a kibbutz [collective community] in Ramat Menashe). The ‘mispronunciation’ éven gviról is not that noticeable in Jerusalem because its inhabitants are more used to the names of medieval Spanish Jewish thinkers. Ab s u rdly enough , Israelis, al most all of whom can read roman letters, som e t imes turn t o the English transcription on Israeli signs (confusing though it may be) in order to find out how to pronounce an unfamiliar Israeli toponym. That said, there are cases in which the Israeli orthography is more effective than the English. Compare Israeli ‫ אוצ'אלאן‬with English Ocalan, the latter sometimes being pronounced [ˈokɒlan] or [oˈkɒlan], as though he were Scottish, rather than a Kurd bearing a Turkish surname meaning ‘revenge seeker’ (cf. Turkish öc ‘revenge’ + alan ‘taker’, cf. almak ‘to take, get, buy’; his full name being Abdullah (Apo) Öcalan)—​cf. the Anglicization O’Hana of the Sephardic surname ‫ אוחנה‬Israeli okhána. Compare also Israeli '‫מילושביץ‬ milóshevich with English Milosevic, usually pronounced [miˈlɒsəvitʃ] with [s]‌ instead of [ʃ]. The Israeli pronunciation is more faithful to the Serbian. Wh e r eas Englis h tends to ma intain the origi nal spelling of surnames, Polish, for example, prefers to adapt the spelling to maintain the original pronunciation—​cf. Szekspir ‘Shakespeare’ and Waszyngton ‘Washington’. But the fact that many Israelis sometimes turn to the English transcription on Israeli signs has prompted some linguists and non-​linguists to propose romanization. A peculiar form of romanization is already apparent in witty Israeli advertisements, e.g. ‫פיקינג‬S (speaking, with a shva below the S), the

’Nother Tongue  51 name o f a school teaching English in Z.O.A. House (‘Zionists of America ָ  ֶ  ֶ (with a kamatz and two segols under the Latin letters) House’, Tel Aviv), AEG and ‫  תפוזינה‬Zֶ  (ze tapuzína ‘This is Tapuzína (the name of an orange juice drink)’, with a segol under the Z). Incidentally, Japanese also uses roman letters in similar ways for advertising purposes.

2.1.1.6 Palindromic Stories Israeli’s lack of vowels make it an ideal medium for palindromic stories, examples of constrained literature which reads the same when the letters composing it are taken in the reverse order. Consider a palindromic story that I wrote in Israeli: .‫ לא נגרם אסון צורף וסבל‬.‫היא לקחה לשון ורדים וחולדה טרפה תולעת‬, ‫שם‬ ‫ ברור‬. ‫ הצועני ְּבשֵ ם מתוּשלח דחף ְּבחרוּף נפש רופא לבוּש צְ חו ֹרים‬, ‫ַּב ר חוב‬ ‫ זכר סו ֹד רמאים והלך לדוּג ְּבים‬,‫ השוכר דירות ברחוב ּ ִפינֵס‬,‫ הבחור‬:‫וחשוב לציֵן‬ .‫ נוצר בּ ו ֹ המוּזר בתוך ה ּים‬.ֹ ‫ הזרמים נ ְָטר ּו סוּג ּ ֶפלֶג לפו ֹעלו‬.‫הז ּרמים הרמים‬ ‫ האיש בלט והפיח נועם בקורס‬.‫מפ ְרשן שבוי‬ ּ ‫ז מר להקה עמד ושאב רוחות‬ .‫הכנה לבחן בספורט‬ ‫ סב נח בּ לֶה נכֵ ה סרוּק במעון חיפה וטל‬. ‫א יבה נוצרה והרצון הביא טֵ רוּף‬ .‫בשיא היו ֹבש נשרף מתוח ורב אש ודמע‬ ‫ מי מרזה? מי מרה‬:‫ ורטן‬,‫לגלפגו ֹס‬ ּ ‫הקהל רמז מי הכּ ו ֹתֵ ב ֵרז ּו מֵ ה וברצונו לעוף‬ ‫“דו ֹס רכּ ז סְ נִיף בּ ו ֹחֵ ר ְּבתו ֹר יד רכוש”? הרוחב‬ :‫ִמ ּים רזה? מי בּ גוּד לכלה? ומי אמר‬ .‫הניצל בו שחור ורב‬ .‫ חלש ותם משבי—נעוצה בּ ו ֹ חרב‬,‫מי רוחץ שובל אפור? שפן פורח בפחד‬ .‫ אל תעלות הפרט הדלוח ומידרונו של החקלאי המש‬,‫ אמרגן‬,‫ נוס‬,‫ רוץ‬:‫לבסוף‬

English Translation (Non-​Palindromic): There, she took a ‘bunch’ of roses, and a rat devoured a worm. No pure disaster or suffering was caused. On the street, the Gypsy named Methuselah pushed in mortal danger a doctor dressed in white clothes. It is clear and important to mention that the fellow, who rents flats in Pínes Street, remembered a liars’ secret and went to fish in the sea of great currents. The currents reserved a certain stream for his activity. He became the strangest in the sea. A band-​singer stood and inhaled spirits from a captive commentator. The man stood out and inspired grace in a preparatory course for the sports test.

52 Revivalistics Hatred was created and the desire brought madness. A  grandfather rested worn out, handicapped and combed in a Haifa (rest)home. Dew in the maximal aridity burned, thinly spread and full of fire and tears. The audience hinted at who writes a résumé and wishes to fly to the Galapagos, and complained:  Who reduces weight? Who gained power from a sea which reduces weight? Who is betrayed by a bride? And who said ‘An orthodox Jew, co-​ordinator of a (local) branch, chooses property as help’? Its remaining width is black and great. Who washes a grey train (of dress)? A rabbit escaping out of fear, weak and naïve from captivity, a sword has been plunged into him. Finally, run, flee, impresario, to the tunnels of the filthy individual and to the slope of the moving farmer.

See elaborate explanation in Zuckermann and Holzman (2018).

2.2  Phonology 2.2.1  Hebrew Allophones vs Israeli Phonemes In Hebrew, f was an allophone of p; v was an allophone of b; and χ was an allophone of k. In Israeli, however, these sounds are all distinct phonemes. Juxtapose ‫ לאפר‬leafér ‘to flick ash from a cigarette/​cigar’ versus ‫ לאפּר‬leapér ‘to put make up on’, ‫ השתבץ‬ishtavéts ‘had a heart attack (masculine singular)’ ve r s us ‫ השתבּץ‬i shtabét s ‘was ass igned (masculi ne singular)’, and ‫התחבר‬ itkhavér ‘became friends (with) (masculine singular)’ versus ‫ התחבּר‬itkhabér ‘became linked (to) (masculine singular)’. Consider the following Israeli sentence, which would have been impossible to utter in Hebrew: .‫ לפחות סטודנטים מאשר בעבר‬70% ‫כיום אני נותן לפחות‬ kayóm aní notén lefakhót shivím akhúz lepakhót studéntim meashér baavár These days I give at least 70 per cent to fewer students than in the past.

’Nother Tongue  53

2.2.2  Syllable Structure Th e syllable structure of Biblical Hebrew was CV(CV)(C). In other words, every syllable consisted of a consonant, a vowel, an optional consonant or a vowel, and finally, an optional consonant. For example, ‫[ אקדח‬ʔɛq.dåħ], ‫אותו‬ [ʔo:.to:] (long vowel practically means that the third slot is a vowel, identical to the vowel in the second slot), ‫[ קמת‬qamt] and ‫[ סיר‬si:r]. However, the syllable structure of Israeli is (S∫)(C)(C)V(C)(C)(S∫). On the one hand, one can have a syllable in Israeli which consists only of a vowel, for example ‫ או‬o ‘or’ (Israelis do not usually pronounce the glottal stop here). On the other hand, on e can have a cluster of up to three consonants preceding the vowel, e.g. ‫ ספרינט‬sprint ‘sprint’, ‫ סטרפטיז‬strep.tíz ‘striptease’, ‫ זבוב‬zvuv ‘fly’ and ‫קציצה‬ ktsi.tsá ‘meatball’, as well as a cluster of up to three consonants following the vowel, e.g. ‫ שרימפס‬shrimps and ‫ טלפרנט‬til.prént ‘sent a teleprinter’. Now, there are people who believe that some of the examples I gave here are not in Israeli. I disagree. The fact that the foreign origin is transparent does not at all mean that the word has not entered the Israeli language. What is the plural of shrimp in English? It is usually shrimp (without the s). What is the plural of shrimp in Israeli? It is shrímpsim. In contrast, if any of the multi-​consonantal words is borrowed by Japanese, it will rece ive a totally different treatment. For example, English table is adapted into Japanese as teburu, and sexual harassment as seku hara. Unlike Israeli, Japanese cannot keep the clusters because it contradicts the normal sy llable str ucture. When I take the bullet train (shinkansen) in Japan, I always look forward to hearing the waitress whispering, in a very high pitch, aisu kōhī aisu kurīmu, wa ikaga desuka ‘Ice coffee, ice cream, what would you like?’. An Israeli might have said ‫ אייס קופי אייס קרים מה בראש שלך‬ays kofi ais krim, ma barósh’khà?, lit. ‘Ice coffee, ice cream, what in the head of you?’. There would be no problem whatsoever with the [kr] cluster in cream, although it would have been impossible in Hebrew. There are many minimal pairs that illuminate this point. First, let me explain what I mean by minimal pair: two distinct lexical items differing from e ach other only in one phonetic feature. For example, the stress of ‫צפוני‬ tsfoní ‘northern’ is differe nt from that of ‫ צפוני‬tsfóni (a slangism referring to a spoil ed, middle-​upper cla ss Israeli) and thus the two words have different meanings. A minimal triplet is manifested in the Israeli lexical item ‫רומני‬:   romaní ‘Romanian ’, románi ‘Romance (from Rome)’ and rómani

54 Revivalistics ‘Romany’. Consider also pól itì (‫‘ פול איתי‬Fall down with me!’), políti (‫פוליטי‬ ‘political’) and pòl ití (‫‘ פול איטי‬Paul is slow’). So what w ould be an e xample of a minimal pair related specifically to the difference between the syllable structure of Israeli and that of Hebrew? C ompare t he Israeli w ord ‫ פלס טיק‬plástik ‘plastic’ with the Hebrew name ‫’ אפלטון‬aplaţón ‘Plato’. The additional vowel ’a (‫ )א‬of ’aplaţón is a prosthesis: it was inserted to avoid the cluster [pl] at the beginning of the syllable because this was impossible in Hebrew. If the Greek word στάδιον stádion entered Israeli today, we would not have added the ’i (‫ )א‬as in ‫( אצטדיון‬Israeli itstadyón). What do you call the game played by men with funny-​shaped balls? Rugby! An d what do Is raelis ca ll the game played by two people and two small goals, in which each person starts out with the ball, but can only touch it once? The same applies to Israeli ‫ ספין‬spin ‘(political) spin’ versus Rabbinic Hebrew ‫’ אספלנית‬isplånít ‘plaster, adhesive bandage’, from Greek splēnión. The ques tion is, wh ere does the Israeli (S∫)(C)(C)V(C)(C)(S∫) structure come from? The syllable structure in Yiddish is identical, although Yiddish c an also have a sy llabic consonant (CC) (with a dot under the second C). C onsider Yiddish érshtņs ‘first of all’, or shtrúd ļ, the latter pronounced in Israeli as shtrúdel. As opposed to some English speakers, for example, who p ronounc e Sweden as swi: dņ, most Israelis say komun ízem rather than komunízm. Intr iguingly, whereas Lincoln College (Oxford) is pronounced línkən (the second l is not pronounced), Israeli students tend to call it línkolen. That said, Yiddish is far from being like Czech, where a whole sentence c an have no vowel. For example, Strč prst skrs krk means ‘Put your finger down your throat!’

2.2.3  Unaspired Spirantization None o f the Seph ardi/​mizrahi communities—​apart from the Kurdistani Jews—​p ronounce a v for a beth (‫ )ב‬without a dagesh (the gemination/​plosivization diacritic), although of course that has become standard in Israeli use. Sephardim used to say shəbira ‘breaking’ rather than shvirá as in Israeli. On the other hand, as I have already mentioned, most Israelis say bekitá bet rather than the puristic bekhitá bet ‘in the second grade’. The fricativization of the /​k/​is referred to by linguists as spirantization. Israelis have to study the differences between schwa quiescence (shva nakh) and schwa mobile (shva n a) t o det ermin e when they should spirantize or plosivize. For example,

’Nother Tongue  55 a ccor d in g t o the Academy of the Hebrew Languag e, Israelis ‘should’ say lirkósh ‘to purchase’ but rakháshti ‘I purchased’, lekhabés ‘to do laundry’, but kibásti ‘I did laundry’. However, many Israelis say khibásti! And bli khibúdim rather than bli kibúdim. Are they wrong? Not at all! Their grammar is simply not the same as Hebrew. I knew a kindergarten child who asked her mother whether she was going to go a ‘field school’ (‫​ספר שדה‬bet-​séfer sadé) as she interpreted her teacher’s ‘‫ את עולה לכיתה א‬at olá lekhitá álef ‘[Next year] you are going to the First Grade’ as ‫ חיטה‬khitá ‘wheat’ instead of ‫ כיתה‬kitá ‘class, grade’. Needless to say, lekhitá (with the spirantization) contradicted the child’s grammar. Israeli media personality Netiva Ben-​Yehuda (1928–​2011) told me once about a promo for a film on Israeli TV in which the presenter said that the film is about ‫ נזירה וכומר‬nezirá ve-​khómer ‘a nun and khómer’. How many Israelis would understand the khómer here as ‘priest’ rather than ‘substance’, e.g. hashish? I retorted with two examples: • The jocularly hypercorr ect ‫ סונטה לכינור ולכונטרבס‬sonáta lekhinór ulekhóntrabas ‘Sonata for v iolin and double bass’ (instead of ‫קונטרבס‬ kóntrabas). Most Israeli speakers would simply say sonáta lekinór velekóntrabas, without any spirantization. • The way young Israelis mi sunderstand the title of Yirmiyahu Yovel (1935–​2018)’s 1988 book ‫שפינוזה וכופרים אחרים‬, when pronounced—​ the Hebrew way (with spirantization )—​by members of the Academy of t he Hebrew Language: shpinóza vekhofrím akherím (instead of the Israeli way shpinóza vekofrím akherím). Young Israelis understand the former, sprirantized Hebrew, way as ‘Spinoza and Other Nudniks’ rather than Yovel’s intention: ‘Spinoza and Other Heretics’. Israeli ‫ חופרים‬khofrím refers to ‘diggers, nudniks’—​as opposed to ‫ כופרים‬kofrím ‘heretics’. I think it was the famous Israeli Arab radio-​presenter Zouheir Bahloul who said ‘eynéy hakahál ne‘utsót bekhár hadéshe ‘the audience is glaring at the grass field (football pitch)’ (but cf. Israeli ‫ חרא‬khára ‘shit’). Consider also the Jews who, while singing in Qabbalat Shabbat bói khalá ‘Come, bride’ (kalá meaning ‘bride’, referring to Sabbath, but here spiranitized as khalá), always looked pointedly at the ‫( חלה‬khalá bread). Israeli singer Ofra Haza (1957–​2000) was unfortunately forced to sing Asi Dayan and Tzvika Pik’s ‘Bimbo Song’ (‫ שיר הפרכה‬shir afrékha) unnaturally. She was coerced to pronounce ‫‘( בא לי בימים ובא לי בלילות‬I feel like during

56 Revivalistics the day and I feel like at night . . .’) as ba li bayamím uvá li balelót instead of vebá. And, on the other hand, many native Israeli-​speakers pronounce ‫‘ משאב‬resource’ as masháb rather than mash’av, the latter following Hebrew grammar where final b must be spirantized. The Israeli lexical item masháb is a back-​formation from the plural form ‫ משאבים‬mashabím. Consider also ‫‘ עקרב‬scorpion’, which many Israelis pronounce as akráb rather than as akráv (puristically: ‘aqráv), see the plural form ‫ עקרבים‬akrabím.

2.2.4  Word-​Initial Schwa  Mobile Whereas Sephardim pronounce Schwa mobile (shva na) at the beginning of a word, Ashkenazim and Israelis do not. Consider Sephardic shəmi ‘my name’ as opposed to Israeli shmi, Sephardic təshaʕʕesre ‘nineteen’ vs Israeli tsháesre; qəsˁisˁa ‘meatball’ vs Israeli ktsitsá; dəħiya ‘delay’ vs Israeli dkhiá; shəlila ‘negation’ vs Israeli shlilá; bəħira ‘choice’ vs Israeli bkhirá; kəli ‘tool’ vs Israeli kli; and shəbirá ‘breaking’ vs Israeli shvirá.

2.2.5  Penultimate Stress I believe that—​as opposed to the traditional view that the Israeli unmarked stress is final and follows the Sephardic traditions—​the basic stress in Israeli is trochaic (penultimate). This explains, for example, the native pronunciation albáni ‘Albanian’ rather than the prescriptive albaní. When I asked a friend of mine, who has lived in Tel Aviv for years, whether we can meet at rekhóv yehudá hamakabí (Judah the Maccabi Street), she claimed to have never heard of it. I had to pronounce it properly as yúda makábi. Often, the stress of Israeli names and words changes from final to penultimate, as in Yiddish and Ashkenazic Hebrew. In some cases, penultimate stress is caused by several motivations, for example Yiddish influence, endearment, differentiation, Arabic influence, alienation. This is yet another manifestation of multiple causation and cross-​ fertilization, which is an important motif in this book. Penultimate stress in Israeli can thus be marked as plus/​minus emotion (endearment/​alienation). Consider the following examples of penultimate stress in Israeli: 1. Anthroponyms, for example the female first names ‫ שושנה‬shoshána, ‫ יפ ה‬yáfa, ‫ שׂרה‬sár a, ‫ דבורה‬dvóra, ‫ יונה‬yóna, ‫ ברכה‬brákha, ‫נחמה‬

’Nother Tongue  57 nek hám a, ‫ שיר ה‬shí ra, ‫ ד ינה‬dín a, ‫ רינה‬rína, ‫ חיה‬kháya, ‫ חווה‬kháva, and ‫ אסתר‬éster. Penultimately stressed male first names include ‫חיים‬ kh áim , ‫ יה ודה‬yúd a, ‫ משה‬móshe (cf. Yiddish ‫ משה‬móyshə), ‫מנחם‬ menákhem, ‫ נחמן‬nákhman, ‫ יורם‬yóram, ‫ דוד‬dávid and ‫ יונה‬yóna. As in these examples in Israeli, the stress of Yiddish polysyllabic first names is never final. The penultimate stress here might imply affection. Compare it to the non-​anthroponymic khatúla ‘female cat’, an endearing form of Israeli ‫ חתולה‬khatulá ‘female cat’. Furthermore, many of the penultimately stressed Israeli names, and especially the female ones, can serve as a lexical item when stressed on the final syllable. For example, ‫ דבורה‬dvorá ‘bee’, ‫ שׂרה‬sará ‘female minister’, ‫ ח י ה‬khayá ‘animal’, ‫ חווה‬khavá ‘farm’, and ‫ יפה‬yafá ‘beautiful (feminine plural)’. Thus, it is possible to explain the penultimate stress as mere differentiation. Compare this with the aforementioned differentiations that are not related to stress: ‫ לאפר‬leafér ‘to flick ash from a cigarette /​cigar’ versus ‫ לאפּר‬leapér ‘to put make up on’, ‫השתבץ‬ hi s htavéts ‘ h ad a he art attack (masculine singular)’, versus ‫השתבּץ‬ hi shtabéts ‘was assigned (masculine singular)’, and ‫ התחבר‬hitkhavér ‘became friends (with) (masculine singular)’ versus ‫ התחבּר‬hitkhabér ‘became linked (to) (masculine singular)’. Nevertheless, diachronically, in the cases with penultimate stress, the influence of Yiddish has been more prominent than differentiation. 2. To ponym s, for ins tance the cities/​towns ‫ בנימינה‬binyamína, ‫נתניה‬ na tánya ( c f. pu ris tic ne tanyá), ‫ חיפה‬kháyfa (cf. puristic kheyfá), ‫ רחובות‬rekhóvot (cf. rekhovót ‘streets’), ‫ גדרה‬gedéra, ‫ טבריה‬tvérya, ‫ראש‬ ‫ פינה‬rosh pína, )‫ זכרון (יעקב‬zíkhron (yaakov), ‫ ראשון לציון‬ríshon letsíon or just ríshon. Note that the usual stress of Yiddish toponyms is penultimate. 3. Common words, for example ‫ גלידה‬glída ‘ice cream’ (cf. Zuckermann 200 0 : 129), ‫ צבר‬tsábar ‘prickly pear’ (Sabra, a nickname for native Israelis—​see §3.4.7), ‫​ בלי כיבודים‬/ ‫ עם‬im /​bli khibúdim ‘with /​without sharing (goodies)’ (used by children), ‫ פרסי‬pársi ‘Iranian (Jew)’. There are many cases of penultimate plural form, which differentiates a word in the singular from a homophonous one. Consider Israeli ‫ סלים‬salím ‘baskets, vessels’ versus ‫ סלים‬sálim ‘goals scored in basketball’ (both based on Israeli ‫סל‬ sal). The same explanation can be applied to Israeli ‫ פן‬pan ‘aspect, form’, whose plural, ‫פנים‬, is often pronounced pánim, in contrast to Israeli ‫ פנים‬paním ‘face’.

58 Revivalistics Si m ilarly, I sraeli ‫ צחוק‬ts khok ‘laugh’ has two plural forms: either tskhókim ‘funny bits, stories’ or tskhokím ‘laughs’ (both written as ‫)צחוקים‬. In some cas es, the penultimate stress is attributable to the influence of Ar a bic. F or example, ‫ חיפה‬kháyfa (puristically khey fá) is pronounced in Arabic ‫ˈ[ حيفا‬ħajfa]. This brings to mind the case of Israeli yeríkho ‘Jericho’, which might be a derogatory form of (Hebrew>) Israeli ‫יריחו‬, usually yerikhó ‫יריחו‬, the oldest town known in Eretz Yisrael. Correct me if I am wrong, bu t Israe l’s late former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, pron ounced ‫יריחו‬ as yeríkho once it became clear that the area was going to be ceded to the Palestinians, as though attempting to create revulsion for this land by hinting that ‘it is not biblical [jəri:ˈħo:] but rather alien yeríkho’. Possibly the stress wa s also in d uced by Arabic ‫[ ألريحا‬ʔarˈri:ħa:] ‘J ericho’. Thus, penultimate stress can imply alienation or foreignness. Th e stor y g oes that former Israeli Prime Minister Levi Eshkol visited Jerusalem’s Temple Mount and made the V sign with his right hand. A journalist asked him: ‘Is this the peace sign? Is this V for Victory? Is this V for Vendetta or defiance?’ Eshkol retorted: ‘This is V for ?‫ווי קען מען פון דאנען ארויסקריכן‬, vi ken men fun dánen aróyskrikhn, Yiddish for: ‘How can one get out of here?’. A contrary example to yeríkho, which nonetheless sustains my argument, is Israel’s former Prime Minister Shimon Peres’s pronunciation of the Israeli acronym ‫‘ אש"ף‬PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization)’. In what I perceive as an attempt to ‘humanize’ the PLO at a time when it was widely seen in Israel as a terrorist movement, Peres pronounced ‫ אש"ף‬as asháf (evoking positive emotions), unlike the common pronunciation áshaf (evoking negative emotions). I t see ms that a small difference in stress can have huge political implications—​maximus in minimīs. I believe in the fractal, holographic idea that an analysis of a tiny linguistic feature can teach us a lot about society. Compare this to the political use of euphemisms, e.g. Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s use of the neutral ‫ פעימות‬peimót, lit. ‘beatings (of the heart)’, to refer to the stages in the Israeli withdrawal from the occupied territories. Israeli peimót might have been intended to lessen the opposition of right-​wing Israelis to such ‘withdrawal’ (‫ נסיגה‬nesigá).

2.2.6  Intonation While on a state visit to Israel, President Trump of the United States took part in a ceremony to honour the country’s fallen. Laying a wreath on the tomb

’Nother Tongue  59 of the Unknown Soldier near Jerusalem, he was confused to discover that the inscription read kháim shúster, soldier, and tailor. ‘But why do you give his name?’ he demanded of Netanyahu, the Israeli Prime Minister. ‘Surely this soldier is meant to be anonymous.’ ‘Oy!’ replied Netanyahu with a strong Yiddish intonation: ‘As a soldier he was unknown, but as a tailor?!?’. People familiar with both Yiddish and Israeli find it hard to deny that the intonation of Israeli is very similar to that of Yiddish. Mizrahi Israelis have acquired this very same intonation. There was an Israeli TV commercial for the Toto football lottery, in which a mizrahi Jew is walking in a stadium (built by the Toto) and praising the activities of the Toto Committee. Among other things, he produces a sentence which became a catch-phrase for Israelis: ‫ תדליק את האורות‬,‫חיים‬ !‫ בבקשה‬kháim, tadlík et aorót bevakashá ‘Haim, switch on the [projector] lights please!’. The relevant fact is that this Israeli, apparently of mizrahi descent, possesses an intonation which is indeed very Yiddish, for example when he states: !‫טוטו אני ממלא כל שבוע? ממלא! הטוטו מקדם את הספורט בישׂראל? מקדם‬ !‫אז אני שותף‬ tóto ani memalé kol shavúa? memalé! atóto mekadém et aspórt beisraél? mekadém! az aní shutáf! Toto (do) I fill every week? I fill! Does the Toto promote sport in Israel? (It) promotes! So I am a part (of it)! (i.e. a part of the important contribution of the Toto to Israeli society).

At the end of 2004, when the New Terminal of Ben-​Gurion Airport was opened, Israeli TV showed a commercial for it. A woman comes back from Paris and when her family comes to pick her up from the airport, they ask her about the trip. She does not stop praising the shops and service at . . . the airport. When one of the family members suddenly asks about Paris, she replies using a denigrating Yiddish intonation:  Paris? Paris!, funnily implying that Paris is not a big deal compared with the new terminal of Ben-​Gurion Airport. [I wish this book could come with a built-​in intonation kit.] Consider also the rise-​fall intonation in questions expecting affirmation in the form of ‘Of course not!’ (cf. Weinreich 1956: 642; Blanc 1965: 189), for example !?‫ אתה הרי לא הלכת לשם‬atá aréy lo alákhta leshám?! ‘You surely did not go there [did you?]!’ or ‘Surely you did not go there?’. The special intonation of sentences with Y-​movement brings us to syntax.

60 Revivalistics

2.3 Syntax ‫ טאָ‬,‫ אַ צאָ חכמה‬,‫ טאָ ניע חכמה‬,‫ צאָ יעגאָ‬,‫נײן‬ ַ ?‫אַ? וואָס? יהגה חכמה‬ .‫ניע יעגאָ‬ a? vos? yége khókhme? Nayn, tso yégo, to nye khókhme, a tso khókhme, to nye yégo What? Yége Khókhme (lit. ‘He will Produce Wisdom’)? No, what is his is not wisdom; and what is wisdom is not his. (Rabbi Ayzļ Khorəf on a work entitled yégə khókhmə presented to him by the author for endorsement; cf. Lipson 1928: 137, item 889) Your manuscript is both good and original, but the part that is good is not original, and the part that is original is not good. (Attributed to Samuel Johnson, 1709–​84, cf. Hendrickson 1997: 146)

As pointed out in §1.2, revivalists often invest many efforts in ‘nouns and sounds’, not in syntax. (By and large, Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda failed in sounds but succeeded in nouns). Their neglect is one of the reasons why Israeli is syntactically more similar to Yiddish and other European languages than to Hebrew.

2.3.1 Word Order A sk an I s rael i what the Biblical sentence ‫[ אֲ בָ נִים ׁשָ חֲ ק ּו מַ יִם‬ʔǎbhåˈni:m ʃåħǎˈqu: ˈmajim] (see Job 14:19) means and they would most likely tell you that the stones eroded the water. Of course, on second thought, they would guess that semantically this is impossible and that it must be the water which eroded the stones. Like Standard Average European, the canonical constituent order in Israeli is Subject–​Verb–​Object. More specifically, it is either AVO (A being a transitive subject), e.g. a-​yéled akhál et a-​tapuákh ‘The boy ate the apple’, or SV (S being an intransitive subject), e.g. a-​yéled nirdám ‘The boy fell asleep’, or SVE (E being an extended intransitive), e.g. u makhá

’Nother Tongue  61 al a-​tipúl bo ‘He protested against his treatment’. Israeli linguists often claim that Israeli constituent order, AVO(E)/​SV(E), demonstrates the impact of Mishnaic Hebrew, which had it as the marked order (for emphasis/​contrast)—​as opposed to Biblical Hebrew, usually characterized by Verb-​Subject-​Object order (see vayómer adonáy el moshé ‘Said God to Moses’). As Rosén (1981: 49) notes, Israeli constituent order is highly flexible, as in German and Russian. It includes what is known in America as Y-​Movement (i.e. Yiddish movement, left dislocation, cf. thematicization and topicalization, cf. Prince 1981). A customer enters a department store in New York and asks the assistant, ‘Do you have Nike shoes here?’—​‘No, I am sorry, goodbye!’, comes the reply. The owner happens to overhear and he takes his employee to one side and rebukes him. ‘You should have said “We have no Nike but I can give you Adidas, New Balance, or Hamgaper [Israeli company]” ’, he explains. The next day, a customer asks the assistant, ‘Do you have toilet paper?’, to which he replies, ‘We’re out of toilet paper. Sand paper—​I can give you!’. This is, of course, possible in Israeli but one needs to use the right intonation (see §2.2.6). However, there is resemblance between Mishnaic Hebrew and Standard Average European syntax. There are various possible analyses or interpretations, including the following: (i) One source:  Israeli constituent order is Hebrew and serendipitously resembles that of Standard Average European. After all, there is a limited number of options. (ii) One source:  Israeli constituent order is Standard Average European and serendipitously resembles that of erstwhile Mishnaic Hebrew (or a more recent literary variant of Hebrew). (iii) Multiple source: Israeli constituent order is simultaneously based on Standard Average European and Hebrew. Whereas normativists opt for Analysis (i), revisionists prefer Analysis (ii). They are actually similar in that they both believe in one source. My hybridic synthesis, which has multiple causation at its core, would advocate Analysis (iii). Word order is a language component that is hard to reclaim in case it differs from the revivalists’ mother tongues. So the reclamation process has conscious elements and unconscious ones, as does the analytical psychology of the Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist Carl Jung. Consider the Latin

62 Revivalistics sentence: In cornu tauri parva sedebat musca, lit. ‘in the horn of the bull, a small was sitting fly’. The meaning is ‘a tiny fly was sitting on the horn of the bull’. One can split the noun phrase ‘a small fly’ (parva musca) and put the verb in the middle of it, because you know according to the case whether or not ‘a small fly’ is the subject of the sentence or the object of the sentence. Because Latin has cases, the word order can be free without causing any misunderstanding. This is the case of Sanskrit too. Sanskrit, the ancient language of India, is currently undergoing reclamation in some Indian villages (see McCartney and Zuckermann, 2019). In Vedic Sanskrit, word order was free due to the presence of eight cases. In Hindi, however, the word order is Subject-​Object-​ Verb. In reclaimed Sanskrit, the word order is Subject-​Object-​Verb, just as in Hindi, the mother tongue of many Sanskrit revivalists.

2.3.2  Verb-​Subject Disagreement I sometimes hear the sentence ‫ כואב לי הבטן‬koév li a-​béten, literally ‘hurts (masculine) me the stomach (feminine)’, i.e. ‘My stomach hurts’. Obviously, if we follow traditional grammar, this is a ‘terrible mistake’ since there is no agreement between the verb and the subject that follows it. The utterer of this sentence knows that béten ‘stomach’ is feminine but still says koév ‘hurts (masculine)’. So what is going on here? Well, have a look at Yiddish: es tut mir vey der boykh, literally ‘it hurts me the stomach’, i.e. ‘My stomach hurts’: The verb ‘it hurts’ precedes the subject ‘stomach’. So Israeli koév seems to reflect Yiddish es tut mir vey ‘it hurts’, which does not have to agree with the following subject. Similarly, I once heard a native speaking student at Tel Aviv University asking her colleague matsà khén be-​enékha a-​artsaá a-​zòt?, lit. ‘found (masculine) grace in your eyes the lecture (feminine) this?’, i.e. ‘Did you like this lecture?’. There are also cases of number disagreement. For example, éyze dvarím shalákhta li? ‘Which (masculine singular) things (masculine plural) you sent to me?’, i.e. ‘Which things did you send me?’. Here, the disagreement is not between the verb and the subject but rather within the noun-​phrase constituting the direct object (éyze dvarím).

’Nother Tongue  63

2.3.3 Copula Enhancement Unlike H e brew, which has a plethora of verbless sentences, Israeli often uses copulas. Consider the proximal demonstrative ‫ זה‬ze (this) and the pronouns ‫ הוא‬hu (he /​it), ‫ היא‬hi (she/​it), ‫ הם‬hem (they, masculine) and ‫ הן‬hen (they, feminine), all of whose forms being traceable to Hebrew. Compare Bi blica l H ebre w [ʔǎdoˈn-​åj ʔεˈħå d], lit. ‘Lord-plural:1singularPossessive one’, i.e. ‘Our Lord is one’ (Deuteronomy 6:4), with Israeli késef ze lo a-​kól, lit. ‘money copula negative determiner-​all’, i.e. ‘Money is not everything’. Israeli does not accept *késef lo akól. Whereas the copula existed in Hebrew, its use was reinforced by Yiddish and other European languages. In verbless sentences, Yiddish always has a copula: dos méydļ iz klug ‘The girl is clever’. In sentences without a verb, Yiddish always has a copula, cf. ‫דאָס‬ ‫ מיידל איז קלוג‬dos méydļ iz klug ‘The girl is clever’. Compare this to Russian Девушка умнaя dévushka úmnaya, lit. ‘The girl clever’, meaning ‘The girl is clever’ (versus Russian Это хорошо éto khoroshó ‘This is good’). Note that Israeli does accept the Hebrew késef enéno akól (or more puristically késef ‘eynénu hakkól) ‘Money is not everything’ but it is archaic or of high register. Again, although the patterns employed here are European, the forms are still Hebrew.

2.3.4  Modifier Preceding Noun In Israeli—​as in Hebrew—​the modifier usually follows the noun it describes. But there are cases in Israeli where this is violated. Consider the following: • ‫ נדב קינוחים‬nadáv kinukhím, lit. ‘Nadav desserts’, i.e. ‘Nadav’s desserts’, rather than what one would have expected from Hebrew ‫קינוחי‬ ‫ נדב‬kinukhéy nadáv, lit. ‘desserts-​construct Nadáv’. Juxtapose it with Is raeli ‫ שושן פורים‬shushán purí m, lit., ‘Shushan Purim’, i.e. ‘Purim of Shushan’, the day on 15 Adar on which Jews in Jerusalem celebrate Purim. The word order in shushán purím follows the Yiddish. In Hebrew it should have been ‫ פורים שושן‬purím shushán. I have found hundreds of business names following such Modifier + Noun word order. • ‫ אחלה ספר‬ákhla séfer, lit. ‘great book’ (ákhla traceable back to Arabic), instead of what one would expect if following the Hebrew: ‫ ספר אחלה‬séfer

64 Revivalistics ákhla , lit . ‘book great’, i.e. ‘great book’. Consider also the minimal pair ‫ אחלה חומוס‬ákhla khúmus, lit. ‘great hummus’, and ‫ חומוס אחלה‬khúmus ákhla, lit. ‘hummuss Ákhla’, i.e. ‘hummus of the company called Akhla’. Is raeli ákhl a is traceable back to Arabic ‫ˈ[ أحىل‬ʔaħla] ‘sweeter/sweetest, more/most beautiful’. By now the Israelism has been re-borrowed—with the Israeli semantics—by Israeli Arabic as ‫ˈ[ أحىل‬ʔaħla] ‘great’, thus constituting a boomerang borrowing, or rebounced loanword, or returned loan.

2.3.5  Tautological Infinitives Consider the Israeli sentence ‫ אבל דיברתי איתו בטלפון‬,‫ לא פגשתי אותו‬,‫לפגוש‬ lifgósh, lo pagáshti otó, avál dibárti itó batélefon, lit. ‘To meet I have not met hi m, bu t I have talked to him on the phone’. This corresponds to Yiddish ‫ בינען בין איך‬bínən bin ikh ‘To be I am . . .’ or Yiddish ‫ מײנען מײנט עס‬méynən méynt es, lit. ‘To mean it means . . . ’. Russian might have been an influence as well, cf. the following: Встречаться—​мы не встречались, но мы разговаривали по телефону. Vstrechát’sya my ne vstrechális’, no my razgovárivali po telefónu To meet we haven’t met, but we’ve talked on the phone.

C ompar e also Turkish Güzel olmasına güzeldir ‘For being beautiful she is beaut iful’, the implication being ‘she is beautiful, as far as that goes, but she has nothing else to recommend her’. An obsolete English equivalent is ‘she is beautiful, to say beautiful’. Some linguists rationalize such tautological infinitives by comparison with the Biblical Hebrew constructions with a paronomastic infinitive absolute such as Biblical Hebrew ‫[ ראה ראיתי‬råˈʔo r åʔ i :ti:], lit. ‘To see I saw’ (Exodus 3:7) and Biblical Hebrew ‫שמוע שמעתי‬ [ ʃå ˈmo:waʕ ʃåmaʕti:], lit. ‘To hear I heard’ (Jeremiah 31:18). However, in li ne wi t h the Congruence Principle, the existence of this phenomenon in Biblical Hebrew, or in any other Semitic language, was only one reason for the occurrence of tautological infinitives in Israeli (which are currently not widespread). Yiddish played a major role too. Some scholars have suggested

’Nother Tongue  65 that tautological infinitives in Yiddish stemmed from Hebrew. For example, Mieses (1924: 195) says: In Verbindung mit dem Perfektum wird im Jd. der Infinitiv oft tautologisch gebraucht: sejyn ob ech gysejyn (= ich habe gesehen), essn ob ech gygessn (= ich aß). Das ist purer Hebraismus (‫ראה ראיתי‬, ‫)אכול אכלתי‬. In conjunction with the perfect form, the infinitive in Yiddish is often used in a tautological way: ‫ זען האָב איך געזען‬zen hob ikh gezén ‘I have seen’, ‫עסן‬ ‫ האָב איך געגעסן‬ésņ hob ikh gegésņ ‘I have eaten’. This is pure Hebraism (cf. ‫ראה ראיתי‬, ‫)אכול אכלתי‬.

This explanation could follow either the traditional ‘text theory’, i.e. Hebrew influence on Yiddish came from reading and studying sacred Hebrew texts, or the ‘continual transmission’ theory (see Katz 1986, 1991, 2004).

2.4  Morphology Morphology has to do with forms. Morphemes are the smallest units of meaning in the language, for example verb-​templates (binyaním), noun-​ patterns (mishkalím) and roots (shorashím). By and large, the most Hebrew/​ Semitic component in Israeli—​other than orthography and basic lexis—​is its morphology. The following sections, however, illustrate how Yiddish and European influence has penetrated even this domain. It is crucial here to distinguish between diffusion of forms and diffusion of patterns (cf. §1.9.1). The European impact in these features is apparent in structure, semantics, or productivity.

2.4.1  Analytic Israeli: Possessive Analyticization and Weakening of the Construct-​State Whereas Hebrew was synthetic, Israeli is much more analytic, both with nouns and verbs. Muchnik (2004) demonstrates that literary Israeli (i.e. the language of Israeli literature and newspapers—​cf. diglossia in §2.4.7) shows a clear preference for analytic grammatical constructions.

66 Revivalistics I suggest that the analyticization of literary Israeli is due to the influence of spoken Israeli, which—​owing to the European contribution—​has been much more analytic than has hitherto been admitted. The tendency towards analytic structures is correlated with language contact; see McWhorter (2002). But Israeli was more analytic than Hebrew ab initio rather than as a result of analyticization due to post-​genesis language contact. Consider the construct-​state, the Semitic Noun-​Noun (N-​N) structure in which two nouns are combined, the first being modified or possessed by the second: (1)  ‫רפובליקת בננות‬ repúblika-​t republic-​construct ‘banana republic’.

banánot bananas

Unlike in Hebrew, the Noun-​Noun construct-​state possession is not productive in Israeli. One might argue that the weakening of the construct-​state occurs only in possessive construct-​states but not in others. But many ‘compound’ construct-​states are not treated as construct-​states either; they are lexicalized and treated as one word. Thus, although orekh din, lit. ‘arranger-​law’, i.e. ‘lawyer’, is historically a construct-​state, there are several indications that it is not so anymore: (i) The stress has changed from orékh din to òrekh dín; (ii) When definite, the definite article ha-​ precedes it rather than appearing between the two nouns: ha-​òrekh dín, lit. ‘definite-​arranger-​ law’ rather than Hebrew ʕorékh ha-​dí:n, lit. ‘arranger-​DEFINITE-​law’. (2)  HEBREW

‫ עורך דין‬ ʕo:rékh dí:n arranger law ‘lawyer’

‫עורך הדין‬ ʕo:rékh ha-​dí:n arranger- DEFINITE-​law ‘the lawyer’.

(3)  ISRAELI ‫העורך דין       עורך דין‬ órekh    dín      ha-​órekh    din arranger    law      DEFINITE-​arranger-  ​law ‘lawyer’      ‘the lawyer’.

’Nother Tongue  67 Moreover, note the position of the definite article ha in the Israeli construct-​state ha-​òrekh dín ‘the lawyer’ (lit. ‘the arranger of law’), as opposed to the Hebrew construct-​state ‘orékh ha-​dí:n ‘id.’. Similarly, most Israeli pupils say la-​bet séfer ‘to the school’ (lit. ‘to the house book’), rather than the puristic le-​vét ha-​séfer. Compare the Hebrew construct-​state ‫ אם הילד‬ʔem ha-​yéled ‘mother the-​ child’ with the Israeli phrase ‫ האמא של הילד‬a-​íma shel a-​yéled ‘the mother of the child’, both meaning ‘the child’s mother’. Analyticity in Israeli is also conspicuous in non-​construct-​state possessi on. I s raeli favours a Yiddish analytic possessive constructio n, as in my grandfather, to a synthetic one. Thus, whereas the Hebrew phrase for ‘my gr andfat her’ was ‫ סבי‬sav- ​í ‘grandfather-​1singularPo sessive’, in Israeli it is ‫ סבא שלי‬sába shel-​ì ‘grandfather GENITIVE-​1sg’.

2.4.2  Auxiliary Verbs Analyticity is not restricted to noun phrases (NP). There are many non-​Hebrew, periphrastic, complex verbal constructions in Israeli. In Israeli, both the desire to express swift action and the grammatical construction employed for it (using ‘auxiliary verbs’ followed by a noun) stem from Yiddish. However, one should not regard such a construction as a nonce, ad hoc calque of Yiddish. The Israeli system is productive and the lexical realization often differs from that of Yiddish. Consider the following Yiddish expressions all meaning ‘to have a look’: ‫ געבן אַ קוק‬gébņ a kuk, lit. ‘to give a look’, ‫ טאָן אַ קוק‬ton a kuk, lit. ‘to do a look’ and the colloquial ‫ כאַפן אַ קוק‬khapņ a kuk, lit. ‘to catch a look’. Compare these with Israeli ‫ שׂם‬sam ‘put’ as in ‫ שׂם צעקה‬sam tseaká ‘shouted’ (lit. ‘put a shout’), ‫ נתן‬natán ‘give’ as in ‫ נתן מבט‬natán mabát ‘looked’ (lit. ‘gave a look’; cf. ‫ העיף מבט‬heíf mabát ‘looked’, lit. ‘threw a look’, cf. English threw a look, threw a glance and tossed a glance)—​cf. the Hebrew-​descent ‫ הביט‬híbít ‘looked at’). Consider also the semantic shift in Hebrew ‫( הרביץ תורה‬Israeli irbíts torá) ‘taught the Law’ > ‫( הרביץ מוסר‬irbíts musár) ‘rebuked’ > ‫( הרביץ מכות‬irbíts makót) ‘beat strokes, hit hits’ (i.e. ‘beat, hit’, ‘deal out hits’) > Israeli ‫הרביץ‬ irbíts ‘hit, beat; gave’ > ‫ הרביץ מהירות‬hirbíts meirút ‘drove very fast’ (‫מהירות‬ meirút meaning ‘speed’), ‫ הרביץ ארוחה‬irbíts arukhá ‘ate a big meal’ )‫ארוחה‬ arukhá meaning ‘meal’) etc.—​cf. English hit the buffet ‘eat a lot at the buffet’, hit the liquor/​bottle ‘drink alcohol’. In other words, an analytic construction is preferred to a synthetic one. Consider also Israeli ‫ דפק הופעה‬dafák ofaá, lit. ‘hit a show’, i.e. ‘dressed smartly’.

68 Revivalistics

2.4.3  Prosodic Structure, Verb-​Template Productivity, and Uprooting the Semitic Root Traditional grammars of Hebrew describe seven verb-​templates: ⌂a⌂á⌂ (simple), ni⌂⌂á⌂ (its passive), hi⌂⌂í⌂ (causative), hu⌂⌂á⌂ (its passive), ⌂i⌂é⌂ (intensive), ⌂u⌂á⌂ (its passive), and hit⌂a⌂é⌂ (reflexive/​reciprocal/​intransitive) (each ⌂ represents a slot, where a radical is inserted). Israeli has several verb-​templates (binyaním), which is a Semitic characteristic of its morphology. Consider the following verbal morphemic adaptations in Israeli, all in the infinitive form (unless indicated otherwise):

A. Using the hi⌂(⌂⌂)⌂í⌂ verb-​template (historically transitive causative) (a.k.a. hifíl) (note that, by and large, the [h]‌is not pronounced in Israeli):

• ‫ להשוויץ‬le-​a shvíts (INTRANSITIVE) ‘boast, show off ’, preserving the consonant cluster of its origin Yiddish shvits ‘sweat’. • ‫ להשפ ריץ‬le-​as hpríts (AMBITRANSITIVE) ‘splash’, retaining the consonant cluster of its origin Yiddish shprits (cf. German Spritz, spritzen) ‘splash, spout, squirt’ (Rubin, (1945: 306). • ‫ להפל יק‬le-​a flík (AMB) ‘slap’, maintaining the consonant cluster of its onomatopoeic origin flik (Yiddish ‫‘ פליק‬pull, pluck’, English flick ‘light blow’) or flok (Yiddish ‫‘ פלאָק‬pole, club’), cf. Israeli flik ‘slap’. This is unrelated t o English flak ‘strong criticism’, which in turn h a s an int eresting e t y m ology: it is an acronym of German Fliegerabwehrkanone ‘pilot-​defence-​gun’. • ‫ להסניף‬le-​asníf (AMB) ‘ “snort”, inhale (e.g. cocaine)’, retaining the cluster of its origin English sniff (cf. snuff). The pre-​existent Israeli snif ‘branch’ does not appear to play a role here. • ‫ להקליק‬le-​aklík (INTR) ‘clicked (masculine singular)’, traceable to English click. • ‫ להספים‬le-​aspím (AMB) ‘spammed (masculine singular)’, traceable to English spam.

B. Using the ⌂a⌂á⌂ verb-​template (a.k.a. paál):

• ‫ ל חרופ‬la-​khróp (INTR) ‘sleep soundly, sleep tight’, preserving the consonant cluster of its origin Yiddish khrópņ ‘to snore’, cf. Yiddish khrop ‘snore (n)’ (cf. Wexler 1990: 85).

C. Usi ng the (often r eflexive and reciprocal) hit⌂(⌂)a⌂(⌂⌂)é⌂(⌂) verb-​ template (a.k.a. hitpaél):

’Nother Tongue  69



• The jocular slangism ‫ התרנדבו‬itrandevú (INTR) ‘(they) had a rendezvous’, preserving the cluster of its international source rendezvous (Sappan 1971: 77a). D. Using the σiσe—​or the (⌂)(⌂)⌂i(⌂)(⌂)⌂é⌂(⌂) verb-​template (traditionally ⌂i⌂é⌂) (a.k.a. piél):

Consider the following minimal pair lefakés and lefaksés: * ‫ לפקס‬le-​fakés (TRANSITIVE) ‘focus’, traceable to internationalism focus. * ‫ לפקסס‬le-​faksés (TR) ‘fax’, traceable to the internationalism fax.

the

Consider the following too: * ‫ לפברק‬le-​fabrék (TR) ‘forge’, cf. fabrika (stem). * ‫ לפפרק‬le-​paprék (TR) ‘spice with paprika’, cf. paprika (stem). * ‫ ל קטר‬le-​k atér (INTR) ‘whine, complain’, traceable to Polish Yiddish kútər ‘male cat, complainer’ (cf. Lithuanian Yiddish kótər) (perhaps because cats whine when asking for food/​in heat/​during copulation). * ‫ ל פלרטט‬le- ​flartét ( INTR) ‘flirt’ (cf. flirtét ‘flirt:3msgPAST’), reduplicating the [t]‌to preserve the cluster of the internationalism flirt. * ‫ לפרגן‬le-​fargén (INTR) ‘not begrudge’, nativizing Yiddish fargínən ‘not begrudge, not envy, indulge’ (cf. the past participle form fargúnən), from German gönnen ‘not to begrudge’ or German vergönnen ‘to grant’. * ‫ לדסקס‬le-​daskés (AMB) ‘discuss’. * ‫ ל סנכרן‬le- ​sankh rén ( TR) ‘synchronize’ (The Academy of the Hebrew Langua g e intro duced the noun sinkrún ‘synchronization’; see Laméd Leshonkhá 171, 1989). * ‫ לפרמט‬le-​farmét (TR) ‘format (in computing)’. * ‫ לסבסד‬le-​sabséd (TR) ‘subsidize’. * ‫ לנטרל‬le-​natrél (TR) ‘neutralize’. * ‫ לסמס‬le-​samés (AMB) ‘to SMS’. * ‫ לרנדר‬le-​randér (TR) ‘to render (computer graphics)’. * ‫ להפנט‬le-​apnét (sometimes pronounced le-​afnét) (TR) ‘to hypnotize’. * ‫ לגלוון‬le-​galvén (TR) ‘to galvanize’ (Laméd Leshonkhá 140, 1983). * ‫ ל מגנט‬le- ​magnét (TR) ‘to magnetize’ (alrea dy existent in 1938, cf. Torczyner 1938: 25). * ‫ לטרפד‬le-​tarpéd (TR) ‘to torpedo (figurative), destroy, disable deliberately, sabotage’.

70 Revivalistics * ‫ לרסוופ‬le-​rasvép (INTR) ‘RSVP’, cf. resvip (stem) < aresvipi < RSVP < French Répondez s’il vous plaît. E. Using the (⌂)⌂o⌂é⌂ variant of the (⌂)(⌂)⌂i(⌂)(⌂)⌂é⌂(⌂) verb-​template: • ‫ לשנורר‬le-​shnorér (TR) ‘obtain by begging’ (cf. the English slangism s hnorr) , from Yiddish s hnórņ ‘obtain by begging, sponge off, s h norr’ ( cf. Yiddish shn órər ‘beggar, layabout, scrounger’ and I s raeli shnórer ‘id.’ ) , fitted into the unique ⌂o⌂é⌂ variant of ⌂i⌂é⌂ in ord er to maintain the Yiddish sound. Israeli shnorér was introduced by Bialik in beír haharegá (‘In the City of Slaughter’, 1903; cf. 1959: 98b). • ‫ ליונן‬le-​yonén (TR) ‘ionize’, traceable to the internationalism ion. • ‫ לקודד‬le-​kodéd (TR) ‘codify’, from Israeli kod ‘code’, traceable to the internationalism code. • ‫ לאותת‬le-​otét (INTR) ‘signal’, an Israeli neologism based on the Hebrew-​descent ot ‘signal’

Whereas (⌂)(⌂)⌂i(⌂)(⌂)⌂é⌂(⌂) is productive, ⌂a⌂á⌂ is not. The reason is due to what phonologists call ‘prosodic structure’. The prosodic structure of (⌂)(⌂)⌂i(⌂)(⌂)⌂é⌂(⌂) (which I call σiσe, wherein σ represents a syllable) is such that it retains consonant clusters throughout the tenses. Take, for example, le-​transfér ‘to transfer (people)’ (TR). In the past (3msg) one says trinsfér, in the present metransfér, and in the future yetransfér. The consonant clusters of transfer are kept throughout. Let us try to fit transfer into ⌂a⌂á⌂. The normal pattern can be seen in garám—​gorém—​yigróm ‘cause:3msg (past, present, future)’. So, yesterday, he *transfár (3msgPAST) ‘transferred (people)’; today, he *tronsfér. So far so good; the consonant clusters of transfer are maintained, the nature of the vowels being less important. However, the future form, *yitrnsfór is impossible because it violates Israeli phonology. As opposed to the Hebrew CV (CV) (C) syllable structure, the non-​Semitic syllable structure of Israeli—(S∫)(C) (C)V(C)(C)(S∫)—​facilitates morphemic adaptations of Yiddishisms, other Europeanisms, Americanisms, and internationalisms. However, *yitrnsfór is impossible because any syllabification would violate the ‘Sonority Sequencing Generalization’, which in Israeli prohibits rising sonority from the peak to the margins. Thus, in Vtr.nsfV, for example, r is more sonorous than t, and n is more sonorous than s and f.

’Nother Tongue  71 But even if *yitrnsfór were possible, it would still not be selected because—​ lacking a vowel between the r and the n—​it destroys the prosodic structure of transfer. This is exactly why click ‘select by pressing one of the buttons on the computer mouse’ is fitted into hi⌂(⌂⌂)⌂í⌂ (hiklík) ‘click:3msgPAST’ rather than (⌂)(⌂)⌂i(⌂)(⌂)⌂é⌂(⌂) (*kilék) or ⌂a⌂á⌂ (*kalák). The form hiklík is the only one which preserves the [kl] cluster. One important conclusion is that phonological considerations supersede semantic ones. For example, although hi⌂(⌂⌂)⌂í⌂ is historically the causative verb-​template, it is employed—​on purely phonological grounds—​in the intransitive hishvíts ‘show off:3msgPAST’ and in the ambitransitive (in fact, usually intransitive) hiklík ‘click:3msgPAST’. One crucial implication is the selected productivity of verb-​templates. Unlike Hebrew, where the most productive verb-​template was ⌂a⌂á⌂, the most productive verb-​template in Israeli is ⌂í⌂é⌂ (σiσe). This productivity is also apparent in the case of denominalizations (Bolozky, 1999; i.e. verbalizations) of nouns which are not perceived as foreign. Consider smirtét ‘treat like a rag, render someone worthless (3msgPAST)’, from smartút ‘rag’; sibén ‘soap, pull someone’s leg (3msgPAST)’, from sabón ‘soap’, and the previously mentioned otét ‘signaled’, from the Hebrew-​descent ot ‘signal’. Such denominalization in Israeli is far more productive than the occasional use of ⌂í⌂é⌂ in Hebrew in the case of quadri-​radical roots. But there is another weighty conclusion: the uprooting of the importance of the Semitic consonantal root. Bat-​El (1994) takes a novel approach according to which such verbs are based on the lexical item in the source language rather than on its naturalized root within Israeli. In other words, ‫ למגנט‬lemagnét ‘to magnetize’ does not derive from the root ‫√ מגנ״ט‬mgnţ fitted into the σiσe verb-​ template, but rather from the internationalism magnet (Israeli ‫ מגנט‬magnét) fitted into this specific verb-​template in order to retain the phonetic form. I call magnet the stem (Israeli ‫ גזע‬géza) of the verb. This view weakens the Semiticness of Israeli morphology since the root system (which in this view does not play a role here) is one of the most fundamental elements of Hebrew and the other Semitic languages. Yiddish played a major role in this weakening process, as Yiddish words, which often include clusters, were adapted into Israeli. This is also related to the Germanic syllable structure of Israeli—​see §2.2.2. Like Bat-​El (1994, 2003), I argue that such verbs are based on a lexical item rather than on its alleged naturalized root within Israeli. As opposed to what Israelis are taught in intensive grammar lessons at primary and secondar y schools, le-​magnét ‘to magnetize’ (documented 1938, cf. Torczyner (1938: 25) does

72 Revivalistics not derive from the consonantal root √mgnţ fitted into the ⌂í⌂é⌂ (in fact, σiσe) verb-​template. Rather, it is traceable back to the internationalism magnet (Israeli magnét), which is the stem (or the root in the European sense)—​rather than the root (in the Semitic, consonantal, sense)—​of the verb. Compared with the traditional Semitic consonantal root apophony, the system described here (e.g. ishpríts ‘splash:3msgPAST’—​ ishprátsti ‘splash:1singularPAST’) is much more similar to the Indo-​European Ablaut (‘vowel gradation’) as in English s⌂ng (sing-​sang-​song-​sung) and German spr⌂ch (spricht-​sprechen-​sprach-​gesprochen-​Spruch). The consonantal root system—​which does not play a role here—​is a fundamental element of the morphology of Hebrew and other Semitic languages. Although, on the face of it, the forms (verb-​templates) used are Semitic, their prosodic employment (e.g. σiσe rather than ⌂i⌂é⌂) and their productivity are, in fact, determined by non-​Semitic contributors.

2.4.4  Neologisms that Do Not Follow Pre-​existent Patterns I propose that some Israeli verbs do not follow any verb-template. Consider ‫ לנרטב‬le-​naratév ‘to produce a narrative’, based on the stem narativ (cf. English narrative). I heard it used by Professor Yigal Schwartz at a conference at Bar-​Ilan University in December 2012. Had the stem narativ been used strictly in the σiσe verb-​template, it would have been ‫ לנרטב‬le-​nartév. But Schwartz added a syllable to that template to retain the prosodic structure of the tri-​syllabic stem narativ. Zuckermann (2008a) identified a new adjectival pattern ma⌂⌂ú⌂. The following are Israeli slangisms, fitted into this new pattern: • ‫ מפלוץ‬maflúts ‘stinky, bad’ • ‫ מגנוב‬magnúv ‘impressive, exquisite, deadly (Aboriginal English)’. This new adjectival pattern is based on Israeli slangisms that originate from Arabic: • ‫ מג’נון‬nadzhnún ‘crazy’—​cf. Arabic ‫[ مجنون‬madʒˈnu:n] ‘crazy’ • ‫ מדרוב‬madrúb ‘despicable, miserable’ —​cf. Arabic ‫[ مضروب‬madˁˈru:b] ‘beaten’ • ‫ מלעון‬mal’ún ‘evil’—​cf. Arabic ‫[ ملعون‬malˈʕu:n].

’Nother Tongue  73 Fu r t h ermore, Israeli has an additional verb-template, which I call coercive: hit⌂(⌂)u⌂(⌂⌂)á⌂(⌂) (a.k.a. hitpuál): • ‫ התפוטר‬itputár ‘resigned, knowing that otherwise he would be fired’ • ‫ התנודב‬itnudáv ‘volunteered (coercively)’ • ‫ התאובד‬itubád ‘committed suicide, with others encouraging/​assisting him, or at least turning the blind eye to his suicidal ideation’ My own Israeli idiolect employs this coercive verb-​template much more productively than commonly, for example when I speak to my genomicist friend Professor Yitzhak Pilpel at the Weizmann Institute of Science. Thus, I could say about a child that he ‫ התקולח‬itkulákh ‘(was forced by his parents to) take a shower’; ‫ התלובש‬itlubásh ‘(was forced by his parents to) put clothes on’; ‫ הסתורק‬isturák ‘(was forced by his parents to) comb his hair’; or ‫הסתופר‬ istupár ‘(was forced to) have a haircut’. Similarly, I could say about a woman that she ‫ התחותנה‬itkhutná ‘(forced by her matchmaking family to) get married’; or about a man who apologized knowing that he had no other option: ‫ התנוצל‬itnutsál—​to be distinguished from ‫ התנצל‬itnatsél ‘apologized’, the latter fitted into the conventional hitpaél verb-​template.

2.4.5  Selected Productivity of Verb-​Templates Peter (‫ )פיטר‬and Khána (‫ )חנה‬were walking through the jungle, when they came face to face with a large tiger. Peter immediately opened his rucksack, took out a pair of Nike trainers, and put them on. Khána, despite her fear, could not help laughing. ‘I can’t believe you think those trainers are going to help you to outrun the tiger’, she chortled. Peter replied: ‘I am not putting on the Nike shoes to outrun the tiger, I am putting them on to outrun . . . you!’ This modern fable is related to the productivity of Israeli verb-​templates, whereas piél, e.g. ‫ פיטר‬pitér ‘fired’, paál, e.g. ‫ חנה‬khaná ‘parked’ is not. The reason is due to prosodic structure. This is parallel to the Nike trainers. The prosodic structure of the σiσe verb-​template (a.k.a. piél) is such that it retains co n s o nantal clusters throughout the tenses. Take, for example, t he verb ‫ לטרנספר‬letransfér ‘to transfer (people)’. In the past you say hu trinsfér, in the present? hu metransfér, and in the future? hu yetransfér. One can see that the consonantal clusters of the stem transfer are kept throughout.

74 Revivalistics Let us try to fit to stem tranfer into the ⌂a⌂á⌂ verb-​template (a.k.a. paál). Yesterday, he *transfár, today, *tronsfér. So far so good, the consonantal clusters of the stem transfer are maintained, the change of vowels being less important. The future form should be *yitrnsfór—​just like kavásh-​kovésh-​ yikhbósh ‘conquer (past, present, future)’. There are two problems here: first, the trnsf cluster of *yitrnsfór is impossible in Israeli as it violates the syllable structure. But, importantly, *yitrnsfór destroys the prosodic structure of the stem transfer since it lacks a vowel between the r and the n as in the bisyllabic transfer. Consequently, unlike Hebrew, where the most productive verb-​template was paál (a.k.a. qal), the most productive verb-​template in Israeli is piél. In other words, most new verbs in Israeli use the piél verb-​template. The main reason is the ease of inserting clusters of non-​Hebrew stems, which would th u s constitute a camouflaged foreign influen ce o n th e morphol og y of Israeli. The productivity of this method is apparent in that it is also common in the case of denominalizations (i.e. verbalizations) of nouns which are not perceived as foreign. Consider ‫ סמרטט‬smirtét ‘treated like a rag, rendered someone worthless’, from ‫ סמרטוט‬smartút ‘rag’; as well as ‫ סיבן‬sibén ‘soaped, pu l le d someone’s leg’, from ‫ סבון‬sabón ‘so ap’. On s elected productivity of noun-​patterns, see §2.4.13.

2.4.6  Israeli as Habere Language: Reinterpretation of a Hebrew Form to Fit a European Pattern As opposed to Berman (1997: 329) and Ullendorff (1997: 558b), I analyse Israeli as a habere language (cf. Latin habere ‘to have’, taking the direct object), in stark contrast to Hebrew. What do I mean by habere? This is the Latin word for ‘to have’ (cf. taking the direct object); a habere language is one which requires possession to be explained clearly within the sentence, not implied. How does one say in Israeli ‘I have this book’? If one tried to speak ‘proper Hebrew’ (albeit with an Israeli accent, which is European), one would say the following: (4)  yésh  

l-​i

ha-​séfer 

ha-​zè

EXISTENTIAL  DATIVE-​1sg  DEFINITE-​book   DEFINITE-​msgPROXIMAL there is ‘I have this book.’

for me

the book

the this

’Nother Tongue  75 The NP ha-​séfer ha-​zè is the subject of the sentence. However, in Israeli one would actually say the following: (5)  yésh

  l-​i

et

ha-​séfer 



ha-​zè

existential  dative-​1sg  accusative  definite-​book  definite- ​msgproximal

there is

for me

 Accusative the book

the this

‘I have this book.’

Here, as demonstrated by the accusative marker et, the NP ha-​séfer ha-​ zè is the direct object. That said, there are still normativists who ‘correct’ native Israeli-​speakers and urge them only to use (4), which is, paradoxically, ungrammatical in most Israelis’ idiolects. Ask these normativists how they say ‘I have it’. None of them will actually utter *yesh l-​i hu ‘Existential + Dative—​First Person Singular + He’. Israeli for ‘I have it’ is yésh l-​i ot-​ò ‘‘Existential + First Person Singular + Accusative—​he’. Consider also the Israeli expression yésh l-​o et zè ‘Existential + Dative—​ Third Person Masculine Singular + Accusative + Masculine Singular Proximal’ (‘he has this’), i.e. ‘he is suitable /​cool’. Again, it is impossible to say *yésh l-​o ze ‘Existential + Dative—​Third Person Masculine Singular Proximal’. Int e restingly, since the forms used are all Hebrew, purists deny that there is any ‘foreign’ influence. However, the pattern is Standard Average Eu r o p e an, where the accusative case is required after the verb have. Yiddish has two options to indicate possession. The most common form is ( i )kh (h)ob, lit. ‘I have’, which requires a direct object (accusative). However, there is also a form which is more similar to old Hebrew: ba(y) mi r i ( z) do, lit. ‘By me is there’, followed by the subject (nominative) (Tau b e 1984 [1989]). The latter form, available in the feature pool toge t h e r with the erstwhile non-​habere Hebrew form, did not prevail be c a u s e (i)kh (h)ob is more co mmon in Yiddish—​cf. other European habere languages. Israeli is not a habere language due to the influence of Yiddish alone, but of other European languages as well. Yiddish has two options: ‫( איך האָב‬i)kh (h)ob, lit. ‘I have’, which requires a direct object (accusative), but also a form which is more similar to old Hebrew: ‫בײ‬ ַ ‫ מיר איז דאָ‬ba(y) mir i(z) do, lit. ‘By me is there’, followed by the subject (nominative) (cf. Taube 1984 [1989]).

76 Revivalistics In conclusion, the Hebrew existential construction employed to mark possession was reinterpreted in Israeli to fit in with a construction predominant in Yiddish and other European languages. A similar process occurred in Maltese: in the possessive construction, subject properties have been transferred diachronically from the possessed noun phrase to the possessor, while the possessor has all the subject properties except the form of the verb agreement that it triggers’ (Comrie 1981: 212–​18)

2.4.7  Numeral and Noun (Dis)agreement Numbers are important. Consider the two Germans who went to a New York bar and tried very hard to camouflage their German accent. ‘We would like two glasses of white wine, please!’, they said to the bartender in a high nasalized pitch. ‘Dry?’ the bartender asked. ‘Zwei!’ they forcefully retorted. H e b r e w—just like other Afro-Asi atic languages—had a consistent polarity-​of-​gender agreement between nouns and numerals. Consider ‫עשר‬ ‫‘ בנות‬éser banót ‘ten (masculine) girls (feminine)’ versus ‫‘ עשרה בנים‬asar-​á baním ‘ten (feminine) boys (masculine)’. In the latter, the feminine suffix -​a is added to the numeral that modifies a masculine noun. (Israeli pupils are told that asar-​á is masculine but this is historically incorrect; the -​a suffix stands for feminine; see Israeli ‫ עשיר‬ashír ‘rich (m)’ versus ‫ עשירה‬ashir-​á ‘rich (f)’). The reason for such polarity of gender might have been an ancient superstition against counting people. In Chapter 24 of 2 Samuel in the Hebrew Bible, David is said to have made a mistake by conducting a census of his army counting his soldiers directly. Today, rabbis (Jewish priests) counting minyan (‫​—)מניין‬i.e. confirming that there is a quorum of ten Jewish men over the age of thirteen (required for traditional Jewish public worship)—​do not count 1, 2, 3, 4 but often use the ten-​word Psalm 28:9: .‫הו ׁ ִֹשיעָ ה אֶ ת עַ ּ ֶמ ָך וּבָ ֵר ְך אֶ ת נַחֲ לָתֶ ָך ו ְּרעֵ ם וְ נ ְַּשׂאֵ ם עַ ד הָ עוֹלָם‬ hwʃyʕh ʔt ʕmk wbrk ʔt nħltk wrʕm wnśʔm ʕd hʕwlm Save thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up for ever.

’Nother Tongue  77 Thus, if the rabbi reaches the word ‫ עַ ד‬ʕad, he knows that there are only nine people, and thus there is no minyan. Returning to the polarity of gender, as opposed to Hebrew, in most Israeli id i o lect s, s ociolec ts and dialects, the numeral-noun agreement system is much simpler: ‫ עשר בנות‬éser banót ‘ten girls’ and ‫ עשר בנים‬éser baním ‘ten boys’. How many salespeople in the market say ‫ עשרה שקלים‬asará shkalím rather than ‫ עשר שקל‬éser shékel for ‘ten shekels’? Very few, if any. However, due to massive puristic pressure, the result is chaotic—​with inconsistencies such as éser shékel ‘ten shekels’ (cf. the puristic asar-​á shkal-​ím) and shlósh-​ et ha-​dód-​ot ‘the three aunts’ (cf. the puristic shlósh ha-​ dod-​ót). Just like in Yiddish, there is no difference in Israeli between a numeral modifying a masculine noun and a numeral modifying a feminine one. That said, although 90 per cent of Israelis (Ravid 1995) do not follow the polarity-​of-​gender agreement (some of them say asar-​á shkal-​ím, lit. ‘ten-​ feminine.singular shekel-​masculine.plural’, i.e. ‘ten shekels’, but ‘fail’ in many other instances), there are some Israelis who speak a variety in which asar-​á shkal-​ím is indeed the grammatical form. These speakers are cherished by the Academy of the Hebrew Language. In fact, massive normative pressure (Zuckermann 2008b) has resulted in hypercorrect conflated forms. Official rules are often used inconsistently because they are—​ paradoxically—​ counter-​grammatical vis-​à-​vis numerous idiolectal, sociolectal, or dialectal realities. For example, there are speakers who say—​normatively—​shlosh-​á shkal-​ím ‘three shekels’ (cf. the non-​prescriptive shalósh shékel) but shlósh-​et ha-​dód-​ot ‘the three aunts’ (cf. the normative shlósh ha-​dod-​ót). Thus, Israeli already shows signs of diglossia: native Israeli speech versus non-​ native (high-​ flown, pseudo-​ ) Hebrew in writing. If language planning persists, i.e. if Israeli teachers continue to indoctrinate Israelis to use Hebrew grammar (e.g. ‘asar-​á baním to name but one example out of hundreds) rather than Israeli grammar (e.g. éser baním), then full diglossia may be established—​cf. mutatis mutandis Arabic polyglossia: Modern Standard Arabic (cf. Classical Arabic)—​as opposed to the various vernacular Arabics (a.k.a. Arabic ‘dialects’)—​is no-​one’s mother tongue. Most Arabs consider Modern Standard Arabic as their language and yet speak Palestinian Arabic, or Egyptian Arabic, and so forth.

2.4.8  Inchoativity Yiddish has shaped the semantics of the Israeli verbal system. Consider the inchoative verbs, which denote the beginning of an action (an inceptive). While

78 Revivalistics Table 2.1  Inchoative verbs in Yiddish and in Israeli NEUTRAL (DURATIVE) (unmarked)

INCHOATIVE (DENOTING THE BEGINNING OF AN ACTION) (marked)

Israeli –​Mostly Old Forms–​

Israeli Yiddish

–​Mostly New Forms–​

⌂a⌂á⌂

ni⌂⌂á⌂

hit⌂a⌂é⌂

Verb-​Template

Verb-​Template

Verb-​Template

‫ שכב‬shakháv

‫ ליגן‬lígņ

‫ נשכב‬nishkáv

‘be lying down’ ‫ עמד‬amád

‫ שטיין‬shteyn

‘lie down’ ‫ נעמד‬neemád

‘be standing’

‫ עמד‬amád ‘be halted’ ‫ זכר‬zakhár ‘remember’

‫ פחד‬pakhád ‘be afraid’ ‫ היה‬hayá ‘be’ ‫ ישן‬yashán

‫געדענקען‬ gedénkən

‫שרעקן זיך‬ shrekņ zikh

‘be silent’ ‫ אהב‬aháv ‘love’

‫אויפֿשטיין‬

‫ נעמד‬neemád

úfshteyn ‫אָפשטעלן זיך‬

‘come to a halt’ ‫ נזכר‬nizkár

opshtelņ zikh ‫דערמאַנען זיך‬

‘recall, remember suddenly’

dermánən zikh, ‫דערמאָנען זיך‬ dermónən zikh ‫דערשרעקן זיך‬

‫ נבהל‬nivhál

dershrékņ zikh

‫זײן‬ ַ zayn ‫ שלאָפֿן‬shlófņ

‘become’ ‫ נרדם‬nirdám

verņ ‫אַנטשלאָפֿן ווערן‬

‘fall asleep’ ‫ נרגע‬nirgá

antshlófņ vern

‫ווערן‬

‘calm down’ ‫ זיצן‬zítsņ

‘be sitting’ ‫ שתק‬shaták

‫(אַוועק)שטעלן זיך‬ (avék)shtelņ zikh,

‘become frightened’ ‫ נהיה‬ni(hi)yá

‘sleep’ ‫היה רגוע‬ hayá ragúa ‘be calm’ ‫ ישב‬yasháv

‫(אַוועק)לייגן זיך‬ (avék)leygņ zikh

‘stand up’

‫ שטיין‬shteyn

Yiddish

‫שווײגן‬ ַ shváygņ ‫ליב האָבן‬ líb hobņ

‫התישב‬ hityashév ‘sit down’ ‫השתתק‬ hishtaték ‘become silent’ ‫התאהב‬ hitahév ‘fall in love’

‫)אַוועק)זעצן זיך‬ (avék)zetsņ zikh ‫אַנטשוויגן ווערן‬ antshvígņ vern ‫פֿאַרליבן זיך‬ farlíbņ zikh

’Nother Tongue  79 Table 2.1  Continued NEUTRAL (DURATIVE) (unmarked)

INCHOATIVE (DENOTING THE BEGINNING OF AN ACTION) (marked)

‫ בלט‬balát

‫ התבלט‬hitbalét

‘be prominent’

‘become prominent’ ‫השתלט‬ hishtalét

‫ שלט‬shalát ‘control’ ‫היה נשׂוי‬ hayá nasúy ‘be married’ ‫היה מלא‬ hayá malé ‘be full’ ‫היה זקן‬ hayá zakén ‘be old’ ‫ היה נרגש‬hayá nirgásh ‘be excited’

‘get control’ ‫התחתן‬ hitkhatén ‘get married’ ‫ התמלא‬hitmalé (hitmalá) ‘get full’ ‫ הזדקן‬hizdakén ‘become old’ ‫התרגש‬ hitragésh ‘get excited’

Israeli shakháv ‘was lying down (3msg)’ is neutral, Israeli nishkáv ‘lay down, started being lain down (3msg)’ is inchoative. Importantly, many Israeli inchoative forms are new and did not exist in Hebrew (Blanc 1965: 193–​7). Yiddish, however, does possess an inchoative form. The verb-​templates chosen to host these forms are the ones possessing prefixes: ni⌂⌂á⌂ and hit⌂a⌂é⌂. Table 2.1 contains examples of new inchoative verbs in Israeli and their Yiddish precursors, together with older neutral forms. The translations of the Israeli verbs are in the present tense, although the basic form, which is presented here, is in the past (3msgpast = third person masculine singular past). My claim is not that the ni⌂⌂á⌂ and hit⌂a⌂é⌂ verb-​templates were chosen to host the inchoative forms because the Yiddish inchoative forms usually have a prefix (consider Yiddish avékleygņ zikh ‘lie down’ and avékshtelņ zikh ‘stand up’, as opposed to the neutral Yiddish lígņ ‘be lying down’). Rather, since the non-​inchoative forms are semantically unmarked, the verb-​template hosting them is the unmarked ⌂a⌂á⌂. Consequently, other verb-​templates—​which happen to include ‘prefixes’—​host the inchoative forms, thus making the

80 Revivalistics inchoative aspect in Israeli systematic. Whilst Yiddish also indicates inchoativity by the use of the reflexive zikh or of verņ ‘become’, Israeli opted to grammaticalize this notion using its existing system of verb-​templates, in this case two intransitive verb-​templates: passive ni⌂⌂á⌂ and reflexive, reciprocal hit⌂a⌂é⌂. In other words, Yiddish introduced a clear-​cut semantic-​ grammatical distinction in Israeli between inchoative and non-​inchoative, using the pre-​existent inventory of Hebrew forms. The Yiddish impact is also apparent in the presence of analytic (cf. §2.4.1) neutral (non-​inchoative) verbs which have developed—​due to analogy—​from inchoative forms, for example hayá malé ‘was full (m)’, hayá zakén ‘was old (m)’, and hayá nirgásh ‘was excited (m)’. Note also that often the Yiddish contribution has resulted in the increased use of a pre-​existent inchoative Hebrew form. Further research should examine—​in line with the Congruence Principle and multiple causation—​whether the Yiddish inchoative impact was amplified or accompanied by the co-​existence of parallel inchoative forms in Russian and Polish, the latter two languages having been spoken by many first Israeli speakers.

2.4.9  Tense/​Aspect/​Mood Dekel (2010, 2013) demonstrates that Israeli does not have tenses as Hebrew scholars often argue but rather aspects: perfective and imperfective. Tense, which in the eyes of many linguists is considered the most fundamental prop­erty of the verbal system, is rare, and is minimally represented by limited means that can be well defined. However, unlike Hebrew, where the perfective aspect is conveyed by the ‘past’ form (katáv) of the verb and imperfective aspect is conveyed by the ‘future’ form of the verb (yikhtóv); in Israeli the perfective aspect is conveyed by the ‘past’ form (katáv) of the verb and imperfective aspect is conveyed by the present form of the verb (kotév). Table 2.2  Verbal aspects in Israeli and the time points they can refer to

Perfective Imperfective

Past

Present

Future

✓ ✓

-​-​-​ ✓

✓ ✓

’Nother Tongue  81 Ve r bs in Israeli with identical structures can represent actions in various points in time. Table 2.2 shows the Israeli verbal aspects, and the time points they can refer to. Forms representing the perfective aspect can refer to actions either in the past or in the future. Forms representing the imperfective aspect can refer to all time points—​past, present, and future. According to Dekel’s corpus, perfective forms never represent present actions. Time is conveyed by standard time expressions such as ‫ מחר‬makhár ‘tomorrow’ or ‫ אתמול‬etmól ‘yesterday’, or by an auxiliary ‘be’ form such as ‫ היה‬ayá ‘was’. Mood is found to a large extent ei ther, and is secondary in significance in this system. Mood is conveyed by ‘future’ forms (yikhtóv), each of which represents grammaticalized modality. Common modal expressions are often represented by ‘future’ verbal forms, e.g. ‫ תתחדש‬titkhadésh, lit. ‘you will be renewed’, actually ‘enjoy it’, said to someone who has just bought something new; ‫ תרגיע‬targía ‘you will calm [someone] down’, i.e. ‘relax, take it easy’. This basic structure of the Israeli verbal system, and the aspect~time relations within it, does not correspond to any type of Hebrew. It is much more similar to Russian, which has a dedicated verbal form to each one of the five aspect~time options presented previously. (Israeli uses only two forms—​one for the perfective aspect, and one for the imperfective aspect.) I s raeli ‫ היה‬ayá is always used a s an auxiliary: when it represents time, when it represents the habitual past, and when it stands for the counterfactual mood‫ץ‬. Israeli ‫ הייתי רוצה לדעת‬aíti rotsé ladáat, which corresponds to Yiddish ‫( איך וואָלט געוואָלט וויסן‬i)kh volt gevólt visņ ‘I would like to know’, cf. Lithuanian Yiddish ‫( איך וואָלט וועלן וויסן‬i)kh volt vélņ visņ.

2.4.10  Suffixes Th ere are modernistic slangisms using th e English -​ation suffix (cf. imagin ation, familiarization): ‫ מגניביישן‬magnivéy shen ‘coolness, great stuff ’, consisting of ‫ מגניב‬magnív ‘cool’ (from the root ‫√גנב‬gnb ‘steal’, cf. English magnificent) and the English -​ation. The suffix -​éyshen can also be added to an Israeli noun, e.g. ‫ תחכומי ישן‬tikhkuméy shen ‘sophistication’, ‫קרצופיישן‬ k irtsuféyshen ‘cleaning by scrapin g and curr y ing’, ‫ קרצייישן‬kartsiyéyshen ‘ “louse”, nuisance, bother, pest’ and ‫ בלגניישן‬balaganéyshen ‘mess’, based respectively on ‫ תחכום‬tikhkúm ‘sophistication’, ‫ קרצוף‬kirtsúf ‘scraping’, ‫קרצייה‬ kartsiá ‘louse’, and ‫ בלגן‬balagán ‘mess’.

82 Revivalistics Whilst these hybrids use a specifically English suffix, Israeli is abundant with le xical items consisting of a Hebrew lexical mor pheme and an international suffix. Consider Israeli ‫ חופולוגיה‬khupológya ‘the art of finding a husband’, a de rogatory reference to the ‘studie s’ of thos e students at Israeli universities wh o are more interested in finding a partner and in socializing than in academia. This lexical item is based on Rabbinic Hebrew ‫[ חפה‬ħupˈpå] ‘canopy (in a Jewish wedding)’ (cf. Joel 2:16 in Biblical Hebrew) and—​owing to part-​ for-​whole metonymy—​‘wedding ceremony’. Israeli khupológya also consists of the international suffix ‫(ו)לוגיה‬-​ -​(o)lógya (cf. e.g. English -​(o)logy and Russian -​ология -​ológiya), which can be traced back to Greek lógos ‘word, speech, discourse, reason’. It obviously imitates the model for naming academic and scientific disciplines taught at university, e.g. ‫ ארכאולוגיה‬arkheológya ‘archaeology’, ‫ סוציולוגיה‬sotsyológya ‘sociology’, and ‫ ביולוגיה‬biológya ‘biology’. This model is usually only productive in a close terminological field of science and technology, which explains the playfulness of ‫ חופולוגיה‬khupológya. A similarly witty and derogatory hybrid is ‫ כסאולוגיה‬kisológya ‘the art of finding a political seat, especially in the Israeli Knesset (Parliament)’ based on the Israeli word ‫כסא‬ kisé ‘chair’, which can be traced back to Biblical Hebrew. Juxtapose khupológya with the Singaporean English lexical item paktorology ‘the science of going on a date with someone’, from Cantonese 拍拖 paktor ‘to date someone’ (cf. Modern Standard Chinese拍pāi ‘hit’ + 拖tuō ‘haul, pull, drag, draw’) and English -​logy. The use of an English suffix occurs also in Modern Standard Chinese. Qi and Zuckermann (research collaboration) explore the headline 沪深股市低迷ing, 震荡ing ‘Shanghai and Shenzhen Stock Markets down-​turning and fluctuating’. This sentence includes the English suffix -​ing twice, in both 低迷ing (dīmí-​ing) ‘depressing’ and 震荡ing (zhèndàng-​ing) ‘fluctuating’. The hybrid 低迷ing consists of the Mandarin free morpheme 低迷 dīmí ‘depress’ and the English bound morpheme -​ing. The hybrid 震荡ing consists of the Mandarin free morpheme 震荡 zhèndàng and the English bound morpheme -​ing. In standard Mandarin, the present tense is realized through a verb plus a separate adverbial such as 在 zài or 正在 zhèngzài to indicate ‘an action is ongoing’. English -​ing in Modern Standard Chinese is productive. It is flexibly blended with a plethora of behavioural, mental and state verbs such as 期 待ing (qīdài-​ing) ‘expecting /​hoping’, 郁闷ing (yùmèn-​ing) ‘depressed/​frustrated’ and 羡慕ing (xiànmù-​ing) ‘admiring’. This mechanism—​bisyllabic Chinese verb + -​ing—​has been popular in text messaging, online media and WeChat among tertiary students in recent years.

’Nother Tongue  83 R eturning to Israeli: some productive (commony-used in new expressions) suffixes in Israeli are specifically of Yiddish descent. For example, the endearment diminutive ‫ 'לה‬σσ-​le (note the antepenultimate stress). Consider ‫ אמ א 'לה‬ímale ‘ mummy, mo m m y’, ‫ אבא'ל ה‬ábale ‘daddy’, ‫ סבא'לה‬sábale ‘granddaddy, grandpa’, ‫ סבתא'לה‬sáftale ‘granny’, ‫ חמודה'לה‬khamúdale ‘cutie’. This suffix is common in first names, e.g. ‫ שירה'לה‬shírale, ‫ רינה'לה‬rínale, ‫ מ ירה 'לה‬mírale, ‫ שׂ רה'לה‬sárale, ‫ רבקה'לה‬rífkale, ‫ חווה'לה‬khávale, ‫חיה'לה‬ kháyale, ‫ מ(וי)שה'לה‬móyshale, and ‫ יהודה'לה‬yúdale. The Israeli agent suffix ‫​ניק‬- σ-​nik is even more productive. Consider the following ‘hybrids’: • ‫ קיבוצניק‬kibútsnik < Israeli ‫ קבוץ‬kibúts ‘kibbutz (collective settlement)’ ( < Mediev al Hebrew ‘co mmunity’ < Mishnaic Hebrew ‘gathering’ < Biblical Hebrew ‘collection of idols’) + Israeli ‫​ניק‬- σ-​nik. • ‫ מילואימניק‬miluímnik ‘reservist, reserve soldier (in the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF))’ < Israeli ‫ מלואים‬miluím ‘reserve’ (lit. ‘fill-​ins’) + Israeli ‫​ניק‬- σ-​nik. • ‫ כלומניק‬klúmnik ‘good for nothing, talentless, unimportant person’ < Israeli ‫ כלום‬klum ‘nothing’ () Israeli ‫ ש וטט‬shotét ‘wandered around’. The verbal noun ‫ של טוט‬shiltút ‘zapping’ was introduced by the Academy of the Hebrew Language in Laméd Leshonkhá 19 (October–​November 1996)—​cf. Akadém 11 (May 1997). Synchronically, it might appear to result from reduplication of the final consonant of shalát ‘remote control’.

2.5  Lexis Words pay no debts. (Pandarus to Troilus in Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida, III.2.54)

90 Revivalistics

2.5.1 Overt Borrowing In Israeli there are scores of visible loanwords from Yiddish (note, however, that often the Israeli spelling is different from the Yiddish). Consider the following Israeli words beginning with ‫ ש‬sh [ʃ]: ‫ שפיץ‬shpits ‘sharp tip, spearhead’, ‫ שוויץ‬shvits ‘swagger, panache’, ‫ שוונג‬shvung ‘swing, zest’, ‫ שלוק‬shluk ‘gulp, sup, sip’, ‫ שמוק‬shmok ‘dick, schmuck, asshole’, ‫ שלומפר‬shlúmper ‘slob’, ‫ ש מונ צ ס‬shmóntses ‘gadgets, odds and ends’, ‫ שמ(א)טס‬shmátes ‘rags’, and ‫ שפכטל‬shpákhtel ‘spatula, trowel’. Other Yiddishisms in Israeli include the following: ‫ קונץ‬kunts ‘trick’, ‫גרפס‬ greps ‘burp, belch’, ‫ ברוך‬brokh ‘foul-​up, hitch, mishap, disaster, fiasco, mess’, ‫ פיצ’פקס‬píchefkes ‘gadgets, frills’, ‫ נ(ע)בך‬nébekh ‘nebbish, miserable’, ‫מיידלה‬ méydale ‘girlie’, ‫ בובלה‬búbale ‘sweetheart’, ‫ פרווה‬párve ‘parve, neither dairy nor me at’, ‫ או טו טו‬ototó ‘any minute (now), shortly’, ‫ קוטר‬kúter ‘whiner, complainer, grouch, sourpuss, griper’ (cf. ‫ לקטר‬lekatér ‘to whine, complain’), ‫ פלונטר‬plónter ‘tangle, mess, snarl-​up’, ‫ בוק‬bok ‘clod, dolt’, ‫ בויד(ע)ם‬bóydem ‘attic’, and ‫ אלטע זאכן‬álte zákhen, lit. ‘old things’, referring to ‘second-​hand merchandise’ or to the person selling them from a car/​wagon (cf. junkman), used even by Israeli Arabs. Th ere a re many gastronom ic Yiddishisms, for example ‫ בייגלה‬béygale ‘bagel’, ‫ גפילטה פיש‬gefílte fish ‘stuffed fish’, ‫ קרפלך‬krépalakh ‘kreplach, rav ioli’, ‫ קניידלך‬knéydalakh ‘dumplings, (matzah) balls’, ‫ לטקס‬látkes ‘potato pancakes’, ‫ בלינצ’ס‬blínches (blintshes) ‘blin /​blini, pancake, crêpe’, and ‫קישקס‬ kíshkes ‘stuffed intestines’. C lot h i ng Yiddishisms i nclude ‫ גטקס‬gátkes ‘long johns’, ‫ קפוטה‬kapóta ‘c apote, long coat/​cap e’, and ‫ שטריימלך‬shtréymalakh (plural) ‘shtreimel, b e ave r hat, round, b roa d-​brimmed hat edged with fur worn by some Hasidic Jews’. Although the following Israeli words are ultimately of Hebrew pedigree, they entered Israeli from Yiddish. Note that their pronunciation and spec i fic m eaning by and large follow Yiddish rather than Hebrew: ‫חברהמן‬ k h é vreman ‘swell guy, good sport’, ‫ חבר’ה‬khévre ‘guys, the gang’, ‫חוכם‬ k h ú khem ‘wise-​guy, dumb ass, fool’, ‫ בקיצר‬bekítser ‘shortly, practically’, ‫ העיקר‬haíker ‘the main thing’, ‫ מילא‬méyle ‘so be it, never mind, all right t h en’, ‫ ממילא‬m iméyle ‘in any case, by itself ’, ‫ בלבוס‬balebós ‘landlord, burgher’, ‫ משפוחה‬mishpúkhe ‘family, (the whole) tribe’, and ‫ כלבויניק‬kolbóynik ‘a table bowl for rubbish (in a kibbutz); one who knows how to do everything’.

’Nother Tongue  91 Often Israelis use a Yiddishism without realizing that its ultimate (morphological) origin is in fact Hebrew. Consider the following: • Israeli ‫ תכלס‬tákhles ‘to the point, in practice, in reality, nitty gritty, the realities or basic facts of a matter, the heart of the matter’, traceable to (Mishnaic) Hebrew ‫[ תכלית‬takhˈli:t] ‘purpose’ ( Israeli tútu) inches (5.56 m illim e tre). Another sligh tly possible reason is an analogy to Israeli ‫תכי‬ ‘parrot’, which is almost always pronounced with a penultimate stress: túki. Now, some people might wonder:  does this book have any political agenda? The answer is no. I wrote it under the urge to bring us closer to the sociolinguistic truth. C’est tout. However, I am aware that some of the conclusions of this book, as well as its new terminology, might be provocative. Israeli Arabs might object to the term ‘Israeli’ because they are Israeli too and speak Arabic as their mother tongue. However, what do they call the state of which they are citizens? Although Arabic and English co-​exist too, whether one wants it or not, Israeli is the main language in the State of Israel. On the other hand, one Israeli has hinted that my hybridic synthesis might be the result of self-​hating Jewishness. Intriguingly, this person explained his position by rejecting the importance that I give to Yiddish. It so happens that Yiddish is a Jewish language. So, I ask myself, who exactly is the self-​hating Jew here? Furthermore, this book can be (ab)used by various factions of Israeli society. For example, leftists might argue that if we do not speak pure Hebrew, then we have fewer rights over Eretz Yisrael. Rightists might strengthen their

’Nother Tongue  111 view that the Arabs have different culture and values. Ashkenazim might encourage Israelis to have an interest in Yiddish and Eastern-​European culture. Mizrahim might use the Founder Principle to proclaim that they have been discriminated against. Orthodox Jews, who fought the revival and gave Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda hell, might find consolation in the fact that Hebrew was not totally desecrated, as Israeli is based on other languages too. On the other hand, there are many young secular Israelis who are fed up w ith ‘too much history ove r too little geography ’, dislike the Ashkenaz ic-​ mizrahi divide, and do not want to hear any more about the Palestinian-​Israeli conflict. A rabbi phones God from Jerusalem, which, allegedly, is only a local call. God says: ‘I’m too busy. Call me later!’. The rabbi insists: ‘Wait, I have two very important questions to ask you!’. God says: ‘OK, shoot!’ (cf. ‫שו״ת‬, an acronym of ‫ שאלות ותשובות‬sheelót utshuvót ‘questions and answers’). The rabbi asks: ‘Will my daughter ever marry?’. God replies: ‘Yes, but not in your lifetime!’. The rabbi is a little bit disappointed but at least she will get married. ‘What is your second question?’ asks God the rabbi. The rabbi asks: ‘Will the Israeli-​Palestinian conflict ever end?’. God says: ‘Yes, but not in my lifetime!’ Such disillusioned secular Israelis might say, reading this book, ‘Look, even linguistically, there is a new multisourced Israeli entity. A  new multisourced Israeli identity, independent on the one hand, but on the other linked—​hybridically—​to various Jewish pasts’. Thus, some individuals might take this view and link the new hybridity idea to beginning a new, pinker chapter in Israeli history. Scholars should continue to quench their yearning for knowledge and understanding, with the hope that their new perspicacious insights will be used constructively.

3 Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood Conscious Ideological Secularization of Hebrew Terms

3.1  Background Whilst Chapter 2 showed the subconscious impact of the revivalists’ mother tongues on Israeli, this chapter is dedicated to the conscious impact of the revivalists’ national ideology. Earlier, I uncovered means of accommodation and negotiation, for example using vagueness or ambiguity resulting from semantic secularization to get out of a legal or political quagmire—​see bitakhón ‘faith in God’/​‘security’ in §1.3.1. This chapter explores semantic change that manifests the conflict between the religious and the secular in Israel. The main problem the revivalists faced was that of Hebrew lexical voids, which were not semantic voids but cases in which purists tried to supplant unwelcome guestwords, foreignisms, and loanwords. The revivalists could not avoid the Ashkenazic mindset arising from their diasporic European cultural background. Their attempt to belie their (more recent) roots, negate diasporism (which was considered weak), and avoid hybridity (as reflected in Slavonized, Romance/​Semitic-​substrate, Germanic Yiddish itself) failed. The purists tried to use mainly internal sources of lexical enrichment but were hampered by a paucity of roots. Here are some figures to consider: • The number of attested Biblical Hebrew words is 8,679, of which 1,480 are hapax legomena (t he number of Biblical Hebrew roots, on which many of these words are based, is roughly 2,000). • The number of attested Mishnaic Hebrew words is lower than 20,000, o f wh i ch (i) fewer tha n 8,000 are Mishnaic par excellence, i.e. they d id n o t a ppear in the Old Testament (the nu mber of new Mishnaic Hebrew roots is roughly 800); (ii) around 6,000 are a subset of Biblical

Figure 3.1  Matrix of Sources of Lexical Expansion

114 Revivalistics Hebrew; and (iii) several thousand are Aramaic words which can have a Hebrew form. • Medieval Hebrew(s) added more than 6,000 words to Hebrew. • The approximate number of new lexical items in Israeli is 17,000 (cf. 14,762 in Even-​Shoshan 1970: vii:3062). With the inclusion of foreign and technical terms, I estimate that the total number of Israeli words, including words of Biblical, Mishnaic, Medieval, and Maskilic descent, is more than 60,000. Even-​Shoshan (1970) lists 37,260 words. The most comprehensive dictionary of Israeli Even-​Shoshan (1997) lists slightly more.

3.1.1  Sources of Lexical Expansion The following matrix summarizes the main methods of lexical enrichment, see Figure 3.1.

3.2  Ex Interno Lexical Enrichment in Israeli The following are some of the ex interno lexical enrichment methods applied by revivalists.

3.2.1  Creating Secondary (and Tertiary) Roots from Nouns Cons i der Israel i ‫ מיקום‬mikúm ‘locating’, from ‫√ מקמ‬mqm ‘locate’, which d eriv e s f rom Bib lical Hebrew ‫[ מקום‬måˈqo:m] ‘place’, whose root is ‫קומ‬ √qwm ‘stand’, see Figure 3.2. A recent example introduced by the Academy of the Hebrew Language in Akadém 8 (March 1996, p. 1) is ‫ מדרוג‬midrúg ‘rati n g’, from ‫ מדרג‬midrág, whose root is ‫√ דרג‬drg ‘grade’. This process is morphologically similar to the production of frequentative (iterative) verbs in Latin: • iactito ‘to toss about’ derives from iacto ‘to boast of, keep bringing up, harass, disturb, throw, cast, fling away’, which in turn derives from iacio ‘to throw, cast’ (whose past participle is iactus)

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  115

Figure 3.2  Creating secondary (and tertiary) roots from nouns

• scriptito ‘to write often, compose’ is based on scribo ‘to write’ (< ‘to draw lines, engrave with a sharp-​pointed instrument’) • dicto ‘to say often, repeat’ is from dico ‘to indicate, say, speak, tell’ • clamito ‘to cry loudly/​often, shout violently’ derives from clamo ‘call, shout’. Similar cases occur in Arabic: • ‫√ مركز‬mrkz, cf. [ˈmarkaza] ‘centralized (masculine, singular)’, from [ˈmarkaz] ‘centre’, from [ˈrakaza] ‘plant into the earth, stick up (a lance)’ (< ‫√ ركز‬rkz) • ‫√ أرجح‬ʔ.r.dʒ.ħ, cf. [taˈʔardʒaħa] ‘oscillated (m, sg)’, from [ʔurˈdʒu:ħa] ‘swing (noun)’, from [ˈradʒaħa] ‘weighed down, preponderated (m, sg)’ (< ‫√ رجح‬r.dʒ.ħ) • ‫√ محور‬mħwr, cf. [taˈmaħwara] ‘centred, focused (m, sg)’, from [ˈmiħwar] ‘axis’, from [ˈħa:ra] ‘turned (m, sg)’ (< ‫√ حور‬ħwr) • ‫√ مسخر‬msχr, cf. ‫[ تمسخر‬taˈmasχara] ‘mocked, made fun (m, sg)’, from ‫ˈ[ مسخ ر ة‬masχara] ‘mockery’, from ‫ˈ[ سخر‬saχira] ‘mocked (m, sg)’ (< ‫√ سخر‬sχr). The following is a tertiary root case in Israeli, see Figure 3.3. On verbal blending, see §2.4.14.

Figure 3.3  Tertiary root

116 Revivalistics

3.2.2  Semantic Shifting of Pre-​existent Words Cons i der Israeli ‫ אקדח‬ekdákh ‘handgun, revolver’ (initially ‘firing machine’, cf. Ben-​Yehuda 1909: i:373a and Ben-​Yehuda 1978: 249–​50), from B ibli c al Hebrew ‫[ אקדח‬ʔεqˈdåħ] ‘carb uncle, carbuncle-s tone’ (red prec ious sto ne used f or decoration)—see Isaiah 54:1 2. The coiner, Eli ezer B en-​Yehu da, point s out that he was affected by Hebrew/​Israeli ‫קדח‬ √ q d ħ ‘dri ll’ (cf. Ben-Yehuda 1909–19 59: i:37 3a:fn3). Note that the origi nal ‫[ אק דח‬ʔεqˈdåħ] ‘carbuncle’ can be trac ed back to ‫√ קדח‬qdħ as well ( see Ben -​Yehuda 1909–1959: i:373a:fn1). If E liezer B en-​Yehud a had in mind English drill full of bullets or the like, ‫ אקדח‬ekdákh ‘firing machine’, which gained currency with the specific meaning ‘handgun, revolver’, it would constitute an etymological calque, or a sense-calque—introducing a new sense. Bar- Ashe r (1995: 8) calls the process of recycling obsolete lexical items ‫ עקר ו ן ה שא יבה מבפנים‬ekrón asheivá mibifním ‘The Principle of Drawing f rom W ith in ’ (also mentioned in Akadém 8, March 1996, p. 3), corresponding to the view expressed by Pínes & Klausner: .‫–​ אם איננה חדשה‬  ‫הגדולה שבמעלות למלה חדשה‬ agdolá shebamalót lemilá khadashá –​im enéna khadashá. The greatest virtue of a new word is that it is not new. (Pínes 1893: 61) ,‫ שיש לה צורה עברית‬,‫ שיש לה שורש עברי‬,‫כדי לחדש צריך למצוא מלה ישנה‬ .‫שיש לה טעם עברי‬ kedéy lekhadésh tsaríkh limtsó milá yeshaná, sheyésh lo shóresh ivrí, sheyésh la tsurá ivrít, sheyésh la táam ivrí. In order to neologize one should find an old word, which has a Hebrew root, a Hebrew form and Hebrew stress. (Klausner 1940: 289)

In response to Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda’s rebuke of not having neologized enough, Aaron Meyer Mazia said: Not only am I unashamed of it but I am in fact satisfied that the [Hebrew Language] Council decided on numerous words for athletics, arithmetic,

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  117 dresses and the like, but that the majority of these words were nothing but old words [ . . . ] we would not want to create new words as long as we are able to satisfy our needs with what is available from our ancient literature. (cf. Zikhronot Vaad Halashon 4, 1914: 42; a similar view by Mazia can be found in Zikhronot Vaad Halashon 6, 1928: 85) Very often, this infusion of new meaning includes the secularization of religious terms.

3.2.3 Semantic Secularization Secularization, in which an originally religious term is used with a non-​ religious meaning, is not unique to Israeli. Examples from English include the following: • cell ‘monk’s living place’ > ‘autonomous self-​replicating unit from which tissues of the body are formed’ • sanction ‘imposition of penance’ > ‘legal/​political penalty’ • office ‘church service, role’ > ‘commercial bureau’ • hierarchy ‘medieval classification of angels into ranks (including cheru bim, ser ap him, powers and dominions)’ > in the seven teenth century: ranking of clergymen > system of grading See also mercy, novice, passion and sanctuary (Zuckermann 2003: 75). The reverse process to secularization is demonstrated in English bishop and French éveque, which come from Greek epískopos ‘overseer’, the modern religious meaning resulting from the use of ‘overseer’ within the Christian community (cf. McMahon 1994: 180). Semantic secularization can occur for many reasons, and only sometimes does it reflect ideological tension. A  term may be secularized as a result of phono-​semantic matching, calquing, semantic shifting, and survival of the best fit. Particularly interesting are subversive secularizations involving ideological ‘lexical engineering’ (see semantic shifting, pejoration, mild, and extreme amelioration, ameliorative recycling of biblical first names, trivialization, and allusion). The degree of engineering is on a continuum and—​since we are dealing with a new emerging language with numerous revivalists—​it is sometimes hard to draw the line between neutral and ideological secularization.

118 Revivalistics

3.3  Ideologically Neutral Secularization in Israeli 3.3.1  Phono-​Semantic Matching (PSM) In accordance with the definitions and examples of PSM provided in §2.5.3, consider the following PSMs involving secularization: (1) ‫[ יובל‬jo:ˈbhel] → yovél Israeli ‫ יובל‬yovél is an ‘incestuous’ (Zuckermann 2003: 94–​102) PSM introducing a new sense: Biblical Hebrew ‫√ יבל‬ybl ‘(to) lead’ > ‫[ יובל‬jo:ˈbhel] ‘ram’ > whole-​for-​part synecdoche (a type of metonymy) > ‘ram’s horn, shofar’ > ‘fiftieth anniversary (after seven cycles of years of shemittah)’ > Greek iōbēlos ‘fiftieth anniversary (after seven cycles of years of shemittah)’ > iōbēlaîos > First PSM (with Latin iubilare ‘shout for joy’ or Latin iubilum ‘wild cry’) > Latin iubilæus (and not *iobelæus) > > > French jubilé, Spanish jubileo, Italian giubileo, Russian юбилей yubiléĭ, Polish jubileusz, German Jubiläum, Yiddish ‫ יוביליי‬yubiléy, English jubilee > Second PSM (with Biblical Hebrew ‫[ יובל‬jo:ˈbhel] ‘fiftieth anniversary (after seven cycles of years of shemittah)’) > Israeli ‫ יובל‬yovél ‘(happy) anniversary, celebration’

(2) ‫[ אבוב‬ʔabˈbu:bh] → abúv Consider the following ‘specificizing PSM’, a special sub-​category of PSM that introduces a new sense, consisting of the specification of the initially vague meaning of a pre-​existent target-​language word, so it becomes limited to the specific meaning of the matched source-​ language word, see Figure 3.4.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  119

Figure 3.4  Specificizing PSM

(3) ‫ˈ[ סמל‬sɛmɛl] → sémel Biblical Hebrew ‫ˈ[ סמל‬sɛmɛl] is ‘an object of idolatrous worship’, perhaps originally a reference to a foreign deity—​see Deuteronomy 4:16, Ezekiel 8:3, and 2 Chronicles 33:7, 15. In Israeli, however, it simply means ‘symbol’—​due, at least in part, to the phonetic similarity with the internationalism symbol. (4) ‫[ תורה‬to:ˈrå] → torá Hebrew ‫[ תורה‬to:ˈrå] usually refers to ‘the totality of the religious teachings that God has bestowed upon Israel’ or to ‘the book cont aini n g t he se te achings’ (see Psalms 19:8 and Nehemiah 8:1), although the original sense of the word in the Old Testament is ‘instruction’ (see Leviticus 6:2 and 6:18). Israeli torá, however, means ‘theory’ as in ‫ תורת היחסות של איינשטיין‬torát ayakhasút shel áynshteyn ‘Einstein’s Theory of Relativity’, cf. Israeli ‫ תורת לחימה‬torát lekhimá ‘military strategy’. The phonetic similarity with the internationalism theory—​cf. Israeli ‫ תאוריה‬teórya—might have facilitated this secularization.

3.3.2  Calquing I already explained how calquing has affected Israeli in §2.5.2. These effects are further exploited by secularization, as per the following examples: (5) ‫√ פדי‬pdy Bib l ica l Hebre w ‫√ פדי‬pdy ‘redeem’ occurs primarily in cultic and re lig ious contex ts, referring either to (a) the redemption of

120 Revivalistics a hum an f ir stbor n from Temple sacrifice: ‘The first issue of the w omb o f e ve ry be ing, man or beast, that is offered to the Lord, shall be yours; but you shall have the first-​b orn of man redeemed’ (Numbers 18:15), or to (b) God’s salvation of Israel: ‘For the Lord w ill r ans om Jaco b, r edeem him from one too str ong for him’ (Jeremiah 31:11). In Israeli, however, the primary meaning is financial: ‫ לפדות‬lifdót i s ‘t o ca sh (a c heque)’ and ‫ פדיונות גדולים‬pidyonót gdolím, lit. ‘big r edee m s’, r efers to ‘the trading volume on the stock market’. This shift mirrors the semantic expansion of redeem in English and other European languages into the financial sphere, so that one speaks of redeeming stocks, redeeming coupons, and the like. The semantic expansion of the Hebrew root, then, may well be the result of calquing rather than of internal dynamics.

3.3.3  Semantic Shifting: Temple Utensils There is a large group of words that have undergone semantic secularization, but their new meanings are so closely associated with the old that the shift does not reflect cultural tensions beyond secularization as such. Consider the Temple utensils, many of which mean kitchen utensils in Israeli: (6) Biblical Hebrew ‫[ כיור‬kijˈjo:r] is ‘a pot used for cooking in Temple contexts’ (see 1 Kings 7:30, 38, 42) or ‘the Temple/​Tabernacle laver’ (Exodus 30:18, 28). In Israeli, these meanings are for all practical purposes abolished: kyor means ‘a sink’. (7) Bi blical Hebrew ‫[ קערה‬qəʕåˈrå] ‘a dish found regularly in Temple cont ext (Ex od us 25 :29, Numbers 7:13, 19, 25, 31, 37) → Israeli keará ‘a kitchen bowl’. (8) Bi blical Hebrew ‫[ כף‬kaph] ‘ritual pan vessel’ (Exodus 25:29, 37:16; Numbers 4:7,15) → Israeli kaf ‘tablespoon’. (9) Biblical Hebrew ‫[ מחבת‬maħǎˈbhat] ‘pan used in baking the priestly grain offerings’ (Leviticus 2:5, 6:14, 7:9) → Israeli makhvát ‘(frying) pan, griddle’. (10) Biblical Hebrew ‫[ מזלג‬mazˈleg] ‘a sacrificial implement for picking up meat’ (1 Samuel 2:13) → Israeli mazlég ‘fork’.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  121

3.3.4  Other Secularized Semantic Shifts (11) ‫[ משחה‬miʃˈħå] → mishkhá

Biblical Hebrew ‫[ משחה‬miʃˈħå] ‘the ointment of sanctified oil used in a variety of sacrificial contexts by the priests’ (Exodus 25:6, 29:7, 21, 31:11) → Israeli mishkhá ‘cream’. (12) ‫[ משנה‬miʃˈnå] → mishná

Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ משנה‬miʃˈnå] referred only to the religious-​legal t ea c hin gs of t he rabbinic sages. Israeli mishná can refer to non-​ religious teachings as well, as in ‫ משנתו הפוליטית של בוש‬mishnató apolítit shel bush ‘Bush’s political doctrine’. (13) ‫[ פרקן‬purˈqån] → ‫ פורקן‬purkán

Me die va l Heb rew ‫[ פרקן‬purˈqån] means ‘redemption, salvation’. In Israeli it usually means ‘orgasm, relief ’. Both meanings can be traced to the same semantic sense of ‘release’.

3.3.5  Survival of the Best Fit Oft en on e mea ning of a pre-​existent word is superseded by another pre-​ existent sense, either because the latter fits Zionist discourse or because it is more modern, as in the following: (14) ‫[ יריד‬jåˈri:d] → yaríd

Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ יריד‬jåˈri:d] is ‘a meeting place’ or ‘an annual fair’ often, though not always, dedicated to a pagan deity and thus, a site of idolatry. In Israeli it is a secular ‘fair’, for example an arts fair, with no negative connotation. (15) ‫[ תקון‬tiqˈqu:n] → ‫ תיקון‬tikún

M is hnaic Hebrew ‫[ תקון‬tiqˈqu:n] means ‘preparation, especially making fruits available by separating the tithes, the priest’s share’, as well as ‘establishment, institution, amendment, making right’. Thus, Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ תקון העולם‬tiqˈqu:n håʕo:ˈlåm] refers to ‘the proc e ss of refi ning and rehabilitating the materiality of this world’. In Israeli, ‫ תיקון‬tikún is simply ‘fixing’, as in ‘fixing a car’.

122 Revivalistics The journey from the Temple to the kitchen is interesting, but the shift is secular and nothing more: cooking utensils in a sacred context now appear in a secular one; a sanctified ointment is now a cream. Nothing here suggests a deeper ideological engagement with the earlier strata of Hebrew. Nothing reflects the structural tension inherent in the secular-​nationalist return to a language containing religious-​exilic strata. That is not the case in most of the examples that I shall discuss in the next section: ideological secularization.

3.4  Ideological Secularization in Israeli Already, in 1926, philosopher and historian Gershom Scholem (1897–​1982) argued that it was irresponsible to secularize a religious language such as Hebrew. Somewhat kabbalistically, he predicted that one day these secularized words, loaded with holiness, may conduct a lexical vendetta (my term). Here is a letter he wrote to Franz Rosenzweig.

3.4.1  Confession on the Subject of Our Language (Bekenntnis über unsere Sprache) A Letter by Gershom Scholem to Franz Rosenzweig, 26 December 1926 This country is a volcano. It houses language. One speaks here of many things that could make us fail. One speaks more than ever today about the Arabs. But more uncanny than the Arab people [unheimlicher als das arabische Volk] another threat confronts us that is a necessary consequence [mit Notwendigkeit] of the Zionist undertaking: What about the ‘actualization [Aktualisierung]’ of Hebrew? Must not this abyss of a sacred language handed down to our children break out again? Truly, no one knows what is being done here. One believes that language has been secularized, that its apocalyptic thorn has been pulled out [ihr den apokalyptischen Stache ausgezogen zu haben]. But this is surely not true. The secularization of language is only a façon de parler, a ready-​made phrase. It is absolutely impossible to empty out words filled to bursting, unless one does so at the expense of language itself. The ghostly Volapük spoken here in the streets points precisely to the expressionless linguistic world in which the ‘secularization’ of language could alone be possible. If we transmit to our children

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  123 the language that has been transmitted to us, if we—​the generation of the transition [das Geshlecht des Übergangs]—​resuscitate the language of the ancient books so that it can reveal itself anew to them, must then not the religious violence of the language one day break out against those who speak it [gegen ihre Sprecher ausbrechen]? And on the day this eruption occurs, which generation will suffer its effects [und welches Geschelcht wird dieser Ausbruch finden]? We do live inside this language, above an abyss, almost all of us with the certainty of the blind. But when our sight is restored, we or those who come after us, must we not fall to the bottom of this abyss? And no one knows whether the sacrifice of individuals who will be annihilated in this abyss will suffice to close it. The creators of this new linguistic movement believed blindly, and stubbornly, in the miraculous power of the language, and this was their good fortune. For no one clear-​sighted would have mustered the demonic courage to revive a language there, where only an Esperanto could emerge. They walk, and walk still today, spellbound [gebannt] above the abyss. The abyss was silent and they have delivered the ancient names and seals over to the youth. We sometimes shudder when, out of the thoughtless conversation, a word from the religious sphere terrifies us, just there where it was perhaps intended to comfort. Hebrew is pregnant with catastrophes. It cannot and will not remain in its current state. Our children no longer have another language, and it is only too true to say that they, and they alone, will pay for the encounter which we have initiated without asking, without even asking ourselves. If and when the language turns against its speakers—​it already does so for certain moments in our lifetime, and these are difficult to forget, stigmatizing moments in which the daring lack of measure of our undertaking reveals itself to us—​will we then have a youth capable of withstanding the uprising of a sacred language? Language is Name [Sprache ist Namen]. In the names, the power of language is enclosed; in them, its abyss is sealed. After invoking the ancient names daily, we can no longer hold off their power. Called awake, they will appear since we have invoked them with great violence. Truly, we speak in rudiments; we truly speak a ghostly language [wir freilich sprechen eine gespenstische Sprache]:  the names haunt our sentences. One or another plays with them in writings and newspapers, lying to themselves or to God that this means nothing, and often, out of the ghostly shame of our language, the power of the sacred speaks out. For the names have their own life—​had they not, woe to our children, who would be hopelessly abandoned to the void.

124 Revivalistics Each word which is not newly created but taken from the ‘good old’ treasure is full to bursting. A  generation that takes upon itself the most fruitful in our sacred traditions—​our language—​cannot live, were it to wish it a thousandfold, without tradition. The moment the power stored at the bottom of the language deploys itself, the moment the ‘said [das Gesprochene]’, the content of language, assumes its form anew, then the sacred tradition will again confront our people as a decisive sign of the only available choice: to submit or to go under. In a language where he is invoked back to a thousandfold into our life, God will not stay silent. But this inescapable revolution of the language, in which the voice will be heard again, is the sole object of which nothing is said in this country. Those who called the Hebrew language back to life did not believe in the judgment that was thus conjured upon us. May the carelessness, which has led us to this apocalyptic path, not bring about our ruin [Möge uns dann nicht der Leichtsinn, der uns auf diesem apokalyptischen Weg geleitet, zum Verderb werden]. Jerusalem, 7 Tevet 5687 Gerhard Scholem (Translation by Anidjar, see Derrida 2002: 226–​7)

3.4.2  Survival of the Best Fit (16) ‫[ עבודה‬ʕǎbho:ˈdå] → avodá

Biblical Hebrew [ʕǎbho:ˈdå] has both a religious and a secular sense, referring to ‘work’ or ‘labour’, as well as to ‘ritual and cultic worship’. Examples of the former are the activity of the Hebrew slaves in Egypt (Exodus 2:23) and the labour imposed by the Persian satrap on the Jews (Nehemiah 5:18). Examples of the latter are the phrases ‫עבודת‬ ‫[ ה משכן‬ʕǎbho:ˈdåt hammiʃˈkån] ‘the cultic service of the Tabernacle’ (Numbers 3:7, cf. Exodus 39:32), ‫[ עבודת הקודש‬ʕǎbho:ˈdåt haqˈqo:dɛʃ] ‘cultic worship’ (Exodus 36:3), and ‫[ עבודת יהוה‬ʕǎbho:ˈdåt YHWH] ‘t he worship of the Lord’ (Numbers 8:11). The same two meanings carry into Mishnaic Hebrew, but the second becomes the more dominant, as evidenced, for example, by the name of the tractate: ‫עבודה זרה‬ [ʕǎbho:ˈdå zåˈrå] (Avoda Zara), lit. ‘foreign worship’, i.e. ‘idolatry’. In Is rael i, the cultic meaning is replaced by ‘labour’ in the positive sense that this term carried in the labour movement. Consequently, one finds the decidedly non-​cultic ‫ מפלגת העבודה‬mifléget aavodá ‘the Labour Party’ and ‫ תנועת העבודה‬tnuát aavodá ‘the Labour Movement’.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  125

3.4.3  Semantic Shifting Deifying Nationhood (17) ‫[ משכן‬miʃˈkån] → mishkán

A good example of deifying nationhood is the lexical item mishkán. Biblical Hebrew ‫[ משכן‬miʃˈkån] refers to the ‘inner sanctum’, known as ‫אהל מועד‬ [ˈʔohεl moˈʕed], the ‘Tabernacle of the Congregation’, where Moses kept the Ark in the wilderness. Undoubtedly, the common reference of ‫משכן‬ [miʃˈkån] is religiously holy. Shrewdly, this lexical item is employed within the Israeli language to refer to the Knesset (Israeli Pariliament) building—​ s ee ‫ משכן הכנסת‬mishkán aknéset ‘the Knesset building’. Regardless of whether native Israeli speakers are aware of it or not, this lexical item is loaded with holiness and evokes sanctity, as if Members of the Knesset, the ones who dwell in the mishkán, were angels or seraphs.

(18) ‫[ כנסת‬kəˈnɛsɛt] → knéset

Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ כנסת ישראל‬kəˈnɛsɛt jiśråˈʔel] refers to ‘the Jewish people as a collective’, ‘the community of Israel’—​see Song of Songs R abb a 1:4. In Kabbalah l iterature, [kəˈnɛsɛt jiśråˈʔel] is one of the standard appellations of the tenth divine emanation, also known as ‫[ שכינה‬ʃəkhi:ˈnå]. In Israeli, however, the phrase takes on a national, political meaning: ‘Israeli Parliament, the Knesset’, see mishkán. (19) ‫ˈ[ קבע‬qɛbhaʕ] → kéva

Mishnaic Hebrew ‫ˈ[ קבע‬qɛbhaʕ] refers to ‘a fixed or permanent implementation of a practice’, particularly prayer or Torah study. Rabbi Eliezer speaks of one who ‘makes his prayer fixed [ˈqɛb haʕ]’ (Mishna Berakhot 4 .4) . In Israeli, howeve r, the fixed and ongoing commitment is not to prayer or to Torah study but to military service: ‫ שרות קבע‬sherút kéva refers to ‘military service that extends beyond the duty required by the draft’. Similarly, the standing army—​as opposed to the reserves—​is ‫צבא‬ ‫ קבע‬tsva kéva.

(20) ‫[ מלואים‬millu:ˈʔim] → ‫ מילואים‬miluím

Bibl ical Hebrew ‫[ מלואים‬millu:ˈʔim] refers to ‘the days following the dedication of the Tabernacle but prior to the priests’ inauguration’—​see Leviticus 8:33: ‫ומפתח אהל מועד לא תצאו שבעת ימים עד יום מלאת ימי ִמ ּלֻאֵ יכֶ ם‬

126 Revivalistics wmptħ ʔhl mwʕd lʔ tşʔw ʃ bʕt ymym ʕd ywm mlʔt ymy mlʔykm You shall not go outside the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days, until the day that your period of ordination [millu:ˈʔim] is completed.

The term also appears as modifying the sacrifices offered as part of the inauguration ritual: ‘the ram of ordination [millu:ˈʔim]’ (Leviticus 8:22) and ‘the bread that is in the basket of ordination’ (Leviticus 8:31). The pre cise meaning of [millu:ˈʔim] in this context is a matter of c on trov ersy among Bible scholars, but the root ‫√ מלא‬mlʔ means ‘ fi ll’ and it is this meaning that generates the Israeli appropriation of the word to refer to ‘supplemental/​reserve military service’. Thus, o n e’s days of miluím are no longer served at the Tabernacle but in reserve duty. Note that the [millu:ˈʔim] section in Leviticus is at the meeting of two portions: (a) ‫[ צו‬sˁaw] (named after its opening verse: ‘The Lord spoke t o Mos es, saying, ‘Command [sˁaw] Aaron and his sons . . .’ (Leviticus  6:1-​2) (b) ‫[ ש מיני‬ʃəmi:ˈni:] (named after its opening verse: ‘On the eighth [ ʃəmi:ˈni: ] day Moses summoned Aaron and his sons . . .’ (Leviticus 9:1) I n Is raeli, ‫ צ ו שמונה‬tsav shmóne ‘Ordinance 8’ is the document informing one of upcoming (often emergency) reserve service, i.e. of miluím. (21) ‫מכס‬ [ˈmɛkhɛs] → mékhes

Whereas in the Hebrew Bible ‫מכס‬ [ˈmɛkhɛs] was a tribute to God (e.g. Nu mbers 31:37), in Israeli it is ‘customs’ paid to the State. It is currently pronounced as mékhes.

(22) ‫[ קלפי‬qalpe:] → kálfi/​kálpi

M ishn aic Hebrew ‫[ קלפי‬qalpe:] (from Gree k, cf. kálpis ‘a vessel for drawing water’) refers to ‘a Temple urn used for drawing lots—​an ancient divination technique—​by which various matters were decided’: [The high priest] came to the east, to the north of the altar . . . and there was a casket [qalpe:] with two lots . . . he shook the casket and

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  127 took up the two lots. On one was written ‘For the Lord’ and on the other was written ‘For Azazel’. (Mishnah, Tractate Yoma 3.9 and 4.1) The word undergoes an interesting re-​semanticization:  Israeli kálfi/​ kálpi is not a tool for determining vox dei but vox populi: it comes to mean ‘ballot box, voting/​polling booth, polling station’.

In these examples, secularization is presented as superseding/​supersession. For instance, priestly service gives way to reserve duty (miluím). Though the modern concepts replace the ancient, they do so as heirs that are still somehow anchored in the Old Testament or the Mishnah, or at least as ‘natural’ or ‘organic’ outgrowths of earlier Jewish strata. This sense of a natural—​ almost inevitable—​development is itself an expression of the ideological hegemony of Zionism. It is certainly true that the ultra-​Orthodox community has waged a fierce polemic against these semantic innovations (cf. Be’er (2004) and Scholem, previously illustrated). But for Israeli speakers, the radical nature of the semantic change is no longer visible. The new meanings do not represent an antagonistic or revolutionary break with their ancient predecessors. The potentially problematic return to the religious strata of Hebrew is overcome by assimilating the pre-​modern meanings into Israeli, subsuming the earlier under the later.

3.4.4  Transvaluation A widespread strategy for overcoming the potential dangers inherent in the ‘return to Hebrew’ involves the ‘transvaluation’ of an earlier meaning, usually through an axiological reversal (e.g. a word with a positive connotation takes on a negative one, and vice versa), or a radical shift in the register (e.g. an elevated word is debased). It is worth noting that Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda was vehemently opposed to traditional, rabbinic Judaism (cf. Kuzar 2001). The following words exemplify the transfer from a sacred to an unrelated profane realm (cf. Durkheim 1995). Whereas the Temple cooking utensils are re-​semanticized as secular cooking utensils (see Items 6–​10), here the transformation of the word is a marked, conscious act of transvaluation. (23) ‫[ מוסף‬mu:ˈsåph] → musáf

Mish naic Hebrew ‫ [ מוסף‬mu:ˈsåph] r efers to ‘the additional sacrifices offered in the Temple on the Sabbath and the festivals’ (Mishna

128 Revivalistics Berakhot 3.10). With the destruction of the Temple and the institut iona lization of prayer, ‫[ מוסף השבת‬mu:ˈsåph haʃʃabˈbåt] comes to mean ‘the additional Sabbath prayer service’. Israeli musáf refers to ‘the weekend supplement included with the Friday edition of daily newspapers’. Though not denigrating the classical meaning, this undoubtedly constitutes a shift in register—​from the exalted to the mundane. (24) ‫[ מעריב‬maʕǎˈri:bh] → maarív

The path from prayer to newspaper is also evident in Maarív, the name of an (originally evening) Israeli daily newspaper that draws its name from Medieval Hebrew [maʕǎˈri:bh] ‘the evening prayer’.

(25) ‫[ שחרית‬ʃaħǎˈri:t] → shakharít

Mi shnaic Hebrew [ʃaħǎˈri:t] means ‘morning’ and ‘the morning prayer’. In Israeli, however, shakharít is ‘matinée (in the original sense), t heatrical/​musical/​cine matic performance before noon’, e.g. ‫שחרית‬ ‫ מוזיקלית לנוער‬shakharít muzikalít (or muzikálit) lanóar ‘a musical matinée for the youth’. (26) ‫[ קבלה‬qabbåˈlå] → kabalá

Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ קבלה‬qabbåˈlå], lit. ‘that which is received, tradition’, refers to ‘the doctrines a disciple receives from his master’, ‘oral teachings not recorded in Scripture’. Later, the term becomes associated with a particular type of received tradition, the mystical doctrines known as the Kabbalah. The ‘Kabbalah’ meaning is still current in Israeli, but the primary sense has been lifted from the religious arena of received doctrine to the commercial world: kabalá means both ‘receipt’ and ‘(hotel) reception’. Israeli ‫ שעת קבלה‬shat kabalá, lit. ‘hour-​construct receipt’, means ‘office hour’ and ‫ מבחן קבלה‬mivkhán kabalá, lit. ‘exam:construct receipt’, is ‘entrance exam’. (27) ‫[ הדרן‬hadˈrån] → adrán

Rabbinic ‫[ הדרן‬hadˈrån] is Aramaic for the first person plural imperfect of the root ‫√ הדר‬hdr, cf. ‘we shall return’. The word is recited upon completing a tractate of the Talmud: ‫[ הדרן עלך מסכת‬hǎdaran ʕǎlåkh massɛkhɛt] ‘we shall return to you, tractate’. The phrase is a promise made by the readers to the text itself, that Talmud study will continue and so eventually we will return to the same tractate and study it once again.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  129 Israeli ‫ הדרן‬adrán is different in two ways: (a) Mo rphologically, since its Aramaic morphology obscures its verbal for m and ma kes it look as if it has the Hebrew agentive nominal suffix -​án, adrán comes to be used as a noun, so that one can speak of an adrán or the adrán. (b) Sem a ntically, adrán shifted from the religious and scholastic us age of t he Yeshiva world to the realm of popular concerts: it means ‘encore’. The onstage return of the popular singer takes the place of the commitment to ongoing Talmud study. (28) ‫[ ראיון‬reʔåˈjo:n] → reayón The Mishnah, Tractate Pe’ah, opens with a list of religious categories that have no fixed measure: These are things for which no measure is prescribed: pe’ah (the margi ns of the field that are to be left unharvested for the poor), first fruits, [reʔåˈjo:n] (the pilgrimage appearance), deeds of loving kindness, and the study of Torah. (Mishnah, Tractate Pe’ah 1.1)

The ‘pi lgrimage appearance’ [reʔåˈjo:n] refers to the biblical decree that .‫שלוש פעמים בשנה יראה כל זכורך את פני יהוה אלהיך‬ ʃlwʃ pʕmym bʃnh yrʔh kl zkwrk ʔt pny YHWH ʔlhyk Three times a year . . . all your males shall appear before the Lord. (Deuteronomy 16:16)

The in terpretation of this verse is a matter of some controversy. In the Masoretic vocalization of ‫יראה‬, [jeråˈʔɛ], the pilgrim is seen (passive) by God. But the linguistically more natural—though theologically problematic—reading [jirˈʔɛ] has the pilgrim seeing (active) God (c f. Shemesh 1997). Whatever its original meaning, Mishnaic Hebrew [reʔåˈjo:n] refers to an encounter between the Israelite pilgrims and God. In Israeli, however, the face-​to-​face encounter with the deity is replaced with a much more mundane engagement:  reayón is an ‘interview’.

130 Revivalistics

3.4.5  Pejoration Another type of transvaluation involves the reversal of the values associated with a word. Thus, words carrying a negative connotation are, for ideological reasons, construed as positive, or vice versa. Consider the debasement, pejoration, exemplified in the following: (29) ‫[ בטלן‬batˁˈlån] → batlán.

The Mishnah, Tractate Megillah 1.2, establishes different schedules for the reading of the Book of Esther on Purim according to the size of the settlement: If [the holiday] fell on the day after the Sabbath, villages read it earlier than the day of assembly, large towns on the day itself, and walled cities on the next day. The M ishnah then goes on to ask what counts as a large town. The answe r: ‘Any in which there are ten unoccupied men [batˁlåˈni:m]’ (Tractate Megillah 1.3). Mishnaic Hebrew [batˁlåˈni:m] refers to individuals who are free of the need to work, possibly because they are supporte d by the community as a ready prayer quorum (‫[ מנין‬minˈjån]) and possibly because they are gentlemen of leisure. In either case this is not a negative designation. Jastrow (1903) translates this phrase as ‘ten persons having leisure’ (see under ‫[ בטלן‬batˁˈlån]). With the lionization of labour among the early Zionists, batlán becomes a pejorative term: ‘a loafer, an idler, a lazy person’, sometimes implying a parasite.

3.4.6  Mild Amelioration (Negative→Neutral) But much more often, secularization involves amelioration. (30) ‫[ לץ‬lesˁ] → lets (31) ‫[ ליצן‬leˈsˁån] → leytsán (32) ‫[ מוקיון‬mu:qˈjo:n] → mukyón.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  131 These three terms are grouped together because (a) they reflect a similar tendency: re-​semantization that neutralizes the religiously or theologically negative meaning of a word, (b) they belong to the same semantic domain. Biblical Hebrew ‫[ לץ‬lesˁ] refers to both of the following: (a) ‘a person bereft of wisdom’—​ particularly in Proverbs, where the word is regularly contrasted with the sage, e.g. Proverbs 9:8; 13:1; 21:11 (b) ‘a wicked man’—​the best known example for it being the opening verse of Psalms (1:1): ‫אשרי האיש אשר לא הלך בעצת רשעים ובדרך חטאים לא עמד ובמושב‬ ‫לצים לא ישב‬ ʔʃry hʔyʃ ʔʃr lʔ hlk bʕşt rʃʕym wbdrk ħţʔym lʔ ʕmd wbmwʃb lşym lʔ yʃb Happy is the man who has not followed the counsel of the wicked or taken the path of the sinners or joined the company of the insolent (‫[ לצים‬leˈsˁi:m]).

‘Ins olent’ is here a theological term, implying insolence towards God. Meaning (b) largely carries over into the Mishnaic cognate ‫ליצן‬ [leˈsˁån], which is often used to designate the sacrilegious: whilst those who doubt the veracity of Jeremiah’s prophecy are called ‫ליצנים‬ [le:sˁåˈni:m] (Ecclesiastes Rabba 8), Yalqut Shimoni characterizes the serpent who tempted Eve as ‫[ ליצן‬leˈsˁån], as evidenced by its heretical statements against God (Yalqut Psalms 613): Rabbi Yehoshua of Sakhnin in the name of Rabbi Levi: The serpent besmirched his creator . . . thus we learn that was a [leˈsˁån].

Similarly, Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ מוקיון‬mu:qˈjo:n] is the term for Maccus, one o f the stock characters in the Roman theatre (the ludi), originally a celebration of the attributes of a pagan god. Not surprisingly, the Tosefta (Avoda Zara 2.6) explicitly prohibits viewing the ‫מוקיון‬

132 Revivalistics [mu:qˈjo:n] (along with other theatrical characters and the pagan diviner), as part of the prohibitions against idolatry. In Israeli, however, these terms lose this connotation. Lets is ‘a joker, a kid der’, while both leytsán and mukyón mean ‘clown’. That said, leyt sán and mukyón have a colloquial derogatory meaning: ‘not serious, loser’. (33) ‫[ מנחש‬mənaˈħeʃ] → menakhésh (34) ‫[ קסם‬qoˈsem] → ‫ קוסם‬kosém.

A similar process is evident in Biblical Hebrew ‫[ מנחש‬mənaˈħeʃ] and ‫[ קסם‬qoˈsem], both referring to ‘diviners’. In Deuteronomy 18:10–​11 they appear in a list of practitioners of prohibited religious practices: ‫לא ימצא בך מעביר בנו ובתו באש קסם קסמים מעונן ומנחש ומכשף‬ ‫וחבר חבר ושאל אוב וידעני ודרש אל המתים‬ lʔ ymşʔ bk mʕbyr bnw wbtw bʔʃ qsm qsmym mʕwnn wmnħʃ wmkʃp wħbr ħbr wʃʔl ʔwb wydʕny wdrʃ ʔl hmtym Let no one be found among you who consigns his son or daughter to the fire, or who is an augur [qoˈsem qəsåˈmi:m], a soothsayer, a div iner [mənaˈħeʃ], a sorcerer, one who casts spells, or one who c onsults ghosts or familiar spirits, or one who inquires of the dead.

In I sraeli both words lose their theologically negative meaning: the root ‫√ נחש‬nħʃ refers to ‘guessing’ so that menakhésh is simply an individual who guesses. Israeli kosém is ‘a magician’.

3.4.7  Extreme Amelioration (Negative→Positive) Defying Religion (35) ‫[ בלורית‬bəloˈri:t] → blorít

A good example of defying religion (the other side of the coin of the afore mentioned deifying nationhood) is the lexical item blorít. In delineating the borders between the Jew and the non-​Jew in Roman

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  133 Pales tine, rabbinic literature often draws the line a t any action that could involve participation in idolatrous practices. It is generally permitted to trade with pagans, but not immediately prior to pagan holidays lest the Jew’s money fund the idolatrous practices; it is generally permitted to purchase food from a pagan, though not wine that could be used for pagan libations; and so on. Interestingly, this distinction is also found in the realm of coiffure: a barber is, as a rule, permitted to cut the hair of a pagan, but there is one exception—​see Palestinian Talmud, Tractate Avoda Zara 11.1.2.2: ‫ וכיון שמגיע לבלורית הרי זה‬,‫המספר לנכרי מספר עד שמגיע לבלורית‬ .‫מושך את ידיו‬ hmspr lnkry mspr ʕd ʃmgyʕ lblwryt, wkywn ʃmgyʕ lblwryt hry zh mwʃk ʔt ydyw. A Je w who is cutting the hair of a pagan, as soon as he reaches the [bəloˈri:t] he drops his hands.

Acco rding to Maimonides’s Mishneh Torah: The Book of Knowledge 11.1.1, [bəloˈri:t] refers to the following haircut: ‫ואבדיל אתכם מן העמים לא ילבש במלבוש המיוחד להן ולא יגדל‬ ‫ציצית ראשו כמו ציצית ראשם ולא יגלח מן הצדדין ויניח השער‬ ‫באמצע כמו שהן עושין וזה הנקרא בלורית ולא יגלח השער מכנגד פניו‬ ‫מאזן לאזן ויניח הפרע מלאחריו כדרך שעושין הן ולא יבנה מקומות‬ ‫כבנין היכלות של עכו"ם כדי שיכנסו בהן רבים כמו שהן עושין וכל‬ .‫העושה אחת מאלו וכיוצא בהן לוקה‬ And I have set you apart from the nations’ [cf. Leviticus 20:26]: He shall not put on a garment like that specially worn by them [ . . . ], nor let the lock of his hair grow in the way they do. Thus, he shall not cut the hair of the head at the sides, leaving the hair in the center untou ched a s they do –​ this is called [bəloˈri:t]. (see Hyamson 1965: 78b)

Thus, Mishnaic Hebrew [bəloˈri:t] is ‘Mohawk’, a hairstyle in which the scalp is shaved except for an upright strip of hair that runs across the

134 Revivalistics crown of the head from the forehead to the nape of the neck. But the precise definition is less important than its function as a distinctive marker of the pagan. Consider the following drashot (interpretations): ,‫ אלו ואלו ערלים‬,"‫"או הנסה אלהים לבוא לקחת לו גוי מקרב גוי וגוי‬ ‫ אלו לובשי כלאים ואלו‬,‫אלו מגדלי בלורית ואלו מגדלי בלורית‬ .‫לובשי כלאים‬ Or has any God ventured to go and take for himself one nation (‫גוי‬ [goj]) from the midst of another nation? (‫[ גוי‬goj])’ (Deuteronomy 4:34 ): Bot h these and those were uncircumcised; those grew [bəloˈ ri:t] and these grew [bəloˈri:t]; those wore garments of mingled fabric and these wore garments of mingled fabric. (Leviticus Rabba 23.2, cf. Slotki 1977: 292)

In d escribing Israel’s exodus from Egypt, Deuteronomy speaks of the departure of ‘one nation from the midst of another nation’, using the word ‫[ גוי‬goj] for Israel and Egypt alike. The linguistic equation of Israel and Egypt suggests to the interpreter that the Israelites had lost t heir distinctive identity and adopted that of their hosts. To p rove t he point, the interpreter cites a number of characteristics which are normally associated with the pagans but which have been adopted by the Israelites: both are uncircumcised, both wear garm ents o f mingled fabric, and both have grown a [bəloˈri:t]. Similarly: .‫שה ְּבלו ִֹרית‬ ׂ ֶ ֹ ‫הַמסַ ּ ֵפר קוֹמֵ י וְ הָ עו‬ ְ ,‫אֵ לּ ּו ְדבָ ִרים אֲ סו ִּרים ִמ ּ ְפנֵי ַד ְרכֵ י הָ אֱמו ִֹרי‬ ʔlw dbrym ʔswrym mpny drky hʔmwry, hmspr qwmy whʕwśh blwryt These things are prohibited because they savour of heathen practices [the way of the Emorites]: to trim the front of the hair and to grow a [bəloˈri:t]. (Deuteronomy Rabbah 2.18, see Rabinowitz 1977: 44)

In Israeli, not only does ‫ בלורית‬blorít lose its meaning as the marker of the pagan as opposed to the Jew, but it also becomes one of the defining characteristics of the Sabra, the ‘new Jew’, characterized by ‘forelock, hair above the forehead’. [Note: Sabra ‘prickly pear’ (widespread

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  135 in Israel)  —​cf. ‫ צבר‬tsabar—​is a nickname for native Israelis, allegedly thorny on the outside and sweet inside. This is analogous to the use of the word kiwi to denote a New Zealander, not after the delicious fruit but rather after the nocturnal, wingless bird which has a long neck and stout legs.] Thus, in Naomi Shemer’s classic song about two young men from the same village, who march through life in parallel until one is killed in battle: ‫ אותה בלורית שיער‬,‫ אותה קומה‬,‫אנחנו שנינו מאותו הכפר‬ anákhnu shnénu meotó akfár, otá komá, otá blorít seár We are both from the same village, the same height, the same blorít of hair

Israeli blorít also appears in Hayim Guri’s poem ‘Camaraderie’ (‫הרעות‬ hareút), a paean to the fallen fighters of the Palmach brigade: ‫ את יפי הבלורית והתואר‬,‫ונזכור את כולם‬ venizkór et kulám, et yeféy ablorít veatóar We sha ll remember them all, they of the beautiful blorít and countenance

And similarly, in Haim Hefer’s portrait of the Palmach fighter Dudu, who is also fated to die: ‫ היתה לו בת צחוק בעיניים‬,‫היתה לו בלורית מקורזלת שיער‬ aytá lo blorít mekurzélet seár, aytá lo bat tskhók baenáim He had a curly blorít, he had laughing eyes.

Almog (2003), characterizes blorít as the hairstyle of the mythical Sabra. This is the ultimate ideological secularization: the Mishnaic marker of otherness is appropriated by the Sabra warrior: the new Jew is ultimately a pagan.

136 Revivalistics Import antly for maximus in minimīs, the fractal nature of lexicologi cal research: blorít demonstrates the two key negations in Zionism: the negation of religion (The 'new Jew' is ultimately a pagan) and the negation of Diaspora. (The Sabra is totally different from the diasporic Jew.) (36) ‫[ עמל‬ʕåˈmål] → amál.

Bibl ical Hebrew ‫[ עמל‬ʕåˈmål] is generally negative. Jeremiah (20:18) asks: ‘Why did I ever issue from the womb, to see misery [ʕåˈmål] and woe?’. The Psalmist asserts that, though the wicked man thi nks God is oblivious to what happens in the world, ‘You do look! You take note of mischief [ʕåˈmål] and vexation!’ (Psalms 10:14). Habakkuk (1:13) speaks of God as one ‘whose eyes are too pure to look upon evil, who cannot countenance wrongdoing [ʕåˈmål]’. There are a number of verses—​albeit strikingly few—​in which the word appears to mean ‘hard work, labour’, but there too the meaning is consistently negative. Consider Ecclesiastes 2:11: ‫שו ֹת; וְ ִה ּנֵה הַ כּ ֹל‬ ׂ ‫שעָ ַ מלְ ִּתי ַל ֲע‬ ֶ ׁ ,‫ וּבֶ עָ מָ ל‬,‫ש ּו י ַָדי‬ ׂ ָ‫שע‬ ֶ ׁ ‫שי‬ ׂ ַ ‫​מַ ֲע‬-‫ ְּבכָ ל‬,‫ִיתי אֲ נִי‬ ִ ‫וּפָ נ‬ .‫ש מֶ ׁש‬ ָ ּׁ ַ‫ וְ אֵ ין י ְִתרו ֹן ּ ַתחַ ת ה‬, ַ‫הֶ בֶ ל ו ְּרעוּת רוּח‬ wpnyty ʔny, bkl, mʕśy ydy, wbʕ ml, ʃʕmlty lʕśwt; whnh hkl hbl wrʕwt rwħ, wʔyn ytrwn tħt hʃmʃ. Then I considered all that my ha nds had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and again, all was vanity and a chasing after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.

In Mi shnaic Hebrew, the narrower sense of ‘labour’ becomes more pronou nced, as in the following st atement from Mishnah, Tractate Avot 2.14: .‫ש ּ ָת ׁ ִשיב לְאֶ ּ ִפיקו ֹרו ֹס‬ ֶ ּׁ ‫ וְ ַדע מַ ה‬,‫שקוּד לִ לְ מ ֹד ּתו ָֹרה‬ ָ ׁ ‫ הֱ וֵי‬,‫ַר ִּבי אֶ לְ עָ זָר אוֹמֵ ר‬ ‫ְש ּלֶם ל ְָך ְׂשכַ ר‬ ַ ׁ ‫ש ּי‬ ֶ ׁ ‫ וְ נֶאֱמָ ן הוּא בַ עַ ל ְמלַאכְ ְּת ָך‬.‫וְ ַדע לִ פְ נֵי ִמי אַ ּ ָתה עָמֵ ל‬ .‫ּ ְפעֻ ּלָתֶ ְך‬ rby ʔlʕzr ʔwmr, hwy ʃqwd llmd twrh, wdʕ mh ʃtʃyb lʔpyqwrws. wdʕ lpny my ʔth ʕml. wnʔmn hwʔ bʕl mlʔktk ʃyʃlm lk śkr pʕltk

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  137 Rabbi Elazar says: be diligent in the study of Torah and know the proper response to a heretic [ʔɛppi:ˈqo:ro:s], and know before whom you labour [ʕåˈmel], and the supervisor is reliable –​ he will pay you the wages of your actions.

Her e too, however, the sense is largely negative: [ʕåˈmål] is regularly paired with ‫ˈ[ יגע‬jɛgaʕ] ‘exertion, tiring toil’. Man is sentenced to [ʕåˈmål] and can only redeem this state of affairs by labouring in Torah. Socialist Zionism, however, strips the term of its negative connotations, and it comes to mean ‘productive work, labour’, often in an unambiguously positive sense as in the following toponyms: • ‫ תל עמל‬tel amál was the name of a kibbutz (the first of the so-​called khom á umigdál settlements), established in 1936, today called Nir David. • ‫ נוה עמל‬nevé amál is a neighbourhood in Herzeliyah. • ‫ קרית עמל‬kiryát amál is a settlement near Tiv‘on. Amál is also the name of a national network of technical and vocational schools. In the reflexive form, amál, is something that people can an d should impose on themselves for their health and well-​ being: ‫ התעמלות‬hitamlút means ‘physical exercise’. The shift in meaning is particularly marked in the appropriation of the p hrase ‫[ אדם לעמל יולד‬ʔåˈdåm ləʕåˈmål ju:lˈlåd] ‘Man was born into (or: to do) [ʕåˈmål]’. In the book of Job (5:6-​7), this sentence stands as an accusation of the inherent wickedness of mankind: ‫כי לא יצא מעפר און‬ ‫ומאדמה לא יצמח עמל‬ ‫כי אדם לעמל יולד‬ ky lʔ yşʔ mʕpr ʔwn wmʔdmh lʔ yśmħ ʕml ky ʔdm lʕml ywld Evil does not grow out of the soil Nor does mischief spring from the ground For man was born to do mischief [ʕåˈmål].

138 Revivalistics The negative force of [ʕåˈmål] is clear from the parallel with ‫און‬ [ˈʔåwɛn] ‘evil’, so the statement—which is made by Elifaz the Temanite, not Job—​stands as a pessimistic assessment of the human condition. But in the language of Socialist Zionism, this very phrase is employed as a ffirmation that humanity finds its fulfilment in labour. Turning the semantic, etymological truth upside down, an Israeli who reads Job 5:7 is very likely to understand it as ‘man was born to do productive work’. It is important to note that Arabic, where √ʕml means ‘to work’ might have facilitated this semantic choice in Israeli. (37) ‫[ הגשמה‬hagʃåˈmå] → agshamá.

The word [hagʃåˈmå] enters Hebrew in the Middle Ages under the influence of Arabic. It is part of the vocabulary of medieval philosophy, and one of the foreign words in Yehudah Ibn Tibbon’s list of lexical innovations appended to his Hebrew translation of Maimonides’ The Guide of the Perplexed, a philosophical work—​written in Arabic—​harmonizing and differentiating Aristotelian philosophy and Jewish theology. Medieval Hebrew [hagʃåˈmå] refers to the attribution of a material reality to God, perhaps the most severe philosophical and theological error possible in this tradition, one that Maimonides addresses in the opening words of the Guide: ,‫כבר חשבו בני אדם כי צלם בלשון העברי יורה על תמונת הדבר ותארו‬ .‫והביא זה אל הגשמה גמורה‬ kbr ħʃbw bny ʔdm ky şlm blʃwn hʕbry ywrh ʕl tmwnt hdbr wtʔrw, whbyʔ zh ʔl hgʃmh gmwrh. People have thought that in the Hebrew language image [ˈsˁɛlɛm] denotes the shape and configuration of a thing. This supposition led them to the pure doctrine of the corporeality of God [hagʃåˈmå].

Ultimately, the negativity of the word derives from a negative valorization of materiality as such: the ultimate good (God) lies beyond the material world, and any attempt to conceive of this good in terms drawn from lived human experience constitutes a grave philosophical and theological error.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  139 In Zionist discourse, however, agshamá is ideologically positiv e, referring to the immanent physical realization of ideological ideals (usually settlement), [Note: on the shift toward an ‘earthly’ reinterpretation of Jewish history in Zionist thought (and Eastern European Haskalah), see Luz (1987)] for example moving from the city to a cooperative agricultural settlement, a kibbutz. Undoubtedly, it is this sense—​rather than the Maimonidean—​that is alluded to by the toponym ‫ רמת מגשימים‬ramát magshimím, lit. ‘Magshimím Heights’, a moshav in the Golan Heights, as well as by the Magshimím Zionist youth movement. Magshimím are the realizers of Zionist ideology. Note that there were pre-​Zionist trends towards revaluating the term [hagʃåˈmå], particularly in Hasidism. In this case, Zionism sided with and radicalized a pre-​existent sense of the word. The semantic shift—​ which indicates a break with the Mishnaic sense—​may have already been evident in Yiddish or literary Hebrew. It is significant to realize that most often it is the case that the marked Yiddish meanings—​rather than the classical senses—​were adopted by Israeli speakers. This general process, however, was often subconscious—​as opposed to most cases of ideological secularization discussed here. (38) ‫[ בית העם‬be:t håˈʕåm] → bet aám.

The phrase [be:t håˈʕåm] ‘house:CONSTRUCT DEFINITE-nation’, i.e. ‘the house of the people’, occurs in the Old Testament once (Jeremiah 39:8), where it is contrasted with the ‫[ בית המלך‬be:t hamˈmɛlɛkh] ‘house:CONSTRUCT definite-​king’, i.e. ‘the king’s house’: ‫​חֹמו ֹת‬-‫ש ְרפ ּו הַ ּ ַכ ְׂשדִּ ים ָּבאֵ ׁש; וְ אֶ ת‬ ׂ ָ ,‫ ּ ֵ​בית הָ עָ ם‬-‫ ּ ֵ​בית הַ ּ ֶמל ְֶך וְ אֶ ת‬.ּ‫ נָתָ צו‬,‫ּש ַלִם‬ ָ ׁ ‫יְרו‬ wʔt byt hmlk wʔt byt, hʕm, śrpw hkśdym bʔʃ; wʔt ħmwt yrwʃlm, ntşw. And the Chaldeans burned t he king’s house, and the house of the people, with fire, and broke down the walls of Jerusalem.

In the Babylonian Talmud (Sabbath 32a), the term is part of a pejorative discussion of unlearned Jews, ‫עמי הארצות‬, the plural of ‫עם הארץ‬ [ʕam håˈʔårɛsˁ]:

140 Revivalistics ‫תניא ר' ישמעאל בן אלעזר אומר בעון שני דברים עמי הארצות‬ ‫על שקורין לארון הקודש ארנא ועל שקורין לבית הכנסת‬ :‫מתים‬ .‫בית עם‬ tnyʔ r’ yʃmʕʔl bn ʔlʕzr ʔwmr bʕwn ʃny dbrym ʕmy hʔrşwt mtym: ʕl ʃqwryn lʔrwn hqwdʃ ʔrnʔ wʕl ʃqwryn lbyt hknst byt ʕm. Rabbi Ishmael the son of Elazar teaches: the unlearned Jews [‫עמי‬ ‫ ]הארצות‬die on account of two things: that they call the Torah ark ‘the ark’ and they call the synagogue ‘the house of the people [‫’]בית העם‬.

What, one might ask, is so terrible about calling the synagogue by that name? Rashi explains that ‘This is a derogatory term suggesting that everyone congregates there’. In other words, the term [be:t håˈʕåm] marks the speaker as part of the unlearned, the antithesis of the rabbinic intellectual élite. This is such a derogatory term for the synagogue that employing it results in the death of the speaker. When Zionist settlements—​with their strong ideological commitment to populism—​established cultural centres, they called them bet aám, taking on and trans valuing the role of the non-​scholastic and non-​rabbinic [ʕam håˈʔårɛsˁ] (see ‘A Song of Praise to ‘amey ha-​’aretz’ by Zalman Schneur, 1886–​1959, cited in Luz 1987: 382). (39) ‫[ חלוני‬ħillo:ˈni] → ‫ חילוני‬khiloní

The priestly literature in the Old Testament draws a sharp distinction between the priest and the non-​priest, so much so that there is a technical term for the non-​priest: ‫[ זר‬zår]. Thus we find: ‘No lay person [zår] shall eat of the sacred donations’ (Leviticus 22:10); ‘If a priest’s daug hter marries a layma n [zår ] . . .’ (Leviticus 22 :12); ‘When the Tabernacle is to be pitched, the Levites shall set it up; any outsider [zår] who encroaches shall be put to death’ (Numbers 1:51). In Onqelos’s Aramaic translation of these verses, Biblical Hebrew [zår] is consistently replaced by ‫[ חלוני‬ħillo:ˈni]. Th e latter is t he basi s of Isr aeli ‫ חילוני‬khiloní ‘secular’. The seman tic shift is telling a nd, to an extent, emblematic: while the Aramaic word is defined negatively, as the individual who is not a priest and does not have the rights of a priest, Israeli khiloní assumes

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  141 a p ositive cultural c ontent or Weltanschauung (at least in the circles that adopted this new meaning), one centred around humanity rather than God. It is worth noting that Israeli khiloní was coined by Joseph Klausner, a scholar intimately involved in the establishment of an anti-​orthodox counter-​history, primarily in his attempt to ‘redeem’ two Jews marginalized by rabbinic Judaism: Spinoza and Jesus. In a speech Klausner del ivered at Mt Scopus in 1927, he addressed the excommunicated philosopher Spinoza saying ‘You are our brother! You are our brother! You are our brother!’. (40) ‫[ תרבות‬tarˈbu:t] → tarbút

A biblical hapax legomenon, [tarˈbu:t] appears in Numbers 32:14 in the phrase ‫[ תרבות אנשים חטאים‬tarˈbu:t ʔǎnåˈʃi:m ħatˁtˁåˈʔi:m] ‘a breed of sinful men’, with the root ‫√ רבה‬rbh (originally ‫√ רבי‬rby) being understood as referring to the group that was ‘raised’ in a certain manner. In Rabbinic literature it appears almost exclusively in the phrase ‫תרבות‬ ‫[ רעה‬ta rˈbu :t råˈʕå] ‘bad rearing/​education’ (e.g. Mishnah, Tractate Niddah 10.8; Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Hagigah 15a). In Israeli, the valence of tarbút changes and it becomes ‘culture’ in the sense of Bildung.

(41) ‫[ תל אביב‬tel ʔåˈbhi:bh] → tel avív.

It is often said that the name Tel-​Aviv, ‘hill:CONSTRUCT spring’, i.e. ‘Hill of Spring’, is a juxtaposition of the old (the ancient tel) with the new, an allusion to Herzl’s utopian Altneuland, which was translated as Tel-​Aviv by Nahum Sokolov. In light of the name’s biblical precedent, both Sokolov’s translation and the choice of this name for the ‘first Hebrew city’ are striking. It appears in the Old Testament only once, in Ezekiel 3:15. Ezekiel, who prophesied in Babylon after the fall of the first temple, has just heard God’s call to speak to Israel, and a mighty wind (or spirit) carries him away: And I came to the exile, to Tel Aviv [ʔel haggo:ˈlå tel ʔåˈbhi:bh] those who settled by the river Chebar [kəˈbhår] . . .

It is important to note that Biblical Hebrew [haggo:ˈlå] most likely referred to ‘exile community’ rather than ‘the exile’. The relevant

142 Revivalistics issue, however, is how the phrase was understood by those who associated this Babylonian location with the Israeli city. The precise meaning of this transvaluation seems to be that Zionism would take an explicitly exilic location [haggo:ˈlå tel ʔåˈbhi:bh] ‘the exile, Tel Aviv’ and turn it into the centre of Jewish national revival, forcefully reversing the biblical association of Tel Aviv with exile.

3.4.8  Ameliorative Recycling of Biblical Names: Using Deep-​Rooted Hebrew Forms, Ignoring Their Original Negative Associations Extreme amelioration is also apparent in Zionist re-​appropriation of anthroponyms of biblical figures that are disparaged by the Old Testament or later rabbinic tradition. (42) ‫[ רחבעם‬rəħabhˈʕåm] → rekhavám (Rehavam)

Co nsider ‫[ רחבעם‬rəħabhˈʕåm] ‘Rehoboam’, Solomon’s son, best known for his draconian taxes and impositions on the populace: ‫אבי יסר אתכם בשוטים ואני איסר אתכם בעקרבים‬ ʔby ysr ʔtkm bʃwţym wʔny ʔysr ʔtkm bʕqrbym My father flogged you with whips, but I will flog you with scorpions. (I Kings 12:14)

Ind eed, these policies (at least according to the biblical narrative) con tribut ed to the split of Israel into two kingdoms: Israel in the north, and Judea in the south. For obvious reasons, Rehoboam has not been a popular name in traditional Jewish circles, but it has enjoyed a renaissance as a name for Israeli boys—​cf. Rehavam Ze’evi (nicknamed Gandhi—​not because of his politics but because on one occasion he looked like skinny Mahatma Gandhi), an Israeli general, pol iticia n, and his torian who founded the right-wi ng nationalist Moledet party.

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  143 (43) ‫[ עמרי‬ʕomˈri:] → omrí

The example of ‘Omri is even more dramatic. A king of the northern kingdom of Israel, the Book of Kings recounts that ‘Omri did what was displeas ing to the Lord; he was worse than all who preceded him’ (1 Kings 16:25), a damning appraisal by all accounts. Nonetheless, some Israeli speakers have chosen to name their sons Omri, consider Omri Sharon ( 1964–), the son of the former Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon and himself a former member of the Likud party in the Knesset. (44) ‫[ ענת‬ʕǎˈnåt] → anát

Hebrew ‫[ ענת‬ʕǎˈnåt] ‘Anat’ was a bloodthirsty Canaanite goddess who slew her enemies and made herself a belt of their heads and hands. The great popularity of Anat as an Israeli girl’s name is undoubtedly not in the spirit of the Old Testament. Names such as Rehavam, Omri and Anat (note also the Semitic pharyngeal gulp [ʕ] in all the three—​even though unpronounced in Israeli), which—​as well as Hagar, Shamgar, Nimrod, and many others—​represent a cultural appropriation of biblical names that baldly undermines their (often explicit) biblical axiology. The names maintain a vaguely biblical—​and thus authentic, desirable—​sense (Sinn), but lose their biblical reference (Bedeutung). The material is biblical but the connotations are not. Though the differences are obvious, the use of the Bible may be compared to what Schwartz (1995: 38) calls the ‘talismanic and evocative’ use of Hebrew in post-​70 ad. Jewish Diaspora, inasmuch as it is not the biblical meaning that generates these names (and which may be quite unknown to, e.g. parents naming their daughters Anat), but their biblical feel. They serve to connect the bearer of the name with a vague and ill-​defined biblical ‘heritage’, the precise details of which are much less significant. A similar phenomenon is the return of Canaanite divinities such as Yam (popular among kibbutz children), Shákhar and Réshsef as first names for Israeli children. To be sure, there is no cultural appropriation intended here; no conscious desire to reclaim a Canaanite identity. Still, the renewal of these names—​meaning ‘sea’, ‘dawn’, and ‘flame’ respectively—​may be a reflection of a deep affinity between the explicit identification of nature and the divine in Canaanite mythology, on the one hand, and the nature-​worship that is part of the more Romantic strains of Jewish nationalism, on the other.

144 Revivalistics

3.4.9  Trivialization (‘Israelis Have No God’) (45) ‫[ תחתונים‬taħto:ˈni:m] → takhtoním

In a n umber of instances the theological sense of a word is done away with by turning the word into a colloquial term. Thus Mishnaic Hebrew ‫[ תחתונים‬taħto:ˈni:m] designates the material world, literally ‘those below’, as opposed to the heavenly or supernal world, the latter being the ‫[ עליונים‬ʕɛljo:ˈni:m]. Genesis Rabba, for example, discusses at lengt h whether, in the process of creation, God first created the [ʕɛljo:ˈni:m], the supernal world, and then the [taħto:ˈni:m], the material world, or vice versa (Bereshit Rabba section 2; vol. 1, p. 15 in the Theodor-​Albeck edition). In Israeli, however, takhtoním means ‘underwear, underpants’ (‘those below’). This is a marked re-​semantization inasmuch as one would expect the word for ‘underwears’ to be in the dual form, in analogy with ‫ מכנסיים‬mikhnasáim ‘trousers, pants’. The semantic shift is particularly jarring considering that the term is perhaps best known from a mid­ rashic statement that played an important role in later Hasidic thought, namely that the divine presence originally resided in the material world (but took refuge in the heavens after Adam’s sin): ‫עיקר שכינה בתחתונים‬ (Israel i : ikár shkhiná b atakhtoním) ‘originally the Divine Presence resided in the lower realm,’ i.e. in the [taħto:ˈni:m]. An internet search of the Hebrew phrase ‫ קרע את התחתונים‬Israeli kará et atakhtoním ‘t ore [or: parted] the takhtoním’ will yield two types of sites: • religious sites discussing Rashi’s statement (commentary on Deuteronomy 4:35): ‫כש נ תן הקב"ה את התורה פתח להם שבעה רקיעים וכשם שקרע את‬ ‫העליונים כך קרע את התחתונים‬ kʃntn hqb”h ʔt htwrh ptħ lhm ʃbʕh rqyʕym wkʃm ʃqrʕ ʔt hʕlywnym kk qrʕ ʔt htħtwnym When the Holy One, blessed be He, gave the Torah, He opened for them th e seven heavens. And just as he tore [or: split] the upper regions [ʕɛljo:ˈni:m], so too he tore [or: parted] the lower regions [taħto:ˈni:m].

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  145 • Israeli erotica or pornography sites, where takhtoním appears in its Israeli sense. The juxtaposition of the religious and the pornographic websites on the same page of results represents a striking manifestation of the distance this word has traversed and of the willingness of Israeli to thumb its nose at the values of the earlier strata of Hebrew. (46) )‫[ חנות (פתוחה‬ħǎˈnu:t (pətu:ˈħå)] → khanút (ptukhá)

Both Mishnaic [ħǎˈnu:t] and Israeli khanút means ‘a shop, a store’. In the Mishnah, Tractate Avot 3.16, Rabbi Akiva uses the term in a theological metaphor: .‫ וְ הַ ָּיד כּ ו ֹתֶ בֶ ת‬, ַ‫ וְ הַ ּ ִפנְקָ ס פָּ תוּח‬,‫ וְ הַ חֶ ְנ ָונִי מַ ִ ּקיף‬,‫הַ חֲ נוּת ּ ְפתוּחָ ה‬ hħnwt ptwħh, whħnwny mqyp, whpnqs ptwħ, whyd kwtbt The shop stands open (‫[ החנות פתוחה‬haħǎˈnu:t pətu:ˈħå]) and the shopk e eper gives credit and the account-​book lies open and the hand writes.

That is, God keeps open account books in which one’s debits and credits are listed. The opening phrase, ‫[ החנות פתוחה‬haħǎˈnu:t pətu:ˈħå] is a p propriated in a distinctly non-​theological colloquial sense in Israeli: ‘the zipper is open’.

3.4.10  Allusion Allusion to religious concepts is a very effective rhetorical device, often used by politicians. Consider George W. Bush’s use of axis of evil or Osama Bin Laden’s use of crusade. Ophir (2001) claims that Israeli nationalists use interpretation of holy texts and rituals to justify discrimination, segregation, and overpowering of the Palestinian people. Through allusion, in which the new meaning is heir to the older (while at the same time displacing it), socialist Zionists shrewdly draw on earlier linguistic strata without legitimizing the exilic and religious sensibilities they encode. [Note: Don-​Yehia (1980) discusses Socialist Zionism’s appropriation of a number of traditional Jewish

146 Revivalistics terms. His focus is more on the overtly ideological use of the terminology of, e.g., redemption, covenant, and sacrifice.] Consider the following: (47) ‫[ מי ימלל גבורות יהוה‬mi: yəmalˈlel gəbhu:ˈro:t YHWH] → ‫מי ימלל גבורות‬ ‫ ישראל‬mi yemalél gvurót israél

Consider the shift from the religious cry of the Psalmist (Psalms 106:2) ‫[ מי ימלל גבורות יהוה‬mi: yəmalˈlel gəbhu:ˈro:t YHWH] ‘Who can tell the mighty acts of the Lord’ to the lyrics of Menashe Rabina’s popular Hanukkah song: ‫ מי ימלל גבורות ישראל‬mi yemalél gvurót israél ‘Who can tell the mighty acts of Israel’. By replacing ‘the mighty acts of the Lord ’ with ‘the mighty acts of Israel’, the songwriter is consciously seeking to shift the focus from the worship of the divine to the worship of the national collective. This model of appropriation of classical Hebrew sources bespeaks a Z i onist ambivalence toward earlier strata of Hebrew. The clear allusion to the words of the Psalmist indicates an explicit desire to link the nationalist song to an ancient poetic model. At the same time, the allusion to Psalm 106:2 involves an important shift: praise of God is replaced by the glorification of the nation of Israel. Indeed, the allusion serves to highlight the place of Israel—​that is, of the nationalist ideal—​as heir to the religious ideal regnant in the Psalms. (48) ‫[ יזכור אלהים‬jizˈko:r ʔɛloˈhi:m] → ‫ יזכור עם ישראל‬izkór am israél

Another example of such supersessionist secularization (apologies for the sibilant tongue twister) is found in the standard memorial ceremony of the Israel Defence Forces (and other state institutions), that opens with the words ‫ יזכור עם ישראל‬izkór am israél ‘Let the People of I sra el remember’—​followed by an exaltation of the fallen soldiers. This formula, which was composed by the Zionist leader Berl Katzenelson, is based on the Medieval Yizkor liturgy, that opens ‫יזכור‬ ‫[ אלהים‬jizˈko:r ʔɛloˈhi:m] ‘Let the Lord remember’—​often followed by a description of religious martyrs (cf. Azaryahu 1995).

(49) ‫] תורה ועבודה‬to:ˈrå waʕǎbho:ˈdå] → torá veavodá

The religious Zionist youth movement, B’nei Akiva, lit. ‘Akiva’s sons’, has ‫ תורה ועבודה‬torá veavodá as it s motto, an allusion to the well-​ known Mishnaic statement from Tractate Avot 1.2:

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  147 ‫ על העבודה ועל‬, ‫על התורה‬ :‫העולם עומד‬ ‫גמילות חסדים‬

‫ע ל שלושה דברים‬

ʕl ʃlwʃh dbrym hʕwlm ʕwmd: ʕl htwrh, ʕl hʕbwdh wʕl gmylwt ħsdym On three things the world is sustained: on the Torah [to:ˈrå], on the (Temple) service [ʕǎbho:ˈdå] and on deeds of loving kindness.

Note, however, that the two terms, torá and avodá, refer in Israeli to the study of Torah and to labour as a Socialist value. (50) ‫ על הנשק ועל החשק‬,‫ על העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים → על המשק‬,‫על התורה‬ ʕl htwrh, ʕl hʕbwdh wʕl gmylwt ħsdym → al haméshek, al hanéshek veal hakhéshek

In Moshe Shamir’s play—​adapted from his novel of the same name ‫ ה וא הלך בשדות‬u alákh basadót ‘He Walked Through the Fields’—​ the young prototypical Sabra protagonist, Uri, is taught the following from his rugged platoon commander: .‫ על הנשק ועל החשק‬,‫על המשק‬ :‫על שלושה דברים העולם עומד‬ al shloshá dvarím aolám oméd: al améshek, al anéshek veàl akhéshek



The world is sustained by three things: the agricultural plot (‫המשק‬ a méshek), the weapon (‫ הנשק‬anéshek) and sexual desire (‫החשק‬ akhéshek). (Act 1, Scene 18, p. 53)

This statement parodies the famous Mishnaic statement (see Item 49), replacing the values of ‘torah, Temple service and deeds of loving kindness’ with a trio that emphasizes the agricultural, military, and sexual ethos of Zionism. But, unlike exchanging ‘who can tell the mighty acts of Israel’ for ‘who can tell the mighty acts of the Lord’, the lofty, sublime register of the earlier phrase is not maintained. Similarly, whereas the B’nei Akiva motto, torá veavodá, alludes to the Mishnaic statement as a way of legitimizing its

148 Revivalistics own (radically new) ideology, here, quite to the contrary, the irreverent Sabra’s statement is a parody of the rabbinic dictum, not its heir. Note that this is the position of the character, not necessarily of Shamir himself. The platoon leader gets his parody wrong by suggesting that he is making fun of a dictum that appears ‘in the Torah’ when, in fact, it is one of the best known statements in the Mishnah. Here Shamir may be subtly expressing his own scorn for the derisive attitude of the Sabra. (51) ‫[ ונתתי את שמיכם כברזל ואת ארצכם כנחשה‬wənåtatˈti: ʔɛt ʃəme:ˈkhɛm kabbarˈzɛl wəˈʔɛt ʔarsˁəˈkhɛm kannəħuˈʃå] Con sider the sentence written beneath a portrait of a pilot standing in front of a jet fighter, in a recruitment poster hanging in some Israeli air force bases: ‫ונתתי את שמיכם כברזל ואת ארצכם כנחשה‬. The Hebrew pronunciation was [wənåtatˈti: ʔɛt ʃəme:ˈkhɛm kabbarˈzɛl wəˈʔɛt ʔarsˁəˈkhɛm kannəħuˈʃå] but in Israeli it would be pronounced venatáti et shmekhém kebarzél veét artsekhém kenekhushá/​kenekhóshet. The literal meaning of this high-​register sentence is ‘I will make your skies like iron and your earth like copper’, implying that the Israeli Air Force makes the skies as impenetrable as iron to its enemies. This use of Leviticus 26:19 as a recruitment slogan is remarkable considering its original meaning:



-​ ‫שבַ ע עַ ל‬ ֶ ׁ ,‫וְ יָסַ פְ ִּתי לְ י ְַּס ָרה אֶ ְתכֶ ם‬ :‫ לִ י‬,ּ‫​ל ֹא ִת ׁ ְש ְמעו‬-​-‫​אֵ ּלֶה‬-‫​עַ ד‬​-‫ וְ אֶ ת‬,‫ ׁ ְ​ש מֵ יכֶ ם ּ ַכ ַּב ְרזֶל‬-‫​ ְּגאו ֹן עֻ ז ְּכֶ ם; וְ נ ַָת ִּתי אֶ ת‬-‫ אֶ ת‬,‫וְשבַ ְר ִּתי‬ ָ ׁ .‫חַ ּט ֹאתֵ יכֶ ם‬ ‫ וְ עֵ ץ‬,‫​יְב ּול ָּה‬-‫ אֶ ת‬,‫ ִ​ת ּ ֵתן אַ ְרצְ כֶ ם‬-‫ כּ ֹחֲ כֶ ם; וְ ל ֹא‬,‫ וְ תַ ם ל ִָריק‬.‫שה‬ ָ ׁ ֻ‫אַ ְרצְ כֶ ם ּ ַכ ּנְח‬ .ֹ ‫ ל ֹא י ּ ִֵתן ּ ִפ ְריו‬,‫הָ אָ ֶרץ‬ And if, for all that, you do not obey Me, I will go on to discipline you sevenfold for your sins, and I will break your proud glory. I will make your skies like iron and your earth like copper, so that your strength will be spent to no purpose. Your land shall not yield its produce, nor shall the trees of the land yield their fruit. (Leviticus 26:18-​20)

The biblical context is explicitly negative:  the iron sky a sign of drought, the copper land an indication of barrenness—​whilst the air

Defying Religion and Deifying Nationhood  149 force poster suggests military power and fortitude. Clearly, the appropriation of the biblical verse involves a shift in the original meaning. Be that as it may, this shift may simply be due to the graphic designer’s ignorance of the verse’s original meaning. While ignorance is a cultural force in its own right, it is not one of the manipulative forces treated in this chapter. But it is relevant to Gershom Scholem’s 1926 letter to Franz Rosenzweig. (see pp. 122–124 in this volume)

3.5 Concluding Remarks Israeli society is riven. Ironically, as well as being a highly symbolic common language, Israeli—​as aforementioned—​has come to highlight the very absence of a unitary civic culture among citizens who seem increasingly to share only their language. The nexus which allegedly binds all Israelis together is an illusion. The existing continuum between the ultra-​Orthodox and the ultra-​secular does not mitigate the divide, and mutual hostility is apparent in both camps. In line with the prediction made by Gershom Scholem in his letter to Franz Rosenzweig, some ultra-​Orthodox Jews have tried to launch what I call ‘lexical vendetta’:  using secularized terms as dormant agents as a shortcut to religious concepts, thus trying to convince secular Jews to go back to their religious roots (cf. Walzer 1965; and Ravitzky 1993). I would not be surprised if a rabbi talks to a secular Jew and tells him: ‘Oh, you are taking your car for a tikún [fixing], come to me at midnight and I shall show you what a real tikún is like [the process of refining and rehabilitating the materiality of this world].’ The study of Israeli cultural linguistics and socio-​philology may cast light on the dynamics between language, religion, and identity in a land where fierce military battles with external enemies are accompanied by internal Kulturkämpfe.

4 Realistic Prescriptivism The Hebrew Language Academy and the Native Speaker

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who will guard the guards themselves? Iuvenalis, Satirae, vi, 347–​8

4.1  ‘Purifying’ the Israeli Language As in many other languages, in Israeli too there is a common nostalgia of a conservative older generation unhappy with ‘reckless’ changes to the language—​cf. Cameron (1995); Hill (1998); Milroy and Milroy (2012); and Aitchison (2001). However, normativism in Israeli contradicts the usual ‘do not split your infinitives’ model, where there is an attempt to enforce the grammar and pronunciation of an elite social group. Using a ‘do as I say, don’t do as I do’ approach, Ashkenazic Jews (most of them originally native Yiddish-​speakers), who have usually controlled key positions in Israeli society, have urged Israelis to adopt the pronunciation of Sephardic Jews (many of them originally native Arabic-​speakers), who happen to have been socio-​ economically disadvantaged. Politicians, educators, and many laymen are attempting to impose Hebrew grammar on Israeli speech, ignoring the fact—​first observed in Rosén (1952)—​that Israeli has its own grammar, which is very different from that of Hebrew (i.e. normative Hebrew or Classical Hebrew). As aforementioned, although the Hebrew revivalists have engaged in a campaign for linguistic purity, the language the revivalists ‘created’ often mirrors the very cultural differences they sought to erase (cf. mutatis mutandis Frankenstein’s monster). The alleged victory of Hebrew over Yiddish was, in fact, a Pyrrhic one. ‘Victorious’ Hebrew is, after all, partly European at heart. Yiddish and Standard Average European survive beneath Israeli grammar.

Realistic Prescriptivism  151 This chapter implies that it is good to have a language academy when you revive a language—​until the language is fully fledged. When it is fully fledged and not endangered anymore (as is Israeli), then a prescriptive language academy is a waste of time and money.

4.2  The Academy of the Hebrew Language 4.2.1 General Information Brought into being by legislation in 1953 as the supreme institute for ‘Hebrew’, the Academy of the Hebrew Language (known is Israeli as ha-​akadémya l-​a-​lashón ha-​ivrít) is funded by the Ministry of Education, which increasingly suffers from budget cuts. It superseded the (Hebrew) Language Council (váad ha-​lashón (ha-​ivrít)), which was established in 1889—​as a branch of Safá Brurá ‘Clear Language’—​by the symbolic father of Israeli, Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda, and colleagues. As described in its website the Academy, based in Giv’at Ram, Jerusalem, ‘prescribes standards for modern Hebrew grammar, orthography, transliteration [in fact, transcription] and punctuation [vocalization, vowel marking] based upon the study of Hebrew’s historical development’. The Academy’s plenum—​ which holds five or six annual sessions—​consists of twenty-​three members and an additional fifteen academic advisors. These are scholars from the disciplines of languages, linguistics and Jewish studies, as well as accomplished writers (e.g. Amos Oz, 1939–2018) and translators. The Academy’s decisions are binding upon all governmental agencies, including Israel Broadcasting Authority.

4.2.2  Goals and Functions As defined in its constitution, the Academy’s functions are: (1) To investigate and compile the Hebrew lexicon according to its historical strata and layers. (2) To study the structure, history, and offshoots of the Hebrew language. (3) To direct the development of Hebrew in light of its nature [sic], requirements, and potential, and its daily and academic needs by setting its lexicon, grammar, characters, orthography, and transliteration [in fact, transcription].

152 Revivalistics Go al (1)  is wonderf ul as Isra eli is indeed a multi-​layered language (‫שפה‬ ‫ מר ובד ת‬s af á meruvédet). For example, one could say both (a) ‫חשכו עיניו‬ khaskhú enáv (cf. Hebrew [ħåʃˈkhu: ʕeˈnåw]), lit. ‘His eyes became dark’, i.e. ‘He saw blackness (after bad news)’. The latter is rare in Israeli while the former is commonly used, and (b) the aforementioned (§1.9.2) ‫נהיה\נעשׂה לו חושך‬ ‫ בעיניים‬niyá/​naasá lo khóshekh baenáim, lit. ‘Darkness has been made in his eyes’, i.e. ‘He saw blackness (after bad news)’. Whilst khaskhú enáv is Hebrew, niyá lo khóshekh baenáim is a calque of Yiddish ‫ס’איז אים פֿינצטער געוואָרן אין‬ ‫ די אויגן‬siz im fíntstər gevórņ in di óygņ ‘id.’, which might in turn be an adaptation of the very Hebrew ‫[ חשכו עיניו‬ħåʃˈkhu: ʕeˈnåw]. Other minimal pairs such as ‫ עשה דין לעצמו‬asá din leatsmó, lit. ‘made law to himself ’, and ‫לקח את‬ ‫ הח וק לידיים‬lakákh et akhók layadáim, lit. ‘took the law to his hands’, both referring to a person violating the law but the latter being more colloquial, as well as ‫ לילות כימים‬lelót keyamím, lit. ‘nights as days’, vs ‫ מסביב לשעון‬misavív lashaón, lit. ‘round the clock’, both often referring to hard work. However, Goal (3) To direct the development of Hebrew in light of its nature (‫ )לכוון את דרכי התפתחותה של הלשון העברית לפי טבעה‬is intriguing for the following reasons: (a) It is oxymoronic. If the nature of a language is to evolve in a specific direction (cf. Sapir’s ‘drift’ (Sapir 1921), the pattern of change in which the structure of a language shifts in a determinate direction), then why direct it by language policing? (b) It assumes that Israeli is Hebrew tout court, a natural, organic evolution of the language of Isaiah the Biblical prophet. However, I suggest that—​especially in the past—​the Academy forced Hebrew grammar on Israeli.

4.2.3  Day-​to-​Day Work The daily work of the Academy is implemented by several sections: (1) Historical Dictionary Project (2) Scientific Secretariat (‫ מזכירות מדעית‬mazkirút madaít) (3) Computer Section. The Historical Dictionary Project is the research arm of the Academy. It aims to encompass the entire Hebrew lexis throughout its history; that is, to

Realistic Prescriptivism  153 present every Hebrew word in its morphological, semantic, and contextual development from its first appearance in written texts to the present. Shortly after the founding of the Academy in 1953, Naftali Tur-​Sinai,1 the first President of the Academy, renewed the previously suggested idea of creating a historical dictionary of Hebrew. In 1954, the Academy’s plenum placed the dictionary on its agenda, and in 1959, the Historical Dictionary Project got underway following deliberations at the Academy and in scholarly forums. The initial step was to locate all the Hebrew texts—​from the post-​biblical period onward—​in order to create detailed catalogues known as sourcebooks. From the start, Tur-​Sinai decided to implement the use of a computer to process the material, hence the establishment of the computer section. As I see it, the Historical Dictionary Project is the Academy’s most important contribution to Israel. It is the closest Israeli parallel—​albeit under-​ funded—​to the Oxford English Dictionary. The main problem is that since Israeli is axiomatically considered to be Hebrew, some etymologies are flawed as they tend to explain a semantic shift as internal development rather than as multisourced neologization (see Zuckermann 2003, 2004). This is based on both Hebrew roots and so-​called ‘foreign’ lexical items or semantics. Moreover, even if the Academy sometimes acknowledges ‘foreign’ influence, its etymology still starts off from the point of view of contact-​induced change within Hebrew. However, historically, many Israeli words derive from European languages as much as from Hebrew. Thus, hybridization and multiple causation—​rather than contact-​induced change within Hebrew—​ are much more suitable for the description of numerous Israeli neologisms. The following are the functions of the Scientific Secretariat (thus named): (1) Answering queries from the public on a broad variety of Israeli/​ Hebrew linguistic matters, ranging from pronunciation and spelling to suggestions for children’s names. (Currently, one can try their luck and call a single busy Tel Aviv phone number on Monday and Wednesday between 11am and 2pm). (2) Overseeing the work of specialized committees that develop technical terminology for a wide spectrum of professional spheres. Terminology committees established by the Academy and its predecessor, the Language Council, have coined over 100,000 terms. These terms are available to the public in dozens of published dictionaries and lists, as well as through the media (e.g. newspapers). (3) Prescribing standards for Israeli grammar, orthography, transcription, and vocalization—​through additional specialized committees.

154 Revivalistics It is not just ‘Hebrew language’ high-​school students and teachers who make use of the Secretariat’s phone line. Many laymen have been brainwashed into believing that Israelis ‘rape’ their language by speaking ‘bad Hebrew’ which is full of ‘mistakes’. In a website associated with Dr Avshalom Kor—​a famous prescriptive grammarian, who is featured on both radio and TV skits in Israel—​it is claimed that ‘every day the Israeli language is slaughtered [sic] on TV’ (www.lashon.exe.co.il, as of 26 September 2005, currently unavailable). Most importantly, for these laymen, correcting ‘stupid’, slovenly, native Israeli-​speakers is something to take pride in, and a source of cultural capital. These self-​appointed language ‘guardians’ therefore find it hard to digest the Academy’s suggestion that ‘both forms are possible’. They want clear-​cut black-​or-​white, good-​or-​evil answers. The very same ‘guardians’ are often responsible for numerous myths about the Academy. For example, they wrongly believe that the Academy prescribes makrér—​which fits the most common noun-​pattern for appliances—​ rather than the actual mekarér for ‘refrigerator’. Similarly, they allege that the Academy wanted sakh-​rakhók, lit. ‘speaking (third person, masculine, singular) far’—​and thus constituting a calque of the internationalism telephone—​rather than the actual télefon for ‘telephone’. Some have claimed that the Academy produced a decree that one should use the second person feminine plural if there are more women than men among the listeners etc. Such exaggerated myths are actually used to mock the Academy like ‘straw man fallacies’ in the style of The Sun headline Euromythically alleging that the European Union had outlawed excessively-​ bent bananas (4 March 1998, p. 6). The following is the punch-​line last paragraph of an article dated 21 September 2005 in the daily Ha’aretz, written by Daniel Cohen-​Sagi and entitled yesh ód safót khuts meanglít ‘There are Languages Other than English’: It is also desirable in Israel to learn the true nature of expressions whose origins are in English, Yiddish or Arabic. They were swept along, distorted, and ‘stuck on’ to Hebrew, changing it to the point that it is unrecognizable, and becoming part of the vocabulary of the renewed language. Do they serve any good purpose? It is doubtful whether they strengthen Hebrew. In fact, they certainly impoverish it; they crush it. They change the essence of the language, while it still hasn’t fully recovered from the coma it was in during 2000 years of Diaspora.

Realistic Prescriptivism  155 From my interviews with Academy members, I often got the impression that—​ just like these laymen—​they consider Israeli a child who needs nurturing and protection. I often hear the expression hamatsúy eynó ratsúy, lit. ‘The found is not wanted’, i.e. ‘The found is not sound’, ‘The available is undesirable’.

4.2.4 Plenum Dynamics Wit makes its own welcome, and levels all distinctions. No dignity, no learning, no force of character, can make any stand against good wit. (Emerson 1876: 144)

During the seventy-​sixth session of the Academy plenum, on 4 December 19 67, there was a d is cussion of ‫ גלדין‬gladín, the suggested neologism for th e i nterna tio nalis m g elatin—​cf. Israeli ‫ ג’לטין‬dzhelatín, French gélatine, Italian gelatina, Yiddish ‫ זשעלאַטין‬zhelatín, Russian желатин zhelatín, Polish żelatyna and German Gelatine. Eitan opened the discussion, saying: ‘For the name of the material well-​ known in foreign languages, the Committee suggested a Hebrew form ‫גלדין‬ gladín. According to this suggestion, the Hebrew consonant ‫[ ג‬g]‌will replace the foreign ‫[ ’ג‬dʒ], and with the replacement of ‫( ת‬t) with ‫( ד‬d), the word will be linked to the Hebrew root ‫√ גלד‬gld ‘clot [congeal, form a coating, stretch (skin) taut]’. It follows that the verb to gel/​jell will be translated as ‫ הגליד‬higlíd.’ His colleague Shraga Irmay objected, arguing that ‘this method resembles ‫ דילוג רב‬dilúg rav of the end of the Haskalah period’. Maskilic Hebrew ‫דילוג‬ ‫ רב‬dílug rav (pronounced in Poland díləg raf), lit. ‘a big bound’, is a ‘phono-​ semantic matching’ (Zuckermann 2003) of the internationalism telegraph—​ cf. Russian телеграф telegráf and Polish telegraf. Irmay proposed that they remain with ‫ ג’לטין‬dzhelatín ‘gelatin’ and Committee Member Daniel Leibel joined the protest, arguing that ‘the Committee proposal is in the form of manipulation, which was used in the times of the [Hebrew] Language Council. Today we do not manipulate [words] in this way.’ Committee Member David Zvi Banet proclaimed that ‘we ought not to proceed with the method of dilúg rav, because in this way, the level of the terms will deteriorate’. The word ‫ גלדין‬gladín is obviously a phono-​semantic matching, similar to the earlier ‫ גלידה‬glída ‘ice cream’ (cf. Italian gelato), which also uses ‫√ גלד‬gld ‘clot’.

156 Revivalistics So far, one can understand from the discussion that the Academy deems phono-​semantic matches to be ‘second-​class’ neologisms and lexical temptations better avoided. However, Committee Member Shimshon Rosenthal later defended this mechanism, stating: ‘What is wrong with the root ‫דלג‬ √gld? Only that it accidentally has a similar sound in the Romance languages? There is nothing [inherently] flawed in it.’ His colleague, Chaim Rabin then added: ‘If there is a possibility here of determining a Hebrew loan-​translation which is similar to the foreign noun, I see no problem in it. And in my opinion, it is beautiful. Is it forbidden to use a Hebrew root because it accidentally resembles a foreign root?’. As usual, at the end of the discussion there was a vote, the exact results of which were: 12 votes in favour of gladín 7 votes against gladín 7 votes in favour of dzhelatín (gelatin) 11 votes against dzhelatín (gelatin) Accepted: gladín (pp. 19–​20 of Zikhronót 14, 1967)

And so, despite their high ideals, even the Academy purists were seduced by the delectable charms of a multisourced neologism such as gladín. That said, gladín did not gain currency among Israelis, who say dzhelatín or dzhelatína, which leads to the next section.

4.3  Possible Explanations for Failed Neologisms I know most of the dialects of the Asian Turks. I also understand the dialect spoken by you and people like Yakup Kadri. If there’s one dialect I can’t make head or tail of, it’s the dialect of the Turkish Language Society. (Abdülkadir to Falih Atay in the 1930s, cf. Atay 1965, 1969: 478; translation by Lewis 1999: 54, cf. 1997: 26)

It is generally believed to be almost impossible to explain why a neologism does not gain general currency. Torczyner argues, somewhat fatalistically, that ‘luck, on which everything depends, is the deciding force also for the fate of words and expressions in a language’ (Torczyner 1941: 166). A similar view is presented in Ornan’s (1996) The Words Not Taken: A

Realistic Prescriptivism  157 Dictionary of Forgotten Words (Introduction: 7). I believe that one may not be able to give an explanation currently, not because it is impossible a priori but rather because linguists have not yet developed an analysis sophisticated enough for the tension between lexicological prescriptivism and reality. The following are some possible explanations for the failure of so many proposed neologisms by the Academy: 1. The neologism was suggested after the loanword/​foreignism (often internationalism) had already entered the language and become widespread. 2. The neologism is regarded as ridiculous. 3. The neologism has not reached the mass of native speakers, for example it was overlooked by the institutions which were urged by the Academy to use it; or it has not reached the media. 4. The referent of the neologism is alien (non-​Israeli) by nature. 5. The neologism is too close phonetically to the already successful loanword/​ foreignism—​ the speaker is reminded of the loanword/​ foreignism. 6. The neologism is based on a pre-​existent lexical item, which is already highly diffused in its original sense. 7. The neologism is regarded as obscure and is thus initially hard to remember. For more on Reasons 2–​7, see Zuckermann (2003: 165–​72). Here, I would like to elaborate on Reason 1, which is a very widespread one.

4.4  The Academy’s Deliberate Slowness Many neologisms do not catch on because the Academy is intentionally slow in responding to (normative) speakers’ needs. One of the arguments that I have heard in the Academy is: they do not want to write a decree only to discover later that the linguistic need the decree responds to is transient. Consider the following: Shulamith Har-​Even [1930–​2003, leading novelist] (Academy member): It is desirable that the Academy should run a forum for quick consultation. The plenum does not assemble frequently. Therefore we need a body of

158 Revivalistics seven or ten people, that the Secretariat will be able to turn to, consult by phone, and receive an opinion. Moshe Bar-​Asher (President of the Academy):  With all due respect, the Academy does not need to establish an ‘instant academy’. If the question is a weighty one, it should be discussed in the plenum. Until it is discussed in the plenum, there is a tradition of several generations that the respondent gives his reason, his usage and the usage of others. One should not create an academy-​ within-​an-​academy for quick answers. Rather, one has to decide with composure and by serious deliberation. Almost every small question is part of a big question. (Discussion during the 224th session of the Academy plenum, on 29 May 1995, cf. p. 324 of Zikhronót 42, 1998)

A normativist may understand Har-​Even’s concern. Consider the loanwords ‘spa’ and ‘blog’, which have not been given any recommended alternatives despite hours of committee discussions. When/​if the Academy finally agrees on a Hebrew-​descent neologism for these words, it will be too late. Th e lexi cal items ‫ יעפת‬yaéfet and ‫ חמרמורת‬khamarmóret were propo sed by th e A cadem y— ​i n Laméd Leshonkhá 4 (March 1994)—​for ‘j et lag’ a nd ‘hang ov e r ’ respec tively. They failed to gain curr ency despite their creative sophistication, because ‫ ג’טלג‬dzhétleg and ‫הנגאובר‬ hengover were already ensconced in Israeli. The same applies to ‫מדרוג‬ midrúg ‘rating’, which the Academy proposed on 20 November 1995 (cf. Akadém 8: 1, March 1996), hoping it would supersede ‫ רייטינג‬réyting. Consider the following telling exchange between the President of Israel and Gavriel Birenbaum from the Scientific Secretariat of the Academy of the Hebrew Language: Ezer Weizman [1924–​2005, then President of Israel, known for his bluntness and no-​nonsense attitude]: [ . . . ] and this week we had in the north thousands who went to tsímerim [‘B&Bs’ cf. German Zimmer]. This is also a marvellous Hebrew word . . . Gavriel Birenbaum (from the Academy’s Scientific Secretariat): We have a Hebrew term for it: khadréy nófesh [lit. ‘rooms of holiday-​relaxation’]. Ezer Weizman: You are saying khadréy nófesh [which sounds pompous or pretentious to Weizmann], but if you go to rent a khéder nófesh in Metula [a

Realistic Prescriptivism  159 town in northern Israel], they will tell you ‘it’s a pleasure, go to Marj Ayun [a town in southern Lebanon]!’. (Discussion during the 229th session of the Academy plenum, on 27 May 1996, cf. p. 421 of Zikhronót 43, 1998)

4.5  ‘If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them!’: U-​Turn Decisions by the Academy Reading through the Academy proceedings, interviewing its members and conducting research in situ, I  have discovered dozens of examples of U-​turn decisions. I suggest that the Academy has begun submitting to the ‘real world’, accommodating its decrees to the parole of native Israeli-​ speakers, long regarded as ‘reckless’ and ‘lazy’. The following are but a few examples.

4.5.1 Lexis: Lahít A most successful neologism was coined in the 1960s, not by the Academy, bu t r ather by the p op u l ar radio presenter, Moshe Khovav (cf. Si van 19 66:  208 =  19 95: 3 4) , although Rosen (1994: 85) also mentions yet another radio presenter, Rivka Michaeli as a possible co-​coiner. I am referring to ‫ להיט‬lahít ‘hit (popular song)’, which is an etymological hybrid of Hebrew ‫√ להט‬lhţ ‘blaze, fierce heat’ (implying passion and craving) and th e E nglish in terna ti o n alism h it (cf. Contemporary Po lish h it). There could be a slight influence from the intra-​English similarity of heat to hit. Lahít is fitted into the ⌂a⌂í⌂ noun-​pattern (cf. ⌂⌂i⌂ or ⌂e⌂í⌂—​cf. the Academy’s dealing with tsamíg vs tsmíg, shatíl vs shtil) to retain the vowel of English hit:

160 Revivalistics Israel i ‫ להי ט‬lahít prevailed over the following suggestions for filling th is indige no us He brew void, i.e. for replacing the internationalism ‫ שלא גר‬sh lág er ‘hit’—​cf. Yiddish ‫ שלאַגער‬shlágər, German Schlager, Russian шлягер shlyáger, and Polish szlagier (Note: Polish szlagier is now slightly archaic, superseded by contemporary Polish hit—​cf. Polish przebój ‘id.’): a. Saddan provided the shrewd semantic loan ‫ יהלום‬yahalóm, an intra-​ Israeli hybrid of the following two elements: 1. (Biblical Hebrew>>) Israeli ‫ יהלום‬yahalóm ‘diamond’, and sometimes metaphorically ‘any precious matter’—​referring to the success of the song. 2. (Biblical Hebrew>>) Israeli ‫√ הלמ‬hlm ‘(to) hit’, thus calquing the meaning of English hit or German schlagen (the origin of Schlager ‘hit’). b. Tur-​Sinai (the President of the Academy) himself proposed ‫ אשגר‬ashgár, which hybridizes the following: 1. Mish naic Hebrew ‫[ אשגרה‬ʔaʃgåˈrå] ‘flow of words, routi ne expres sion’—​c f. ‫[ אשגרת לשון‬ʔaʃgåˈrat låˈʃo:n] in Talmud Ye rus halmi : (Tal m ud Yerushalmi [Palestinian Talmud]), Megillah Tractate, 73:2. Consider (Medieval Hebrew>>) Israeli ‫ נשתגר‬nishtag ér ‘bec ame com m on/​routine’, which goes back to the same root ‫√ שגר‬ʃgr. Thus, ‫ אשגר‬ashgár is a ‘commonly heard song’. 2. The internationalism ‫ שלאגר‬shláger ‘hit’. c. Isaac Avinery (1964: 168b), a purist, proposed ‫ זמרון‬zimrón, based on (Hebrew>) Israeli ‫ זמר‬zémer ‘singing’ + the diminutive -​on. d. The official Academy neologism—​suggested by Uri Zvi Grünberg (see p. 172 of Zikhronót 7–​8, 1960–​1)—​was ‫ כפתור‬kaftór, lit. ‘button’, which alludes to (Biblical>Mishnaic Hebrew>>) Israeli ‫ כפתור ופרח‬kaftór vaférakh, a fossilized idiomatic exclamation meaning ‘Beautiful!, Marvellous!, First-​class!’, which was adopted in Israeli en bloc and is therefore often pronounced kaftór vaférakh rather than kaftór vepérakh, the latter following the non-​prescriptive Israeli grammar. The Acad emy l ate r gave up and adopte d lahít. Moreover, in leksikón dvír leshipúr halashón (Dvir Lexicon for the Improvement of the Language), Sivan (1985: 79) emphasizes that the ‫( ל‬l) of ‫ להיט‬has schwa, i.e. the word is prono un ced l ehí t. However, i n Lamé d Le shonkhá 169 (1988), the Academy defends lahít and defines it as an exception to the ⌂⌂i⌂ (sometimes ⌂e⌂í⌂)

Realistic Prescriptivism  161 noun-​pattern, implying that it should be pronounced lahít and not lehít. The ‫( ה‬h) is hardly pronounced in Israeli. It is pronounced only in the case of uncommon words, and by some speakers at the beginning of phrases. Indeed, most Israelis pronounce ‫ להיט‬as laít. Note the existence of the Israeli colloquialism ‫ להת׳‬leít, a clipping of ‫ להתראות‬leitraót ‘see you, goodbye, later’. Although some Israelis regard this clipping as a modernism, it had already been mentioned by Persky (1933: 95). This leads to the discussion of U-​turn decisions vis-​à-​vis Israeli morphology.

4.5.2  Morphology: Construct-​State As discussed in §1.2 and §2.4.1, Israeli sometimes uses the Semitic feature known as ‘construct-​state’ (smikhút), in which two nouns are combined, the first being modified or possessed by the second: (1)  ‫מבקר המדינה‬ Mevakér   ha-​mdiná Comptroller   DEFINITE-​state ‘State Comptroller’.

The first noun, which is sometimes called nomen regens ‘governing noun’, is the morphologically marked head. The second noun, referred to as nomen rectum ‘governed noun’ is the morphologically unmarked ‘genitive’. The poi nt re l ev ant to our discussion is that the Academy made intensive orthoepistic efforts to uproot construct-​states in which the form used of th e fi rst n oun is based on the free form rather than taking the special construct-​s tate form. Consider Israeli ‫ פצצה‬ptsatsá ‘bomb’. This free noun has a construct-​state form which is pitsetsát-​. However, most Israelis—​who use construct-​state much less than in Hebrew anyway—​do not employ this form. Instead, they use ptsatsát-​, which is a ‘simplified’ version, closer to the free form ptsatsá (consisting of ptsatsá + t). The Academy attempted to force Israelis to say pitsetsát-​ rather than ptsatsát-​, for example in the expression pitsetsát serakhón ‘stink bomb’ (which is actually pronounced ptsatsát sirakhón). In 1998, however, realistically acknowledging that native Israeli-​speakers would not be convinced to say pitsetsát-​, the august Academy gave in, and allowed the pronunciation of the bound form to be ptsatsát—​cf. Rule B5, Remark 4 in p. 1068 of Yalkút hapirsumím 4602 (1998).

162 Revivalistics

4.6  ‘. . . And If You Join Them, Cover Your Arse!’: Rationalizing the Surrender In his article ‘ “Hüküm” Nasıl Kurtuldu?’ (‘How was the word hüküm saved?’), Atay (1965) describes how the word hüküm ‘judgement’—​used in contemporary Turkish—​was accepted during the Turkish language revolution in the 1930s: Abdülkadir [İnan] [ . . . ] said, ‘You look worried. Tell me what words are bothering you and I’ll find Turkish origins for them.’ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘there’s this word hüküm.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘tomorrow we’ll make hüküm Turkish.’ Next day he quietly put into my hand a slip of paper on which he had noted that some dialects had a word ök meaning ‘intellect’, which in several of them took the form ük. I had myself discovered that in Yakut there was a word-​building suffix -​üm. The rest was easy: ük plus üm had in the course of time become hüküm. When the meeting began, I  said, ‘The word hüküm is Turkish,’ and gave a full account of what I had learned, which reduced the two professors to silence. We had laid the foundations of the science of –​I shan’t say fakery, but flim-​flam. That evening I reported to Atatürk on the Commission’s proceedings and he was very pleased that we had won so important a word by this fabrication. What he wanted us to do was to leave as many words in the language as possible, so long as we could demonstrate that they were Turkish. (Translation by Lewis 1999: 54)

At ay him s e l f w as fully aware of the manipu lation an d knew that the commonly-​u sed hüküm was, in fact, a loanword from Arabic ‫[ حكم‬ħukm] ‘judgement, verdict, valuation, opinion’. More generally, I propose that the political driver of the Turkish language revolution, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (the Gazi), adopted the ‘Sun Language Theory’ (that Turkish was the Ursprache) precisely in order to legitimize the Arabic and Persian words which the language revolutionaries did not manage to uproot. Atatürk was particularly concerned with ridding Turkish of the Arabic/​Persian components, but did not mind too much about the influence of French (which he knew well). In other words, he was anti-​Arabic/​Persian rather than ‘purist’ in the traditional sense—​cf. Zuckermann (2003: 164–​5). Similarly, I propose that the Academy bows to the public more readily if it can find that the grammatical feature it previously rebuked appears in the scriptures (e.g. the Hebrew Bible and the Mishnah)—​even if its appearance is irregular or marginal. As long as the Academy has an official seal/​approval in the form of ancient Hebrew, it feels no guilt, so to speak.

Realistic Prescriptivism  163 Consider the form ‫ היכיתי‬hikéti ‘beat (1st person, singular, past)’, whose root is √nkh (originally √nky). Initially, the Academy regarded this form as mistaken and resulting from an analogy to the conjugation of verbs whose ro ot ends with ʔ rather than with h—​e.g. miléti ‘fill (1st person, singular, past)’, whose root is √mlʔ. The ‘correct’ form—​as originally advocated by the Academy—​was hikíti rather than hikéti. However, luckily for the Academy, in the Hebrew Bible there are instances of hikkéti—​e.g. Jeremiah 2:30. Consequently, the Academy changed its decrees and decided that both hikéti and hikíti are now legitimate.

4.7  Predic(a)tion: Numeral and Noun (Dis) agreement Official rules are often used inconsistently because they are paradoxically counter-​grammatical vis-​à-​vis numerous idiolectal, sociolectal, or dialectal realities, see previous discussions of éser shékel in §2.4.7. Thus, Israeli already shows signs of polyglossia: native Israeli versus non-​native (high-​flown, pseudo-​) Hebrew. If language planning persists, full polyglossia of the Arabic type may be established. Modern Standard Arabic (cf. Classical Arabic)—​as opposed to the various vernacular Arabics (cf. so-​called Arabic dialects)—​is no-​one’s mother tongue. Most Arabs consider Modern Standard Arabic as their language and yet speak Palestinian Arabic or Egyptian Arabic and so forth. With that said, Modern Standard Arabic, as practiced for example in news broadcasts, has been using the colloquial—​rather than the classical—​ numerals for temperatures throughout the Arab world. In their case this was one of the first adaptations they have made towards the colloquial languages; in our case it will probably be the last (Ron Kuzar, pc). That said—​and although it is hard and often considered un-​academic to speculate, especially about the future—​I predict that the Academy will continue to be at war between august, arcane normativism and ‘sober realism’, and may have tidal currents pulling to either side, inter alia depending on who the elected President of the Academy and the powerful members are. Eventually, the Academy will approve of éser shékel. When that happens, it may signal the complete acceptance of the native speaker and the embracing of their infinite, generative power. It will also mark the acknowledgment that language evolution—​and in the case of Israeli: language genesis too—​is not something to chastise but rather to indulge.

164 Revivalistics Table 4.4  Conlangs vs Revlangs Conlangs

Revlangs

Auxlangs

Artlangs

Reclangs

Reinlangs

Esperanto Ido Volapük

Klingon Quenya Tsolyani

Cornish Israeli Barngarla

Te Reo Māori Welsh Yolŋu Matha

4.8  Comparing Revival Languages to Constructed Languages Future research should compare Revival Languages such as Hebrew, and artlangs (artistically-​constructed languages) such as Quenya and Klingon, the latter being each created by a single author and subsequently used by Internet communities. The reason is that just like in Israeli, as seen in this chapter, the actual emerging artlangs demonstrate features not attributable to the canonical writings of the language author. In other words, there is a clear tension between canonicity (being puristic and faithful to the canon, such as J. R. R. Tolkien (Quenya creator)/​Marc Okrand (Klingon creator) (parallel to the Academy of the Herbrew Language)) on the one hand, and cross-​fertilization with the users’ (parallel to revivalists’) mother tongues (such as English in the case of artlangs or Yiddish in the case of Israeli) on the other hand. Furthermore, corpus constraints are seen in the way language users react to gaps in the linguistic corpus and how these are worked around. In all these cases, artlangs show a striking similarity to the processes apparent in reclaimed languages. A terminological note: conlangs (constructed languages) can be divided into artlangs (artistic languages), which are created for aesthetic purposes, and auxlangs (auxiliary languages), which are created as a proposed lingua franca, usually for the entire world. Table 4.4 lists a number of auxlangs and artlangs. A revlang (revival language) is a language derived from an evolved language that has ceased to be in everyday use but which is being proposed for a return to use, usually by descendants of the original speakers. These could be further divided into reclangs (reclaimed languages), which have ceased to be spoken entirely, and reinlangs (reinvigorated and revitalized languages), which are endangered but still spoken. Table 4.4 lists a number of reclaimed and reinvigorated languages.

5 Shift Happens Tarbutomics, Israeli Culturomics

5.1  Trans-​disciplinarity, Genomics, and Linguistics The difference between inter-​disciplinarity and trans-​disciplinarity is crucial: an inter-​disciplinary research might answer a chemical question using physics. A trans-​disciplinary research question itself arises from the interface between distinct disciplines. Why should one be trans-​disciplinary? Ask James Watson, the Nobel Laureate who discovered the structure of DNA in 1953, with Francis Crick, Rosalind Franklin, and Maurice Wilkins. Watson arrives at the University of Cambridge, UK, in 1951 as a junior visiting fellow. With a Ph.D. in biology from the University of Indiana USA and with limited knowledge of biochemistry, physics, and mathematics, he manages to discover the double helix structure of DNA because of his very trans-​ disciplinary eclectic intuition. Trans-​disciplinarity allows scholars to be explorative, not only exploitative. Like translation from one language to another, trans-​discplinarity often results in creativity and originality. Trans-​disciplinary analogies and metaphors can help us in re-​evaluating assumptions and conclusions in both linguistics (including revivalistics) and science (including physics), as well as proposing new avenues of investigation. Consider Benjamin Lee Whorf, who champions linguistic relativity in linguistics—​ following Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity in physics. According to Strong Whorfianism, language determines thought. According to Weak Whorfianism, which is more viable, language influences thought. At a supermarket between Harvard University and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a man with seventy items in his trolley goes to an express cashier for twelve items or fewer. The cashier asks him: ‘Are you from Harvard that you do not know how to count? Or are you from MIT that you do not know how to read?’

166 Revivalistics In reality, however, one can detect symbiosis between so-​called sciences and the humanities. Take linguistics, for example. My own scholarly articles and keynote addresses often employ biological terms such as ‘hybridization’, ‘cross-​fertilization’, ‘natural selection’, ‘ecological niche’ and even ‘viral replication’. In 1930, Benjamin Lee Whorf proposed that the structure of a language changes how speakers perceive the world. Whorf ’s concept of linguistic relativism was in fact influenced, directly or indirectly, by Albert Einstein’s general theory of relativity. But the cross-​disciplinary terminological use is bi-​directional. Genetics also employs terms from linguistics. For example, DNA is described as a recipe book or operating manual, written in an alphabet of four letters: A, T, C, and G. Within cells are proofreading molecules that whiz across DNA and remove potentially dangerous errors in the code. DNA encodes for proteins that do a variety of jobs around the cell. Within one’s cells, DNA is being written into RNA through transcription, and RNA is translated into proteins, and even edited. ‘Transcription’, ‘reverse transcription’ (retrovirus), ‘translation’, ‘editing’, and ‘proofreading’—​we are talking about the genome in linguistic terms. Are these metaphors tout court? Why is there such a striking similarity between language and genetics? If we call the genome ‘A’ and language ‘B’, there are at least four possible explanations: (1) A causes B: language, which emerged more than 70,000 years ago, is a natural reflection, an evolutionary manifestation, of the genome, which emerged more than three billion years ago. In other words, there is an inherent, immanent link between language and the genome. (2) B causes A: the analysis of the genome as language results from the fact that scientists are humans who think in language. However, the way we analyse the universe, for example, is much less linguistic than the way we analyse of the genome. (3) A and B are traceable to C, a common origin: linguistics and genetics are branches of informatics, systems of information. The genome therefore lends itself to linguistic symbolism. (4) Parallel evolution: sometimes, until we invent something ourselves we cannot see it in nature. Take negative feedback (for self-​regulation) that our body uses to control our temperature at 37ºC. Negative feedback was invented by the ancient Greeks to control their water clocks, but it was not until well after James Watson re-​invented it in the modern era, that we began to recognize it and understand it in the human body.

Shift Happens  167 In other words: nature invented negative feedback over a period of hundreds of millions of years. Then humans independently invented it over a period of a few thousand years. In both cases, they invented the same solution to similar problems. Perhaps the fact that nature invented a language for the expression of the genome, and humans independently invented a language for the expression of our thought, is another case of parallel evolution. I wonder, however, whether or not there might be some cases of parallel evolution that in fact derive from an inherent, concealed A→B (i.e. the first option). In other words: we might be internally engineered (genomically, neuro-​cognitively) to solve problems in a way that—​inadvertently, subconsciously—​reflects our genetics. That said, our anti-​serendipity perspective might well reflect a psychoanalytical, philosophical inclination within our own mind—​in line with the second option. So the humanities and sciences can learn from each other. In studying the languages of the world we may find new understandings of genetics, and the use of scientific, genomic methods can provide linguistics with perspicacious insights. The fourth, talknological, linguistic revolution (see the Introduction to this Book) has resulted in ‘big data’, massive collections that allow analyses that are so quantitatively superior to the traditional ones, resulting in what we perceive of as a qualitative game-​changer. I believe that the huge quantity of data makes the analysis qualitatively different. In other words: the difference between qualitative and quantitative is, in this case, quantitative. Compare it with language reclamation: the revival of a no-​longer spoken language. In the case of language reclamation, many processes, otherwise lasting many centuries, occur in a very short time. This quantitative difference makes the result of the reclamation qualitatively different from the evolution of, say, Latin into Italian. An example constituting such a reclamation is ‘Israeli’, i.e. the result of the fin-​de-​siècle Hebrew revival, see Zuckermann (2009); and Zuckermann & Walsh (2011).

5.2  From Culturomics to Tarbutomics One of the unprecedented analyses allowed by ‘big data’ is culturomics. Culturomics is a trans-​disciplinary form of computational lexicology that studies human behaviour, language, and cultural and historical trends through the quantitative analysis of texts. Whilst genomics (1986) involves

168 Revivalistics gene-​sequencing (cf. deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) and  ribonucleic acid (RNA)—​see e.g. Figure  1 in Eser et  al. 2014:  717), Cultuormics involves culture-​sequencing. Let me try to explain the link between genomics and culturomics, which is reflected in the suffix -​omics. The graphs in Figure 5.1 show us the RNA expression profiles of certain genes during the cell division cycle. Each trace is one gene, shown as a function of time. Gene expression goes up and down during a process. Similarly, words go up and down in the sense that the extent of their usage in a certain corpus changes with time. By a certain corpus, I mean body of language such as printed books in a language, a certain social network, email communication, or spoken language etc. Returning to gene expression, whilst the ‘type’ (DNA) is by and large constant, the ‘token’ (RNA) count changes over time. To understand the difference between type and token, consider the word ‘the’, which is only one type but can have thousands of ‘token’ occurrences within a book. A major source of culturomics data has been Google Books, a serv­ ice from Google that searches the full text of books and magazines, scanned and converted into text, and stored in a database. In 2004 Google announced plans to scan and digitize 15 million books in ten years, mostly

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Figure 5.1  Cell Cycle Regulators and their Target Genes: A and B are two examples of identified cell‐cycle regulating TFs [SWI4 (A), YOX1 (B)] and their periodically expressed target genes, see Eser et al. (2014: 717)

Shift Happens  169 from universities and major libraries. In 2009 Harvard University selected 5,195,769 books (based on scanning and metadata quality) for analysis. The books scanned are in nine different languages. The earliest were printed from the year 1500 onwards. However, most of them were from 1800 until 2009. The main output from this enterprise is given in the form of temporal representation profile of each word, depicting its number of appearances in the corpus of scanned books at a given year, normalized to the total number of words scanned in that year. In 2011 Google released Ngram data, and in 2012 further Ngram analysis of 8,116,746 books was conducted. The Ngram viewer (https://​books.google.com/​ngrams, accessed 1 January 2020) allows one to browse the ‘big data’ provided by Google Books. Note that 1-​gram means a string of characters uninterrupted by space, e.g. banana, 3.14159, ICBM, l8r (‘later’). Figure 5.2 depicts the process of compiling data for use in culturomics. In a seminal publication (Michel et  al. 2011), culturomics

129 million books published

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5 million books analyzed

Frequency of the word “apple” Year

Figure 5.2  The process of compiling data for use in culturomics (Michel et al. 2011)

170 Revivalistics was used to analyse trends of linguistic, cultural, and historical significance. For example, the steady decrease over the twentieth century was observed in the relative usage in English of the lexical item God. The effect of censorship in Nazi Germany was deduced from the sudden disappearance of Marc Chagall from German literature during WWII. A general trend was deduced in which the introduction of new technological terms and celebrities becomes faster with time, but also that the length of time it typically takes to reduce fame (say to half the maximal level) becomes shorter with time. As demonstrated by Michel et al. (2011; see Figure 5.3: Trans-​disciplinary material in Culturomics), culturomics provides quantitative evidence for scholars in many fields, for example: (A) Historical epidemiology:  ‘influenza’ shown as a dotted line; the Russian, Spanish, and Asian flu epidemics are highlighted. (B) History of the (American) Civil War: ‘the North’ shown as a dotted line, ‘the South’ shown in light grey ‘the enemy’ shown in dark grey. (C) Comparative history. (D) Gender studies. (E) History of science. (F) Historical gastronomy. (G) History of religion: ‘God’. This chapter explores, for the first time, culturomics in Israeli. I call it tarbutomics, based on tarbút, Israeli for ‘culture’, thus calquing the term culturomics. Tarbutomics focuses on evaluation on the linguistic, cultural, and social trends occurring throughout a historical period. Consider the Hebrew revival movement, which is so far the most successful known linguistic reclamation in history. To see how Hebrew lexis has changed from 1500 until 2009 (with the Hebrew Bible as one of the earliest sources), data from Google Books is analysed using a downloaded Google Books database, a short version of which is accessible online through the ‘Ngram Viewer’. Tarbutomics takes the raw Hebrew 1-​gram data and puts in a relational database, allowing us to ask more sophisticated questions about the data. In doing so, one can shed light on questions about Israeli culture and Hebrew

Shift Happens  171

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language reclamation, as well as the development of the Israeli language throughout the twentieth century.

5.3  Scanned Hebrew and Israeli Books To familiarize ourselves with the corpus, let us begin with the number of scanned Hebrew books per annum from 1820 to 1900 (Figure 5.4) and then from 1900 to

172 Revivalistics Scanned Hebrew Books (1820–1900)

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2009 (Figure 5.5). By and large, it is possible to deduce that the annual number of published books in Hebrew and later in Israeli is getting higher every year. That said, one should note the peaks: 1967 (Six-​Day War, in which Israel’s territory grew by a factor of three), 1980 (prior to the First Lebanon War) and 1992, as well as the troughs: 1974 (post-​Yom Kippur War) and 1986 (post-​ First Lebanon War). However, a caveat ought to be added: the peaks could reflect two totally different things: (1) More books were printed in these years, and thus Google, acting blindly, sampled more from these years, (2) Google has intentionally (or sub-​consciously, due to some bias) scanned disproportionally more from these years.

Shift Happens  173

5.4  Cultural Trends in Israel Through the use of tarbutomics one can explore the prevalence of certain lexical items in the context of historical events, thus detecting cultural trends through their effects on the Israeli language. For example, consider Figure 5.6. Note that the State of Israel was established in 1948. In the turbulent years leading to its foundation, popular thought was shifting towards creating a stable future. Thus, just before 1940, ‫ ילד‬yéled ‘child’ (in dark grey) supplants ‫ זקן‬zakén ‘old man’ (in light grey). That said, the same trend could be global and might well exist in other languages such as French, English, and Italian. In Figure 5.7, one can see that the birth of the word ‫ עצמאות‬atsmaút ‘independence’ precedes and anticipates the birth of the State of Israel, after which it remains a steady part of the language. In Figure 5.8, the lexical item ‫‘ עצמאות‬independence’ (in light grey) is overshadowed by the lexical item ‫‘ שואה‬holocaust → Holocaust’ (in dark grey) in the 1960s, following a period of ‫‘ עצמאות‬independence’ dominance surrounding the establishment of the State of Israel (1948). Figure 5.9 explores three ways in Israeli to refer to God: • ‫ אלוהים‬eloím, the secular pronunciation, in black • ‫ אדוני‬adonáy ‘Lord’, in dark grey • ‫ אלוקים‬elokím, the religious pronunciation of the ineffable eloím, in light grey. Note that eloím is not allowed to be used by some religious people, and they use elokím instead. Therefore, the fact that eloím is the most commonly used lexical item of the three indicates the secular nature of modern Israeli

Figure 5.6  ‫ ילד‬yéled ‘child’ (in dark grey) vs ‫ זקן‬zakén ‘old man’ (in light grey) (1800–​2000)

174 Revivalistics

Figure 5.7  The prevalence of ‫ עצמאות‬atsmaút ‘independence’, preceding the birth of the state (1900–​2000)

Figure 5.8  ‫ עצמאות‬atsmaút ‘independence’ (in light grey) vs ‫ שואה‬shoá ‘holocaust → Holocaust’ (in dark grey) (1800–​2000)

Figure 5.9  Comparing three words for God: eloím in black, adonáy in dark grey and elokím in light grey (1800–​2000)

society—​see chap. 3. We must be aware of the sociolinguistic context in order to give these figures a cultural meaning.

5.5 Hebrew Failure In the creation of the Israeli language there have been many occasions of synonyms, e.g. some originating from Hebrew and others from an internationalism, or, more specifically a Europeanism (e.g. from Yiddish, Polish,

Shift Happens  175 Russian, German, and English). Using tarbutomics, it is possible to quantify how words compete amongst each other in prevalence. This in turn allows us to conjecture as to why certain words are able to outcompete others—​how shift happens. For example, there are two ways in Israeli to refer to alcohol: • ‫ אלכוהול‬álkoo l/​alkoól (in dark grey in Figure 5.10), from the internationalism. • ‫ כוהל‬kóal (in light grey in Figure 5.10) ‘alcohol’, a phono-semantic matching (see Zuckermann 2003). Is raeli ‫ כוהל‬kóal ‘alcohol’ is fitted into the ⌂ó⌂a⌂ noun-pattern like (H ebr ew>) Israeli ‫ זוהר‬zóar ‘brightness’ and (Hebrew>) Israeli ‫ טוהר‬tóar ‘p uri ty’. But it is usually pronounced kóel, and thus vocalized in Alcalay (1964: ii:997). It is etymologically analysed by Klein (1987: 271b) and Even-​ Shoshan (1997: 718c) as deriving solely from Arabic ‫[ ألكحل‬Ɂalˈkuħl] ‘(the) ko hl (the powder used for painting the eyelids), antimony, collyrium’, cf. ‫ˈ[ كحل ّي‬kuħli] ‘dark blue, navy blue’, ‫[ كحول‬kuˈħu:l] ‘pure spirit of wine, alcohol’ and ‫[ ألكحول‬Ɂalkuˈħu:l] ‘id.’. This analysis seems to be flawed since it ig nor es the influence of the internationalism alcohol—cf. Israeli ‫אלכוהול‬ ál kool/​alkoól, Yiddish ‫ אַלקאָהאָל‬alkohól, Polish alkohol, Russian алкоголь alkogól’, German Alkohol and French alcool. Th e intern ationalism alcohol goes back to the very same Arabic ‫ألكحل‬ [Ɂalˈkuħl]—​cf. ‫[ ألكحول‬Ɂalˈkuħu:l] ‘alcohol’. Bierce (1996: 19) defines Alcohol jokingly as ‘The essential principle [i.e. property] of all such liquids [such] as [to] give a man a black eye’. S hapira ( 1956:  62) suggests that the name (alcool in ibid.) was coined by the physician/​chemist Paracelsus (1492–​1541). In the sixteenth century this name (cf. Medieval Latin alcohol) was borrowed by English and French ( al cohol> alcoo l). Simpson and Weiner (19 89) suggest that Latin alcohol

Figure 5.10  The internationalism ‫ אלכוהול‬álkool (in dark grey) vs the Hebrew ‫ כוהל‬kóal (in light grey), meaning alcohol (1900–​2000)

176 Revivalistics derives from Biblical Hebrew ‫ˈ[ כחל‬kåħal] ‘stained, painted (masculine, singular)’ as in Ezekiel 23:40. Israeli ‫ כוהל‬kóal is a Semitic ur-​source ‘incestuous’ creational phono-​semantic matching (see Zuckermann 2003: 94–​102). The Hebrew Language Committee urges the speakers to use kóhal ‘alcohol’, for example in Milón leMunekhéy haMitbákh (Dictionary of Kitchen Terms, 1938: 46). Note that the Israeli spelling of the internationalism alcohol is usually ‫אלכוהול‬, with ‫( כ‬k), not with ‫( ק‬q). Thus, the Arabic influence is apparent, cf. orthographic folk-​etymological nativization (Zuckermann 2003: 174–​8). The pronunciation is alkohól but also álkohol, hinting at the influence of English. In Figure 5.10 one can see how the internationalism álkool supersedes kóal in 1970 and continues to gain popularity until the late nineties, indicating a preference for a less formal word.

5.6 Hebrew Success Figure 5.11 juxtaposes the int ernationalism ‫ קו מפוזיטור‬kompozítor (in light grey) and the Hebrew-​derived ‫ מלחין‬malkhín (in dark grey). Note the increasing popularity of the Israeli kompozítor from 1905 and peaking from 1950–​55, at which point its prevalence decreases and the Hebrew-​derived malkhín begins to gain increasing popularity, overtaking it in about 1959. Figure 5.12 demonstrates that the Hebrew-​derived ‫ מסוק‬masók ‘helicopter’, a neologism by Yitzhak Ben-​Zvi (1884–​1963), Israel’s second President (1952–​63), remains the more popular word even during a period of increasing popularity of the internationalism ‫ הליקופטר‬helikópter during the 1960s. Figure 5.13 compares the internationalism ‫ קרדיט‬krédit (in light grey) and the Hebrew-​ derived (originally Aramaic) ‫ אשראי‬ashráy (in dark grey), meaning ‘credit’ and later ‘credit card’. From 1900 until 1926, krédit is the preferred word used to describe credit. However, from 1920 onwards ashráy becomes increasingly

Figure 5.11  The internationalism kompozítor (in light grey) vs the Hebrew malkhín (in dark grey), both meaning ‘composer’ (1800–​2000)

Shift Happens  177

Figure 5.12  The international helikópter (in dark grey) vs the Hebrew masók (in light grey), meaning ‘helicopter’ (1900–​2000)

Figure 5.13  The internationalism krédit (in light grey) vs the Hebrew ashráy (in dark grey), meaning ‘credit (card)’ (1800–​2000)

Figure 5.14  The internationalism kaséta (in dark grey) vs the Hebrew kalétet (in light grey), meaning ‘cassette’ (1800–​2000)

popular with a noticeably sharp increase at the start of the 1930s. This trend correlates with the introduction of the credit card, first brought in by West Union in 1921 and then by an increasing number of other companies during the 1920s and 30s. Marketing can popularize a word in society. Figure 5.14 compares the internationalism ‫ קסטה‬kaséta (in dark grey) and the Hebrew-​ derived phono-​semantic matching ‫ קלטת‬kalétet (in light grey), both meaning ‘cassette’. In 1982 the Hebrew kalétet outstrips the internationalism kaséta by

178 Revivalistics

Figure 5.15  The Arabic-​derived lexical item ‫ יאללה‬yála ‘let’s’

a wide margin. Israeli ‫ קלטת‬kalétet ‘cassette, tape’ was officially introduced by the Academy of the Hebrew Language in Laméd Leshonkhá 145 (1984), uses ‫√ קלט‬qlţ fitted into the ⌂a⌂é⌂et noun-​pattern in order to replace the internationalism cassette—​cf. Israeli ‫ קסטה‬kaséta, Polish kaseta and Russian кассета kasséta. Note that the ⌂a⌂é⌂et noun-​pattern usually refers to diseases, e.g. ‫ אדמת‬adémet ‘measles’, ‫ צהבת‬tsahévet ‘jaundice’, ‫ עגבת‬agévet ‘syphilis, and, by ext ensio n, ‫ סחבת‬sakhévet ‘red tape, bureaucratic delay’, ‫ דברת‬dabéret ‘ “cha tterb ox-​itis”, “diarrhoea of the mouth”, “verbal diarrhoea”, o ver-​ talkativeness’, ‫ פטפטת‬patpétet ‘id.’, ‫ נאמת‬naémet ‘speech-​itis’ (the latter was coined by Bialik—​see Haaretz, 20 January 1928; cf. Avinery 1935: 29), and in military slang, ‫ סגמת‬sagémet ‘the arrogance of a (new) second lieutenant’. The ‘root’ of t he latter is ‫√ סגמ‬sgm, from ‫ סג"ם‬sagám, an acronym for ‫סגן‬ ‫ מ שנה‬s ége n mishné ‘second lieutenant’. It is marked morpholo gically as a disease because it describes the flawed behaviour afflicting the recipient of the officers’ first rank, who, as a result of the promotion, regards himself as omnipotent. Co nsi der also the Israeli neologism ‫ יעפת‬yaéfet for ‘jet-lag’ (Laméd Leshonkhá New Series 4, March 1994), which is also fitted into the ⌂a⌂é⌂et n oun- ​patter n. The other morpheme on which ‫ יעפת‬yaéfet is based is the Biblical Hebrew root ‫√ יעפ‬yʕp, a secondary root to both ‫√ עיפ‬ʕyp ‘be tired’ a nd ‫√ עו פ‬ʕwp ‘fly’. Hebrew ‫√ עופ‬ʕwp ‘fly’ is manifested in Israeli ‫ יעף‬yeáf (often pronounced yáaf) ‘hurry, rapidity’, as in ‫ בעיטת יעף‬beitát yáaf ‘volley’ (especially in soccer, UK football), the latter having been suggested in place of the foreignism ‫ וולה‬volé, from French volée ‘volley’. Note, however, that the Academy of the Hebrew Language decided not to restrict the ⌂a⌂é⌂et noun-​pattern to names of diseases alone. Hence ‫קלטת‬

Shift Happens  179 kal é tet ‘cassette, tape’. C onsid er also ‫ רכבת‬rakévet ‘train’ (coined by Ben-​ Yehuda in 1893, cf. Sivan 1981: 20; appearing in Pínes 1897: XIV) and ‫שמנת‬ shaménet ‘cream’ (cf. Bahat 1987: 513). Israeli ‫ קלטת‬kalétet, a phono-​semantic matching from the assembly line of the Academy of the Hebrew Language, has confused a small number of Israelis, namely those who say kaléta, a hybrid of the internationalism kaséta and its phono-​semantic matching kalétet. Some Israeli speakers, though not usually young ones, still differentiate between kaséta and kalétet by using kaséta to refer to an audio cassette, and kalétet to a video cassette. This distinction might have been influenced by the fact that video cassettes were introduced after audio cassettes, and around the time of the neologization. Another reason for this dichotomy is the term ‫ זמר קסטות‬zamár kasétot, lit. ‘cassette-​singer’, denoting a singer (crooner) of Middle-​Eastern Arabic-​influenced (usually emotional or melancholic) songs. For many years, this popular culture, widespread among Sephardim—​ or more precisely mizrahi Jews (lit. ‘Oriental Jews’)—​was not represented in the (at least formerly) Ashkenazic-​dominated Israeli media. Therefore, the mizrahi singers had to find an alternative method of disseminating their songs. Audio cassettes were an affordable solution and those cassettes were sold in Israeli street markets, such as Tel Aviv’s old central bus station. The first Sephardic record was introduced only in 1974; it was the record of tsliléy haúd Band, which included the mizrahi version of the song khanale hitbalbela (1934). When the Academy of the Hebrew Language introduced kalétet ‘cassette’, the term zamár kasétot was already well established and could hardly be changed to zamár kalatót, which sounds of a higher register.

5.7  Arabic Lexical Items within Israeli Israeli has also been impacted by the surrounding Arabic language. Figure 5.16 explores the usage of the Arabic-​derived lexical item ‫ יאללה‬yála ‘let’s’. Whilst there is a small increase from 1920 to 1960, there is a sharp increase from 1975 to 1980, and from 1990 onwards. There are troughs in 1938, 1951, 1963, and 1988. Fig ure 5.16 examines ‫ אינתיפדה‬intifáda ‘Intifada (the Palestinian uprising)’, from Arabic ‫ انتفاضة‬intifāḍah ‘shake off ’. The word does exist in Israel from around 1975 but its rapid increase happens around 1987, co-​occurring with the First Intifada.

180 Revivalistics

Figure 5.16  The Arabic-​derived lexical item ‫ אינתיפדה‬intifáda ‘Intifada (the Palestinian uprising)’

Figure 5.17  Comparing the prevalence of the word ‫ מהפך‬maapákh ‘revolution’ after its conception and subsequent popularization (Top: 1900–​2000, Bottom:  1800–​2000)

5.8 Celebrities’ Contribution C el ebrities and media personalities are often instrumental in assisting a neo l og ism in g aining currency. Figure 5.17 compares the prevalence of the Is rael i le xical item ‫ מהפך‬maapákh ‘revolution’ after its conception

Shift Happens  181

Figure 5.18  ‫ מטוס‬matós vs ‫ אווירון‬avirón vs ‫ אוירון‬avirón (1900–​2000)

and subsequent popularization. Haim Yavin, the famous National Israeli Television news broadcaster, used maapákh on 17 May 1977 to describe th e p olit ical dramatic shift, revolution, upheaval, change-over, shake-​ up, caused by the electoral victory of the Likud party, led by Menachem Begin, ending almost thirty years of rule by the left-​wing alignment and its predecessor, Mapai: !‫—​מהפך‬ gvirotáy verabotáy: maapákh Ladies and gentlemen –​a revolution! (TV anchor Haim Yavin announcing the election results live on Israeli National TV on 17 May 1977)

Cf . th e popular radio p resenters, Moshe Khovav and Rivka Michaeli’s phono-​semantic matching ‫ להיט‬lahít ‘hit (popular song)’, which I discussed in §4.5.1.

5.9  Competing Hebrew-​Derived Neologisms Sometimes, there are several competing Hebrew-​derived neologisms. Figure 5 . 18 shows how ‫ מטוס‬matós ‘aeroplane’ supplanted ‫ אווירון‬avirón and the spelling variation ‫ אוירון‬avirón. Consider also the English lexical items airplane vis-​à-​vis aeroplane, as in Figure 5.19. Note the peaks from 1915–​20 and

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Figure 5.20  ‫ אישה‬ishá ‘woman’ (in darky grey) vs ‫ אשה‬ishá ‘woman’ (in light grey) (1800–​2000)

from 1940–​48 (World War I and World War II, respectfully). The original aeroplane is supplanted by ‘the Americanized airplane as the more popular word. Note that the second peak is higher, correlating to America’s increased participation and use of planes in World War II.

5.10  Competing Spelling Variations Tarbutomics can assist us in determining the preferred popular spelling—​ regardless of the prescriptive attempts by the Academy of the Hebrew Language, see figures 5.20–​5.23. Consider the following examples: • ishá ‘woman’ • khímya ‘chemistry’ • túrkya ‘Turkey’ Th at s aid, in Google Trends, both ‫ טורקיה‬and ‫ תורכיה‬túrkya ‘Turkey’ are employed almost equally, and both declining:

Figure 5.21  ‫ כימיה‬khímya/​kímya ‘chemistry’ (in dark grey) vs ‫ חימיה‬khímya ‘chemistry’ (in light grey) (1800–​2000)

Figure 5.22  ‫ טורקיה‬túrkya ‘Turkey’ (in dark grey) vs ‫ תורכיה‬túrkya ‘Turkey’ (in light grey) (1800–​2000)

Figure 5.23  Google Trends–​‫ טורקיה‬túrkya ‘Turkey’ (in dark grey) vs ‫תורכיה‬ túrkya ‘Turkey’ (in light grey)

184 Revivalistics Neologisms - % New Tokens

Figure 5.24  The amount of token neologisms per annum as a percentage of the Israeli language (1820–​2000)

5.11  The Bigger Picture Tarbutomics shows us that by now Israeli, a Revival Language, is a fully-​ fledged, alive and kicking, tongue rather than a language still involved in a linguistic reclamation. The Hebrew revival is complete. Figures 5.25 and 5.26 show us that the percentage of neologisms, new lexical items appearing in the language—​tokens and types, respectively—​is declining. The 1915–​17 trough and 1933 peak could be explained by the Language War Period in Palestine. For example, the Technion was founded in 1912. In 1913, Deutscher Juden declared German as the official language of the first technical high school in Palestine, sparking a language war. 1917 marks the Balfour Declaration. In 1925 the Hebrew University of Jerusalem was founded. Figure 5.27 shows the fate of 1933-​introduced neologisms, illustrating that it takes time for a word to catch on. This chapter contributes to the analysis of language as a reflection of society. It corroborates Weinreich, Labov, & Herzog’s (1968: 188) following statement: “Linguistic and social factors are closely interrelated in the development of language change. Explanations which are confined to one or the other aspect, no matter how well constructed, will fail to account for the rich body of regularities that can be observed in empirical studies of language behavior.”

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Figure 5.25  The amount of type neologisms per annum as a percentage of the Israeli language (1820–​2000) Type Counts 8000 7000 6000 5000 4000 3000 2000 1000 0 1930

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Figure 5.26  The number of different types of 1933-​introduced neologisms

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Figure 5.27  The number of different tokens of 1933-​introduced neologisms

6 ‘Stop, Revive, Survive’ Revivalistics from the ‘Promised Land’ to the ‘Lucky Country’

6.1 Linguicide, Glottophagy The previous chapters demonstrated how the fascinating and multifaceted phenomenon of linguistic cross-​fertilization is an inevitable part of a successful language reclamation. I focused on Israeli for various reasons, e.g. (1) it is already an alive and kicking, fully-​fledged language and can thus be subject to a rigorous grammatical analysis; (2) as far as I know, it is so far the most successful language reclamation in history; (3) I am a native Israeli-​ speaker; (4) I know all the languages that impacted the creation of Israeli (e.g. Hebrew and Yiddish) inside out. Now, when we are mature, so to speak, about language reclamation and profoundly understand its constraints, we can go on to describe the how and why of language revival movements all over the world. The how includes practical, nitty gritty methods for reclaiming sleeping beauties such as the Barngarla Aboriginal language of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia, e.g. using talknology. The why includes ethical (Chapter  8), aesthetic, and utilitarian (Chapter 9: mental health) reasons. The following are the four principles of linguistic revival and survival: (1) If your language is endangered → Do not allow it to die! (2) If your language died → Stop, revive, survive (reanalysing Australia’s roadside dictum)! (3) If you revive your language → Embrace the hybridity of the emergent language! (4) If your language is safe (e.g. you are a speaker of American English or Modern Standard Chinese) → Consider helping others in linguistic needs! (Zuckermann, Australian Linguistic Society Conference 2007, Adelaide)

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  187 Approximately 7,000 languages are currently spoken worldwide. The majority of these are spoken by small populations. Approximately 96 per cent of the world’s population speaks around 4 per cent of the world’s languages, leaving the vast majority of tongues vulnerable to extinction and disempowering their speakers. Linguistic diversity reflects many things beyond accidental historical splits. Languages are essential building blocks of community identity and authority. However, with globalization of dominant cultures, cultures at the periphery will be marginalized, and possibly lead to language loss. Language reclamation will become increasingly relevant as people seek to recover their cultural autonomy, empower their spiritual and intellectual sovereignty, and improve their wellbeing. On the current state of linguistic diversity, see also Gorenflo, Romaine, Denil, and Mittermeier (2014). The main aim of this chapter is to suggest that there are useful lessons applicable from the relatively successful Hebrew revival to the reclamation, maintenance, and empowerment of Aboriginal languages and cultures. ‘Language is power; let us have ours’, wrote Aboriginal politician Aden Ridgeway on 26 November 2009 in the Sydney Morning Herald. Previous revival efforts have largely failed (I will not single out specific failures here). While there have been some good results from several projects since 1992 (e.g. Kaurna, see below), Aboriginal people overall do not see as many positive outcomes from revival programmes as they would like. In large part, this is the result of insufficient funding, lack of technical expertise, and lack of integration of school-​ based programmes with community language programmes. However, there are purely linguistic reasons too: Many revival efforts were not supported by a sound theoretical understanding of how successful language revival works. As pointed out by Thieberger (2002), decisions about the appropriate target for language maintenance programmes are too often driven by structural linguistics, where the supposed ideal is intergenerational transmission of the language with all its original structural complexity retained, thus creating unrealistic expectations among the Aboriginal community. This chapter is the first of its kind as it innovatively draws crucial insights from Israeli. Chapter 2 already demonstrated which language components are more revivable than others in the case of Israeli. Words and conjugations, for example, are easier to revitalize than intonation, discourse, associations, and connotations. Revivalists and Aboriginal leaders should be encouraged to be realistic rather than puristic, and not, for example, chastise English loanwords and pronunciation within the emergent language. Applying such precious conclusions from Israeli will closely assist Australian revivalists

188 Revivalistics in being more efficient, urging them not to waste time and resources on Sisyphean efforts to resuscitate linguistic components that are unlikely to be revivable. While the results of these endeavours have considerable value as a research enterprise, one can also consider them in terms of a cost-​benefit analysis beyond academic pursuits (Mühlhäusler & Damania 2004; Walsh 2008):  Language revival contributes to social reconciliation, cultural tourism (Clark & Kostanski 2005), capacity building, and improved community health for Indigenous peoples. In the process of language revival, some Aboriginal people will go from being ‘suffering’ (see Sutton 2009) to well-​balanced, positive people. The benefits to the wider community and to Australian society are immense. Reversing language shift (RLS)—​see Fishman (1991, 2001), Nettle and Romaine (2000), Hagège (2009), Walsh (2005), Zuckermann (2011b)—​is thus of great social benefit. Language revival does not only do historical justice, trying to right the wrong of the past and addressing inequality, but can also result in the empowerment of people who have lost their heritage and wellbeing. I fell in love at first sight with Australia in 2001, when I was invited to deliver a lecture at the University of Sydney. At the time, I was a visiting professor at the National University of Singapore, while on sabbatical from the University of Cambridge in England. I returned to Singapore and then to Cambridge, but decided to look for an academic position in Australia. When I found one in Melbourne in 2004, I asked myself how I might contribute to the Australian society that was hosting me graciously. Whilst I moved to Australia, believing it to be the ‘Lucky Country’, I then realized that it had its own problems. So, I wanted to fix them. I identified two pressing issues facing Australian society: (1) the exasperating bureaucracy (there are democracies, and then there are aristocracies; Israel might be considered an ad-​hoc-​racy; modern Australia was founded as a bureaucracy, and today is a professionalized one); and (2) the injustice done to the Aboriginal people. I said to myself: How could a scholar effect a reduction of the Australian bureaucracy? I decided to invest my efforts in the Aboriginal plight. More specifically, as a linguist specializing in the revival of Hebrew and the emergence

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  189 of the Israeli language, I decided to establish a niche in a virgin soil: applying lessons from Israeli and other revivals to the reclamation, revitalization, and reinvigoration of Aboriginal languages in Australia. (I do acknowledge the work that preceded me, especially by Aboriginal communities. The main contribution of revivalistics relates to the comparative, global aspects of this enterprise.) The Universe is approximately 13.82 billion years old. DNA is approximately 3.5 billion years old. Homo sapiens has existed in Africa for at least 300,000 years. The earliest known (with clear evidence) Homo sapiens that left Africa arrived in Israel between 177,000 and 194,000 years ago. Hershkovitz et al. (2018) demonstrate that, analysing a maxilla (jaw) and dentition discovered at Misliya Cave, Mount Carmel, Israel. Otherwise, Indigenous Australians represent one of the longest continuous cultural complexes. Having conducted archaeological excavations at Madjedbebe, a rock shelter in northern Australia, Clarkson et  al. (2017) suggest that human occupation in Australia began 65,000  years ago. On the other hand, Nagle et  al. (2017) argue that Aboriginal people have been living in Australia for at least 50,000  years. They analysed 111 mitochondrial genomes (mitogenomes) from historical Aboriginal Australian hair samples. Marked geographic patterns and deep splits across the major mitochondrial haplogroups imply that the settlement of Australia comprised a single, rapid migration from northern Australia along the east (clockwise) and west (anti-​clockwise) coasts that reached Eyre Peninsula (South Australia) by 49,000–​45,000 years ago. Today Aboriginal people and Torres Strait Islanders make up 3.3 per cent (786,689 people in 2016, see ABS, i.e. Australian Bureau of Statistics) of Australia’s population (24.13 million in 2016; 24.7 million in 2018). Unfortunately, one of the main findings of the second (and most recent) National Indigenous Languages Survey (NILS2) Report (2012) (cf. Marmion, Obata & Troy 2014) is that the situation of Australia’s languages is grave (my term). I am referring to both the graveness of the situation and the tomb (grave) of languages. Of an original number of approximately 400 Australian Indigenous languages (grouped into twenty-​seven families, the larger one being the Pama-​Nyungan language family that consists of 306 languages, see Bouckaert, Bowern, and Atkinson 2018), only thirteen languages (3.25 per cent ) are alive and kicking in the sense of being spoken by all children. Australia has been made the ‘Unlucky Country’ through the historical processes of linguicide (language killing) and glottophagy (language eating). Linguicide refers to the forced loss of a language

190 Revivalistics whilst glottophagy refers to the unforced (albeit sometimes indirectly encouraged) loss of language. Linguicide occurred, for example, when Barngarla Aboriginal Australians such as my friend Howard Richards (Port Lincoln, South Australia) were ‘stolen’ from their mother by the Australian government and were not allowed to speak their language. Glottophagy occurs, for example, when Pitjantjatjara, a strong Western Desert language spoken in Central Australia, north of Eyre Peninsula (South Australia) is currently ‘eating’ its neighbouring Western Desert language Yankunytjatjara. These twin forces, linguicide and glottophagy, were in operation from the early colonial period. In her detailed study of the role of missionary language practices in the early years of the South Australian colony, Scrimgeour quotes the following colonial language ideology: Mr Forster afterwards adverted to the present mode of teaching the children in their own language. He, with all respect to the Missionaries, would say, on several grounds, that this was wrong. The natives would be sooner civilized if their language was extinct. The children taught would afterwards mix only with whites, where their own language would be of no use  –​the use of their language would preserve their prejudices and debasement, and their language was not sufficient to express the ideas of civilized life. He gave the Missionaries full credit for their talents and zeal, but he thought it would be better to teach the children in English. (from Report on a public meeting of the South Australian Missionary Society in aid of the German Mission to the Aborigines, Southern Australian, 8 September 1843; Scrimgeour (2007): 116, italics added).

In the case of glottophagy, Governor George Grey noted: The merchant in London who lays on a vessel for a certain port, regards the affair as a mere mercantile speculation, but could he trace out the results he effects in their remotest ramifications, he would stand astonished at the changes he produces. With the wizard wand of commerce, he touches a lone and trackless forest, and at his bidding, cities arise, and the hum and dust of trade collect –​away are swept ancient races; antique laws and customs moulder into oblivion. The strongholds of murder and superstition are cleansed, and the Gospel is preached amongst ignorant and savage men.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  191 The ruder languages disappear successively, and the tongue of England alone is heard around’ (Grey (1841: 200–​1), [italics added]).

One should note, however, that Grey still supported the documentation of Aboriginal languages, encouraging Schürmann’s work documenting the Adelaide language (Kaurna) and Barngarla at Port Lincoln. By and large, due to white colonization, the Aboriginal people living along the coasts, e.g. in the states of South Australia, Victoria, and New South Wales, suffered linguicide more than those living in the Outback. Language reclamation will become increasingly relevant as people seek to recover their cultural autonomy, empower their spiritual and intellectual sovereignty, and improve their wellbeing. Furthermore, I predict that in the future the very insights offered by revivalistics will themselves become part of Indigenous Intellectual Property, when, say, Slovenes and Estonians come to Australia, New Zealand etc. to ask Aboriginal Australians, Māori etc. to assist them in their own European language resurrection. There is an urgent need to produce perspicacious linguistic and socio-​ linguistic insights relevant to language reclamation. Otherwise, linguists or language workers would not be able to offer, if asked by Indigenous people, efficient and efficacious advice. There are linguistic constraints applicable to all revival attempts. Mastering them would help revivalists and First Nations leaders to work more efficiently; for example, to focus more on basic vocabulary and verbal conjugations than on sounds and word order—​see Zuckermann (2009). Only from the late 1970s (Amery & Gale 2007) there began a revival of the Aboriginal language, so there is still much to learn from other revival efforts, especially that of Hebrew, which began in the late nineteenth century. There has been little coordination among the geographically-​ scattered language revival efforts in Australia. Revivalists have begun to share experiences at various conferences and workshops. There is an urgent need for comparative on-​the-​ground ongoing input, creating intellectual, practical synergy, applying lessons from revivals all over the globe. This will complement the consulting, training, and technical support tasks that are provided by the federally-​supported regional Aboriginal language centres and the Mobile Language Team (MLT) of the University of Adelaide (http://​w ww.mobilelanguageteam.com.au/​,

192 Revivalistics accessed 1 January 2020). The latter might be called the Flying Linguist, modelled upon the Flying Doctor (https://​ w ww.flyingdoctor.org.au/​ , accessed 1 January 2020). There is community support in some parts of the country for revival and heritage learning programmes:  either in reclamation proper (e.g. extensive courses similar to Israel’s ulpaním) or only in symbolic, postvernacular maintenance (teaching Aboriginal people some words and concepts related to the dead language—​cf. postvernacular Yiddish among secular Jews in the United States—​see Shandler 2005). At its broadest level, language revival refers to the range of strategies for increasing knowledge and use of a language which is no longer spoken fully across all generations. In practice, however, this can range from largely symbolic uses of ancestral languages like naming buildings or places through to more constant involvement with the language through school-​based language instruction (Walsh 2005).

6.2  Comparative Analysis of Hebrew and Aboriginal Language Revival Although they too were at the beginning very few in number, and encountered great hostility and animosity (e.g. by those who saw the revival as the desecration of a holy tongue), the Hebrew revivalists had several advantages compared with Australian revivalists. Consider the following: (1) Documentation: extensive—​consider, for example, the Hebrew Bible and the Mishnah. (2) Accessibility: Jews have been exposed to literary Hebrew throughout the generations, e.g. when praying in the synagogue or when saying the blessing over the meal. It would be hard to find a Jew who did not have access to Hebrew (unless in totalitarian regimes such as the Soviet Union). (3) Prestige: Hebrew was considered a prestigious language (as opposed to Yiddish, for instance, whose Australian sociolinguistic parallel might be Aboriginal English). It is true that some Aboriginal languages are held in high regard by their owners/​custodians but unfortunately usually not by the wider Australian society.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  193 (4) Uniqueness: Jews from all over the globe only had Hebrew in common (Aramaic was not as prominent), whereas there are dozens of ‘sleeping’ Aboriginal languages and it would be hard to choose only one unifying tongue, unless one resorts to Aboriginal English. The revival of a single language is much more manageable than that of numerous tongues in varying states of disrepair. (5) National self-​determination: Reclaimed Hebrew was aimed to be the language of an envisioned state, where its speakers would eventually have the political power (see chap. 3). (6) Lack of ownership:  unlike in the case of Aboriginal languages (cf. Walsh 2002; Zuckermann & Walsh 2011), anybody has the right to speak Hebrew, without getting permission from the Jews. (7) Easy borrowing: loanwords and foreign words are not considered theft. In fact, Eliezer Ben-​Yehuda loved borrowing from Arabic, Aramaic and other Semitic languages. (8) Lack of place restriction: Hebrew could be and was revived all over the globe—​consider Haim Leib Hazan’s coinage mishkafáim ‘glasses’ in 1890 in Grodno (see §2.5.3). (9) Multilingualism: Jews arriving in Eretz Israel in the time of the revival were used to multilingualism and did not suffer from the Australian ‘monolingual mindset’ (see Clyne 2008). For example, back in Europe many of them spoke Yiddish at home and Polish in the market, and prayed in Hebrew (and Aramaic) in the synagogue. (10) Number: there are many more Jews than Aboriginal people in Australia. That said, Aboriginal revivalists actually have some advantages vis-​à-​vis Hebrew revivalists. Consider the following: (1) Deontological reason for the revival: Aboriginal tongues deserve to be revived for historical, humanistic, and social justice, addressing inequality (see Native Tongue Title in chap. 8). Is land more important than langue and (cultural) lens? And if land, language, and Weltanschauung/​heritage/​people are bound together as a trinity (see langue-​land-​lens in §1.4), then why ask for reparation only for land? (see chap. 8). The loss of land is tragic. It is also sad that, somewhat shockingly, the current border between Western Australia on the one hand and

194 Revivalistics South Australia and the Northern Territory on the other hand (originally the western border of New South Wales, 1788) is based on the Tordesillas line dividing South America between Spain and Portugal (Gammage 1981: 529) rather than on Aboriginal tribal boundaries. But as might be understood from the book, I personally believe that language is far more important than land, both deontologically and ontologically. Caveat: I acknowledge the importance of landscape and geological features to the Aboriginal ethos, as well as the inseparable langue-​land-​lens trinity. (2) Numerous utilitarian reasons for the revival: the revival of dreaming, sleeping Aboriginal languages can result in personal, educational and economic empowerment, sense of pride and higher self-​esteem of people who have lost their heritage and wellbeing. The Hebrew revival had many less utilitarian purposes, the main one being simply the constitution of a unifying tongue to Jews from all over the world. It would have been unfair, for example, for Ladino-​speaking Sephardim if German were selected. (3) Governmental support:  although it could obviously be greater, the Australian government does support the reclamation and maintenance of Aboriginal languages. This has not been the case in fin-​de-​ siècle Palestine. (4) Talknology: in the twenty-​first century, there are many talknological tools that can be used in a language revival enterprise (see chap. 7). (5) Similarities between Aboriginal English and Aboriginal Languages:  Aboriginal English, spoken by some Aboriginal revivalists, contain various linguistic features—​such as connotations, associations, sounds, and morphological characteristics like the dual—​of the reclaimed Aboriginal languages at stake. One might perspicaciously argue that Israeli semantics, which is deeply modelled on Yiddish semantics, also maintains the original Hebrew semantics after all, because Yiddish, a Germanic language with Romance substratum, was deeply impacted by Hebrew and Aramaic. However, the Yiddish dialects that have been the most influential ones in Israel, e.g. Polish Yiddish, are, in fact, the ones that underwent Slavonization from the thirteenth century onwards, when Jews moved from Germany to Slavonic-​speaking areas in Eastern Europe. Aboriginal English is much younger and therefore is much more likely to retain features of Aboriginal languages than Yiddish is to retain features of Hebrew.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  195

6.3  Be Spoken Rather Than Bespoke: Universal Constraints of Language Revival, Authenticity vs Emblematicity And yet, although obviously language revival attempts should be tailored to the specific contexts, needs and desires of each community, there are some universal constraints that should be recognized. Be spoken rather than bespoke. As we have already seen, Hebrew revivalists, who wished to speak pure Hebrew, failed in their imprisoning purism prism, the result being a multifaceted and fascinating Israeli language, both multi-​layered and multi-​ sourced. Most relevantly, some Australian interest groups (cf. Tiwi in Dorian 1994: 481–​4) get hung up on misled views akin to the slogan Give me authenticity or give me death! (cf. ‘Give me Liberty, or give me Death!’, the famous quotation attributed to Patrick Henry from a speech he made to the Virginia Convention in America on 23 March 1775), where the death, of course, ends up being the Indigenous language they wish to save from ‘contamination’! (On authenticity and language revival, see also Wong (1999); Hinton and Ahlers (1999); and Zuckermann & Walsh (2011).) Why should revivalists and Aboriginal leaders be encouraged to be realistic rather than puristic? Purism creates unrealistic expectations that may discourage learners from acquiring the emerging language. A revived language should not be viewed negatively if it is seen to be influenced by a neighbouring language or by English. The use of words from a neighbouring language should not discredit the revived language. There might be some rare occasions when it is more appropriate for revivalists to favour purism—​ see Harlow (1993) on Māori. However, in the case of reclamation proper (i.e. the revival of a language that has no native speakers such as Hebrew), one must learn to embrace, celebrate, and champion, rather than chastise, the inevitable hybridity of the emerging language. One might argue that the difference between the conditions that surround Aboriginal languages and Israeli are so large that it is impossible to learn across these contexts. But denying universal traits or constraints in human language in general, and in reversing language shift in particular, is counter-​ productive. Linguistic reality lies between relativism and universalism. No progress will be made by turning a blind eye to any of these extremes. Based on a critical analysis of Israeli, one can predict accurately the situation in various reclaimed Aboriginal languages such as Kaurna (pronounced [ˈgaɳa]), a resurrected language spoken around Adelaide, which is the result of one of

196 Revivalistics the most successful revival attempts in Australia—​cf. Gumbaynggirr (Ash et. al. 2010), Ngarrindjeri, Walmajarri. and Kamilaroi/​Gamilaraay. There are scholars, e.g. Dalby (2003: 250), who scoff at some attempts at reviving the use of an endangered language: ‘this is no longer a language, any more than musicians are speaking Italian when they say andante and fortissimo. These are simply loanwords used in a special context’. A more balanced view is manifested in Crystal’s (2000: 162) comments on Kaurna: The revived language is not the same as the original language, of course; most obviously, it lacks the breadth of functions which it originally had, and large amounts of old vocabulary are missing. But, as it continues in present-​day use, it will develop new functions and new vocabulary, just as any other living language would, and as long as people value it as a true marker of their identity, and are prepared to keep using it, there is no reason to think of it as anything other than a valid system of communication.

The impact of English (Aboriginal or Australian English) on reclaimed Kaurna is far-​reaching. Consider the following: • At the l evel of phonology, there are spelling pronunciations: ur (as in purli ‘star’ or purlaityi ‘two’) is pronounced [ɜ] instead of [u]‌. In classical Kaurna, the r in these words belonged with the consonant (the l was a retroflex) but we hear an er vowel as in English slur or sir. Stress is often placed on the second syllable rather than on the first (Amery 2016, Amery & Rigney 2004: 2–​3). • At the level of vocabulary, there are many calques—​see Amery (2016), as well as Chapter 12 Wardlingka ‘In the Home’ (pp. 66–​73), Chapter 15 Tidnaparntu ‘Football’ (pp. 84–​7) and Chapter 16 Kuya Pirri-​wirrkinthi ‘Fishing’ (pp. 88–​92) in Amery & Simpson (2013), where a range of ca lq ue s h ave be en d eve lo ped—especi ally evident in the name s of Australian Footbal League (AFL) teams such as Kuinyunta Miyurna (l it . ‘sa cred m en’) fo r the St Ki lda Saints. Knowingly, and jocularly, cricket (the sport game) was replicated as yartapirriti (the term for the insect with the same name in English, Amery (2017: 152). It should be noted, however, that in reclaimed Kaurna there are relatively few loanwords/​foreignisms from English per se, far less than we see in strong Aboriginal languages such as the aforementioned Pitjantjatjara, as well as Yolŋu Matha.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  197 • Wo rd o rder is free in classical Kaurna as in other Aboriginal languages, though it tended to be SOV (Subject-​Object-​Verb). Naturally, there are contemporary users of Kaurna who tend to produce more SVO (Subject-​Verb-​Object) sentences, replicating English (Amery & Rigney 2004: 5). • English semantics tends to carry through to Kaurna words (Amery & Rigney 2004:  5–​7). • The most pervasive influence from English is at the level of discourse. Almost everything said or written is translated from English. Thus, the turn of phrase and the idiom are from English (Amery 2001a: 190–​4; Amery 2001b; see also Amery & Rigney 2006). One of the famous revitalized languages is Hawai’i, a fascinating case of both a severely endangered language and a revitalized language. Classical Hawaiian is spoken by about 300 speakers in Ni’ihau Island, which is the seventh-​largest of the inhabited Hawaiian Islands in the United States of America. Neo-​Hawaiian is a revitalized language spoken by approximately 3,000 people who are non-​native, living on the other islands, Oahu, Maui, Hawaii, or Hawai’i. These people can hold a conversation at varying levels of proficiency, mostly at the lower end. Census data indicate more than 10,000 speakers of revitalized Hawai’i, but that number might be inflated. Hawaiian offers scholars a unique laboratory to explore the constraints of language revival. Genetically-​engineered Neo-​Hawaiian can indeed be systematically compared to the organically-​evolving Classical Hawaiian, as the latter is still spoken by several hundred people who are not involved in the reclamation. Consider pronunciation. In Classical Hawaiian, there are hoehoe ‘to paddle a canoe’ and hoihoi ‘interesting, fun’. In revitalized Hawaiian, both words are pronounced the same, hoyhoy, reflecting American English, which fails to distinguish between the diphthong oe and the diphthong oi. Speakers of revitalized Hawaiian have a hard time clearly pronouncing mau verses mao, mae versus mai, pae versus pai etc. Often in language revitalization, authenticity is superseded by emblematicity. If you manage to imitate the r of Scottish and the glottal stop of Scottish (for t) and the [u:] vowel as in mouse, house, people might think you are Scottish, even though in many other aspects your accent is totally un-​ Scottish, and even though you might over-​pronounce these elements, i.e.

198 Revivalistics hypercorrectly use them in the wrong places. The reason is that the pronunciation of the r, t and the long vowels (consider the Great Vowel Shift in the history of English) are emblematic in Scottish English. Now, let us move to revitalized languages: revivalists sometimes choose an emblematic characteristic of the revitalized language and over-​apply it, similar to hypercorrection, sometimes even at the expense of authenticity. Consider Ngarrindjeri, an Aboriginal language spoken in South Australia. In classical Ngarrindjeri, the pronunciation of the name Ngarrindjeri was Ngarrindjeri, with the first rr being as in Italian and with the second one being as in English. But in revitalized Ngarrindjeri, the pronunciation is Ngarrindjerri, both r cases are pronounced unlike English—​as in Italian Ferrari. The emblematic characteristic rr is selected in order to conduct othering, i.e. defining Ngarrindjeri vis-​à-​vis the other, in this case, the colonizers’ mother tongue, Australian English. Now, consider revitalized Māori of Aotearoa ‘New Zealand’, lit. ‘the land of the long white cloud’, a.k.a. by some Māori people as ‘the land of the wrong white crowd’. The vowel space of the historical male elders born in the 1870s–​ 80s and recorded in the late 1940s is shown in Figure 6.1 (King, Harlow, Watson, Keegan, and Maclagan 2009). It largely represents the Māori version of the stable vowel space which had moved across the Pacific over two millennia, see Krupa (1982). When we move to the vowel space of the youngest group of eight young female speakers (born in the 1980s and recorded in the mid naughties) we see that the raising of both front and back mid-​vowels has

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Figure 6.1  The vowel space of male elders born in the 1870s-​1880s and young women born in the 1980s

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  199 substantially advanced so that pī and kē are (or piki and kete) now largely sharing the very same vowel space. In comparison with the vowel space of the young male speakers, their female contemporaries are leading in respect of the raising of kē and kete, the fronting of tū and tuku, and the fronting of wā and waka. Some young female speakers have fronted tū/​tuku even more than indicated in this slide, so that they are starting to encroach on the already crowded high front vowel space shared by pī/​piki and kē/​kete.

6.4  Revivalistics Revivalistics is a new trans-​disciplinary field of enquiry studying comparatively and systematically the universal constraints and global mechanisms on the one hand (see Zuckermann 2009), and particularistic peculiarities and cultural relativist idiosyncrasies on the other, apparent in linguistic reclamation, revitalization and reinvigoration attempts across various sociological backgrounds, all over the globe (Zuckermann & Walsh 2011). Revivalistics combines scientific studies of native language acquisition and foreign language learning:  language reclamation is the most extreme case of foreign language learning. Whilst a native tongue is automatically acquired even by fools, foreign language learning requires inter alia seven characteristics: (1) musicality, (2) mathematicity, (3) good memory, (4) high IQ, (5) high EQ, sociability, friendliness, (6) lack of shame (a problem e.g. of youth in Asia, afraid of losing face), and (7) motivation. What is the difference between reclamation, revitalization, and reinvigoration? All of them are on the revival spectrum. (Consider other RE-​terms that have been employed for ‘revival’ are reawakening, renewal, restoration, resurrection, resuscitation, reintroduction, regenesis, revernacularization, rebirth, and renaissance etc.) Here are my specific definitions: • Reclamation is the revival of a sleeping beauty tongue, i.e. a no-​longer spoken language, as in the case of Hebrew, Barngarla (the Aboriginal language of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia), Kaurna (the Aboriginal language of Adelaide, Australia), Wampanoag, Siraya, and Myaamia. • Revitalization is the revival of a severely endangered language, for example Adnyamathanha of the Flinders Ranges in Australia, as well as Karuk and Walmajarri. (Compare this sense with the broader use of

200 Revivalistics ‘revitalization’ as in Hinton, Huss & Roche 2018, which is parallel to my use of ‘revival’.) • Reinvigoration is the revival of an endangered language that still has a high percentage of children speaking it, for example the Celtic languages Welsh and Irish, and the Romance languages Catalan and Quebecoise French. Figure 6.2 describes the difference. Consider the following post-​Hebrew examples of reclamation: (1) Wampanoag from Nantucket in Massachusetts is an example. Jessie Little Doe Baird and her husband Jason, who, with the assistance of linguists Ken Hale and Norvan Richards, learnt their Wampanoag as adults from the records of the language dating back to the seventeenth century. They have raised their daughter as a native speaker of Wampanoag, the first since the 1850s. (2) Myaamia, a language that was spoken in the states of Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio is currently being reclaimed. For example, Daryl and Karen Baldwin have raised their four children as native speakers of Myaamia. (3) Manx from the Isle of Man also gained native speakers since the death in 1974 of Ned Maddrell, who was once considered the last native speaker. (4) Cornish too has now gained native speakers after the best part of a century of language revival efforts. Reclamation

Revitalization

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There were NO native speakers when the revival began.

Severely endangered. Some speakers.

Endangered. Many speakers.

e.g. Hebrew, Kaurna, Barngarla, Wampanoag, Siraya, Myaamia; Tunica (Central and Lower Mississippi Valley, USA)

e.g. Adnyamathanha, Karuk, Walmajarri

e.g. Welsh, Irish, Catalan, Quebecoise French

Figure 6.2  Comparison of Reclamation, Revitalization and Reinvigoration

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  201

6.4.1  The Reinvigoration of Yiddish as a Secular Language Yiddish as a secular language, characterized by a plethora of psycho-​ ostensive expressions (see Matisoff 2000 [1979]), was subject to linguicide on three distinct fronts: (1) The Holocaust, (2) Communism, and (3) Zionism (see chap. 1): (1) Prior to the Holocaust, there were 13 million Yiddish speakers (Katz 2011) among 17 million Jews worldwide. Approximately 85 per cent of the approximately 6 million Jews who perished in the Holocaust were Yiddish speakers (Birnbaum 1984). (2) Yiddish was banned in the Soviet Union in 1948–​1955 (Dov-​Ber Kerler, pc). (3) With regard to the third front, consider the aforementioned activities of gdud meginéy hasafá ‘The Battalion for the Defence of the Language’ (§1.9.1), as well as the following disturbing example: Rozka Korczak-​Marla (24 April 1921–​5 March 1988), a Holocaust survivor, one of the leaders of the Jewish combat organization in the World War II Jewish Vilna Ghetto, Abba Kovner’s collaborator, and fighter at the United Partisan Organization (known in Yiddish as Faráynikte Partizáner Organizátsye). In 1944 Rozka Korczak-​Marla was invited to speak at the sixth convention of the Histadrut, General Organization of Workers in Israel, known in Israeli as hahistadrút (haklalít (shel haovdím beérets israél)). She spoke, in her mother tongue Yiddish, about the extermination of Eastern European Jews, a plethora of them Yiddish speakers. Immediately after her speech came to the stage David Ben-​Gurion, the first General Secretary of the Histadrut, the de facto leader of the Jewish community in Palestine and eventually Israel’s first Prime Minister. What he said is shocking from today’s perspective: . . .  ‫זה עתה דיברה פה חברה בשפה זרה וצורמת על הצרות שפקדו את‬  ze atá dibrá po khaverá besafá zará vetsorémet al atsarót shepakdú et . . . A comrade has just spoken here in a foreign and cacophonous tongue about the troubles inflicting the . . .

202 Revivalistics One should also take into account Yiddish glottophagy—​ rather than linguicide—​ due to modernization, globalization and assimilation that affected Yiddish both in the New and in the Old Worlds, beginning to be strongly felt by the early 1930s in both the Soviet Union and the United States. As a vernacular and as a language of printed and written communication, Yiddish is alive and kicking among the North-​American Haredi (ultra-​ orthodox religious) Jews, and less so in Europe and Israel. However, it is about to become a sleeping beauty as a vibrant ‘high’ culture—​in intellectual domains such as literature, theatre, scholarship in Yiddish, secular education in Yiddish. Somewhat similar to Hawai’i, and as a generalization, (religious) native Yiddish speakers do not take part in the (secular) reclamation of Yiddish. There are at least three ultra-​orthodox, Hasidic daily publications online (Yidisher vinkl, Yidishe velt, and Luakh hatsibur); there was even an attempt in 2013 to produce a weekly, Shabes bletl with interesting essays and rarely poems. Its writers were, however, co-​opted by the Forverts, where they wrote for its separate section ‘Yiddish mit an Alef ’ in their own Yiddish, including their orthography. Their section has been recently renamed into ‘Oylem hakhsidus’. However, their grammar and lexis are markedly different from secular Yiddish. They represent Hungarian and certain Polish varieties of vernacular Yiddish and reflect a nearly total loss of conventional ‘literary standard’ retention, due to ‘functional illiteracy’ and the ongoing impact of American English in North America and of Israeli in the Middle East (in Israel the Yiddish ‘illiteracy’ is nearly complete). Of course the Haredi Jews are literate and can read and write in Yiddish, but for most of them Yiddish literature and press of the past, even the most recent one, simply do not exist. Those who become interested are genuinely surprised to discover that there was Yiddish literature, numbering scores of thousands books and many hundreds of periodicals. As a result, their Yiddish lost the grammatical gender (a phenomenon that can be traced to pre-​war Polish Yiddish speech) and thousands of words. There are a few areas of ongoing and even somewhat enhanced activity/​ even creativity in Yiddish in the first two decades of the 21st century. The former can be seen as a revival of sorts and it entails a steady stream of young people opting to learn the language in various summer courses and intensive programs in New York, Amherst, Vilnius, Tel Aviv, Warsaw, Berlin, and Paris. By and large, the numbers are modest: between one and two thousand people ages forty and less. There is also some movement on the part of

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  203 a number of disillusioned or semi-​disillusioned Haredi Jews who are native Yiddish speakers willing to explore Yiddish literature and its secular culture, and connecting with the non-​Haredi Yiddishists especially in the New York area, and to a much more limited degree in Israel. Consider The Yiddish Farm which ‘creates and fosters Jewish connections between agriculture, culture, and language’ (https://​yiddishfarm.org/​, accessed 1 January 2020). Its activities include immersion Yiddish Language Programming: The Yiddish Farm Summer Program; Eretz Goshen: Interactive Farm Tours for Schools and Camps; Af Datshe: Educational Family Visits; and Eretz Goshen Brand Grain Products: Shmura Matzo, Cookies, and Crackers. There is also much reduced but still active creative engagement among some younger and aging authors, almost all born in the second half of the twentieth century. Consider http://​ berkale.simplesite.com/​ 438846473 (accessed 1 January 2020), a website established by Yiddish poet and scholar Dov-​Ber Kerler. It lists eleven contemporary Yiddish poets. In 2017 an anthology of post-​war born Yiddish poets was published in Tel Aviv. It contains twenty poets, the youngest one born in 1981. The anthology was published by Velvl Chernin & Mikhoel Felzenbaum as one of twelve new individual books of five poets, three prose writers (alas two of whom are not with us anymore) and one collection of literary criticism as ‘bibliotek fun der haynttsaytiker yidisher literartur’ since 2016 (two more collections of poetry are in the pipeline). Yiddish revival can also be seen in Dovid Katz’s work. It began when he was 15 years old and led a two-​year rebellion in his Brooklyn Hebrew day school, the Yeshivah of Flatbush Joel Braverman High School, with his first Yiddish article on 17 April 1972 appearing in the Yiddish Forward (headline: fifty-​one students from the Yeshivah of Flatbush protest the exclusion of Yiddish from the curriculum). Dozens of Jewish newspapers, in both Yiddish and English, carried news of the controversy, which came to shed light on the wider issue of the total boycott of Yiddish by the entire Hebrew day school system in the United States. On 14 August 1972, Bernard Bard of the New York Post published his report ‘Yiddish Rebels Upset Yeshivah’ and Katz edited five issues of a Yiddish-​English student journal called Aleichem Sholem   (http:// ​ d ovidkatz.net/ ​ d ovid/ ​ d ovid_​ p eriodicals.htm#Sholem, accessed 1 January 2020). The result was the introduction of a single elective course, but more importantly, a milestone in breaking the walls of the Yiddish despisers among American Jews, a stance buttressed by the extreme Hebraism of the day school systems’ faculty and leaders at the time.

204 Revivalistics In London in 1976–​77, Katz started a weekly Yiddish reading circle conducted entirely in Yiddish that went on (ultimately under various people’s leadership for many years). His partner was David Djanogly, himself a Sephardi Jew of Georgian descent, who offered his Hampstead home for years. From 1978 until 1997, Katz established a world programme in Yiddish Studies at the University of Oxford, which held all intermediate and higher courses entirely in Yiddish, thereby synthesizing revivalism with academic study, and fighting the mould of many North American and Israeli programmes, where programmes were either on a serious academic level or in Yiddish, by building the world’s first that was dedicated to both. Among the many results were the years of annual winter symposiums where most of the papers were delivered in Yiddish, and above all the series of collective academic volume Oksforder Yidish (Oxford Yiddish), entirely in Yiddish. Volume III (1995), in large folio format, at 1000 pages remains to this day the largest academic collection in Yiddish since the Holocaust. Katz established the Vilnius Programme in Yiddish from 1998 on the same principle. In Vilnius, now a professor at Vilnius Gediminas Technical University, he leads a weekly Yiddish Literary Reading Circle, established in 1999 and conducted entirely in Yiddish.

6.4.2  Trans-​disciplinarity Revivalistics is trans-​disciplinary because it studies language revival from various angles such as law, mental health, linguistics, anthropology, sociology, geography, politics, history, biology, evolution, genetics, genomics, colonization studies, missionary studies, media, animation film, technology, talknology, art, theatre, dance, agriculture, archaeology, music (see Grant 2014), education, games (indirect learning), pedagogy (see Hinton 2011), and even architecture. Consider architecture. An architect involved in revivalistics might ask the following ‘location, location, location’ question, which is, of course, beyond language: • Should we reclaim an Indigenous language in a natural Indigenous se tt in g , to replicate the original ambience of heritage, culture, laws, and lores?

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  205 • Should we reclaim an Indigenous language in a modern building that has Indigenous characteristics such as Aboriginal colours and shapes? • Should we reclaim an Aboriginal language in a western governmental building—​to give an empowering signal that the tribe has full support of contemporary mainstream society? Consider music. Articulating the theoretical, philosophical and practical similarities, and differences between languages and music, specifically in relation to their viability, Grant (2010, 2011) demonstrates how language revival may inform the theory and practice of supporting endangered musical traditions. As one example to this end, Grant’s (2014) twelve-​factor Music Vitality and Endangerment Framework (MVEF) offers a standardized, replicable tool for gauging the level of vitality of music genres. Building on this research, as well as the earlier work of ethnomusicologist-​ linguists (e.g. Marett & Barwick 2005; Feld & Fox 1994, Johnson 2005), Schippers and Grant (2016) shift from considerations of endangerment to those of music revival—​or ‘music sustainability’—​many of which have their analogue in challenges around language revival. Grant (2012, 2014) argues that it is not only music researchers that can learn from linguists in approaches to revival but also vice versa, and indeed, there stands much to be gained in the service of both fields from trans-​disciplinary collaboration (Grant 2018). As aforementioned, music reclamation has been used in the Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation, e.g. ‘Barngarla Song Project’: http://​nexusarts.org.au/​programs/​barngarla-​songs/​ (accessed 1 January 2020). Consider animation films. Monash Country Lines Archive (MCLA, https:// www.monash.edu/news/articles/monash-country-lines-archive-to-expandunder-a-new-indigenous-name2/, accessed 1 January 2020), is located at Monash University (Melbourne), founded by John Bradley, and supported by the Alan and Elizabeth Finkel Foundation. Applying reflexive and decolonized intellectual frameworks, MCLA uses modes of expression that go beyond the limitations of academic writing, which tends to alienate Indigenous owners from their own intellectual property. Animation films incorporating Aboriginal languages allow the representation of Indigenous knowledge that have been approved and valued by their Indigenous owners, while also highlighting the general social worth of the intellectual property being represented. So far, MCLA has produced twenty-​five animation films, representing Aboriginal languages such as Yawuru, Ngiyampaa, Garrwa, Yanyuwa,

206 Revivalistics Gurindji, Kaurna, Gunditjmara, Taungwurrung, Lajti-​latji, Wemba-​wemba, and Muthi-​muthi Such an approach brings the audience into contact with ‘other worlds’, evoking what may otherwise be considered intangible and unlocatable:  namely the world of memory, pleasure, sensation, imagination, affect, and insight. Animation is an ideal means of representing these states. Consider the Israeli film vals im bashír ‘Waltz with Bashir’, analysed by Holzman and Zuckermann (2013), which manages to convey surreal feelings that would be impossible to convey in a non-​animation film. The making of animation films in the case of endangered Aboriginal languages reminds me of the codification of the Mishnah, which includes the Jewish oral traditions, the rabbinic interpretation of the Pentateuch (see §1.4). As I see it, the Mishnah was codified then because that was a linguistically critical period: the Tannaim were afraid of losing important information as Hebrew was dying during their lifetime. The redaction (the actual writing occurred later) of the Jewish oral tradition meant that the redactors had to standardize. The very same happens with Aboriginal animation films: they are urgently being created as languages are about to fall asleep, and in their creation, standardization is a necessity. After all, story-​telling and oral tradition vary between speakers. Consider theatre. Since 2014 the Kaurna Warra Pintyanthi (KWP) media team at the University of Adelaide has been producing puppet shows on YouTube. The Pirltawardli (in the Kaurna Aboriginal language, pirlta means ‘brushtail possum’ and wardli means ‘home’) Puppet Show features all, or predominantly, Kaurna-​ speaking puppets, Kurraka (‘magpie’) and Ngungana (‘kookaburra’), along with Kuula (‘koala’), who speaks mainly English, but tries to speak Kaurna and in so doing makes many jocular errors. Kuula and Kurraka are always sparring with each other. The fourth puppet, Pirlta (‘brushtail possum’) speaks and understands both Kaurna and English well, and thus is able to translate and act as a mediator between the two, clear up the misunderstandings and keep the peace. The use of puppets is supplemented with animation to produce engaging two-​to four-​minute clips to encourage first language speakers of English to engage with the Kaurna language (see Amery 2018: 337; https://​www.adelaide.edu.au/​kwp/​resources/​videos/​, accessed 1 January 2020). Consider art. Art has been used in the Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation, e.g. ‘One Love, One Family:  Barngarla Stories of Resilience’: https://medium.com/@NexusArts/one-love-one-family-2c506ae17a1d (accessed 1 January 2020).

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  207 Revivalistics includes Revival Linguistics (see, e.g., Zuckermann & Xu 2013, Zuckermann & Yao 2012), which is very different from the already-​ established branch of linguistics called Documentary Linguistics (see, e.g., Himmelmann 1998; Bowern 2008; Nathan & Austin 2014; Austin 2016). How different is revival linguistics from documentary linguistics? An insensitive linguist can still be a documentary linguist or a typologist but can hardly be a revivalist. Revivalists ought to work with the community. Their work is much more than a laboratory endeavour that analyses a morpheme or a phoneme. From my own experience, a revivalist is not only a linguist but also a teacher, driver, schlepper, financial manager, cook, waiter, psychologist, social worker, babysitter, donor etc. A language revivalist must have a heart of gold, ‘balls’ of steel and the patience of a saint. Language revival is similar to co-​parenting. The linguist is a step-​father, whereas the biological mother, who is more important, is the minority or Indigenous community. If you are the step-​father and your spouse, who is the biological mother, makes what you perceive to be a mediocre decision with regard to your children, you cannot just disapprove of it. After all, the children are your spouse’s more than they are yours. You must work together for the best possible outcome. Similarly, if the community supports a decision that is not linguistically viable, the linguist can try to inspire the community members, but must accept their own verdict. That would be difficult for a linguist with poor social skills. Consider the following real examples from Aboriginal Australia: 1. Seat of emotions: although the professional revivalist knows, with ample evidence, that the seat of emotions in a specific Aboriginal language is the stomach, contemporary indigenous revivalists—​influenced (subconsciously) by the colonizers’ English—​tell me that they feel, as the traditional owners of the languages, that the heart is the seat of emotions within the traditional language. 2. Neologization:  although the professional revivalist may think that neologisms would be beneficial for the revival (for example, as children would like to have a word for ‘computer’ or ‘app’), an Aboriginal tribe told me that they decided not to neologize (for the time being) until everyone knows all the traditional words being reclaimed. 3. Swear words: although the professional revivalist may think that swear words would be beneficial for the revival (for example, as people would

208 Revivalistics like to express frustration), an Aboriginal tribe asked me to censor such words from the dictionary. 4. One-​to-​one correlation between signifiers and referents: although the professional revivalist has no problem with homophony and polysemy, an Aboriginal custodian told me that she wanted a system of one word—​one meaning. 5. Spelling: although an Aboriginal tribe decided to stick to B, D and G (knowing that P T and K are not distinct phonemes in their language), some opted to continue to use P and K in a specific name within that language. A revivalist cannot be an armchair linguist, who sits at home and analyses language. A revivalist cannot be a veranda linguist, who observes the natives without engaging them. A revivalist cannot be a caravan linguist, who interrogates a native speaker in a caravan until the native speaker faints out of exhaustion and then the linguist brings the next native speaker in the line. A revivalist must be a community field linguist. One might argue that revivalistics brings back linguistics to its core: the native speakers, their culture, wellbeing, and mental health. The goals, and the extent, of a language revival movement can be very varied in the first place. For example, a community may desire to only reach a post-​vernacular phase, in which people know several dozens of keywords in their traditional language. In the case of Māori, for example, it can be lexical items that are not easy to translate such as whakapapa ‘genealogy, heritage’, or whanau ‘extended family’ (wh is pronounced by most Māori as f). Other communities may wish only to change the langscape, linguistic landscape, (LL) of their town (say: official signs in Port Lincoln should be not only in English but also in the traditional regional language: the Barngarla Aboriginal tongue). Others might want to have funerals and other rituals in language. And there might be communities who may aspire to go the ‘full monty’, all the way. In other words: just like in the case of the Hebrew reclamation: they might want to have their grandchildren speaking the language resulting from the reclamation natively. It is for the Indigenous people, not for the linguist, to decide. In fact, the advantages of a language revival movement go far beyond the actual native speech results. From the point of view of Indigenous

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  209 empowerment and wellbeing, it is not the case that if at the end, if any, of the revival process there is no all-​encompassing native-​speaking community that converses in the revived language in all semantic domains, then it will automatically imply that the revival was a failure. The revival process is as important as the revival goals. The reward is in the journey.

6.4.3  Language Revival and the Community For linguists, the first stage of any language revival must involve a long period of observation and careful listening while learning, mapping, and characterizing the specific needs, desires, and potentials of an Indigenous or minority or culturally endangered community. Only then can one inspire and assist. Linguists are important but cannot provide what a united Aboriginal community can. That said, a crucial aspect of the Barngarla language reclamation project involves creating a virtual and actual community of practice (Wenger 1998). Revivalistics would help people engaged in language reclamation, revitalization, or reinvigoration to become more realistic, and to abandon discouraging slogans such as, say, ‘Give us authenticity or give us death!’. Dorian (1994) argues, perspicaciously, that conservative attitudes toward loanwords and toward change in grammar often hamper efforts to revitalize endangered languages such as Tiwi, near Darwin, Australia. Revivalistics thus can assist Indigenous communities in a realistic, non-​ puristic way, without selling them myths. Revivalistics discards any imprisoning purism prism and makes the community members realize that shift happens. And there is nothing wrong with shift happening. Hybridization results in new diversity, which is beautiful. Seven Jews have changed the way we perceive the world:  Moses said ‘Everything is in the head!’, Jesus said ‘Everything is in the heart!’, Marx said ‘Everything is in the stomach!’, Freud said ‘Everything is in the loin!’, Zuckermann said ‘Everything is in the tongue!’, Zuckerberg said ‘Everything is online!’, Einstein said ‘Everything is relative!’. The success of language revival is relative. No language reclamation can be fully successful. And as an eighth Jew, Jerry Seinfeld, once said:  ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that!’ Unfortunately, some people see the world in B&W (black-​and-​white) terms. However, Jewish thinking, as I see it, is all about ‘on the other hand’.

210 Revivalistics In the famous play Fiddler on the Roof, after Tevye’s daughter Hodel and her non-​Jewish lover Perchik announced their engagement, Tevye, a religious Jew and thus opposed to intermarriage, memorably reckons: ‘He loves her. Love, it’s a new style ... On the other hand, our old ways were once new, weren’t they? On the other hand, they decided without parents, without a matchmaker! On the other hand, did Adam and Eve have a matchmaker? Well, yes they did. And it seems these two have the same matchmaker!’ If someone likes butterflies, it would be better for them to have a dirty, injured butterfly that is alive, rather than a perfectly-​beautiful butterfly stuck on the wall. An alive Reclaimed Hebrew or Reclaimed Barngarla, albeit hybridic, mixed, and cross-​fertilized, is better than an authentic, pure, perfect Hebrew or Barngarla that is dead. Revival linguistics complements the established field of documentary linguistics, which records endangered languages before they fall asleep. Revival linguistics revises the fields of (1)  grammaticography (writing grammars) and (2) lexicography (writing dictionaries). It proposes that grammars and dictionaries ought to be written for language reclamation in a user-​friendly way, accessible to lay communities, not only to professional linguists. For instance, we should avoid highfalutin, flowery, often Latin-​based, grammatical terminology. User-​friendly spelling should also be employed by revivalists. Juxtapose two spellings for noonyara, the Barngarla word meaning ‘recovery’. Barngarla is the sleeping Aboriginal language of Port Lincoln, Whyalla, and Port Augusta, in Eyre Peninsula, Australia. The German Lutheran missionary Clamor Wilhelm Schürmann’s 1844 user-​unfriendly spelling for this word was nunyara. Our proposed 2012 spelling noonyara is more suitable to the Aboriginal people taking part in the reclamation because they are all English speaking. And in English, the ‘u’ in nunyara is pronounced as in nun. That said, in the Australian 1976 Population Census, Presbyterian Australians used 383 different spellings to describe their own denomination. For example: presbeterian, prespertarian, prespreterian, presbiterian, presbyrterian, presbytarians, presybyterian, presybeterian, presyterian, presbytrian, prespeterian, prebyterian, presbytarian, presbyerian, presbertarian, presbetraian, presybartian, presyberian, prysbyterian, presbyterian, presbetarian, presbaterian, prebytarian, prebysterian, presbertain, preysbyerian, presbitarin, prsbyterian.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  211 Lest we forget that Shakespeare spelled his surname in five different ways. None of them was S H A K E S P E A R E. And from the Bard to the Lard.

6.5  LARD, from Theory to Practice—​Language Revival Diamond: Language Owners, Linguistics, Education, and Public Sphere Reviving a language is complex and involves a great deal of time and the help of many people. The LAnguage Revival Diamond (LARD) consists of four core quadrants, each of which is interdependent and necessary in reviving any language, see Figure 6.3: (1) Language Owners:  depending on the stage of the language under revival, these are the (native) speakers who are ancestrally-​tied to the language or those who will carry it into the future. This is often a starting point for revival but it is possible to start anywhere in the Diamond. It is always an organic process, with interdependent and always-​moving  parts. (2) Linguistics: a key early point in the process is about recording and documenting the language, where that is still possible; and collating or reconstructing existing material and sources. It also includes work on spelling, orthography (see, e.g., Bradley 2011), dictionaries, and grammar. Moving forwards and to compound the work, it is crucial to engage in and create New Media resources and learning material. (3) Education:  this includes working in art, song, and traditional rituals to pull out or extend the language; methods and strategies, for example: in the case of revitalization and reinvigoration (but not in reclamation, of a no-​longer spoken language) the Master/​Apprentice (or Mentor/​Apprentice) method. Education also includes learning, teaching, schooling, and immersion. This is key to ensuring the longevity of a language, particularly once there are several or many speakers. (4) Public Sphere:  this final quadrant is all about moving the language under revival into the public domain. It includes working with the gen­­eral public and government where desired and changing the langscape (linguistic landscape), the signs where the language belongs.

212 Revivalistics

LANGUAGE REVIVAL DIAMOND

Spelling Orthography, Dictionaries & Grammar

Custodians & Their Communities

Research (e.g. Reconstruction) & Collating Sources

LANGUAGE OWNERS

Art, Song & Traditional Rituals

LINGUISTICS

REVIVE

EDUCATION

New Media, Resources & Learning Material

PUBLIC SPHERE

Methods, Strategies & Immersion

Learning, Teaching & Schooling

General Community, Linguistic Landscape (signs), Media & Government

Figure 6.3  LARD: LAanguage Revival Diamond, Zuckermann and Amery (2015), Massive Open Online Course (MOOC), https://www.edx.org/course/languagerevival-securing-future-adelaidex-lang101x-1OUP (accessed 1 January 2020).

6.5.1 Language Owners Needless to reiterate, the language owners-​custodians-​speakers are central to any language revival effort. Otherwise, it is simply a sterile academic or technocratic exercise that cannot really be characterized as genuine language revival. Some Aboriginal people distinguish between usership and ownership. There are even those who claim that they own a language although they only know one single word of it:  its name. Some language revival movements may be entirely in-​house, motivated and run by

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  213 language owners, custodians, or speakers themselves. This is more likely in languages at the stronger end of the spectrum (reinvigoration) or where owners happen to have within their ranks trained linguists, teachers, curriculum specialists, language planners, IT experts, etc. Typically, however, successful language revival results from collaboration between owners-​custodians-​speakers on the one hand, and linguists, teachers, and IT specialists on the other hand. It often involves collaboration within schools, universities, governments, at various levels, philanthropic organizations, and sometimes even private enterprises and large corporations. For example, both the Myaamia people of Ohio in the United States and the Kaurna of Adelaide in South Australia have formal Memoranda of Understanding within Miami University, Ohio, and the University of Adelaide, respectively. What do language owners, custodians, and speakers have to offer? What do they stand to gain? Wherever the language is located in the spectrum of reclamation, revitalization, and reinvigoration, it is the owners who have the direct connection with the language, culture, traditions, and land. Their knowledge of the language, land, culture, and all that this entails may be extensive, or it may be limited if they have been removed from it as a result of past policies and historical events. But they are still the ones with a connection. By virtue of this connection, they are the ones who have most to gain from language revival. Through re-​establishing connections with their ancestral lands, ancestral tongue, and way of life, they contribute to a sense of belonging, identity, self-​worth, and well-​being. The owners, custodians, and speakers are essential in determining directions for the language movement and in shaping the language itself. Wherever the language is located on the continuum, it is important to draw on the remaining knowledge and wisdom held by the owners and custodians and speakers. In some cases of language revitalization or reinvigoration, this may entail years and years of language documentation, making hours and hours of audio and video recordings, hours and hours of elicitation sessions, and recording of oral history, knowledge of the environment, and traditional cultural practices, etc. At the other end of the spectrum, at the far end of language reclamation, there may be little to no knowledge remaining of the language as such. But sometimes, the dominant language such as English and Chinese, or contact languages such as pidgins, creoles, as they are spoken by the owners or

214 Revivalistics custodians, may reflect structures from the ancestral language and may make an important contribution to the language reclamation effort. Speakers of Taiwanese Indigenous languages, when it comes to expanding the lexicon, often turn to Japanese loanwords, as these are familiar in the minds of the elders. Note that Taiwan was occupied by Japan from 1895 to 1945. Japanese borrowings provide the Indigenous Taiwanese with a distinctive identity, which the dominant Chinese languages—​Mandarin, Holo, or Taiwanese Hokkien, and Hakka—​do not (Robert Amery, personal communication). Owners-​custodians-​speakers should be included at every possible opportunity in the language revival process. For instance, if an app (see the Barngarla Dictionary App) or an alphabet book or learner’s guide (see Zuckermann and the Barngarla 2019)  is produced, photos of owners-​ custodians-​speakers, and especially respected elders and young children, should be included where possible so that they see themselves and members of their own community reflected in the resource. Similarly, it is important that their voices be used in any sound recordings of teaching resources (again, see the Barngarla Dictionary App) rather than the voice of the non-​ Indigenous linguist.

6.5.2  Linguistics, Translation, and Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) What does linguistics, or better: revival linguistics (which is, as we have seen, a branch of revivalistics), have to contribute to language revival? The bread and butter of linguistics are language documentation and analysis. These tasks are front and centre, especially before any language reclamation effort and before and during any revitalization or reinvigoration effort. Language sources need to be located, collated, and analysed. Comparative historical linguistics provides the tools to interpret, analyse, and reconstruct legacy material, filling in gaps based on knowledge of closely related languages. Linguistics offers the tools to develop a user-​friendly orthography or writing system in collaboration with the owners-​custodians-​speakers that is systematic and represents the distinctive sounds or phonemes of the language. Following on from this work, an alphabet book with associated sound resources might be produced to teach sounds and spelling in a user-​friendly and engaging way. Linguists have the knowledge and skills to compile a

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  215 lexicon, an inventory of words, stems, and idioms, and to publish these in the form of a dictionary. Linguists are well-​placed to advise not only on options for filling in gaps in the historical corpus but also on the development or modernization of the language through the knowledge of strategies for lexical expansion generally, as well as word-​formation in the language undergoing revival. Linguistics offers the tools to undertake morphological analysis to identify the meaningful parts of words and the rules for their combination so that words and forms that are not documented in the historical corpus might be formed. Linguistics also offers the tools to distil syntactic structure from a body of recorded sentences and texts so that novel sentences not actually appearing in the corpus might be formed by analogy. This knowledge might be brought together in the form of a published grammar or used to inform the development of a learner’s guide. Linguistic knowledge informs translation, writing of curriculum, and the development of language resources. In the early stages of language reclamation, by definition there are no native speakers. So the historical documentation must be the arbiter of what is linguistically correct. Of course, historical sources are open to interpretation, but linguists are equipped by virtue of their training to make informed judgements—​of course, in consultation and collaboration with owners and custodians. If communities choose not to engage with linguistics, they may only be able to operate at the word level, not knowing how to construct sentences. Or if they do construct sentences, these sentences may be simply relexification of the dominant language (see earlier), i.e. speaking the words of the reviving language using the morphology, syntax, and semantic structure of the dominant language. There are many other branches of linguistics which might also make a contribution. Language planning considerations and knowledge of what is happening in other parts of the world can assist in helping to see and create opportunities for use of the language, as discussed in the public sphere quadrant. Applied linguistics and educational linguistics can assist greatly in the educational quadrant in the development of linguistically-​sound programmes. But, as I wrote earlier, revivalistics is very different from documentary linguistics. An example of how linguistic theories can benefit language revival is Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM), as well as its offshoot Minimal English, see Wierzbicka (2014); Goddard and Wierzbicka (2014); and

216 Revivalistics Goddard (2018). NSM reduces the semantics of all vocabularies to a closed set of universal semantic atoms, or primes. The latter, which cannot be defined using other words, are ordered together to form explications. An explication is a definition of a word using only primes. C on s id e r the fascinating overlooked differences of ‘angels’ in English ( an ge l s ) , Arabic (malāʾika) and Israeli (‫ מלאכים‬malakhím). These three terms are used to translate each other as if they mean exactly the same thing. Afte r a ll , for the non-​sophisticated layman an angel is an angel is angel. However, employing NSM to discover the exact meaning of each of the three lexical items, Habib (2017) perspicaciously points out various differences, as following: Angels and malāʾika seem to be perceived as being in the place to which good people go after they die. Malakhím, on the other hand, seem to be perceived as being in a place that includes the place to which good people go after they die. Angels seem to be perceived as living in a hierarchical world; thus some angels appear to be higher in status than other angels. On the other hand, no linguistic evidence has been found in the corpus that demonstrates that Muslim Arabs view some of malāʾika as being superior to other beings of their kind. Some Islamic religious sources do speak of hierarchy among malāʾika, but, as no evidence has been found in the corpus to support this idea, it can be concluded that this idea might not be known to ordinary Muslim Arabs. The same holds for malakhím. The Hebrew Corpus shows eleven occurrences of the expressions malákh rashí (lit. ‘a chief malákh’). In seven of these contexts, the expression is used as an attempt to translate the English word archangel or the Romanian word Arhanghelul. In three other contexts, it is used to talk about one of the three angels that appeared to Abraham before the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah; in these contexts, the malákh rashí is identified as God. In the eleventh context, the expression is used to talk about the devil in Islam. As a result, it can be concluded that no conclusive linguistic evidence has been found in the corpus to support the idea that native Israeli speakers believe that some malakhím are higher in status than other malakhím. Furthermore, according to Habib, angels and malakhím appear to be perceived as being immortal. Their immortality stems from the notion that they are spirits, and spirits do not die. On the other hand, Arabic malāʾika’s (im) mortality does not seem to be clear, as there was no evidence found in the corpus that shows whether Muslim Arabs think that these beings die or not.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  217 The three non-​human beings also differ in their visual representation/​appearance. Native English speakers and native Israeli speakers seem to have the idea that angels and malakhím, respectively, are incorporeal, but notwithstanding, they depict them in a certain way. Muslim Arabs, on the other hand, are not allowed to produce drawings, paintings, or statues of malāʾika, or even imagine what they might look like. Whereas an angel or malákh can be imagined as having two wings, Arabic malāk can have (and not ‘can be imagined to have’) two or more wings. Native English speakers depict an angel’s wings as white bird-​like wings, while Muslim Arabs and native Israeli speakers can tell nothing about the colour or appearance of the wings of a malāk or malákh, respectively. Angels are depicted as having halos above their heads or light radiating from their bodies, and malāʾika are believed to have been created from light. Malakhím, on the other hand, do not seem to be imagined with halos or light. More differences emerge when examining the relationship between the three non-​human beings and people. Unlike angels, who seem to be perceived as doing only good things to people, malāʾika and malakhím seem to be perceived as beings who are capable of doing good, as well as bad things to people. Also, unlike Muslim Arabs, native English speakers, and native Israeli speakers do not have the notion that angels or malakhím, respectively, play any role in tormenting people after their death. Returning to language revival, NSM can be of benefit in language revival as they can neutralize the Western semantic bias involved in reconnecting with ancient Aboriginal traditions using English, and may allow a fuller understanding of the original meaning of the Aboriginal lexical items. For example, Aboriginal languages all seem to have one or more words for non-​physical parts of a person, usually glossed into English as ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’. Wierzbicka (2016) discusses the Yolŋu Matha birrimbirr, noting that a special feature of its meaning is that a person’s birrimbirr originates from a special place in the land and returns to it after death. She argues that the meaning can be unpacked as follows (slightly modified): birrimbirr: something inside a person, it is not part of this person’s body; people can’t see this something, people can’t touch it; before this person was born, this something was part of a place where some people lived before; after this person dies, it will be part of the same place.

218 Revivalistics A shorter version, using the English word ‘spirit’, would be ‘a person’s spirit; it comes from the spirit of the place and after the person dies, returns to the same place’ (cf. Goddard 2017). The important link with country could easily be missed using the English glosses like ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’ alone. University of Newcastle (Australia) researchers Ray Kelly & Jean Harkins (2014, forthcoming) employ NSM to recover or restore similar concepts from New South Wales coastal languages such as Dhangatti, Gathang, & Awabakal, using historical records and resilient cultural memories of the inheritors of the original languages. For a more complex example, consider jukurrpa, a word in the Warlpiri Aboriginal language that is traditionally translated as ‘Dreaming’ or ‘Dreamtime’. The latter Western lexical items were introduced in the fin-​de-​ siècle by Francis Gillen to translate the Arrernte term altjira (cf. alcheringa). The meaning is very rich, combining aspects of what Europeans discuss under headings like religion and law. As anthropologist W.  E. H.  Stanner (1953: 58) wrote in a classic statement: ‘The Dreaming is many things in one. Among them, a kind of narrative of things that once happened; a kind of charter of things that still happen; and a kind of logos or principle of order transcending everything significant for Aboriginal man’. This gives a sense of the scope and importance of the jukurrpa concept, but it relies on many complex Western words and concepts. The following explication is written in Minimal English. It is adapted from one presented in Goddard & Wierzbicka (2015). When Aboriginal people say ‘jukurrpa’ (‘Dreamtime’, ‘the Dreaming’), they can think like this: At some time before, many things were happening here for some time. Things like this can’t happen now. When people here want to say something about all these things, they can say it with one word. This word is Jukurrpa. Many old men in this place know a lot about this, many old women in this place know a lot about this. They can say many things about it. These things are true. What Aboriginal people often say about Jukurrpa

When Aboriginal people say some things about this (i.e. about Jukurrpa), they often say things like this: Many things happened at that time, these things happened in many places. Some men did some things in some places, these men were not like

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  219 men are now. Some women did some things in some places, these women were not like women are now. Some creatures of some kinds did some things in some places, these creatures were not like creatures of these kinds are now. Aboriginal people often say something like this about many places: ‘This place is like this because of Jukurrpa’. Aboriginal people often say something like this about many things: ‘It is like this because of Jukurrpa’. What many Aboriginal people do, now as before, because of Jukurrpa Aboriginal men do some things in many places because they want to think about all this (i.e. about Jukurrpa). They do these things like many other Aboriginal men did at many times for a long time before. At some times Aboriginal women do things like this in some places, like many other Aboriginal women did at many times for a long time before. If Aboriginal people don’t do these things, something very bad can happen in these places. What Aboriginal people can’t do because of Jukurrpa Aboriginal people know very much about all this (i.e. about Jukurrpa). Because of this, they know that they can’t do some things. If someone does something like this, people say: ‘This is very bad’.

Obviously, this is very long and complex but concepts like Warlpiri jukurrpa, Arrernte altjira, and their analogues in other Aboriginal languages, are cultural keywords and, arguably, to fathom them profoundly requires to open up their meanings in detail, which in turn requires time and effort. The limits of an elegant translation have preoccupied scholars for generations:  Giusti (1873:  238) wrote ‘Traduttori, traditori’ (translators, traitors); Du Bellay (1549: vi) wrote: ‘. . . traditeurs, que traducteurs’. Jakobson (1959: 236) echoes Franz Boas and argued perspicaciously: ‘Languages differ essentially in what they must convey and not in what they may convey.’ This is why it is a difficult task to translate elegantly the following anecdote, which I have been telling my students for the last thirty years, into non-​Germanic languages (although devo bere ‘I must drink’ and devo avere ‘I must have’ in Italian still sound good): What is the difference between a Frenchman, a German and a Jew? The Frenchman says: ‘I am tired and thirsty, I must have wine.’ The German says: ‘I am tired and thirsty, I must have beer.’ The Jew says: ‘I am tired and thirsty, I must have diabetes.’

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6.5.3  Education Teaching and learning are vital to the conduct of any language revival effort. In language revival, we wish to raise the vitality of the language through increasing the knowledge of the language, increasing the number of speakers, and extending the domains of use. Learning might be informal—​through mentoring on the job or poring over language resources by themselves. Or learning might be in the form of more traditional formal language classes. Language is a social phenomenon, and it is invaluable to get together with others and with someone who has more knowledge of the language and who is able to direct your learning in various ways. A range of specialized strategies and methods have been developed for specific language revival situations. Language immersion programmes appeared for the propagation of French in Canada in the 1960s, where concerted efforts were made to teach English-​speaking children French, the second official language of Canada. Children in French immersion programmes are taught all subject areas in French, but the teachers of these programmes are fluent French-​English bilinguals and are able to anticipate the difficulties that English-​speaking learners might have. They understand well the dynamics of the class. This is not the case with some language submersion programmes, such as those taught in Northern Australia. There, English is taught to first language speakers of a range of Aboriginal languages in circumstances where the teacher has no knowledge of the language and culture of the children. Successful language immersion programmes were established for Irish in Belfast and for Manx on the Isle of Man since 2003. In New Zealand as from 1982, the Māori language movement used the principles of language immersion to reintroduce the Māori en masse to toddlers in preschools. At that time, the language shift to English was well advanced as a result of past assimilation policies where parents had been discouraged from teaching their children Māori. Educationists argued that children would be disadvantaged in education and employment opportunities unless they abandoned Māori. The Kohanga Reo ‘Nests of Language’ engaged native Māori-​speaking grandmothers to come into the preschool, interact with the children, and speak only Māori, thereby immersing the children in the Māori language. There are now over 460 Kohanga Reo throughout New Zealand, as well as several Kohanga Reo in Australia and the United Kingdom serving the expatriate Māori populations there.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  221 Following suit, the Hawai’i language movement adopted a similar strategy in 1984 by implementing their Punana Leo. There are currently eleven Punana Leo located on three islands. As a result of the rich and stimulating immersion, most Hawai’i preschoolers are able to speak Hawai’i within just three to four months (Hinton & Hale 2001). More recently, language nests have been established in Canada; Australia in New South Wales, in Kununurra in Western Australia; as well as in Taiwan. The language nest approach is especially suited to language revitalization contexts, where fluent first language speakers are available in numbers, but may be more difficult or impossible to apply in other situations. In accordance with immersion, the Master-​Apprentice (or Mentor/​ Apprentice) method was pioneered by linguist Leanne Hinton at the University of California, Berkeley (see, e.g., Hinton 1994), who had been working with a wide range of Native American languages spoken or in some cases remembered or documented across California. In many cases, she was working with the remaining handful of ageing fluent speakers of languages such as Karuk. It is a difficult proposition to ask an elderly speaker to come into a school classroom and teach children when they themselves are not trained teachers and, in some cases, may never have had an opportunity to attend school themselves. Even if they were able to teach their languages in a school setting, will this really ensure that their language continues into future generations? Probably not. What is more effective and more lasting is to ensure that highly motivated young adults who are themselves owners-​custodians of the language gain a sound knowledge of and fluency in their language. This is achieved through the Master-​Apprentice (or Mentor/​Apprentice) approach: a young person is paired with an older fluent speaker—​perhaps a granddaughter with her grandmother—​and their job is to speak the language with each other without resorting to English. It does not matter what they do—​they can weave baskets, go fishing, build houses, or fix cars together—​so long as they speak the language with each other. The Master-​Apprentice approach has been taken up in British Columbia in Canada, in Kununurra in the northwest of Australia. Trainers from California, including Leanne Hinton and Karuk woman Crystal Richardson, have travelled to Australia to share their method and their experiences with a range of participants. Several sets of parents from various language groups have made a major commitment to ensure that their children are raised as speakers of their language by home-​schooling their children in their ancestral language.

222 Revivalistics In 1991, Daryl and Karen Baldwin set about raising their four children as first language speakers of Myaamia through home-​schooling (see Hinton 2013). These children are now the first native speakers of Myaamia in recent times. In language reclamation contexts, there are no fluent speakers, so a different approach is needed. The training of language workers and language teachers is also a very important element of successful language revival so that owners-​custodians-​ speakers are empowered to run their own programmes and teach their own languages. Fija Byron, an accomplished Okinawan revivalist, uses music to teach Okinawan, the northern Ryukuan language spoken primarily in the southern half of the island of Okinawa located in southern Japan.

6.5.4  The Public Sphere The public sphere is also an important arena for language revival, though some communities may prefer to go it alone and keep the language to themselves. Even so, they may be dependent on resources from outside the community. Increasingly, there are opportunities throughout Australia, for example, for the use of Indigenous languages at large and high-​profile public events through the use of the local Indigenous language in a ‘welcome to country’ or acknowledgement of country. Events have included the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games, the opening ceremony of the Australian National Parliament, where the Ngunnawal language was used for the first time in 2008, the Adelaide Festival of Arts since 1998, and WOMADelaide, World Music Adelaide, where Kaurna is used. Many of these welcomes include song and dance performances, usually incorporating the use of Aboriginal languages. As is well known, the Haka welcome performance by Māori in New Zealand and similar welcome performances in Hawai’i have an important place in these societies and are an important component of language revitalization. Learning how to perform the Haka or to give a ‘welcome to country’ speech is often the first engagement that an individual might have with a revival language (see Zuckermann & Amery 2015). Recognition of Indigenous toponyms is another means of bringing the language back into consciousness of the public at large. Many Indigenous place names are being reinstated and recognized through dual naming legislation in many parts of Australia, including Sydney, Melbourne, the Flinders

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  223 Ranges of South Australia, and the Grampians in Victoria. Many companies are gaining Indigenous names, providing increased opportunities for the use of revived languages in public signage, changing the langscape. Toponyms are a fertile ground for phono-​semantic matching. Consider the South Australian place-​name Noarlunga, which is not that far from Maslin Beach, the latter being the first nudist beach to achieve legal status in Australia (in 1975). Geoffrey Manning, as well as Rodney Cockburn, argue that Noarlunga originally meant ‘fishing place’. Praite & Tolley, however, claim that the name originally meant ‘the place with a hill’, from the Ramindjeri word ngurle ‘hill’ and the Kaurna locative (place) suffix -​ngka. However, the real etymon, the actual origin, is more likely to be the Kaurna word nurlu ‘corner’, followed by the Kaurna locative (place) suffix -​ngka, resulting in Nurlungka, which literally means ‘on the river bend’, referring to the Horseshoe Bend on the Onkaparinga River, where the Noarlunga town was founded (Amery 2002: 168). Sometimes a place-​name that looks completely English is, in reality, a camouflaged Aboriginal name. Consider the beautiful Adelaide Hills town of Piccadilly. The original name was in the Kaurna Aboriginal language: pikurdla, which literally meant ‘two eyebrows’, from piku ‘eyebrow’ and the dual suffix -​dla. The very same Kaurna dual suffix appears in another Adelaide Hills place-​name: Uraidla refers in Kaurna to ‘two ears’, from yuri ‘ear’ and the dual suffix -​dla (Amery 2002: 170). On the other hand, sometimes a place-​name that looks Aboriginal is actually the Aboriginal pronunciation of an English word. When I  lived in Brisbane, I  enjoyed travelling to Toowoomba. The name Toowoomba is the way that some Aboriginal people pronounced the English word swamp. Aboriginal languages usually do not have the [s]‌sound. Neither do they distinguish between voiced sounds like b/​g/​d; and voiceless sounds like p/​k/​t. Hence Toowoomba. Do not tell an Aboriginal person: You are a brick!, which is, of course, a compliment in England, referring to ‘a good, helpful and trustworthy fellow’. Any alert traveller to New Zealand cannot help but notice the use of Te Reo Māori in signage. If you visit the University of Waikato in Hamilton, all the signage—​bookshop, library, etc.—​is in Māori as well as in English, even down to mundane signage such as parking. Every government department in New Zealand has a Māori name used alongside its English title. For example, Te Ratonga Tirorangi ‘Meteorological Service of New Zealand Limited’. The Māori language movement has done well in establishing the exquisite Māori

224 Revivalistics TV, where my friend Scotty Morrison works. Māori TV broadcasts every day from 6:30am until 11:30pm on a typical weeknight in the Māori language. Programmes range from popular sports coverage, news, cultural performance, to soapies, fitness, cooking, and gardening shows. Most importantly, there are shows such as Pukoro directed towards children. Māori TV is a tool for propagating the Māori language, and many of the shows can be viewed online on demand. Māori TV and radio are funded by the New Zealand government through the terms of the Treaty of Waitangi (from 6 February 1840). Whilst Australia has a National Indigenous Television (NITV) channel with some excellent content, the amount of material broadcast in Australian Indigenous languages is relatively small. There is, however, a children’s television programme, Waabiny Time, which is broadcast on NITV in Noongah, the language of southwest Western Australia that is undergoing revitalization. The film Dances with Wolves was the medium for a significant language revival effort for the Lakhota-​Sioux language, where actors were coached by Doris Leader Charge. Film is an important medium through which to introduce revival languages to the public at large and to cultivate their use within the community. Song and dance performance is a strong element of many language revival movements. This element is particularly strong in the revitalization of Māori through the performance of the Haka and Waiata, and also in the revival of Hawai’i. It also seems to be an especially strong element in the revival of the Indigenous languages of Taiwan. In the Isle of Man, the revival of traditional Manx songs goes hand in hand with the revival of the Manx language. Some years ago, a Bundjalung version, Ngundalehla Godotgai, of Samuel Beckett’s famous play Waiting for Godot was produced. Bundjalung is an Aboriginal language from the far north coast of New South Wales and is best characterized as a case of language revitalization. The Bundjalung version was performed by the Bangarra National Indigenous Dance Troupe at the 1997 Festival of the Dreaming in Sydney (see Zuckermann & Amery 2015). Cultural tourism is another important avenue for revival languages. Small bilingual pocket guides have been produced in Manx and English, Manx and German, and Manx and French for visitors to the Isle of Man. Tourism provides an avenue for nightly performance of the Haka and the singing of Māori songs in New Zealand and similarly in Hawai’i. Cultural tourism is beginning to develop in various parts of Australia, providing another opportunity for the use of long-​forgotten languages.

‘Stop, Revive, Survive’  225 By thinking about the possibilities for use of the language in the public domain and building partnerships with sympathetic agencies, much can be done to raise awareness of and familiarity with revival languages. This serves to increase their vitality. Of course, in Israel, Israeli is used in all aspects of public life as it is the language of government, the legal system, law enforcement, education, and commerce. Catalan in Spain and French in Quebec have similar status. But for most revival languages, they exist on the margins. A major task for language revival is to make these languages more central in public life.

6.5.5 LARD Dynamics The various quadrants in the revival diamond are all interrelated, and many activities are undertaken concurrently. There are many different starting points for language revival. Both in Hawai’i and in Belfast in Northern Ireland, enthusiastic young adults had learned their languages in language classes at university, and through the Gaelic League. They decided to establish language immersion programmes for their own and other children. In both cases, this was the beginning of long-​lasting and very successful language revival movements. In other cases, linguists might have undertaken detailed compilation and analysis of historical source material independently of the language community. This was the case for Boandik from the Mount Gambier area in the southeast corner of South Australia, where documentary linguist Professor Barry Blake published a grammar based on reconstructions from historical sources in 2003. Yet revival efforts in concert with the Boandik community in Mount Gambier did not commence until 2011. It is an inspiring example of the possibility of a documentary linguist to get involved with revivalistics. In many other cases, however, linguistic work has followed language revival activities undertaken directly with the community. The education quadrant is very often the starting point, especially in the case of language revitalization, where a language revival programme may begin with the Master-​Apprentice relationship, a language camp, or a language class. The public sphere may also be the starting point for language revival efforts, especially in language rejuvenation where communities of speakers strive for language rights and equal recognition, such as Quebecois French in Canada or Catalan in Spain.

226 Revivalistics Language revival is potentially far reaching. On the one hand, it is intensely personal from the point of view of owners, custodians, speakers, where it may become all consuming, reaching into all aspects of their lives and the lives of members of their families and communities. But language revival also has the potential to reach into every aspect of public life as well, serving to help raise the status of the marginalized community of owners, custodians, and speakers. Language revival is a good investment, even from a cold, hard, economic rationalist perspective. If it does raise self-​esteem and give recognition to previously marginalized and disenfranchized peoples, then people are more likely to engage with society, education and employment. The outcomes can be positive health and well-​being, reduced incarceration rates, and reduced substance abuse (see chap. 8). Social dysfunction places a large burden on society. There is indeed a growing body of anecdotal data that language revival does turn lives around. In Australia, turning just one life around, keeping one person out of gaol, or preventing a severe mental illness reduces the burden on the public purse to the tune of $100,000 or more per year, apart from the positive effects on the many lives of people connected to that individual. $100,000 per year goes a long way in supporting language revival activity. It is money well spent. These revival languages also contribute to and expand the rich tapestry of human life and culture. They serve to enrich the lives of us all through the specialized knowledge they encode and the ways of interacting that they’ve built up over many thousands of years. We have a lot to learn from each other. Language revival can reduce racism and improve social harmony. For further particulars about the nitty gritty of the LARD, see Zuckermann and Amery’s 2015 Massive Open Online Course (MOOC) Language Revival. Securing the Future of Endangered Languages:  https://www.edx. org/course/language-revival-securing-future-adelaidex-lang101x-1OUP (accessed 1 January 2020).

7 Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language Reclamation 7.1  Brief Historical Background of the Barngarla Aboriginal Language Palimpsest is a beautiful metaphor for language. In Greek it means ‘scraped again’, ‘re-​scratched’, referring to a text written on top of another text. Of course, the historian is more interested in the original inscription. A language is multi-​layered, it encodes the heritage and the culture of a people across history and pre-​history. As Russell Hoban, the children’s writer (1925–​ 2011) said perspicaciously, ‘language is an archaeological vehicle, full of the remnants of dead and living pasts, lost and buried civilizations and technologies. The language we speak is a whole palimpsest of human effort and history.’ (see Haffenden 1985: 138). Barngarla is a dreaming, sleeping beauty tongue belonging to the Thura-​ Yura language group, which also includes Adnyamathanha, Kuyani, Nukunu, Ngadjuri, Wirangu, Nawoo, Narangga, and Kaurna. The name Thura-​Yura derives from the fact that the word for ‘man, person’ in these languages is either thura or yura—​consider Barngarla yoora. The Thura-​Yura language group is part of the Pama-​Nyungan language family, which includes 306 out of 400 Aboriginal languages in Australia, and whose name derives from the fact that it includes the Pama languages of northeast Australia (where the word for ‘man’ is pama) and the Nyungan languages of southwest Australia (where the word for ‘man’ is nyunga). According to Bouckaert, Bowern, and Atkinson (2018), the Pama-​Nyungan language family arose just under 6,000 years ago around Burketown, Queensland. Barngarla is a fascinating and multifaceted language. For example, the Barngarla lexical item wardlada means ‘tree’ but is quasi-homophonous with the lexical item for ‘communication, telling’. Barngarla has singular, dual, plural and what I call superplural. Consider the following: mína ‘eye’, mínalbili ‘two eyes’, mínarri ‘eyes’ and mínailyarranha ‘heaps of eyes’. Similarly,

228 Revivalistics

Figure 7.1  Emus in Coffin Bay, 2019. Photo by Ghil‘ad Zuckermann

wárraidya means ‘emu’, wárraidyalbili ‘two emus’, wárraidyarri ‘emus’ and wárraidyailyarranha ‘a lot of emus’, see Figure 7.1. Members of the Barngarla community in South Australia’s Eyre Peninsula are interested in reclaiming their dreaming, sleeping Barngarla tongue. Due to linguicide, colonization, and ‘Stolen Generations’, the Barngarla Aboriginal language of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia, became a sleeping beauty by 1960. The Barngarla people and their neighbours were brought into contact with the world economic system through the whalers and sealers operating in their waters from the early years of the nineteenth century; these contacts predating official colonization by a number of decades (Brock & Kartinyeri 1989; cf. Clarke 1998). Unlike some other areas of the state, the area surrounding the Port Lincoln colony was a site for violent conflict between Aboriginal people and colonists (Brock & Kartinyeri 1989). By the time Clamor Schürmann arrived there in 1840, Port Lincoln and surrounds were still violent places (see also Schurmann 1987). Poonindie Mission, near Port Lincoln, operated between 1860–​90s. After the mission closed, Barngarla people lived under the Aborigines Act, 1911, which was introduced inter alia to control the lives of Aboriginal people of mixed blood. Many of the current elder generation of people are members of the ‘Stolen Generations’. So called ‘Stolen Children’ are mixed-​race (‘half-​caste’) children who were taken away from their mother/​family between 1905 and 1967 (and sometimes even 1970s) by the Australian Federal and State government

Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language  229

Figure 7.2  Barngarla Workshop participants (including Barngarla leader elder Howard Richards and revival linguist Professor Ghil‘ad Zuckermann), Galinyala ( = Port Lincoln), South Australia, 18–​20 April 2012

agencies, as well as church missions, under parliamentary acts. They were then put through a process of cultural re-​education with the ultimate goal of assimilation. Having survived this ‘civilizing process’, consisting of separation from family, country, culture, and language, these people have sought to re-​ establish their cultural roots and to reconnect with their ancestors. The traumatic effects are deeply remembered and shared by other family members who did not experience these ordeals first hand. In many ways, these experiences and shared memories motivate the younger generations to be involved in the reclamation and to get language going again in everyday contexts (see Zuckermann & Monaghan 2012). Barngarla became a dreaming, sleeping beauty by the 1960s. Luise Hercus (née Schwarzschild, 1926–​2018) recorded a very limited number of fragments in the 1960s. The three main centres of Barngarla residence on the Eyre Peninsula are Port Lincoln, Whyalla, and Port Augusta. All Barngarla people living in these towns speak a variety of Aboriginal English, sometimes

230 Revivalistics called West Coast Talk, which includes words and phrases from a number of Aboriginal languages such as the aforementioned Pitjantjatjara, a strong Western Desert language spoken in Central Australia, north of Eyre Peninsula. Speakers of West Coast Talk do not usually know the particular language of origin of such distinctive words. Prima facie, it appears that very few of the distinctive Aboriginal words have a Barngarla origin, indicating the long-​past demise of the language. Another explanation is the migration from the 1950s of many Aboriginal families into these towns from the far West Coast seeking employment. They brought with them the Nhangga Wanggarn, or West Coast Talk, from the Ceduna area, which consists principally of English with Wirangu and Gugada words and phrases added in (see Zuckermann & Monaghan 2012). It is worth making a brief comment on the state of neighbouring languages and their relation to Barngarla. Nawoo (a.k.a. Nauo) is treated in the historical records as separate to Barngarla (Hercus & Simpson 2001), although it is considered by current Barngarla to be part of the broader umbrella of the Barngarla peoples. Schürmann only recorded ten Nawoo words. Very little else is known to exist. It is most likely that it ceased to be spoken in the mid-​to-​late nineteenth century. Wirangu and Gugada (a.k.a. Kukata) are both extremely endangered. Wirangu is related but Gugada is not (cf. Monaghan 2012). Nukunu is a related language but is known only in fragments (see Hercus 1992). Kuyani is a related language documented by Luise Hercus, although not as yet set down in writing. Adnyamathanha is a related language that is still spoken, albeit severely endangered (see Zuckermann & Monaghan 2012). The three main centres of Barngarla residence on the Eyre Peninsula are Port Lincoln, Whyalla, and Port Augusta. All three are important regional centres. Port Augusta (Aboriginal/​general population:  2360/​13987  =  16.8 per cent; contrast with Aboriginal people in Adelaide: 15,597/​1,225,235 = 1.3 per cent; all figures are taken from the Australian Bureau of Statistics Census 2011) is in many ways the crossroads of Australia. Whyalla, ‘the steel city’ where the outback meets the sea, has been dominated by mining and industry during its 100  year existence (Aboriginal/​general population:  927/​ 22539  =  4.1 per cent). There is almost no Barngarla presence within the langscape of the town. Port Lincoln (Aboriginal/​general population:  786/​ 14087 = 5.5 per cent;) has a reputation for boasting a high proportion of (non-​ Aboriginal) millionaires among its residents. Fishing and agriculture are the key industries. It is difficult to determine precise figures for the proportion of

Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language  231

Figure 7.3  Barngarla Workshop participants, Galinyala ( = Port Lincoln), South Australia, 12 July 2018

Barngarla within the total Aboriginal population. In both Port Lincoln and Whyalla, we heard the term ‘licorice allsorts’ used to describe those residing in these towns who do not have a traditional connection (that is, they do not fall under the definition of Traditional Owner under the Aboriginal Heritage Act, 1988, for example; see Zuckermann & Monaghan 2012). The reclamation of Barngarla began in 2012 after I  had contacted the Barngarla community in 2011 and asked them if they were interested in reclaiming their Dreaming, Sleeping Beauty tongue with the assistance of a dictionary and brief grammar written in 1844 by Clamor Wilhelm Schürmann, a German Lutheran missionary. At our first meeting, on 14 September 2011 at my Adelaide University office at the Napier Building (North Terrace, Adelaide), I asked the five Barngarla representatives whether or not they would like to reclaim their heritage tongue and thus to improve the Barngarla people’s wellbeing, mental health, cultural autonomy, intellectual sovereignty, spirituality, and education, see Figures 7.2 and 7.3. They told me: ‘We’ve been waiting for you for fifty years!’

7.2  Barngarla Language Reclamation Activities Since the aforementioned meeting between me and the five Barngarla representatives on 14 September 2011, dozens of meetings have been held in Eyre Peninsula and Adelaide. On 18–​20 April 2012, the first Barngarla Reclamation Workshop was held in Port Lincoln (25 attendees over two days). I organized and secured sponsorship for a travelling twelve-​person delegation of Barngarla language enthusiasts and potential language workers

232 Revivalistics to the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS, Canberra, 11–​15 February 2013). The Barngarla activities since 2012 have included the following: • Conducting various Barngarla language reclamation workshops in Eyre Peninsula, involving more than 120 Barngarla people. • Establishing and consolidating the Barngarla Language Advisory Committee (BLAC). • Creating a user-​friendly Barngarla dictionary (see Zuckermann 2018), improving Schürmann (1844). • Creating an elaborate grammar PowerPoint (thousands of slides). • Holding various B arngarla Language Advisory Committee (BLAC) meetings, exploring the future of the Barngarla language reclamation enterprise. • Improving and maintaining the Barngarla language website: www.barngarlalanguage.com (accessed 1 January 2020). • Administering the Barngarla Peoples of South Australia Facebook www. facebook.com/​groups/​Barngarla/​(accessed 1 January 2020), attracting approximately 600 members. • C onductin g a narrative psychotherapy (especially suitable for oral, story-​t elling cultures such as Aboriginal ones)—​art—​language proj­ ect (with Nexus Art), entitled ‘Barngarla Stories of Resilience’, resulting i n a ‘One Love, On e Family’ art exhibition of works by ‘Stolen Generations’ Barngarla people and their children (7 November 2014–​21 December 2014, Port Augusta; 10 October 2015–13 November 2015, Ade la i d e :  htt p://nexu sarts.org.au/event/one-love- one-f amily-​ barngarla-​stories-​of-​resilience/​, accessed 1 January 2020). • Recording Barngarla songs before the elders who remember some of them pass on (supported by the Yitpi Foundation, Nexus Art and the Australian Government)—see ‘Barngarla Song Project’: http://nexusarts.org.au/programs/barngarla-​songs/​(accessed 1 January 2020). • B arngarla art exhibition at the Port Lincoln (Galinyala in Barngarla) Airport. • Trying to change the langscape of Eyre Peninsula by urging councillors and other players to introduce signs that include Barngarla, for example with the Barngarla name for Port Lincoln: Galinyala. • Familiarizing the Barngarla people with the Barngarla Dictionary (without sacred words and without vulgar words).

Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language  233 • Teaching Barngarla the Modern Barngarla Orthography. • Supporting the Port Lincoln Barngarla youth movement: Yarniri Wilya (Barngarla for ‘youth spirit’). • Introducing the Barngarla people to Clamor Wilhelm Schürmann’s family from both Germany and Australia, e.g. Jan Schürmann and Leah Schürmann. • Introducing the Barngarla people to the Leipzig Lutheran Mission, whi ch i s the successor of the Dresden Lutheran Mission, where Schü r m a nn came from. We have hosted two directors of the Leipzig Lutheran Mission: Revd Volker Daly (2013) and Revd Ravinder Salooja (2018). • Facilitating the archaeological dig at Clamor Wilhem Schürmann’s house site in Port Lincoln. • Exploring Barngarla within the MOOC Language Revival: Securing the Future of Endangered Languages (see Zuckermann & Amery 2015) and urging Barngarla people to take the MOOC. • Answering hundreds of queries about the Barngarla language by Barngarla people and others. • Promoting Barngarla and other Aboriginal language revivals in the media and to local councillors. My hope is to find a talented, ambitious Barngarla person to study linguistics and revivalistics at the University of Adelaide on a full scholarship, and to become the leader of the Barngarla reclamation. As we have seen, linguistics is an integral part of any language revival.

7.3  The Barngarla Dictionary App In 2016 the Barngarla community, IT friends and I produced a Barngarla Dictionary App. The app, based on Zuckermann (2017), has been embraced by both the Barngarla and the general public: • iPhone: https://itunes.apple.com/au/app/barngarla-dictionary/​ id1151693665?mt=8 (accessed 1 January 2020). • Android: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=org.regenr8. dictionary.barngarla&hl=en (accessed 1 January 2020).

234 Revivalistics The new talknology poses a direct challenge to existing authority structures relating to the everyday management of knowledge, collaboration, and participation. I predict that how the broader Barngarla community negotiates these issues will have an important bearing on the ultimate results of the reclamation project. For examples from the app, see Figure 7.4. The making of the app was full of challenges. Firstly, Barngarla elders requested to remove sacred words, as well as vulgar words. Secondly, we decided to have audio files recorded only by Barngarla people, including Barngarla children (see Figures 7.5, 7.6 and 7.7). Thirdly, we decided to have three types of search options: traditional Aboriginal (with photos), Western (alphabetic) and general search (using words or parts of words, which will show up in either Barngarla or English) (see Figures 7.8, 7.9, and 7.10). The pictures are often of Barngarla people, including Barngarla children (see Figure 7.11).

Figure 7.4  Barngarla Dictionary App

Figure 7.5  The Making of the Barngarla Dictionary App: Professor Zuckermann and Barngarla teenager Kaiden Richards (Port Lincoln), Photo: Ekaterina Shipova Bell

Figure 7.6  The Making of the Barngarla Dictionary App: Professor Zuckermann and Barngarla woman Kiahra Atkinson (Port Augusta), Photo: Ekaterina Shipova Bell

Figure 7.7  The Barngarla Dictionary App: an example

Figure 7.8  The Barngarla Dictionary App: an example

Figure 7.9  Alphabetic Search at the Barngarla Dictionary App

Figure 7.10  General Search at the Barngarla Dictionary App

Figure 7.11  Neisha Mclean, Barngarla woman Vera Richards’ daughter, Galinyala ( = Port Lincoln)

Figure 7.12  Barngarla man Harry Dare, Port Augusta

Talknology in the Service of the Barngarla Language  239 This chapter demonstrates that the Barngarla reclamation incorporates beautifully two examples of trying to right the wrong of the past: (1) A  book written in 1844 in order to assist a German Lutheran missionary to show the Christian light (and thus to weaken their own spirituality), is used 170 years later by a secular Jew (the author of this book) to assist the Barngarla Aboriginal people, who have been ‘linguicided’ by Anglo-​Australians, to reconnect with their very heritage. This is therefore a UNESCO-​like enterprise. (2) Technology, used for invasion (ships), colonization (weapons), and ‘Stolen Generations’ (governmental black cars kidnapping mixed-​ race Aboriginal children from their mothers/​families), is employed (in the form of an app) to assist the Barngarla to reconnect with their cultural autonomy, intellectual sovereignty and spirituality, as well as—​metaphorically—​their  soul.

8 Native Tongue Title Compensation for Linguicide

8.1  Legal Rights and Revivalistics This chapter explores the legal dimensions of revivalistics in Australia. It reiterates the benefits of language revival for Australia and for the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. It also proposes an enactment of new legislation to compensate for the lost Aboriginal languages. The proposed legislation can be colloquially called Native Tongue Title, modelled upon the established concept of Native Title. I acknowledge that Native Title is not a compensatory mechanism. Native Title (see, e.g., Sutton 2003) is the legal recognition by Australian law that some Indigenous people have existing and continuing rights to, and interests in, their land that come from their traditional laws and customs. After the recognition of Native Title, the government cannot extinguish their rights to land without compensation. Compensation in relation to Native Title generally arises when groups have successfully claimed Native Title and then negotiate positive economic terms with mining companies and others who want to take over these lands. I believe that we can draw a parallel with concepts explored in Native Title. I argue that the Australian Government ought to compensate Indigenous people not only for the loss of tangible land, but also for the loss of intangible langue (language). The legislation to compensate for the linguicide will recognize the Indigenous peoples’ rights to revive (reclaim, revitalize, or reinvigorate) their languages. The compensation money could be used to support reclamation and linguistic empowerment efforts. I hope that the enactment of new legislation would help reinstate Indigenous peoples’ authority and ownership of their cultural heritage. Importantly, whilst Native Title often not only destroys the internal relationships within a specific Aboriginal community but also the relationship between one tribe and another (fighting for the same piece of land), Native Tongue Title often unites communities and tribes.

Native Tongue Title  241 Consider Adnyamathanha and Barngarla. Whilst the two tribes (as well as the Kokatha) are fighting over Native Title in Lake Torrens, native Adnyamathanha speakers such as Robert Wilton (see Figure 8.1) take part in the Barngarla reclamation workshops, assisting Barngarla people whose related language was subject to linguicide. Furthermore, Native Title is more easily given to communities who have been less assimilated with the colonizers. The reason is that they can prove continuity more easily than, say, Aboriginal communities who lived along the coasts and thus mixed with the colonizers. Native Tongue Title, on the other hand, rights the wrong of the past exactly for those who find it harder to prove continuity (as they lost their language). That said, in Croft on behalf of the Barngarla Native Title Claim Group v State of South Australia. (2015), Federal Australian Judge John Mansfield, who granted the Barngarla Native Title in Eyre Peninsula, sets

Figure 8.1  L-​R: Robert Wilton, Adnyamathanha Aboriginal man (married to a Barngarla woman, and taking part in the Barngarla language reclamation workshops) and Professor Ghil‘ad Zuckermann

242 Revivalistics a precedence when arguing that although the Barngarla language revival is not evidence of continuity, it is evidence of continuity of a notion of Barngarla identity: 282 A final matter should be mentioned: there was evidence given by the lay witnesses of a programme being run by Professor Ghil‘ad Zuckermann of the University of Adelaide that aims to revive (or ‘replenish’ or ‘retrieve’) the Barngarla language. It appears that Barngarla people, including some witnesses, such as Elizabeth Richards, Vera, and Evelyn Dohnt, have attended Professor Zuckermann’s classes. Professor Zuckermann’s classes draw upon Schürmann’s 1844 dictionary. 669 The fact that Barngarla language is now being relearnt by some claimants, due to the work of Adelaide University academic Ghil‘ad Zuckermann, is not evidence of continuity of the Barngarla language, although it is evidence of continuity of a notion of Barngarla identity, a notion that clearly existed amongst the Barngarla community at 1846, when Barngarla people told Schürmann of the ‘Barngarla matta’, and which can thus be inferred to have existed at sovereignty.

In this chapter I first outline the ethical, aesthetic, and utilitarian benefits of reviving hibernating Indigenous languages in Australia and elsewhere, and then propose the enactment of an ex gratia compensation scheme for the loss of languages. Such a statute-​based compensation scheme accords with international human rights law, and fills gaps between Australia’s commitment to the international human rights instrument and domestic mechanisms to ensure the fulfilment of its commitment. The proposed Native Tongue Title compensation scheme will recognize the rights of Indigenous people to own, use, and revive their languages. The purpose of this chapter is to highlight the important social issues surrounding language rights in Australia, and to put forward a suggestion to restore justice and enhance linguistic diversity. The chapter does not intend to be restrictive. For instance, I  suggest that the proposed compensatory scheme be based on the existing ‘Stolen Generations’ compensation scheme. But it need not be. If the interests of the Indigenous language groups are best served by drawing legislation in alternative ways, such suggestions should be welcomed. There are many other issues that need to be continually debated if we are to seriously revive Aboriginal languages in Australia.

Native Tongue Title  243

8.2  Why Should We Invest Time and Money in Reviving Languages? A fundamental question for revivalistics, which both the tax-​paying general public and the scholarly community ought to ask, is why does it matter to speak a different language? As Evans (2010) puts it eloquently in the introduction to his book Dying Words: you only hear what you listen for, and you only listen for what you are wondering about. The goal of this book is to take stock of what we should be wondering about as we listen to the dying words of the thousands of languages falling silent around us, across the totality of what Mike Krauss has christened the ‘logosphere’: just as the ‘biosphere’ is the totality of all species of life and all ecological links on earth, the logosphere is the whole vast realm of the world’s words, the languages that they build, and the links between them.

Evans (2010) ranges over the manifold ways languages can differ, the information they can hold about the deep past of their speakers, the interdependence of language and thought, the intertwining of language and oral literature. Relevant to revivalistics, it concludes by asking how linguistics can best go about recording existing knowledge so as to ensure that the richest, most culturally distinctive record of a language is captured, for use by those wanting to revive it in the future (see also Brenzinger 1992, 1998, and 2007a; Enfield 2011). Brenzinger emphasizes the threats to knowledge on the environment (Brenzinger, Heine, & Heine 1994; Heine & Brenzinger 1988), conceptual diversity as a crucial loss in language shifts (Brenzinger 2006, 2007b, 2018). The following are my own categorization of the main reasons for language revival:

8.2.1 Ethical Reasons Australia’s languages have not just been dying of their own accord; many were destroyed by settlers of this land. We owe it to the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to support the maintenance and revival of their cultural heritage, in this instance through language revival. According to the

244 Revivalistics international law of human rights, persons belonging to ethnic, religious, or linguistic minorities have the right to use their own language (Article (art.) 27 of the ICCPR). Thus every person has the right to express themselves in the language of their ancestors, not just in the language of convenience that English has become. Through supporting language revival, we can appreciate the significance of Indigenous languages and recognize their importance to Indigenous people and to Australia. We can then right some small part of the wrong against the original inhabitants of this country and support the wishes of their ancestors with the help of linguistic knowledge.

8.2.2 Aesthetic Reasons The linguist Ken Hale, who worked with many endangered languages and saw the effect of loss of language, compared losing language to bombing the Louvre: ‘When you lose a language, you lose a culture, intellectual wealth, a work of art. It’s like dropping a bomb on a museum, the Louvre’ (The Economist, 3 November 2001). A museum is a repository of human artistic culture. Languages are at least equally important since they store the cultural practices and beliefs of an entire people. Different languages have different ways of expressing ideas and this can indicate which concepts are important to a certain culture. For example, in Australia information relating to food sources, surviving in nature, and Dreaming/​history is being lost along with the loss of Aboriginal languages. A  study by Boroditsky & Gaby (2010) found that speakers of Kuuk Thaayorre, a language spoken in Pormpuraaw on the west coast of Cape York, do not use ‘left’ or ‘right’, but always use cardinal directions (i.e. north, south, east, west). They claim that Kuuk Thaayorre speakers are constantly aware of where they are situated and that this use of directions also affects their awareness of time (Boroditsky & Gaby 2010). Language supports different ways of ‘being in the world’. Such cases are abundant around the world. An example of a grammatical way to express a familiar concept is mamihlapinatapai, a lexical item in the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego in Chile and Argentina. It refers to ‘a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would offer something that they both desire but have been unwilling to suggest or offer themselves’. This lexical item, which refers to a concept many of us are familiar

Native Tongue Title  245 with, despite lacking a specific word for it, can be broken down into morphemes: ma-​is a reflexive/​passive prefix (realized as the allomorph mam-​before a vowel); ihlapi ‘to be at a loss as what to do next’; -​n, stative suffix; -​ata, achievement suffix; and -​apai, a dual suffix, which has a reciprocal sense with ma-​(circumfix). Two examples of concepts that most people might never imagine are: (1) nakhur, in Ancient Persian, which refers to a ‘camel that will not give milk until her nostrils have been tickled’ (camels are clearly very important in this society, and survival may have depended on camel milk!); (2) tingo in Rapa Nui (Pasquan) of Easter Island (Eastern Polynesian language), is ‘to take all the objects one desires from the house of a friend, one at a time, by asking to borrow them, until there is nothing left’ (see De Boinod 2005). Such fascinating and multifaceted words, maximus in minimīs, should not be lost. They are important to the cultures they are from and make the outsiders reflective of their own cultures. Through language maintenance and reclamation we can keep important cultural practices and concepts alive. Lest we forget that human imagination is often limited. Consider aliens in many Hollywood films:  despite approximately 3.5 billion years of DNA evolution, many people still resort to the ludicrous belief that aliens ought to look like ugly human beings, with two eyes, one nose, and one mouth.

8.2.3 Utilitarian Benefits Language revival benefits the speakers involved through improvement of wellbeing, cognitive abilities, and mental health (see Zuckermann & Walsh 2014); language revival also reduces delinquency and increases cultural tourism. Language revival has a positive effect on the mental and physical wellbeing of people involved in such projects. Participants develop a better appreciation of and sense of connection with their cultural heritage. Learning the language of their ancestors can be an emotional experience and can provide people with a strong sense of pride and identity. There are also cognitive advantages to bilingualism and multilingualism. Several studies have found that bilingual children have better non-​linguistic cognitive abilities compared with monolingual children (Kovács & Mehler 2009)  and improved attention and auditory processing (Krizman et  al. 2012: 7879): the bilingual’s ‘enhanced experience with sound results in an

246 Revivalistics auditory system that is highly efficient, flexible and focused in its automatic sound processing, especially in challenging or novel listening conditions’. Furthermore, the effects of multilingualism extend to those who have learned another language in later life and can be found across the whole lifespan. This is relevant to the first generation of revivalists, who might themselves be monolingual (as they won’t become native speakers of the Revival Language). The effects of non-​native multilingualism include better cognitive performance in old age (Bak et al. 2014), a significantly later onset of dementia (Alladi et al. 2013), and a better cognitive outcome after stroke (Alladi et al. 2016; Paplikar et al. 2018). Moreover, a measurable improvement in attention has been documented in participants aged from eighteen to seventy-​ eight years after just one week of an intensive language course (Bak et al. 2016). Language learning and active multilingualism are increasingly seen as contributing not only to psychological wellbeing but also to brain health (Bak & Mehmedbegovic 2017), with a potential of reducing money spent on medical care (Bak 2017). Further benefits to non-​ native multilingualism are demonstrated by Keysar et al. (2012: 661). They found that decision-​making biases are reduced when using a non-​native language, as following: Four experiments show that the ‘framing effect’ disappears when choices are presented in a foreign tongue. Whereas people were risk averse for gains and risk seeking for losses when choices were presented in their native tongue, they were not influenced by this framing manipulation in a foreign language. Two additional experiments show that using a foreign language reduces loss aversion, increasing the acceptance of both hypothetical and real bets with positive expected value. We propose that these effects arise because a foreign language provides greater cognitive and emotional distance than a native tongue does.

Therefore, language revival is not only empowering culturally, but also cognitively, and not only the possibly-​envisioned native speakers of the future but also the learning revivalists of the present. As we will see in Chapter  9, language reclamation increases feelings of wellbeing and pride among Indigenous people. It has been shown that people involved in Indigenous language reclamation see an improvement in non-​language subjects, linked to educational empowerment and improved self-​ confidence. Educational success directly translates to improved

Native Tongue Title  247 employability and decreased delinquency. Approximately $50,000 per language per year was provided in 2010–​11 by Indigenous Languages Support to 78 projects involving 200 languages (Office for the Arts 2013). The cost of incarceration is $100,000 per person per year and the cost of adolescent mental health $1395 per patient per day. Finally, cultural tourism already represents an important part of Australia’s economy, with many tourists wishing to learn about Indigenous cultures. A growth in cultural tourism has been recorded in some rural centres where language revival projects have been implemented (Clark & Kostanski 2005). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures represent part of Australia’s image overseas and greatly contribute to tourism. We need to help preserve and revive these languages and protect cultural knowledge in order to maintain this point of attraction. This tourism not only benefits the economy, but can also provide work and opportunities for Indigenous people. Establishing revivalistics in Australia has the potential of turning some Indigenous Australians into experts of language revival, making language revival part of their cultural identity. They will then be able to assist others in language revival. Language revival has the potential to become an important part of Indigenous initiatives, bringing many benefits to the wider community. Language revival can aid in ‘closing the gap’ and encourages cultural tourism while enriching Australia’s multicultural society.

8.3  Case for Compensation for the Loss of Language I have so far outlined the benefits of language revival in Australia. This chapter proposes a legal mechanism to support the revival of lost Aboriginal languages. ‘Hard law’ involves the introduction of norms by which states have to abide. ‘Soft law’ puts forward goals and models from which states can draw inspiration. The rapidly evolving patterns of societies and of the international community make it difficult to design general and rigid tools of minority protection that may be applied in different contexts. Therefore, soft law is considered by some to be an efficacious means of dealing with certain areas of the law designed to recommend, and not oblige, states to behave in a certain way. One might argue that International law cannot establish the degree or instrument of protection that is more effective for a minority in a certain space and time, but can address specific issues and design general

248 Revivalistics models of protection to be implemented by states according to their specific capabilities, necessities and goals. That said, international law recognizes the right to self-​determination of Indigenous peoples, intended as the right to maintain and develop their cultures and traditions. As part of self-​determination, specifically redressing past discrimination and assimilation, international law also recognizes the right to revitalize languages and customs that ceased to be practiced due to cultural oppression. However, international legal instruments on Indigenous peoples do not spell out specific legal instruments to be adopted, leaving states free to address the issues according to their capabilities and realities. Australia has already developed several instruments dealing with Indigenous rights, which can be adapted to the right to revitalize Indigenous languages. I believe that this is best done through awarding compensation to Aboriginal groups who have lost their languages as a result of forcible removal of their children or as a result of punitive language measures at schools and elsewhere. An Aboriginal group can hold the compensation money on trust for the revival of Aboriginal languages. The Aboriginal community can then use the compensation for initiatives to revive its language. In this respect, Mabo v Queensland [n. 2] (1992) 175 CLR 1 (the Mabo decision) limits the time scope for compensation after the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (Cth) and recognizes that Native Titles are subject to extinguishment. The Mabo decision, however, deals with property rights, which bear considerable concerns with respect to the use of land and resources, with significant economic implications. The Native Tongue Title, on the contrary, regards the compensation of past assimilationist and discriminatory policies that led to the death of Aboriginal languages. Although the connection to the land and Indigenous customs are central to the recognition of the native property title, Native Tongue Title regards the recognition of a communal identity, which may be revitalized without economic consequences on the country in terms of land and resources and in a pure compensatory perspective. In other words, whilst the native property title bears consequences on the gen­ eral citizenry of a country in that it may change individual and collective use of land and resources, whereby its recognition is limited in scope and time, the Native Tongue Title regards the Indigenous collective exclusively, in that it aims to revitalize identity practices (Indigenous languages) that have been engulfed by assimilation. A case for demanding compensation for the loss of language is not a novel idea. In 1997, the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission

Native Tongue Title  249 released the Bringing Them Home report, acknowledging that the ‘children who were removed have typically lost the use of their languages’ and that the ‘loss of language is intimately connected with the loss of identity for those forcibly removed and their descendants’ (HREOC (1997): Recommendations 11–​12). The report emphasizes the ‘healing power’ of apology and compensation, and makes a recommendation to compensate the affected victims of ‘Stolen Generations’ who have suffered the loss of cultural rights. With regards to the loss of language, it recommends that the Commonwealth Government ‘expands the funding of Indigenous language, culture and history’ (Recommendation 12a). Then Prime Minister John Howard accepted the findings of the report, but refused to make an official apology. The subsequent change of government led to the new Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s unreserved apology in 2008 (Australian Government 2008), but he nonetheless refused to pay compensation to the victims (Grattan & Wright 2008). An attempt to pass the Stolen Generation Compensation Bill 2008 (Cth), which proposed ex gratia compensation for the victims of the Stolen Generations policies, failed. Compensation for the Stolen Generations, and the associated loss of language, is thus long overdue. I am aware of existing Commonwealth and State government grant schemes to revive, develop, and promote Aboriginal languages. For example, the Australian Government launched its National Indigenous Language Policy in 2009 to show its commitment to ‘addressing the serious problem of language loss in Indigenous communities’ (see, as of 2014, Ministry for the Arts, Attorney-​General’s Office). The policy provides for the Maintenance of Indigenous Languages and Records program (MILR), originally administered by the Office for the Arts (OFTA). MILR (now ILS, i.e. Indigenous Languages Support) offers grants to support community-​based language projects, including the operation of language centres, production of language materials and resources, and recording of languages (Australian Government 2010-​11). In the 2010–​11 funding round, $7.9 million was allocated to support 63 projects. Similarly, at a state level, the New South Wales Minister for Aboriginal Affairs granted approximately $1.2 million in 2011 to the New South Wales Aboriginal Education Consultative Group to develop the Centre for Aboriginal Languages Coordination and Development (CALCD). CALCD aims to facilitate the development of community-​based Aboriginal language projects. Grant schemes and compensation schemes may serve identical purposes in terms of the provision of money to Indigenous peoples to revive

250 Revivalistics their languages. The Commonwealth and State grant schemes are proving to be effective. They are administered by departments that often work across government departments to provide leadership on Indigenous matters. However, despite the perceived effectiveness of grant schemes, there are two reasons I still advocate the enactment of compensation schemes to replace or supplement the existing grant schemes: First, government policies are not legally enforceable, are known to be capricious, and can be abandoned at any time. A  change of government would threaten continued support for the revival of Aboriginal languages. Even within the same government, policies can change with shifting priorities. The abandonment of bilingual education in the Northern Territory is a case in point (Simpson, Caffery & McConvell 2009). The Northern Territory Minister for Employment, Education and Training, Marion Scrymgour, announced in October 2008 that there would be a greater focus on teaching English in remote Aboriginal communities. Indigenous languages were perceived to hinder the acquisition of English. Simpson et al. (2009: 15) articulate the problem with government policies: The difficulty in being dependent on government policy is that, while Australia is a pluricultural country, the majority group is by and large monolingual . . . This group dominates the design of education curricula. These curricula often disadvantage children who do not speak the dominant language, because of the curriculum-​framers’ lack of knowledge about bilingualism, language acquisition and the acquisition of literacy. This has the unfortunate result that Australia has yet to develop ‘an ethos which balances and respects the use of different languages in daily life’. (UNESCO 2003:12)

A quick change in government policy can damage the revival of Indigenous languages that has taken years to develop. Given the limitation of government policies, compensation schemes backed up by legislation will better protect the linguistic rights of Indigenous people. Second, while compensation is given as a matter of right, grants are competitive. Under a grants scheme, Indigenous groups need to submit themselves to the critical assessment of government evaluators and taxpayers in order to revive their languages. It also requires technical expertise in writing successful grant applications. Out of the 130 applications for the MILR funding in the 2010–​11 funding round, only sixty-​three were successful (Australian Government 2010–​11). Under a compensation scheme, all who

Native Tongue Title  251 have lost their languages have a right to revive them, subject to the monetary limit of compensation scheme. Mahboob, Jacobsen, Kemble & Xu (2017) examine how language development aid is managed and distributed via in 2014–​16. Each grant programme was reviewed for: the goals of the programme, amount of funding available, recipients of the grant, and whether any language component was included in the grant. This information is then compared across states, looking at the types of projects grants are used for and how language is, or is not, integrated into the projects. Findings of the study show that language-​related projects attract only a small amount of grant funding compared to the wider pool available from federal and state/​territory Aboriginal affairs departments. No grants appear to have been given for projects that include language as a component of a broader socio-​economic development programme. The paper also discusses the implications of the findings in relation to social and economic impact, wellbeing, education, and translation. It argues that governments need to both increase funding for language-​focussed projects and to encourage other non-​language focussed development projects to consider the role of language in the context of Indigenous communities. Ultimately, it is a question of control and power. Whom are we trying to empower by the language measures? Putting money in the hands of Aboriginal groups directly will empower them to make their own choices about how it is spent, whereas allocating money centrally brings with it the inevitable denial of autonomy and also often paternalistic treatment. Indigenous people have no direct control over government policies (Simpson et al. 2009: 15). Explicit legal protection is needed to restore power to Indigenous people so that they can determine their own futures.

8.4  Linguistic Human Rights Now, what are potential legal sources for the proposed compensatory scheme? Linguistic human rights are traditionally considered part of minority rights, which are human rights collectively enjoyed by a specific group and are aimed at preserving its cultural and linguistic diversity. Indeed, preservation and management of diversity is a distinctive feature of liberal democracies, which do not rule out differential claims by fostering social processes of inclusion. On the contrary, liberal democracies have progressively adopted policies and instruments that favourably look upon diversity

252 Revivalistics as a positive feature of inclusive societies by implementing mechanisms of diverse cultural preservation according to what Kymlicka (2007: 587) defines as ‘citizenization’. With respect to Indigenous peoples, the positive approach of states towards diversity management should not just aim at preserving diversity, but also at compensating past discrimination stemming from assimilationist and discriminatory policies, which brought about linguistic and traditional loss. In this respect, international law on Indigenous rights has also developed from a preservation principle towards a revival principle: indigenous rights law first mainly focused on land rights and rights to access ancestral territories, but it has now adopted an approach focusing much more on culture, customs, and traditions. The 1989 International Labour Organization Convention No. 169 (Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention) recognizes the right of Indigenous and tribal peoples to live according to their customs. In particular, articles 28 and 30 deal with linguistic rights, including the right to preserve, communicate, and use the Indigenous language in public domains. However, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (adopted on 20 September 2007) specifically deals with the duty to redress for past discriminatory policies that led to assimilation (art. 8.2.d). In this frame, the declaration first recognizes the right to ‘practise and revitalize their cultural traditions and customs’ (art. 11.1) and also calls upon states to ‘provide redress through effective mechanisms, which may include restitution, developed in conjunction with Indigenous peoples, with respect to their cultural, intellectual, religious and spiritual prop­erty taken without their free, prior and informed consent or in violation of their laws, traditions and customs’ (art. 11.2). Although Australia did not initially support this declaration, the objections mainly referred to land rights and the autonomy of Indigenous communities. Together with Canada, New Zealand, and the United States, Australia objected to the approach of the declaration in that it is likely to develop potentially unlimited property rights on ancestral lands. Furthermore, Australia objected to the construction of self-​determination entailed in the declaration, in that it would lead to the recognition of the right of Indigenous communities to be consulted on any law regarding Indigenous communal matters: Australia proposed that Indigenous people should be involved in the common democratic process in order to pursue their interests. No objection was raised regarding linguistic rights, which are not likely to impact

Native Tongue Title  253 on national integrity but rather focus on internal interests of Indigenous communities. Therefore, the right to revitalize a language that ceased to be practiced because of past discrimination is an inherent Indigenous right, and represents the future step in redress policies towards Indigenous peoples for past discrimination. In this respect, Indigenous rights differ from minority rights in terms of political and historical goals, while they share significant aspects in terms of legal approach. Indeed, linguistic rights, as defined by international law, can be applicable to Indigenous peoples as well. With respect to linguistic rights, the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) recognizes both the right not to be discriminated against for one’s linguistic identity (art. 26) and the right to use one’s language as a distinctive feature of collective identity of a minority group (art. 27). Furthermore, art. 27 of the ICCPR specifically states that minority rights have collective dimensions, since minority members ‘shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practice their own religion, or to use their own language’. Therefore, in order to protect Indigenous rights and particularly linguistic rights, there needs to be a positive approach by states to actively design and implement tools of cultural preservation and revival and not a mere guarantee of non-​discrimination. In this respect, the Human Rights Committee, the ICCPR monitoring body, in its General Recommendation No. 23 (adopted on 26 April 1994), has clearly stated that Indigenous peoples fall within the ICCPR regime (par. 3.2), and that states need to positively adopt measures that ensure collective enjoyment of rights (pars. 6.1 and 7), whereas they are ‘necessary to protect the identity of a minority and the rights of its members to enjoy and develop their culture and language’ (par. 6.2). The ‘positive approach’ stressed by ICCPR is also confirmed by General Recommendation No. 23 on ‘Indigenous peoples’ adopted by the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination on 18 August 1997. This recommendation not only stresses the importance of states adopting measures to ensure collective rights, but also calls upon states to ‘ensure that indigenous communities can exercise their rights to practice and revitalize their cultural traditions and customs and to preserve and to practice their languages’ (par. 4.e). Significantly, the right to ‘revitalize’ a language is further specified in the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, as articulated by art. 13(1),

254 Revivalistics which reads, ‘Indigenous peoples have the right to revitalize, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures, and to designate and retain their own names for communities, places and persons’ (emphasis added). As argued before, Indigenous rights have evolved from ‘preservation’ of customs to ‘restoration’ of languages and traditions that have ceased to exist. Indeed, the term ‘revitalize’ encompasses the need not only to preserve the language, but also to recover one. In other words, language revival is the first step towards truly respecting the linguistic rights of Indigenous peoples. This restorative approach is further confirmed by the call upon states to redress past discriminatory and assimilationist policies, as spelled out in art. 8.1 and 8.2.d of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. However, international law instruments do not list mechanisms to be adopted, but leave states free to choose the tools deemed most effective. With respect to Australia, both the federal government and federated states have developed instruments for preserving Indigenous culture, but no step has yet been taken towards the restoration of ceased cultural practices and languages. In this respect, I argue that language revival does not operate in a legal vacuum:  the Australian legal system recognizes Native Title, which focuses on Indigenous rights on the land by virtue of traditional laws. Building upon this legal institution, I am in favour of the recognition of Native Tongue Title, which not only furthers the positive approach towards Indigenous culture preservation, but also introduces the restoration of Indigenous culture in line with international law that calls upon states to redress past discriminatory policies. Arguably, Native Tongue Title is a concrete redress measure to ensure that language can be revitalized. Therefore, compensation for forced linguistic assimilation in Australia is well supported by the international human rights law. By recognizing Native Tongue Title, Australia will adopt a restorative approach, enshrined in recent development of Indigenous international law. Furthermore, the Native Tongue Title is an effective tool, first, for redressing past discrimination and, second, for recognizing the right to revitalize languages that ceased to be practices in virtue of forced assimilation. That said, international minority rights and Indigenous law is soft-​law, which means that there is no enforcing body, but only monitoring systems or recommending bodies. Furthermore, Australia ratified the ICCPR in 1980, but has not incorporated the provisions into domestic law. The ICCPR is attached to a piece of domestic legislation, the Human Rights and Equal

Native Tongue Title  255 Opportunity Commission Act 1986 (Cth), which empowers the Australian Human Rights Commission to investigate violations of rights covered by the ICCPR. It is a ‘toothless tiger’, nonetheless, as the Commission’s findings are not binding. There has been no precedent in common law that considered the claim of compensation for the loss of aboriginal languages. Neither has there been an equivalent claim to legal compensation for loss of cultural rights. However, soft law is increasingly developing in areas such as minority rights and Indigenous rights, since it provides general goals, recognizes certain rights, and defines approaches and trends, while leaving states free to spell out policies, tools, and mechanisms that suit specific situations and effectively accommodate collective claims. Regarding Australia, the loss of linguistic and cultural heritage can be dealt with within private and constitutional law. With respect to private law, Australian courts have considered awarding compensation for the victims of Stolen Generations. Trevorrow v State of South Australia (No. 5) [2007] SASC 285 provides a precedent on the issue of compensation for the Stolen Generations. The case concerns Bruce Trevorrow, who was removed from his parents by the Aborigines Protection Board without their consent after being admitted to hospital in 1957. He was thirteen months old. In his adulthood, he sued the South Australian Government for compensation. Justice Gray of the Supreme Court of South Australia held that it was reasonably foreseeable that separating a child from its parents would give rise to a risk of harm to the child, and consequently the state had breached its duty of care to Mr Trevorrow by removing him from the care of his parents. Justice Gray awarded compensation of $777,000 to Mr Trevorrow. The South Australian Government appealed the decision. In 2010 the Full Court of the Supreme Court of South Australia upheld Justice Gray’s decision on the point of negligence that the Aborigines Protection Board owed Mr Trevorrow a duty of care to avoid causing injury by removing him from the care of his parents. The precedent of Trevorrow v State of South Australia may help to clarify the issue of compensation for loss of language based on the tort of negligence. The Aborigines Protection Board (APB) could also have reasonably foreseen that the removal of children would damage them by taking away their opportunities for cultural fulfilment. However, this avenue to claim compensation for language loss under tort law is likely to be unsustainable. While the main finding of the Full Court in State of South Australia v Lampard-​Trevorrow [2010] SASC 56 was that

256 Revivalistics the APB lacked the power to remove the child from his mother, the decision also considered the failure of the Aborigines Protection Board to balance the risk of harm through leaving Mr Trevorrow with his mother against the risk of psychiatric harm to Mr Trevorrow as a result of removing him from his mother. Compared to the threat of psychiatric harm that was being balanced in the case, the threat of language loss would arguably be given less weight. Similarly, in Cubillo and Grunner v.  The Commonwealth (Cubillo v Commonwealth of Australia, 2001, FCA 1213 (31 August 2001), http://​ www7.austlii.edu.au/​cgi-​bin/​viewdoc/​au/​cases/​cth/​federal_​ct/​2001/​1213. html (accessed 1 January 2020), involving two Indigenous plaintiffs seeking compensation for forced assimilation and loss of culture, the court dismissed the case. The plaintiffs failed to demonstrate that they were forcibly removed from their families and that there was a general policy consenting to removal of Aboriginal children in order to assimilate them. These two cases pose several questions about the judiciability of assimilation. Indeed, even if it were successfully proven in court, that a clear state policy of assimilation was the direct cause for the systematic forced removal of Aboriginal children from their families, it is still unclear how the damages could be defined. Third, and most importantly, the duty of care assumed by government in relation to removals arose from the government assuming responsibility for children after having removed them from their primary care givers. The claims for compensation for removal were based on the effect of specific government policy on individual Indigenous victims. In contrast, the case for compensation for language loss is a much broader claim related to the loss of culture, as a result of the general impact of colonialism. If compensation for loss of language is linked to Stolen Generations policy, this will exclude many who lost their languages through other means. A claim of the latter nature has no legal precedent. Therefore, if the claim for the compensation for the language loss was made under the tort law, it is unlikely to be successful. Furthermore, the general approach to minority protection and Indigenous peoples protection is more likely to be formulated at a policy level rather than at a judicial level. First of all minority protection and Indigenous peoples protection involve needs assessment, policy formulation, and negotiation between the state and the group claiming for protection, an approach highly unlikely to resort to court. Secondly, the very legal basis of minority protection and Indigenous peoples’ rights encompasses ‘soft law’ and not ‘hard law’, whereby it is not directly enforceable by any authority. Soft law in itself

Native Tongue Title  257 includes a series of legal instruments that states can use and adapt in the formulation of certain policies, taking into account their specific legal systems, political issues and communal interests of the groups to be protected. Finally, even if the resort to court would be successful in demonstrating that an assimilation policy was implemented, the positive result of this eventual judicial recognition would be upon single individuals suing the state, without any other consequence concerning eventual compensations of communal cultural losses. Therefore, a policy approach envisaging the adaptation of soft law instruments to the specific legal, political, and social conditions of Indigenous groups in Australia is deemed to be more successful in terms of preservation of cultural heritage and revival of Indigenous languages. Nevertheless, it is important to note recent developments in the constitutional law of Australia. Currently, the Australian Constitution does not recognize the linguistic rights of Indigenous peoples in Australia. However, there is a move for a referendum to recognize Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders in the Constitution. An Expert Panel on constitutional recognition of Indigenous Australians recommended that the proposed referendum should include acknowledgment of the need to ‘secure the advancement’ of Indigenous people, and that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages should be recognized as the country’s first official languages, along with English as the national language (for detailed discussion of this proposal, see Reilly 2013). Similarly, the South Australian Constitution recognized Indigenous languages in March 2013. The South Australian Constitution was amended to read, ‘the Parliament, on behalf of the people of South Australia . . . recognises Aboriginal peoples as traditional owners and occupants of land and waters in South Australia and that . . . they maintain their cultural and heritage beliefs, languages and laws which are of ongoing importance’ (s. 2(2)(b)(ii), emphasis added). Victoria, New South Wales, and Queensland also recognize Indigenous peoples in their respective constitutions. The likely outcome of a federal constitutional referendum, if put to the vote, is uncertain. Constitutional change requires the majority support of people in a majority of states, and thus very few referendums have been successful in Australian history. Nevertheless, the Commonwealth Government passed in February 2013 the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples Recognition Act 2013 (Cth). Section 3(3) reads, ‘The Parliament, on behalf of the people of Australia, acknowledges and respects the continuing cultures, languages and heritage of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’

258 Revivalistics (emphasis added). The purposes of the Act, as spelled out in its preamble, are to (1) place before the Australian people at a referendum a proposal for constitutional recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, (2) to acknowledge the importance of the Expert Panel’s recommendations, (3) to refine a proposal for a referendum in consultation with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and other Australians, and (4) to build the support and national consensus necessary for successful constitutional change. In other words, the Act is an important step towards achieving constitutional amendment. If this Act is successful in achieving its purpose, and if the constitutional amendment is indeed passed, Indigenous languages may well be recognized as the first languages of Australia. There is yet little debate on what this recognition entails, legally speaking, and this is beyond the scope of this chapter. Recognition of Indigenous peoples and languages in the Constitution may not strictly form a legal basis for claiming compensation for the loss of language; however, it provides a justification for the statutory scheme proposed here. To fill the legal gap between Australia’s signing of the ICCPR and domestic legislation to implement the international standards, it is recommended to pass a legislative enactment that allows for the payment of compensation. I suggest that this ex gratia scheme be called Native Tongue Title. The constitutional amendment and the passing of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples Recognition Act are evidence of emerging acknowledgment of Indigenous languages in the national legal framework. An enactment of a compensation scheme for lost Indigenous languages falls within this emerging trend, and thus should attract widespread support.

8.5  Ex Gratia Schemes: Native Tongue Title Ex gratia compensation is a payment made at the discretion of the government. The Commonwealth Government can pass legislation to enable payment of compensation for language loss. Commonwealth power to pass this legislation is likely to fall under its race power (Australian Constitution, s. 51, xxvi), and/​or external affairs power (Australian Constitution, s. 51, xxix). In this respect, the Native Tongue Title should function as a specific development of the ex gratia scheme to be applied to Indigenous groups deprived of their languages because of assimilationist policies.

Native Tongue Title  259 The race power of the Constitution (s. 51) reads, ‘The Parliament shall, subject to this Constitution, have power to make laws for the peace, order, and good government of the Commonwealth with respect to:  . . . the people of any race . . . for whom it is deemed necessary to make special laws’. This power enables the Australian Parliament to pass laws for the protection of Aboriginal peoples. It was under this power that the Native Title Act 1993 (Cth) was enacted. Likewise, the proposed ex gratia Native Tongue Title legislation would likely fall under the race power of the Australian Parliament. In addition to the race power, Native Tongue Title legislation can be founded in pursuance with the external affairs power. To illustrate this point, an analogy with the foundation of Native Title is useful. In Mabo v Queensland (n.2, 1992), Queensland legislation that sought to extinguish Native Title without compensation was struck down under the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (Cth). In turn, the Racial Discrimination Act was enacted pursuant to the external affairs power under the Constitution to give effect to the International Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Racial Discrimination (Bartlett 2000). Similarly, ex gratia Native Tongue Title legislation can be enacted under the external affairs power to give effect to the ICCPR. The ex gratia compensation schemes for Aboriginal language loss can be modelled after existing compensation schemes for Stolen Generations children. Some Australian state governments have already passed legislation and enacted schemes allowing for compensation for the victims of the Stolen Generations. For instance, Tasmania passed the Stolen Generations of Aboriginal Children Act 2006, which provides for ex gratia payments to be made to the victims of Stolen Generations. Queensland has the Redress Scheme, which provides these payments ranging from $7000 to $40,000 to people who experienced abuse and neglect as children in Queensland institutions (Government of Queensland 2012). Western Australia also has a similar scheme. The latter two redress schemes are not exclusive for Indigenous peoples, but are for all children who experienced sexual abuse whilst in state care. I suggest that the proposed Native Tongue Title legislation scheme be modelled after the states’ Stolen Generations compensation schemes, especially that of Tasmania. The Stolen Generations of Aboriginal Children Act in Tasmania established a Stolen Generations Fund, from which compensation was made to the victims of the Stolen Generation (s. 10). An amount of $5 million was paid from the Consolidated Fund into the Stolen Generations Fund (s. 10).

260 Revivalistics Applications for compensation were assessed by the Stolen Generations Assessor (s. 9). Out of 151 claims received, 106 claims were found to be eligible under the Act. Of the personal claimants, 84 successful personal claimants received about $58,333 each. Twenty-​two eligible children of deceased members of Stolen Generations received either $4,000 or $5,000 each, depending on how many people were within the particular family group (Tasmania Department of Premier and Cabinet 2008). The Stolen Generations Assessor then authorized the Secretary of the Department to make the payment (s. 9). Similarly, a statutory Native Tongue Title compensation scheme should establish a Native Tongue Title Fund to which a fixed amount is paid from the state’s Consolidated Fund. Aboriginal language groups who have lost their languages could then apply for compensation from the fund. Hence, the first challenge: the definition of ‘Aboriginal language group’. The practical aspects of determining members of a group can be based on existing legal processes for Native Title claims and land trust legislation. For instance, under s. 61 of the Native Title Act, a person or persons authorized by the ‘Native Title claim group’ can make an application for Native Title to the Federal Court. ‘A Native Title claim group’ is ‘all the persons . . . who, according to their traditional laws and customs, hold the common or group rights and interests comprising the particular Native Title claimed’ (s. 61(1)). Similarly, application for compensation for lost language could be made by a person or persons authorized by a Native Tongue Title claim group. A Native Tongue Title claim group could include all the persons who, according to their traditional laws and customs, belong to a particular Aboriginal kin group that shared a common language which is no longer spoken. After applications are made by Aboriginal language groups, applications could be assessed by an independent body of assessors, which should include Indigenous people. If the body of assessors authorizes the payment of compensation, payment could be made to the language group that has made the application. The language group would then hold the compensation money on trust for the revival of Aboriginal languages. Again, management of the trust can be based on existing legal processes applying to Native Title and land trust legislation. The group could decide to use the compensation to support, for example, community language projects, language curriculum development, language teacher training, and radio and television production in its own language. These activities help create the environment where one can immerse oneself in the language. Only immersion can create fluent

Native Tongue Title  261 speakers, and only fluent speakers can revive a language (Cultural Survival 2012). Within the parameters of language revival, the use of compensation money should remain flexible. Different Indigenous communities should take into account their communities’ particular goals and resources to develop unique paths to revive their languages. The proposed Native Tongue Title compensation scheme may receive cautious responses from the government on the basis that it is difficult to quantify the loss of Aboriginal languages. For instance, the Commonwealth has submitted to the inquiry for Bringing Them Home report that ex gratia payments should not be awarded to the victims of the Stolen Generations policies because of the difficulties in estimating the amount of ‘loss’ in monetary terms (HREOC 1997). However, it is possible to mathematically calculate the compensation amount for language-​related issues (see, for example, van Parijs 2007). Australian judges have always awarded damages for losses that are difficult to quantify. For instance, Justice Gray in Trevorrow v State of South Australia (at 1235–​6) stated: [W]‌here it is clear that a plaintiff has suffered loss the court should do its best to place a dollar value on that loss notwithstanding the paucity or absence of evidence. The court is not permitted to abandon the task through want of evidence, but a discretionary judgment should be formed . . . There is always an inherent difficulty in equating personal injury with a dollar sum. The best that one can do is to adopt an holistic approach.

Justice Gray then went on to award compensation to Mr Trevorrow. Other Australian judges have quantified damages for the ‘loss of traditional advancement in Aboriginal societies’ (Collett 1982). For instance, in the South Australian Supreme Court decision of Napaluma v Baker (1982) 29 SASR 192, Justice Zelling considered the case of an Aboriginal plaintiff who suffered brain damage as a result of a road accident. The judge recognized that after the accident, the plaintiff was ‘left out of some ceremonies, and he play[ed] a merely minor passive role in others and he [was] therefore less than a full member of the Aboriginal community’ (at 194). Justice Zelling awarded $10,000 to the plaintiff for the ‘loss of position in the Aboriginal community’ (at 194). The decision was followed by the Northern Territory Supreme Court decision in Dixon v Davies (1982) 17 NTR 31, which concerned a young Aboriginal boy who suffered permanent physical deformity after a car accident. Justice O’Leary acknowledged that the plaintiff ’s physical

262 Revivalistics disability would prevent him from performing initiation rites, and he would forever be denied full status within his Aboriginal community. Accordingly, Justice O’Leary awarded him $20,000 for ‘loss of cultural fulfilment’ (at 34). As the precedents from the state Supreme Courts show, it is possible to quantify damages for the ‘loss of traditional advancement in Aboriginal societies’. Those who are deprived of the opportunity to be fluent in their Aboriginal language are also denied opportunities to participate fully in the rites and ceremonies that are conducted in Aboriginal languages. They also suffer from loss of position in the Aboriginal community. Their losses can, and should, be quantified and compensated by the Australian Government. Of course, ex gratia schemes are not designed to compensate for entire loss, but to provide partial compensation for the loss. This is evident by contrasting the large sum of compensation awarded to Mr Trevorrow ($777,000) with the mere $58,333 each claimant received in Tasmania under the Stolen Generations of Aboriginal Children Act. Nevertheless, an ex gratia scheme for the loss of languages is an important and solid step towards language revival.

8.6  Further Steps towards Language Revival Native Tongue Title is by no means an exhaustive legal option for Indigenous people who wish to revive their languages. Drawing on experiences of other nations that have successfully revived and preserved their minority languages, I now outline linguistic measures that can be enacted simultaneously with Native Tongue Title. Among these, New Zealand, South Africa, Norway, and Peru are significant examples of language preservation and restoration. Language revival would be greatly enhanced by creating Aboriginal langscapes around Australia. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander vernaculars may be defined as official languages of their region, territory or land. Some countries with minority Indigenous populations have adapted an Indigenous language as one of their official languages. New Zealand presents Te Reo Māori as its official language, along with English and New Zealand Sign Language (Māori Language Act 1987). People can speak Māori in legal proceedings with interpreters, and Māori is taught in most schools (Human Rights Commission (New Zealand) 2008–​14). In 2016 the New Zealand Parliament passed Te Ture mō te Reo Māori 2016 (The Māori Language Act 2016), establishing Te Mātāwai to lead the revitalization of Te Reo Māori on behalf of iwi and Māori. Te Mātāwai, which met for the first time on

Native Tongue Title  263 4–​6 October 2016, consists of 13 members: seven appointed by iwi, four appointed by reo tukutuku (Māori language stakeholder) organizations, and two appointed by the Minister for Māori Development (see https://​www. tpk.govt.nz/​en/​a-​matou-​kaupapa/​strengthening-​maori-​cultural-​wealth/​ te-​reo-​maori, accessed 12 April 2018). Earlier, there were important claims by Māori relating to Te Reo Māori. These are the Wai 11 and Wai 262 claims to the Waitangi Tribunal (set up in 1975 to hear claims relating to Crown violations of the Treaty of Waitangi). It is worth reproducing these defining extracts: Wai 11 Claim to the Waitangi Tribunal (Year: 1985) https://forms.justice.govt.nz/search/Documents/WT/wt_DOC_68482156/ Report%20on%20the%20Te%20Reo%20Maori%20Claim%20W.pdf (accessed 1 January 2020) Claimants: Huirangi Waikerepuru and Nga Kaiwhakapumau i te reo. Claim: that the Crown had failed to protect the language (a taonga/​treasure) as required by article 2 of the Treaty of Waitangi. (Article 2 guarantees to Māori the right to keep their lands, forests, fisheries and all their treasures (taonga). It was noted that:  Ka ngaro te reo, ka ngaro tāua, pērā i te ngaro o te moa (If the language be lost, man will be lost, as dead as the moa.) The tribunal found in favour of the claimants: when the question for decision is whether Te Reo Māori is a ‘taonga’ which the Crown is obliged to recognize we conclude that there can be only one answer. It is plain that the language is an essential part of the culture and must be regarded as ‘a valued possession’. Recommendations in summary: legislation enabling use of Te Reo Māori in the courts by anyone who wishes to do so; establishment of a body to supervise and foster the use of Te Reo Māori; ensure all children who wish to learn Māori can do so with financial support from the state; develop broadcasting policy that acts on the Crown’s obligation to recognize and protect the language; bilingualism as a prerequisite for any positions of employment with the State Services Commission. Wai 262 Claim to the Waitangi Tribunal (Year: 1991): VOLUME 1: https://​ f orms.justice.govt.nz/​ s earch/​ D ocuments/​ W T/​ w t_​ D OC_​ 68356416/​KoAotearoaTeneiTT2Vol1W.pdf (accessed 1 January 2020)

264 Revivalistics Volume 2: https://​ f orms.justice.govt.nz/​ s earch/​ D ocuments/​ W T/​ w t_​ D OC_​ 68356606/​KoAotearoaTeneiTT2Vol2W.pdf (accessed 1 January 2020) Claimants:  Haana Murray (Ngāti Kurī), Hema Nui a Tawhaki Witana (Te Rarawa), Te Witi McMath (Ngāti Wai), Tama Poata (Ngāti Porou), Kataraina Rimene (Ngāti Kahungunu), and John Hippolite (Ngāti Koata)—​on behalf of themselves and their iwi Claim: relates to the place of Māori culture, identity and traditional knowl­ edge in New Zealand’s laws, and in government policies and practices. Tribunal findings include:  establishment of new partnership bodies in education, conservation, and culture and heritage; a new commission to protect Māori cultural works against derogatory or offensive uses and unauthorized commercial uses; a new funding agent for mātauranga Māori in science; expanded roles for some existing bodies including Te Taura Whiri (the Māori Language Commission), the newly established national rongoā body Te Paepae Matua mō te Rongoā, and Māori advisory bodies relating to patents and environmental protection. Findings relating to the language: The Crown’s support for revival of the language should include (1) effective policies, appropriate resourcing, and steps towards the provision of public services in Te Reo as well as English; (2) the provision of programmes—​including Māori-​medium education—​that are highly focused and effective, and appropriately resourced; (3) an expanded role and powers for Te Taura Whiri (Māori Language Commission), including powers to require public sector agencies to produce Māori language plans (in consultation with iwi), and to approve those plans, and powers to set targets for training of Te Reo teachers, approve education curricula for Te Reo, and otherwise hold public sector agencies accountable for their responsibilities towards the language. In South Africa the post-​apartheid Constitution dedicates section 6 of c­ hapter 1 to language preservation and language rights. After the linguistic losses caused by apartheid policies during the decades of the white supremacist regime, South Africa recognizes nine Indigenous languages as official languages of the state, alongside English and Afrikaans, calling upon the state to adopt ‘practical and positive measures’ to promote Indigenous languages, the status of which was ‘historically diminished’. Specifically, s. 6 calls upon local authorities to promote the use of Indigenous languages even in public

Native Tongue Title  265 bodies. Finally, the South Africa Constitution mandates the establishment of a Pan South African Language Board, which has recently started a project of revitalization of the N/​uu language of the San people. In Norway, the protection and promotion of the Indigenous language, Sami, are extensively safeguarded by the Sami Language Act 1990. Like the Australian Indigenous population and Māori, the Sami people were in a colonial relationship with the Norwegian state (Magga 1994:  220). The Sami were forced to assimilate into the dominant Norwegian culture and were not allowed to buy land unless they spoke Norwegian in their homes (Magga 1994: 221). However, attitudes towards the Sami have changed gradually since the Second World War. Civil rights activism by Sami organizations influenced the government to recognize the official status of Sami and their language. The Sami Language Act, which was passed by the Norwegian Parliament in 1990, guarantees Sami rights to communicate in Sami. The obligation to respond in Sami extends to public bodies, courts, police, hospitals and churches. Furthermore, in the Sami administrative area, children have the right to receive education through the medium of Sami. Finally, Peru provides a powerful example of a nation’s gradual recognition of Indigenous language. Peru enacted Decree No. 21 recognizing Quechua as an official language, along with Spanish, in 1975 (de Varennes 2012: 16). Decree No. 21 also declares the teaching of Quechua to be compulsory at all levels of education in the republic (de Varennes 2012: 16). In July 2011, Decree No. 21 was repealed by the passing of Law 29735 for the Preservation, Development, Revitalization and Use of Indigenous Languages. The new law makes more than 80 Indigenous languages official languages of Peru. This means that public administration will now need to communicate in the eighty Indigenous languages spoken in Peru (Cultural Survival 2011). The effects of this law in practice are yet to be seen.

9 Our Ancestors Are Happy Language Revival and Mental Health

9.1  Is There a Link between Language Revival and Improved Wellbeing? Language is postulated as core to a people’s wellbeing and mental health. The link between poor mental health and suicide has been clearly demonstrated. But it is one thing to have a statement about the importance of language and mental health; it is another to have the statistical evidence that governments so often require to implement policies that will affect cultural wellbeing. One fundamental study, conducted in 2007 in Canada, helped to abolish any doubts about this link. Hallett, Chandler, and Lalonde (2007) report a clear correlation between youth suicide and lack of conversational knowl­ edge in the native language in British Columbia, Canada. They matched seven cultural continuity factors and measured them against reported suicide from 150 Indigenous Inuit communities and almost 14,000 individuals. These cultural continuing factors were self-​governance, land claims, education, health care, cultural facilities, police/​fire service, and language. Of all the communities that this research sampled, the results indicated that those communities with higher levels of language knowledge (over 50 per cent of the community) had lower suicide levels when compared to other communities with less knowledge. From the study, the sixteen communities with high levels of language had a suicide rate of thirteen deaths per 100,000 people, compared to low levels of language which had ninety-​seven deaths per 100,000. The suicide rate in high language communities was six times lower than the other communities and, when coupled with other cultural protective factors, there was an even higher protective effect against suicide. Hallett, Chandler, and Lalonde showed ‘that youth suicide rates effectively dropped to zero in those few communities in which at least half the members reported a conversational knowledge of their own “native” language’. This landmark study was the first to study the correlation between language

Our Ancestors Are Happy  267 knowledge and mental health, and builds on other studies into the robust association between cultural collapse and the rise of public health issues. However, there has been no systematic study of the impact of language revival on mental health and suicide, partly because language reclamation is still rare (see also Waldram 1990; Chandler and Lalonde 2008). This book suggests that just as language loss increases the suicide rate, language gain reduces the suicide rate. I have noticed, qualitatively, that language revival has an empowering effect on the community wellbeing and mental health of people involved in such projects. Participants develop a better appreciation of and sense of connection with their cultural heritage. Language revival reduces delinquency and increases cultural tourism. Due to invasion, colonization, globalization, and homogenization, there are more and more groups losing their heritage. The Barngarla people of Eyre Peninsula are but one example of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples suffering the effects of linguicide. Their language loss, consequent lack of cultural autonomy and intellectual sovereignty, as well as their dependence on the coloniser’s tongue, increase the phenomenon of disempowerment, self-​loathing and suicide (see also Biddle & Swee 2012; King, Smith, & Gracey 2009). According to the 2008 National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander (ATSI) Social Survey, 31 per cent of Indigenous Australians aged over fifteen experienced high or very high levels of psychological distress in the four weeks prior to interview. This is two-​and-​a-​half times the rate for non-​Indigenous Australians. From the last 200  years of systemic racism, abuse, and cultural loss, Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples suffer greatly from many burdens, including poverty, discrimination, low life expectancy, poor health status, and especially high levels of mental health issues (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2010b; Purdie, Dudgeon, & Walker 2010). According to King, Smith, & Gracey (2009), a strong sense of identity is a necessary condition for mental health. However, for the majority of Indigenous Australians this is not the case, especially when looking at the statistics of health and mental health (King, Smith, & Gracey 2009). Language has been identified as one of the key elements that make up ethnic identity (Phinney 1990). Marginalization of groups of people can easily be observed through the changes in the language system (Heinrich 2004). Therefore, supporting language revival programmes is at least one ethical manner to support and serve the social and emotional wellbeing of Australia’s original inhabitants and help promote positive mental health.

268 Revivalistics

9.2  The Current State of Mental Health of Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People The mental health issues that arise later in life will often have their roots and warning signs in adolescence. Teenagers and young adults are known to have increased psychological vulnerability due to the transitional nature between childhood and adulthood (Headspace: National Youth Mental Health Foundation 2011). Over three quarters of all Australians who had been diagnosed with a mental illness during their life time had symptoms and a diagnosis before the age of twenty-​four years (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2010d; Headspace: National Youth Mental Health Foundation 2011). This has implications for the Indigenous community as the majority of the population (57 per cent) are under the age of twenty-​five years (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare 2011). The maintenance of positive mental health can be difficult for any teenager, and thus, due to the demographic distribution of the Indigenous population and overall disadvantage, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander adolescents are more likely to struggle with social and emotional issues than other adolescents. These issues or threats influence the ability to maintain positive social and emotional wellbeing. These can include adverse life events such as the death of a loved one, forced removal of a loved one, discrimination, poverty, violence, abuse, gambling problems, incarceration, poverty, educational struggles, and trauma (Purdie, Dudgeon, & Walker 2010). For example, one third of Indigenous youth have had a grandparent or carer who was forcibly taken away from their family as part of the Stolen Generations; the negative psychological impact is still evident in the higher levels of distress of both the grandparent and subsequent generations (Australian Health Ministers’ Advisory Council 2012; Australian Institute of Health and Welfare 2011; Dodson et al. 2010). Such cultural dislocation, trauma, and loss can be passed down through the generations and can be accumulated in the next generation. This cultural dislocation is further evidenced in those displaced from their Indigenous lands; 38 per cent of those living in cities do not know their heritage or which group their ancestors came from and 40 per cent do not know their language heritage (Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies & Federation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Languages 2005; Commonwealth of Australia 2012; Purdie, Dudgeon & Walker 2010). To be able to cope with such negative factors, many turn to

Our Ancestors Are Happy  269 self-​medication or escapist behaviour. The coping with cultural dislocation, trauma, and loss are often displayed outwardly by behavioural aspects. This includes social withdrawal, anger, rage, violence, substance abuse due to high levels of hopelessness, depression, anxiety, and complicated mental distress (Dodson et al. 2010, Social Health Reference Group 2004). Mental distress is a term given to describe the symptoms of mental health disorders, such as major depression and anxiety disorders, that are under the threshold of clinical diagnosis according to the diagnostic and statistical manual edition four (DSM IV) of psychological conditions. The Psychological Distress Scale known as the K10 developed by Kessler et  al. (2002) is the measurement to determine the level of distress in an individual (Kessler et al. 2002; Purdie, Dudgeon & Walker 2010). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have reported mental distress scales at 2.5 times the rate of non-​Indigenous peoples though they make up less than one third of the total Australian population (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare 2011, Purdie, Dudgeon & Walker 2010). If the causes are not addressed, mental distress can lead to negative outcomes such as hopelessness, loss of identity and loss of meaning in life, which may result further in substance abuse, self-​harm and often suicide. In 2007, suicide was the sixth leading cause of death among Indigenous Australians, with 3.7 per cent of all deaths in Indigenous Australia being due to suicide. The rate of suicide in the Indigenous population is almost three times greater than that of the non-​Indigenous population. Rates are highest among young people (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare 2011). Collective crisis from a loss of identity, loss of purpose, loss of pride, and loss of self-​esteem can lead to collective despair and collective suicide (Hunter & Harvey 2002). Many Indigenous people are taking their lives as a way of escaping what they see as a life not worth living. In 2010, the ABS reported that Indigenous males aged fourteen to nineteen years were 4.4 times more likely to take their own lives, and twenty to twenty-​four-​year-​old males were 3.9 times more likely, than the non-​Indigenous population (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2010e). For females it was even higher; Indigenous females aged fourteen to nineteen years were 5.9 times more likely, and, aged twenty to twenty-​four years 5.4 times more likely, to take their own lives (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2010e). In the Northern Territory between the years 2001 and 2011, 75 per cent of all youth suicides aged ten to twenty-​four years were Indigenous persons (Hanssens (2008), (Hanssens 2012). In some communities, such as the

270 Revivalistics Kimberly region in north-​west Australia, the rate was seven times higher than the average suicide rate (Australian Broadcasting Corporation 2012; Tighe & McKay 2012). One such community included Mowanjum, an area with a population of 300 people, which suffered five suicides within a few months (Australian Broadcasting Corporation 2012). Many individuals who have a friend or family member feel that they are to blame or see the death as punishment or as revenge for some previous issue (Purdie, Dudgeon, & Walker 2010). This can lead to extreme depression and hopelessness; it will often result in several individuals taking their own lives within six months of the original suicide. Indigenous communities can suffer from these copycat suicides, or suicide clusters, at much higher rates than non-​Indigenous communities and often do not have the resources to help those affected through the grieving process (Hanssens 2008, 2012). Suicide bereavement has devastating effects on those who have to live through the grieving process. ‘Bereavement’ in mainstream psychological literature has indicated that there are higher rates of depression, post-​ traumatic stress disorder, intense and chronic grief, coping issues etc., with those individuals who have lost a parent or significant person in their lives. Schoenfelder, Sandler, Wolchik, & MacKinnon (2011) investigated the quality of social relationships in parentally bereaved youth, and found that the death of a parent was associated to have heightened fears of abandonment, high levels of anxiety, major disruption, and a decreased ability to form future positive relationships (Schoenfelder et al. 2011). Zubrick, Mitrou, Lawrence, & Silburn (2011) investigated over 5,000 Australian Aboriginal children and teenagers who had lost their mother, and found that there were significant emotional and behavioural issues, higher rates of self-​harm, suicidal thoughts and attempted suicides rates, and higher levels of substance abuse (Zubrick et al. 2011). Zubrick et al. also found that, within the previous 12  months of being interviewed, 39 per cent of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander youth admitted to attempting suicide, were two to four times more likely to be admitted to hospital for self-​harm and 42 per cent had experienced a death in the family. Most youth report that there are sorrows almost every year (Zubrick et al. 2005). These negative factors, which severely harm mental health, have resulted in the reality that for every five Indigenous youth, two of them have thought about suicide (Zubrick et al. 2005). This is a devastating statistic to

Our Ancestors Are Happy  271 comprehend. It feels as if there is nothing to combat such negative factors. However, some research has identified key positive factors that can help to bring hope to this dire situation.

9.3  Cultural Identity, Language and Cultural Continuity Positive factors which influence psychological wellbeing are few, but several comprehensive studies have helped to highlight key mental health elements that allow Indigenous individuals and communities to succeed in life (Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission 1997; Purdie, Dudgeon & Walker 2010; Trewin 2006; Zubrick et al. 2005). These factors included the knowledge and use of traditional language, connection to land, family connectedness, cultural strength, and spirituality. The passing on of cultural knowledge is known as cultural continuity. It is the ability of a culture to successfully transfer cultural knowledge from one generation to the next (de Souza & Rymarz 2007). One of the main issues of cultural transference of the modern era is increased globalization and remaining issues from colonization (de Souza & Rymarz 2007). The lack of successful transmission can leave new generations feeling lost between cultures and creating an unstable sense of identity and the ‘losing [of] ones soul’ (Wexler 2006). Hunter and Harvey (2002) explored Indigenous suicide in Aboriginal Australians and Canadians, as well as Inuit and Native American youth, and found similar patterns regarding suicide and a lack of cultural involvement (Hunter & Harvey 2002). Wexler, DiFulvio & Burke (2009) explored reliance in marginalized youth and found that there was a connection between those who had better self-​reported wellbeing and those who were actively engaged in their traditional culture had higher ratings of wellbeing (Wexler, DiFluvio and Burke 2009). According to King, Smith and Gracey (2009), a strong sense of identity is a necessary condition for mental health. However, the majority of Indigenous Australians lack a strong sense of identity, as suggested by the statistics of health and mental health (King, Smith & Gracey 2009). This is no wonder given the colonization, Stolen Generations and linguicide. Language has been acknowledged on an international level for its importance to the Indigenous peoples around the globe. In 1993, the United

272 Revivalistics Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations created a declaration stating: Indigenous peoples have the right to revitalise, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures, and to designate and retain their own names for communities, places and persons (Article 14, United Nations Working Group, 1993).

This statement is an acknowledgment of how essential language is for Indigenous people’s identity, culture and way of life and how important it is that language revival is supported. Language is reportedly the third highest contributing factor to ethnic identity for Australian Aboriginal adolescents and young adults (after a sense of self, and family) (Kickett-​Tucker 2009). Yet in Australia, as a result of extreme linguicide, only 19 per cent of all Indigenous Australians are able to fluently speak their language (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2010b). Linguicide has resulted in many Aboriginal people not knowing their heritage, for example, 60 per cent of Indigenous Australians identified with a language group but 35 per cent did not know the specific Aboriginal tribe their ancestors belonged to. This is due to the unfortunate phenomena of stolen generations and cultural dislocations (Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies & Federation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Languages 2005). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’ mental health have become major concerns of health professionals, organizations, and government bodies in Australia. Recent figures relating to various mental health problems (such as depression, substance abuse, and suicide) of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander individuals and communities portray a dire situation of increasing mental illness, as well as people and communities being truly unwell. The Department of Health and Ageing funded work in which the observation was made that ‘. . . [f]‌orty-​four per cent of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander respondents surveyed by the Australian Bureau of Statistics reported at least three life stressors in the previous twelve months and 12 per cent of respondents reported experiencing at least seven life stressors that included the death of a family member or close friend, serious illness or disability, inability to get work, overcrowding at home, and alcohol and drug-​related

Our Ancestors Are Happy  273 problems. Multiple stresses were more prevalent for Aboriginal and Torres Strait people living in remote and rural locations (Trewin & Madden 2005). The Aboriginal view on health is usually a holistic one, incorporating all aspects of ‘physical, social, emotional and cultural wellbeing of individuals and their communities [...] The holistic view of health of Indigenous Australians is evident in their capacity to sustain self and community in the face of a historically hostile and imposed culture. Unique protective factors contained within Indigenous cultures and communities have been sources of strength and healing when the effects of colonization and what many regard as oppressive legislation have resulted in loss, grief and trauma.’ (Dudgeon, Milroy & Walker 2014: xxv).

9.4  Revivalistics in the Service of Mental Health From my work with the Barngarla Aboriginal people since 2011, I  have noticed, albeit qualitatively rather than quantitatively, a clear correlation between language reclamation and improved wellbeing. In May 2013, Barngarla people expressed clear feelings of empowerment during an interview on SBS ‘Living Black’ Series 18, Episode 9 (Linguicide) about the Barngarla revival, see https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=DZPjdNaLCho, accessed 1 January 2020. Learning the language of their ancestors can be an emotional experience and can provide people with a strong sense of pride and identity. Small changes can impact people in big ways. I have noticed, qualitatively, that language revival has an empowering effect on the community wellbeing and mental health of people involved in such projects. Participants develop a better appreciation of and sense of connection with their cultural heritage. Language revival reduces delinquency and increases cultural tourism. Looking at the extensive field of mental health problems in Aboriginal Australia, the situation reflects the pain and suffering endured by Aboriginal people since European colonization. There are various schemes in place offering support regarding mental health and wellbeing to Aboriginal people, but at the same time new innovative solutions have to be found that ensure ‘the empowerment and inclusion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples at all levels of mental health service provision’ (Rickwood, Dudgeon & Gridley 2010).

274 Revivalistics These findings suggest that by facilitating the improvement of cultural identity through language, as one factor amongst other cultural protective factors, suicide rates in communities decrease. This could potentially be the case in Australia, as there has been some evidence for supporting this claim as well. In the 2005 study by Zubrick et al., they found that those with higher levels of fluency in their language had decreased emotional and behavioural issues in childhood (Zubrick et al. 2005). I can speculate therefore from this Australian study that those with fluency in their language, or those who knew at least sufficient knowledge of their native language, had a more stable sense of cultural identity. Decreased issues in childhood could mean early intervention to improve mental health into adolescence and adulthood. The importance of language as a building block for community and individual identity relates directly to Australian Aboriginal people. Young Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander language speakers report lower binge drinking, less use of illicit substances, and are less likely to have been a victim of physical or threatened violence, compared to those who do not speak their language. Language revival is empowering for those involved, strengthening and validating their sense of cultural heritage, and counteracting the aforementioned phenomenon of ‘self-​loathing’, which unfortunately often occurs among colonised people—​cf. mutatis mutandis the Stockholm Syndrome (McIvor, Napoleon & Dickie 2009). Language reclamation increases feelings of wellbeing and pride amongst disempowered people, who fall between the cracks, feeling that they are neither whitefellas nor in command of their own Aboriginal heritage. As Fishman puts it: The real question of modern life and for RLS [reversing language shift] is . . . how one . . . can build a home that one can still call one’s own and, by cultivating it, find community, comfort, companionship and meaning in a world whose mainstreams are increasingly unable to provide these basic ingredients for their own members. (Fishman 2006: 90)

Anecdotally, people have been spurred to begin language reclamation by a personal experience of suicide. Jack Buckskin experienced the suicide of his sister, which led him to begin work on the Kaurna language. Geoff Anderson,

Our Ancestors Are Happy  275 an advisor for this project, had severe anxiety and depression, and attempted suicide before beginning classes to learn his language. He says it saved his life. Both are now language teachers and have leading roles in language reclamation. It has been demonstrated that people involved in Indigenous language reclamation have improved self-​confidence and are more likely to continue with other studies. Educational success directly translates to improved employability, ‘closing the gap’, and decreased delinquency. The quantitative instruments employed in this project have already been validated:  Health and Wellbeing Survey Instrument consists of already-​ validated questionnaires selected from the ABS National Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Health & Social Survey and the Longitudinal Study of Indigenous Children (LSIC). Most importantly, however:  the wellbeing measurement must be created together with the Aboriginal people themselves. Throughout these activities I  have learned from the Barngarla Language Advisory Committee (BLAC) that the advantages of a language revival movement go far beyond actual native speech results. As aforementioned, from the point of view of Aboriginal empowerment and wellbeing, it wouldn’t be a failure if, at the end (if there is an end) of the Barngarla revival process, there is no all-​encompassing, native-​speaking community that converses in the reclaimed language in all semantic domains. The revival process is as important as the revival goals. The reward is in the journey. This is reflected in Figure 9.1 (Goals of Language Activities, according to Aboriginal Australians), which shows that more Aboriginal Australians see ‘improving the wellbeing’ as more important than ‘increasing language use’ (79 per cent vs 70 per cent /​65 per cent , respectively).Thus, investing in language revival could be one way in promoting Indigenous peoples’ cultural identity and improving their mental health. Cultural dislocation, or a lack of engagement, are linked with negative psychological outcomes. Even if there is eventually a sound understanding and awareness of the linguistic and sociolinguistic issues involved, and even if the endeavour is well-​ theorized, language revival efforts may well still fail. Internal factional politics are likely to be far more influential in deciding the fate of a language revival movement than any linguistic theory or lack of one. As aforementioned, the first stage of any desire by professional linguists to assist in language revival

276 Revivalistics To help people connect with their language and culture

91%

To increase awareness of the language among the community

81%

To improve the wellbeing of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people

79% 74%

To promote the language to the general public To increase the use of the language in the target group

70%

To ensure the maintenance of the language

66%

To increase language use within a particular setting

65%

To provide support for language speakers to continue to speak their language

65%

To revive the language

65%

To support school language programs (e.g. curriculum development)

62%

To record and archive recording of the language

57%

To provide job opportunities for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people

51%

To increase the number of language speakers

50%

To make decisions about future directions for language work (e.g. development of a policy)

36% 0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

90 100

Figure 9.1  Goals of Language Activities; Data drawn from the Second, most recent, National Indigenous Languages Survey (NILS2) Report and analysed by Marmion, Obata & Troy (2014)

involves a long initial period of carefully observing, listening, learning, and characterizing each Indigenous community specifically. Only then can we inspire and assist. While we know that language revival can have numerous beneficial effects, we also know that some revival efforts are more successful than others. Drawing on lessons from the Hebrew revival would enable a better understanding of success in this arena, thus generating better outcomes and more effective utilization of resources. Besides significant scholarly impact and intellectual benefits, the results of such endeavours will also substantially improve the future of Australia’s

Our Ancestors Are Happy  277 Indigenous communities, promoting and maintaining their physical, spiritual, and cultural good health through: (1) Transformation of traumatized individuals. (2) Capacity building:  some Aboriginal people will undertake training only because they are interested in language(s). However, what they will learn in the process are useful generic skills such as literacy, computer literacy, conducting research, and giving speeches in public. (3) Improved sense of wellbeing in the local Aboriginal community. (4) Reconciliation and potential decrease in racism towards Aboriginal people in some country centres. (5) Promoting cultural tourism to Aboriginal areas in order to learn about their cultures and languages. Regaining language is a life-​ changing experience for many Aboriginal people. One Aboriginal person has told me that he used to be angry, often drunk, in trouble with police, and that his home life was a mess. Two years later, when he had regained his language, his situation had turned around and his family life had greatly improved. Through this and other experiences I became convinced that a small investment in language revitalization could yield very significant dividends. Language revival can result in the saving of vast amounts of money and resources going into housing, social services, and health intervention. A small investment into language revitalization can make an enormous difference to society. Public health can benefit from language intervention. To date, such money as has been devoted to Aboriginal language revival and maintenance has not been well targeted. This is partly because Australian Indigenous language policies have been piecemeal and uncoordinated at best or otherwise non-​existent or implicit (Liddicoat (2008), McKay (2007, 2009), Truscott and Malcolm (2010); see also http://​www. anu.edu.au/​ linguistics/​ nashaustpolicy.html, ​ accessed 20 March 2018). I aim for a better-​informed Indigenous language policy at the national level, as well as institutional contexts in particular. For instance, upon considering Indigenous policies of Australian universities, Gunstone (2008: 107) complains: ‘it is apparent that universities are still largely failing to adequately address the educational needs of Indigenous staff, students and communities.’

278 Revivalistics As cellist Yo Yo Ma said on 28 November 2000 at the White House Conference on Culture and Diplomacy: A Senegalese poet said ‘In the end we will conserve only what we love. We love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we are taught.’ We must learn about other cultures in order to understand, in order to love, and in order to preserve our common world heritage.

In 2017, I was awarded a grant along with Alex Brown and a team from the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) to assess quantitatively (rather than qualitatively) the correlation between language revival and mental health. There is community and policy interest in impact of mental illness. There are broad contributors, and yet few interventions. We know that social determinants such as culture, socioeconomic status (SES), and racism are critical for Aboriginal health but they are often overlooked. The decline of Indigenous languages has become a prevalent characteristic of colonization, negatively impacting the wellbeing of Indigenous populations over time. There has been no systematic study of the impact of language revival on mental health and wellbeing. As my Aboriginal collaborator, Alex Brown, said (pc): What scientists hold stock in is only what they can measure. But you can’t measure the mind or spirit. You can’t weigh it, you can’t deconstruct it. But only if we do will they see that Aboriginal people are spectators to the death of their culture, their lives . . . . We watch as our culture dies. How are you going to measure that?

The aim of our NHMRC project is to systematically assess mental health impacts of reclaiming Indigenous language (Barngarla) in South Australia. The hypothesis is language reclamation improves mental health and social and emotional wellbeing. The objectives are to explore the impacts of pilot language activities; develop methods for measuring the impacts of language reclamation; and assess language use and social and emotional wellbeing. It is important to involve the Aboriginal people in the process of determining how to assess their wellbeing. Indigenous assessment offers both an enhanced understanding of psychological constructs in their cultural context, and the potential to enrich universalistic psychological models (see Sivak et al. 2019). As Cheung & Fetvadjiev (2016: 334) argue, the need

Our Ancestors Are Happy  279 for Indigenous assessment tools that are sensitive to the cultural context becomes increasingly apparent with globalization and international mobility trends. The inadequacies of translating Western tests that ‘coax the observed pattern behaviour to fit the imposed model, and ignore the local conceptualization of the observed pattern of behaviour’ have been recognized by cross-​ cultural psychologists (Cheung, Cheung, Wada, & Zhang 2003: 280). After all, establishing test equivalence and local norms for standardized translated tests demands considerable efforts in building a research programme. Instead of ‘cutting one’s toes to fit the [imported] shoes’, there would be a greater incentive to develop Indigenous psychological tests that fit the local needs (Cheung, Fan, & Cheung 2013). It is not only professional ethics that stipulates the use of culturally relevant and psychometrically reliable and valid tests; in some countries, such as South Africa, it is a legal requirement to adhere to such criteria. For example, Fetvadjiev et al. (2015) found that various social-​relational concepts of personality, such as relationship harmony and guidance, were salient across ethnocultural groups in South Africa. These concepts could not be subsumed under the dominant Western models of personality, but have nonetheless been subsequently replicated in Western samples. These social-​ relational concepts are therefore not narrow culturally specific constructs, but rather point to domains that have been underrepresented in Western models. The main purpose of the NHMRC project is to assess the effectiveness of language revival in improving mental health and reducing suicide ideation, self-​harm, and suicide. Key outcomes also include: 1) The first formal test of a causal relationship between language revival and mental health. 2) Develop techniques and further the methods of revivalistics. As language revival is an iterative process, the project will develop techniques for the practical application of revivalistics amongst communities who suffer from poor mental health. 3) Promote linguistic rights. 4) Provide a model for language revival to be used by other Indigenous communities. While reclaiming Barngarla, our project seeks to find out systematically whether there is an interdependence between language revival and important

280 Revivalistics benefits such as personal and community empowerment, improved sense of identity and purpose, and enhanced mental health, thus closing the health gap between Indigenous peoples and others. The systematic measuring of these significant aspects of life has the potential to create a change not only in Australia but also all over the globe. More and more indigenous and minority communities all over the globe seek to reinstate their own cultural authority in the world. However, many of them lack not only their heritage language but also the revivalistic knowl­ edge required for their language reclamation. This book tries to assist people interested in revival, by analysing critically, usefully and bluntly the Hebrew reclamation. In the meantime, if your friend, by any chance, believes that if all people in the world spoke only one language (say, American), there would be no wars, kindly ask them to google ‘Rwanda 1994’ or ‘Syria 2019’. And, on the other hand, one should listen to the voice of Jenna Richards, a Barngarla Aboriginal woman who took part in my Barngarla reclamation workshop in Port Lincoln, South Australia, on 18–​20 April 2012. She wrote to me the following sentence in an email message on 3 May 2012 (bold letters mine): Personally, I found the experience of learning our language liberating and went home feeling very overwhelmed because we were finally going to learn our “own” language, it gave me a sense of identity and I think if the whole family learnt our language then we would all feel totally different about ourselves and each other cause it’s almost like it gives you a purpose in life.

As Barngarla woman Evelyn Walker (née Dohnt) wrote to me following the same reclamation workshop: Our ancestors are happy!

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References  305 Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad. (2018). Dictionary of the Barngarla Aboriginal Language of Eyre Peninsula, South Australia. http://​www.dictionary.barngarla.org/​, (accessed 1 January 2020). Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad and the Barngarla people. (2019). Barngarlidhi Manoo [Speaking Barngarla Together]. South Australia: Barngarla Language Advisory Committee. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad & Gitit Holzman. (2018). sham hi lakkhá leshón vradím mimidronó shel hakhakláy hamásh, ritsát-​tsír (palindróm) meét gilád tsúkerman, im perúsh meét gitit holtsmán [There she took a bunch of roses from the slope of the moving farmer, a palindrome by Ghil‘ad Zuckermann, with an explanation by Gitit Holzman], Shvilím 20. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad (诸葛漫). (2008). 混合还是复苏：以色列语的起源 –​ –​ 多来 源，形式和模式 [On the hybridic genesis of Israeli Hebrew]. 南开语言学刊 Nankai Linguistics 2008-​2: 23–​35. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad (诸葛漫). Forthcoming. 多源造词研究 [A Study of Multisourced Neologization]. Shanghai: 华东师范大学出版社 (East China Normal University Press). Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad (诸葛漫) & Xu Jia. (2013). 复兴语言学: 一个新的语言学分 支(Towards a New Branch of Linguistics: Revival Linguistics), 语言教学与研究 Language Teaching and Linguistic Studies 4: 100–​6. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad (诸葛漫), Yao Chunlin, & Xu Jia. (2012). 一门新的语言学分支： 复兴语言学 –​ –​ 兼谈濒危语言和濒危方言复兴的普遍制约条件和机制 (Universal Constraints and Mechanisms in the Reclamation and Empowerment of Endangered Languages and Dialects), 世界民族 (world ethno-​national studies) 6: 66–​73.

Index Note: Page numbers followed by f are for figures.   Abdülkadir, 156, 162 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples Recognition Act (2013/​South Australia), 257–​258 Aboriginal Heritage Act (1988/​Australia), 231 Aboriginal language revival. See also Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation; language revival movements Aboriginal vs. Hebrew advantages, 192–​194 animation films, 205–​206 lessons from Hebrew reclamation, xxii, 186, 187–​189, 191–​192 quantifying loss of languages and cultures, 261–​262 reasons for language reclamation, xxii, xxiii, 194, 243–​247 Aboriginal languages camouflaged names that look English, 223–​224 Indigenous languages perceived to hinder English acquisition, 190–​191, 220, 250 words for non-​physical parts of a person, 217 Aboriginal people. See ethics; specific groups and languages by name Aborigines Act (1911/​Australia), 228 Aborigines Protection Board (APB), 255–​256 abúv, phono-​semantic matching (PSM), 118 Academy of the Hebrew Language day-to-day work, 152–155 deliberate slowness, 157–​159 failure of proposed neologisms, 156–​157 general information, goals and functions, 151–​152 plenum dynamics, 155–​156 submitting to ‘real world’ at last, xxvii–xxviii U-turn decisions, 159–163 ​ acronyms, cultural significance, 104 Adams, John, xxiv Adnyamathanha people, 241 adolescents and young adults, mental health warning signs, 268–​271 adrán, shift from religious usage, 128–​129 advertisements, romanization in Israel and Japan,  50–​51

aesthetic reasons for language revival, 244–245 affixes. See prefixes, international; suffixes Agnon, Shmuel Yosef, 22 agshamá, 138–​139 AIDS, in Icelandic and modern standard Chinese, 94f áin, 22 airplane vs. aeroplane, 181–​182, 182f Akiva ben Yosef (Rabbi Akiva), 145 Aleut, 31 álkool vs. kóal, 175–​176, 175f allophones (Hebrew), 52 allusion to religious concepts, as rhetorical device, 145–​149 alphabet books, 214, 215 alveolar trill (Hebrew), 22, 46 amál, 136–​138 ambitransitivity, types of, 83–​84 amelioration involved in secularization extreme, 132–​142 mild, 130–​132 recycling of Biblical names, 142–​143 analytic Israeli, 65–​67 anát, Anat as Israeli girl’s name, 143 Ancient Persia, cultural concepts, 245 Anderson, Geoff, 274–​275 ‘angels,’ in English, Arabic, and Israeli, 216–​217 aní yaví vs. aní aví,  20–​21 anthropology, homo sapiens in Africa and Australia, 189 anthroponyms, penultimate stress in Israeli,  56–​57 anti-​serendipity perspective, 167 APB. See Aborigines Protection Board (APB) Arabic ‘angels’ in, 216–​217 artichoke in, 95f creating secondary (and tertiary) roots from nouns, 115 de-​Arabicization assisted by Hebraized surnames, 50 influence on penultimate stress, 58 lexical items within Israeli, 25, 48, 175, 178f, 179–​180

308 Index Arabic (cont.) Modern Standard, as no one’s mother tongue, 29, 77, 163 Modern Standard, Classical, and vernacular, 19 Aramaic components in Yiddish, 27, 42 morphology of adrán, 129 archaeology, language as ‘vehicle of, 227 architecture, revivalistics and, 204–​205 Arrernte Aboriginal language, 218, 219 ars ‘yob’ (slangism), 48 art, in language revival, 164, 206, 211, 222, 232   artlangs (artistically-​constructed languages), 164 asar-​á shkal-​ím. See éser shékel vs. asar-​á shkal-​ím Ashkenazic Ashkenazic-​mizrahi divide, 111 Israeli media dominated by, 179 lax uvular approximant [ʁ̞], 22 penultimate stress in, 56 pronunciation of letter ‫( צ‬ts), 18, 46 Sephardic pronunciation vs., 25, 45, 56, 150 Ashkenazim cabbage soup tradition, 102–103 most revivalists were, 33–​35 revivalists unable to avoid Ashkenazic mindset, 16, 112 ashráy vs. krédit, 176–​177, 177f assimilation. See also Stolen Generations affecting Yiddish, 202 compensation for loss of language and culture by policies of, 248, 252, 254 forcing Sami people of Norway to assimilate, 265 Native Title and, 241 policy resulting in harm to Aboriginal peoples, 258 redressing language loss in New Zealand, 220 Ataturk, Mustafa Kemal, 162 Atay, Falih, 156, 162 ATSI. See National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander (ATSI) Social Survey atsmaút ‘independence,’ 173 Australia. See also Aboriginal language revival; Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation; Native Title Act (1993/​ Australia); Stolen Generations compensation and redress, 240–​242, 249–​251,  259 difficulty reclaiming Aboriginal conversational interaction, 35

Indigenous rights, 248, 252–​253, 255–​262 mental health of Aboriginal people, 268–​271 support for Aboriginal language revival, 188–​192, 194, 222–​223 Australian Human Rights Commission, 255 authenticity. See purism auxiliary verbs, 67 Avinery, Isaac, 160 avirón vs. matos, 181, 181f avodá, 124 AVO(E)/​SV(E) constituent order. See word order ayá, as auxiliary, 81  Bahloul, Zouheir, 55 balagán, 10, 81 Baldwin, Daryl, 200, 222 Baldwin, Karen, 200, 222 Banay, Yossi, 21–​22 Banet, David Zvi, 155 Bar-​Asher, Moshe, 116, 158 Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation background, xxix, 227–​231 Barngarla dictionary app, 232f, 233–​237, 235–​237f creating virtual and actual community of practice, 209 language reclamation activities and methods, 229f, 231–​233, 231f, 274–​280 proposed word for ‘computer,’ 43 trying to right wrongs of past, xxiii, 188, 234, 241–​242,  267 Barngarla Language Advisory Committee (BLAC), 275 Barngarla Song Project, 205 batlán, 130 Battalion for the Defence of the Language, 39–40, 201 beatnik, as suffix extraction from sputnik, 83 Beckett, Samuel, 224 behaviour need for culturally relevant tests, 279 responses to cultural dislocation, 268–​269,  272–275 bekitá bet vs. bekhitá bet, 20, 54 Ben-​Avi, Itamar, first native Israeli speaker, 24, 98 Ben-​Gurion Airport, new terminal, 59 Ben-​Gurion, David, 15, 41, 201 Ben-​Yehuda, Eliezer failed in sounds but succeeded in nouns, 60 ‘Israeli Hebrew’ facilitated by, 1, 24–​25, 36–​ 37, 116, 151 wanted Israelis to speak Biblical Hebrew, 13

Index  309 Ben-​Yehuda, Netiva, 55 Ben-​Zvi, Yitzhak, 176 Bergsträsser, Gotthelf, 3 bet aám, calling synagogue ‘the house of the people’ as punishable by death, 139–​140 Bialik, Chaim Nachman, 178 Biblical Hebrew. See also Mishnaic Hebrew; names; roots accepting grammatical features if in scriptures, 162–​163 blorít as mark of pagan meaning lost in Israeli, 132–​136 constructions with paronomastic infinitive absolute, 64 to Israeli considered to be as Shakespearean to American English, 15–​16 misunderstanding of Hebrew Bible by Israelis, 12–​13, 106 proposed periodization, 23–​24 semantic shifts, 121, 125–​126, 130–​131, 132–​ 138, 141–​142 Bierce, Ambrose, 175 big data, compiling and analysis in culturomics, 167, 169f bilingualism/​multilingualism, cognitive advantages, 245–​246 Bin Laden, Osama, 101–102, 145 Birenbaum, Gavriel, 158 birrimbirr (Yolŋu Matha), 217 bitakhón/​bitkhon-​íst, 13–​15, 41 Blake, Barry, 225 Blanc, Haim, 22–​23 Blau, Joshua, 19 blorít, 132–​136 Boandik language, 225 books, scanned Hebrew and Israeli, 171–​172,  172f borrowing. See phono-​semantic matching (PSM) Bradley, John, 205 British Columbia, correlation between suicide and native language ability, xxx, 266 Brown, Alex, 278 Buchwald, Art, 27 Buckskin, Jack, 274 Buddhism, three marks of existence, xxiv Bundjalung language version of Waiting for Godot, 224 Bush, George W., 121, 145 Byron, Fija, 222   cabbage soup tradition, 102–103 California, Native American languages, 221

calquing (loan-​translation), xxviii, 30, 42–​43, 89, 91–​92, 97–98, 116, 119–​120, 196 Canaanite divinities, Israeli children given names of, 143 ‘carbuncle,’ 116 CDA. See critical discourse analysis (CDA) celebrities’ contribution, 180–​181 cell cycle regulators and target genes, 168f censorship, in Nazi Germany, 170 Cheung, F. M., 278–​279 Chinese, Modern Standard, 29, 43, 82, 94f Chomsky, Noam, 16 Chomsky, William, 16, 24 Clarkson, Chris, 189 cline of revivability, 34f clothing Yiddishisms, 90 Coca-​colonization, xxiii Cockburn, Rodney, 223 coercive verb-​template,  72–​73 cognitive abilities, improved by multilingualism, 245–​246 Cohen-​Sagi, Daniel, 154 col-​lect-​ion, xxvi, 2 colonial language ideology, 190–​191 community language revival and, 207, 208, 209–​211 use of native speakers in photos and sound recordings, 214 comparative lexico-​statistics, 7 compensation, for loss of language. See Native Tongue Title; Stolen Generations ‘computer’, derivation in various languages, 43 Confession on the Subject of Our Language (Scholem), xxvii, 122–​124 Confucius on rectifying names, 108 Congruence Principle, xxvi, 7, 15, 27, 33, 38–​43, 64,  91–​92 conlangs vs. revlangs, 164f consonantal clusters/​multi-​consonantal words, 53–​54, 70–71, 73 consonantal root apophony, 71–​72 consonant inventory, 46–​52 constituent order. See word order constructed languages (conlangs) vs. revival languages, 164 construct-​state, 21, 65–67, 86–87, 161 contact-​induced change vs. hybridization and multiple causation, 153 ‘continual transmission’ theory, 65 contracted forms. See proclitics and enclitics conversational style, comparison of Western and Aboriginal interactions, 35 copula enhancement, 63

310 Index Cornish reclamation, 164f, 200 corpus, defined, 168 corruption of language, as overused term, 98 counting people, ancient superstition against, 76–77 creoles (language features), 17, 29–​30, 213–214 crime. See delinquency, reduced by education success and language revival critical discourse analysis (CDA), 18 Croft on behalf of the Barngarla Native Title Claim Group v. State of South Australia, 241–​242 cross-​fertilization. See Hebrew: subconscious cross-​fertilization; hybridity Crystal, David, 196 Cubillo and Grunner v. The Commonwealth, 256 cultural tourism, as avenue for revival languages, 188, 224, 245, 273, 277 culture cultural trends in Israel, 173–​174 dislocation when displaced from Indigenous lands, 188, 268–269 of Indigenous Australians, 189, 240 Israel’s battles with external enemies accompanied by internal Kulturkampfe, 149 keeping important practices and concepts, 245, 271–​272 role of language in collective self-​perception, 32, 269, 271–​273 culturomics, xxviii, 165–​170. See also tarbutomics   decision-​making biases, reduced when using non-​native language, 246 Declaration of Independence (Israel), 13–​15 DeGraff, Michel, 30 deHebraization, 109–​110 delinquency, reduced by education success and language revival, 245–247, 267, 273, 275 deontological reasons for language reclamation, xxiii, xxx, 193–​194, 243–​244 Derivational Only Popular Etymology (DOPE), 105 devoicing, final, German influence, 48–​49 dibúv, 96f dictionary of Israeli PSMs, 97–​98 diglossia/​polyglossia, 77, 163 dilúg rav, 155 disease, and noun-​pattern, 178, 179, 225–227 distortion of Hebrew by foreign words, 154 as overused term, 98

Djanogly, David, 204 DNA double helix structure, 165, 166 documentary linguistics vs. revival linguistics, 207, 210, 215, 225 DOPE. See Derivational Only Popular Etymology (DOPE) Dorian, Nancy, 209 Drabkin, David. See Remez, David ‘dreaming beauty,’ use of term, xxii ‘Dreamtime’/​‘Dreaming,’ xxii, 218–​220 dyslexics, and Israeli language, 47, 47f   Easter Island, cultural concepts, 245 education Australian universities failing Indigenous communities, 277 in LARD, 211, 220–​222, 225–227 schools should distinguish between Israeli and Hebrew, 7 success improves employability and decreases crime, 246–​247, 275 ekdakh, 110, 116 emblematicity, 197–​199 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 155 emotions, seat of, stomach vs. heart, 207 engineering. See also semi-​engineering lexical, xxvii, 117 revival vs., 18 English language Aboriginal, 194 airplane vs. aeroplane, 181–​182, 182f ‘-​ation’ suffix, 81 examples of secularization, 117, 118–119 impact on Kaurna, 196–197 ‘-​ing’ suffix, 82 meaning of ‘angels,’ 216–​217 on signs for Israeli toponyms, 50 Eretz Yisrael first children born to two Israeli-​speaking parents, 25 formation of Israeli language, xxi, 24 population growth 1850–​1903, 45–​46 pretexts for speaking pure Hebrew, 110 –111 Yiddish as mother tongue of pioneer immigrants, 17, 34, 37 éser shékel vs. asar-​á shkal-​ím, 20, 21, 76–​77,  163 Eshkol, Levi, 58 Esperanto, 123, 164f ethics. See also Indigenous rights ethical reasons to revive languages, 193–​194, 243–​244,  267

Index  311 injustice done to Aboriginal people of Australia, 188–​192 trying to right wrongs of past, xxiii, xxix, 188, 234, 241–​242, 243–244 etymology alternate etymology of ‘virgins’ for Muslim martyrs, 101–​102 creating dictionary of PSMs, 97–​98 etymythology and reality, 101–​105 folk-​etymology, 97–98, 100, 102–​105 European and Indo-​European languages, influence on Israeli, 26–27, 32–33, 92 éven, as pronunciation of Íbn, 50 Even-​Shoshan, Avraham, 175 ex gratia schemes: Native Tongue Title, 258–​262 exploration vs. exploitation, 165 external affairs power (Australian Constitution), 258, 259 Eyre Peninsula. See Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation   false friends, 11–​12 Family Tree (Stammbaum) linguistics model. See Stammbaum (Family Tree) model ‘feature pool’ and ‘feature competition,’ 15, 33, 39, 75 Fetvadjiev, V. H., 278–​279 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 26 film, as aid to revivalistics, 205–​206, 224 Fishman, Joshua A., 274 folk-​etymology. See etymology foreign vs. native language acquisition, 19–​20,  199 forms. See also morphology Hebrew forms in Israeli, 31, 33 patterns vs., 8, 31, 32, 39–​41, 40f, 65, 92 reinterpreted,  74–​75 Forverts, ‘Yiddish mit an Alef,’ 202 Founder Principle, xxvi, 15–​19, 33–​35, 37 ‘framing effect,’ 246 franglais, 27 fricativization. See spirantization, unaspired Fry, Stephen, 12 functional illiteracy, 202 functionalist framework, 8   games of rhetoric, as part of living language, 104–​105 gender, 76–​77, 86–​87, 86f ‘generative entrenchment,’ 17, 34 genesis of Israeli aim to comprehensively rewrite history of, 8

convergence of elements from various languages,  30–​32 as laboratory for revivalists, 44 language evolution to be indulged, 163 not explained by lexico-​statistics, 15 phoenicuckoo cross approach, 4–​8 genetics bi-​directional employment of terms in linguistics and, 166 differences between Biblical Hebrew and Israeli,  12–​13 evolutionary manifestation of genome, 166–​167 genetic affiliation, 6–​7, 42 genetic classification, 2, 26–​28 link between genomics and culturomics, 168 Gillen, Francis, 218 gladín for gelatin, plenum dynamics, 155–​156 glottals, neutralization of, 46 glottophagy, 189–​191, 202 Goddard, Cliff,  218–219 God, reference to in Israeli, 173, 174f Go figure! as ‘adapted calque’ of Yiddish, 42 Google Books, trends in Israeli culture and language, 168–172 government policies, as not legally enforceable, 250–​251 grammar comparison of Hebrew and Israeli, 21, 55, 152 fundamental parts entrenched by founders, 34 grammars of Modern Hebrew challenged by author, 4 mistakes of today may be future, 38 official rules counter-​grammatical, 77 Grant, Catherine, 205 grant schemes vs. compensation schemes, 249–​251 Greek, modern compared to ancient, 15–​16 Grey, George, 190–​191 Grünberg, Uri Zvi, 160 Gugada (Kukata) language, 230   habere language, Israeli as, 74–​76 Habib, Sandy, 216–​217 Hale, Ken, 200, 244 Hallett, Darcy, xxx, 266–​267 ‘hangover,’ 158 ha, position in Israeli opposed to Hebrew, 66–67 Haramati, Shlomo, 16 Harel, Mirale, 22

312 Index Har-​Even, Shulamith, 157–​158 Harkins, Jean, 218 Harrison, Geoffrey A., 34 Harshav, Benjamin, 2 Harvey, D., 271 Hasidism, 90, 139, 144, 202 Haugen, Einar, 97, 99–​100 Hawaiian, 48, 197–​198, 221, 224, 225 Haza, Ofra, singing of ‘Bimbo Song,’ 55–​56 Health and Wellbeing Survey Instrument, 275 health, of Indigenous communities, 276–​277. See also mental health Hebrew. See also Academy of the Hebrew Language; Biblical Hebrew; Medieval Hebrew; Mishnaic Hebrew; roots cross-​fertilization with Israeli, xxvii existential construction to fit Yiddish construction, 74–76 failure to stem internationalisms, 174–​176 false assumption that Israeli is, 151–​152 Hebrew-​Israeli faux amis (false friends),  11–​12 Israeli spelling vs., 47, 50, 60–​65 most famous example of language reclamation, xxi–​xxii no one’s mother tongue between second and nineteenth centuries, 16 success in maintaining words from, 176–​179 Hebrew: conscious ideological secularization of terms. See also ideological secularization in Israeli; secularization background, 112–​113 chapter overview, xxvii concluding remarks, 149 Confession on the Subject of Our Language (Scholem), 122–​124 ex interno lexical enrichment in Israeli, 113–​117 semantic secularization, 117 ‘Hebrew continued’ approach vs. Founder Principle approach, 15–​19 Hebrew day school system in US, boycott of Yiddish, 203 Hebrew Language Committee, 17–​19 Hebrew mythology ‘Hebrew continued’ vs. Founder Principle approach,  15–​19 ‘lazy, mistaken language’ thesis vs. ‘native speakers do not make mistakes’ approach,  20–​23 mutual intelligibility assumption vs. ‘translate the Bible to Israeli’ approach,  9–​15

myths regarding Academy decisions, 154 second language as mother tongue vs. nativist principles, 19–​20 Hebrew Reclamation: myth and reality. See also Congruence Principle; Founder Principle; Hebrew mythology; tarbutomics background,  1–​4 chapter overview, xxvi genetic classification of Israeli, 26–​28 Israeli as mixed, semi-​engineered language,  28–​33 phoenicuckoo cross, 4–​8 proposed periodization of Hebrew and Israeli,  23–​26 success rate of Hebrew revival, 36–​38 Hebrew: subconscious cross-​fertilization. See also lexis; morphology chapter overview, xxvii phonetics,  44–​52 phonology,  52–​59 practical implications and terminology, 106–​108 revival unlikely without cross-​fertilization, xxvii, 44 social and political implications of this book, 108–​111 syntax,  60–​65 Hebrew/​Yiddish amalgamation, 42f Hefer, Haim, 135 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 26 helikópter vs. Hebrew masók, 176, 177f Hendrix, Jimi, 103 Hercus, Luise Schwarzschild, 229, 231 Herzl, Theodor, 20 ‘He Walked Through the Fields’ (Shamir), 147–​148 Hezekiah, King of Judah, 14 Hindi word order, 62 Hinton, Leanne, 221–​222 Historical Dictionary Project, 152–​153 Hoban, Russell, 228 holocaust/​Holocaust usage of term (1800‒2000), 174f Yiddish speakers lost in, 201 Holzman, Gitit, 9 Horvath, Julia, 2–​3 human rights international law of, 244, 248 linguistic, 251–​258 Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission (HREOC), 249, 261 Human Rights Commission of ICCPR, 253, 254–255

Index  313 Hunter, E., 271 Hussein, Saddam, Israeli vs. Arabic spelling, 48 hybridity. See also Hebrew: subconscious cross-​fertilization altneu and Israeli al tnáy, 20 celebrating complexity of Israeli, 23 Congruence Principle and, 42–​43 cross-​fertilization with revivalists’ mother tongue(s), 6, 19–​20 of Israeli, xxvi, xxvii, 2, 4–​8, 6f, 30–​32, 111 Israeli’s non-​geneticness results in its, 31 result of any successful language reclamation, xxii, 36, 112, 195–​196 hybridization author’s model as synthesis, 26 contact-​induced change vs., 153 relexification theory vs., 2–​3 of words and of languages, 37 hypercorrection, 48–​49, 55, 77   iactito, 113 Ibn Gabirol, Shlomo, 14 ICCPR. See International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) Icelandic language, 94f identity language as key element of, 187, 196, 247, 267, 273–​274 language revival as evidence of continuity, 242, 269 mental health and, 271–​272 PSM strengthens importance of language to maintain, 100–101 revitalization of identity practices, 248–​249 Semitic vs. Western, 18 ideological secularization in Israeli. See also secularization allusion, 145–​149 ambiguity resulting from secularization,  13–​15 pejoration, 130 phono-​semantic matching (PSM), 118–​122 semantic shift deifying nationhood, 125–​127 survival of the best fit, 124 transvaluation, 127–​129 trivialization, 144–​145 Ido, 164f immersion programmes, 203, 220–​221, 225, 260–​261 incarceration vs. cost of language learning, 247 inchoativity, 77–​80,  78–​79f Indigenous languages of Australia, spoken by all children, 189

Indigenous Language Support, 247 Indigenous people. See Aboriginal language revival; specific groups and languages by name Indigenous rights. See also Native Tongue Title Australia, 248, 252–​253, 254–​262 international language revival movements, 262–​265 international law and policy, 244, 248, 252–​255 protection more likely to be at policy rather than judicial level, 256–​257 self-​determination, 248, 271–​272. See also Stolen Generations infinitives, tautological, 64–​65 informatics, linguistics and genetics as branches of, 166 inter-​disciplinarity vs. trans-​disciplinarity, 165 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), 244, 253, 254–255, 258, 259 internationalisms Israeli multisourced neologisms based on, 100–​101 synonyms preferred to Hebrew words, 174–​176 International Labour Organization Convention No. 169 (Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention), 252 international law, on human rights and rights of Indigenous people, 244, 248, 252–​255 international suffix, (o)logya,  81–​82 intifáda, 179–​180, 180f intransitivization,  83–​84 intuítsya intuition not loan word, 37 Inuit communities, language knowledge lowers suicide rates, 266–​267 Irish, xxi, 200 Irish immersion programmes, 220  Irmay, Shraga, 155 ishá, 182, 182f ishtó méta aláv, 22 Isle of Man. See Manx reclamation Israeli. See also Academy of the Hebrew Language; genesis of Israeli; headings at Hebrew; ideological secularization in Israeli; Language Council (Hebrew); phonetics analytic,  65–​67 comparison with Hebrew grammar, 21, 55, 152 differences in pronunciation, 45 dyslexic learners and, 47, 47f

314 Index Israeli (cont.) ex interno lexical enrichment in, 113–​117 foreign origin of words, 53 as habere language, 74–​75 Hebrew spelling vs., 47, 50, 60–​65 illusion that language binds Israelis together, 149 Israeli Hebrew facilitated by Ben-​Yehuda, 1 magpie characteristics, 4, 6f as mixed, semi-​engineered language, 28–​33 mnemonics for pronunciation, 95–​96 myths about planning of, 18–​19 penultimate stress in, 56–​58 proposed periodization of Hebrew and, 23–​26,  26f as rara avis and phoenicuckoo cross, 4–​8, 5f relationship to Hebrew, xxi–​xxii, xxvii, 36, 37, 106–​107, 151–​152 tertiary root case, 115f thesis, antithesis and synthesis, genetic classification of, 26–​28 verbal morphemic adaptations in, 68–​70 Israeli Hebrew. See Israeli Israel, internal Kulturkampfe, 149 izkór am israél, 146   Japanese language, 51, 53, 214 Jeremiah, Hebrew terms misinterpreted by Israeli speakers, 10 Jessie Little Doe Baird, 200 Jericho, 58 ‘jet lag,’ 158, 178 Jews. See also Hasidism blorít as defining characteristic of ‘new Jew’ (Sabra), 134–​135 Haredi, 202, 203 Orthodox, lexical vendetta to convince secular Jews to return to religious roots, 149 quotations of influential, 209 jukurrpa (Warlpiri for ‘Dreamtime’/​ ‘Dreaming’), 218–​220   kabalá, 128 Kaddari, Menahem Zevi, 22 kálfi/​kálpi, 126–​127 kará et atakhtoním, religious or pornographic contexts, 144–​145 Karuk Native American language, 221, 222 kaséta vs. Hebrew kalétet, 177–​178, 177f, 179 Katz, David, 203–​204 Katzenelson, Kalman, 3–​4 Katzir, Ephraim, 48

Kaurna (Adelaide language), 191, 195–​197, 206, 213, 222–​223, 274 Kelly, Ray, 218 Keret, Etgar, 22 Kerler, Dov-​Ber, 203 Kerswill, Paul, 38 Kessler, R. C., 269 kéva, 125 khalá vs. khára, 55 khanút (ptukhá), 145 khet, 21–22 khiloní, 140–​141 Khovav, Moshe, 159 khupológya and kisológya,  81–​82 King, M. A., 267, 271 Klausner, Joseph G., 116, 141 Klein, Ernest, 88, 175 Klingon, 164 knéset, 125 Knesset (Israeli Parliament) building, 125 koala, as marsupial, 106–​107 Kohanga Reo ‘Nests of Language,’ 220 kompozítor vs. Hebrew malkhín, 176, 176f Kor, Avshalom, 154 Korczak-​Marla, Rozka, 201 kosem, 132 krédit vs. ashráy, 176–​177, 177f Kurdish, 16 Kurosawa, Akira, Rashomon, 108–109 Kuuk Thaayorre language, 244 Kuyani language, 230 Kuzar, Ron, 2   Lachoudisch,  31–​32 lahit ‘hit (popular song), 159–​161 Lakota Sioux language, in Dances with Wolves, 224 langscape, 2, 208, 211, 223, 230, 232, 262. See also signage, cities and streets language. See also ownership of language and culture directing development as policing, xxviii, 151–​152 importance to Indigenous people worldwide, 271–​272 inescapable revolution of (Scholem), 122–​124 languages spoken in State of Israel, 2 languages with chain of native speakers, xxiii, 13, 19, 29 linguicide and glottophagy, 189–​191 Strong and Weak Whorfianism, 165 Language Council (Hebrew), 116–​117, 151, 155

Index  315 language nests, 220 language owners, in LARD, 212, 213–​214 language revival. See revivalistics LAnguage Revival Diamond (LARD) education, 211, 220–​222, 225 four quadrants, 211–​212, 211f, 225–​225 language owners, 211, 213–​214 LARD dynamics, 225–​226 linguistics, 211, 214–​219, 225 public sphere, 211, 222–​224, 226 language revival movements. See also art, in language revival; wellbeing benefits, 187, 188, 191, 194, 213, 226–​227, 242, 243–​247 collaboration required, 209–​211, 213 comparative analysis of Hebrew and Aboriginal, 192–​194 four principles of linguistic revival, 186 international efforts, 200, 262–​265 lessons from Israeli, 7, 186, 187–​188, 276 range of strategies and goals, 192, 208–​209, 275–​277,  276f universal constraints, 195–​199 langue-​land-​lens,  25 LARD. See LAnguage Revival Diamond (LARD) Latin, 61–62, 113, 115 lax uvular approximant, 22, 46 ‘lazy, mistaken language’ thesis vs. ‘native speakers do not make mistakes’ approach,  20–​23 legal rights and revivalistics, 251 Leibel, Daniel, 155 Leibowitz, Isaiah, Biblical Isaiah’s language vs. that of, 7 Leipzig Lutheran Mission, 233 lets, leytsán, and mukyón, 130–​131 Leviticus, iron sky and copper land, 148–​149 lexical engineering, xxvii, 117 lexical expansion, sources of enrichment, 113–​117,  114f lexical voids, 27, 94–​95, 112, 160 lexico-​statistics, comparative, 15 lexis. See also phono-​semantic matching (PSM) calquing,  91–​92 etymythology and reality, 101–​105 lahit, 159–​161 non-​basic,  37 overt borrowing, 89–​91 reclaiming easier than phonetics and phonology, 34 lexpionage, xxvii ‘licorice allsorts,’ 231

lifdót, 120 linguicide. See also Native Tongue Title; sleeping beauty languages of Aboriginal languages, xxix–​xxx, 189–​190, 191, 267 defined, xxiii Yiddish subject to, 201–​204 linguistic diversity, 187, 209, 242, 243, 251–​252 linguistics Congruence Principle, 38–​39 four linguistic revolutions in history so far, xxiv in LARD, 211, 214–​219, 225 linguistic human rights, 251–​258 terminology also used in genetics, 166 tools for morphological analysis, 214 loan-​translation. See calquing (loan-​translation) loanwords, 19, 27, 83, 89–​91, 157, 195, 196. See also neologisms; purism   Ma’a, a.k.a. Mbugu, 31 maapákh, 180, 180f maarav-​izátsya, 41 Mabo decision, 248 magnét, 71–72 Mahboob, A., 251 Maimonides, 133, 138 Malcolm, Ian, 277 malkhín vs. kompozítor, 176, 176f ‘mall,’ Israeli word pronounced like English ‘canyon,’ 109–110 manipulation to legitimize foreign words, 162–​163 má nishmà, What’s up? misunderstood, 39 Manning, Geoffrey, 223 Manx reclamation, 200, 220, 224 Māori Haka welcome ceremony, 222, 224 language revival, 220, 262–​264 New Zealand signage in, 223 vowel space, 198–​199 word for ‘computer,’ 43 masháb vs. mash’av, 56 Maskilic Hebrew (literary language), 24, 27 Maslow, Abraham, hierarchy of needs with addenda, xxv, xxvf masók vs. helikópter, 176, 177f Master-​Apprentice/​Mentor-​Apprentice method, 221–​222 matos vs. avirón, 181, 181f Ma, Yo Yo, 278 Mazia, Aaron Meyer, 116–​117 Media Lengua not only a Spanish language, 13

316 Index Medieval Hebrew agshamá, 138–​139 number of words, 113 pre-​Medieval varieties of Hebrew, 27 proposed periodization, 24 secularized semantic shifts from, 121 mékhes, 126 menakhésh, 132 Mendelssohn, Moses, 24 mental health cultural identity, language and cultural continuity, 271–​273 current state of Australia’s Aboriginal people, 268–​271 link with language revival, xxx, 266–​267, 272 revivalistics in service of, 273–​280 merisms, 10 Michaeli, Rivka, 159 Michel, Jean-​Baptiste, 170 Michif, 31 midrúg, 113, 158 Mieses, Matthias, 64 mikúm, 113 miluím, 125–​126, 127 Minimal English, 215–216, 218–​219 minimal pairs and triplets, 53–​54, 63–​64, 152 minority rights Indigenous rights vs., 253 policy vs. judicial protection, 256 right to use own language, 244, 248, 254, 271–​272 mishkafáim, ​95, 95f, 99 mishkán, 125 mishkhá, 121 mishná, 121 Mishnaic Hebrew. See also word order elements introduced to modernize language, 18 more comparable with Modern Greek than with Israeli, 32 number of words, 112–​113 pejoration, 130 proposed periodization, 24 Rabbi Akiva’s theological metaphor on khanút (ptukhá), 145 semantic shifts, 121–​122, 125, 126–​127 syntax, 61 mispronunciations, lack of vocalization and,  49–​51 mivréshet vs. mivréshet,  85–​86 mixed language, 30–​32, 38 mi yemalél gvurót israél, 146 mizrahim Ashkenazic-​mizrahi divide, 111

defined, 22 numbers speaking Israeli, 45 popular culture not represented in Ashkenazic media, 179 Semitic pronunciation changing to Israeli, 47–​48 use of Yiddish intonation, 59 mnemonics, memorizer sentences for Israeli pronunciation,  95–​96 Mobile Language Team (MLT), 191–​192 Modern Standard Arabic. See Arabic modifier preceding noun, 63–​64 Monash Country Lines Archive (MCLA), 205 mondegreens, 103–​104 mood, and future forms, 80–​81 morality. See ethics morashá,  49–​50 morphology. See also forms; patterns; portmanteau blending; suffixes; verb-​templates affected by foreign languages, 98 analytic Israeli, 65–​67 decliticization-​in-​progress,  84–​85 inchoativity, 77–80, 78–79f,  intransitivization,  83–​84 numeral and noun (dis)agreement, 76–​77 prosodic structure, 68, 70–​74 tense/​aspect/​mood,  80–​81 Mufwene, Salikoko S., 15, 17, 30, 34 multiple causation, 39–​40, 108–​109, 153 music and language revival, 205, 222, 233. See also song and dance performances mutual intelligibility assumption vs. ‘translate the Bible to Israeli’ approach, 9–​15 Myaamia reclamation, 200, 213, 222   Nagle, N., 189 names ameliorative recycling of Biblical, 142–​143 importance of, 106–​108 National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander (ATSI) Social Survey, 267 National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC), 278–​279 National Indigenous Language Policy (Australia), 249 National Indigenous Languages Survey (NILS2) Report, 189 nationhood, deifying (Israeli), 125–​127 Native Title Act (1993/​Australia) basing Native Tongue Title on legal processes of, 260 destroyed intertribal relationships, 240–​241 enacted under race power, 259 focuses on rights to land, 254

Index  317 Native Tongue Title case for compensation for loss of language, 247–​251 ex gratia schemes, 258–​262 legal rights and revivalistics, 240–​242 linguistic human rights, 251–​258 native vs. foreign language acquisition, 19–​20,  199 Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM), 215–​218 Navon, Yitzhak, 22 Nawi, Eliahu, 22 Nawoo language, 230–​231 negative associations. See amelioration involved in secularization negative feedback, 166–​167 négev vs. négef,  48–​49 neologisms. See also purism based on international lexical items, 100–​ 101, 155–​156 competing Hebrew-​derived, 116, 181–​182 defined, 92 multisourced, 95–​97, 98–101, 153 not following pre-​existent patterns, 72–​73 possible explanations for failed, 156–​158 reclaiming traditional words first, 207 tokens and types of new lexical items, 11, 168, 184, 184f–​185f Netanyahu, Benjamin, 58, 59 Ngarrindjeri, 198 Ngram data, 169 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 28, 105 nomen regens and nomen rectum, 161 non-​Semitic derivational affixes, 41 Northern Territory (Australia), abandonment of bilingual education, 250 Norway, language revival movements, 265 nouns creating secondary (and tertiary) roots from, 113, 115, 115f noun-​pattern productivity and linguistic gender,  86–​87 numeral and noun (dis)agreement, 76–​77,  163 pattern usually referring to diseases, 178, 179 NSM. See Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) nu involvement discourse marker, 41 Nukunu language, 230 numeral and noun (dis)agreement, 76–​77, 163 Nyungan language of southwest Australia, 227 Okinawan, music used to teach, 222 Okrand, Marc (Klingon creator), 164

one word—​one meaning system, 208 ‘on the one hand’ vs. ‘on the other hand,’ xxii–​ xxiii, 209–​210 Ophir, Adi, 145 Or, Iair G., 17–​19 Ornan, Uzzi, 156–​157 orthography. See spelling ownership of language and culture, 193, 211, 212–​214,  240   palindromic stories, 51–​52 Pama-​Nyungan language family, 227 Paracelsus, 175 parallel evolution, 166–​167 patterns. See also forms; morphology forms vs., 8, 31, 32, 39–​41, 40f, 65 impact of Yiddish and European languages on, 32–​33, 40 Israeli as habere language, 74–​76 linguistic gender and noun-​pattern productivity,  86–​87 neologisms not following pre-​existent, 72–​73 provided by non-​Hebrew sources, 92 reinterpretation of Hebrew form to fit European,  74–​76 pejoration, 130 penultimate stress, 56–​58 Peres, Shimon, 58 periodization of Hebrew and Israeli, proposed, 23–​26,  26f Persky, Daniel, 161 Peru, language revival movements, 265 pharyngeals, 22, 39, 46, 143 phoenicuckoo cross, Israeli as, 4–​8, 5f phonemes (Israeli), 52 phonetics cross-​fertilization in Hebrew and Israeli,  44–​52 Israeli continues Yiddish, 16 of Israeli European in origin, 31, 33, 60–​65 less revivable than lexis, 34 phrases with same sound and different meanings,  47–​50 pronunciation in My Fair Lady,  22–​23 phono-​logographic script, neologisms in languages using, 93 phonology cross-​fertilization in Hebrew and Israeli,  52–​59 Israeli continues Yiddish, 16 of Israeli European in origin, 31, 33 of Kaurna, 196 less revivable than phonetics, 34 pronunciation issues in Hawaiian, 197

318 Index phono-​semantic matching (PSM) of Arabic, 25 borrowing and, 92–​95, 93f, 97, 98 dilúg rav, 155 Haugen’s shortcomings in regard to, 97, 99–​100 neologisms and, 95–​97, 100–​101, 156 in regard to gender, 86–​87 specificizing, 118–​119, 119f toponyms as fertile ground for, 223 pidyonót gdolím, 120 piél verb-​template, 73–74 Pilpel, Yitzhak, 73 Pines, Yechiel Michal, 116 Pitjantjatjara, 190, 196, 230 pitsetsát-​vs. ptsatsát-​, 161 plurals formation of, 56 penultimate stress in Israeli, 56–​58 superplurals in Barngarla, 227–​228 polarity of gender, 76–​77 Polish, inchoative forms, 80 political implications possible responses to this book, 110–​111 of small difference in stress, 58 polyglossia, 77, 163 Pompidou, Georges, 27 population of Australian Aboriginal people, 189, 230–231 of Eretz Yisrael between 1850 and 1903,  45–​46 Port Augusta, Australia, 229, 230  Port Lincoln, Australia, 230–231 portmanteau blending, 87–​89 pras,  10–​11 predic(a)tion: numeral and noun (dis) agreement, 163 pre-​existent words, semantic shift of, 116, 121–​122 prefixes, international, 41 prescriptivism. See also Academy of the Hebrew Language elite vs. working classes, 22–​23 language academy not needed after language revived, 151 predic(a)tion: numeral and noun (dis) agreement, 163 purification of Israeli language, 150–​151 primes, or universal semantic atoms, 216 principles of linguistic revival and survival, 186 proclitics and enclitics, 84–​85 productivity of noun-​patterns,  86–​87

of suffixes, 82–​83 of verb-​templates,  68–​74 pronunciation. See phonetics; phonology prosodic structure, 68, 70–​74 PSM. See phono-​semantic matching (PSM) Psychological Distress Scale (K10), 269 psychotherapy, narrative, 232 public sphere. See also Barngarla Aboriginal language reclamation; language revival movements in LARD, 211, 222–​224, 225 purism attempts to supplant foreign words, 27, 112 authenticity vs. emblematicity, 195–​199 better for language to be alive than puristic, 187–​188, 209, 210 neologisms common in puristically oriented languages, 93–94 pretexts for speaking pure Hebrew,  110 –111 purification of Israeli language, 150–​151 purkán, 121   Qi, Fang, 82 quantitative and qualitative analysis, 167 Quechua language, 265 Quenya, 164   Rabin, Chaim, 156 Rabin, Yitzhak, 58 race power (Australian Constitution), 258, 259 Racial Discrimination Act (1975/​Queensland), 248, 259 rara avis, Israeli as, 4–​6, 5f Rashi, 12, 140, 144 Ravitzky, Aviezer, 9–​10 reayón, 129 reclaimed languages (reclangs), 164 reclamation. See also Aboriginal language revival; Hebrew Reclamation: myth and reality; revivalistics; specific languages by name aesthetic reasons for, 164, 244–​245 defined, xxi, 199, 200, 200f increasing relevance, 191 lessons for language revival from Hebrew example, xxii, 186, 187–​188, 191–​192,  280 no native speakers in early stages, 215 processes occur in very short time, 167 writing user-​friendly grammars and dictionaries, 210 redeem (from Biblical √pdy) as financial term, 119–​120

Index  319 reinvigoration defined, xxi, 200, 200f reinvigorated and revitalized languages (reinlangs), 164 of Yiddish as secular language, 201–​204 rekhavám (Rehavam) derived from Solomon’s son Rehoboam, 142 relexification, 2–​3, 26, 30, 215 religion defying, 132–​142 Hebrew revival treated as, 9 subsuming pre-​modern Hebrew strata into Israeli, 127 Remez, David, 21, 89 reversing language shift (RLS), 188, 195, 274 revitalization defined, xxi, 199–​200, 200f of language specified in UN Declaration, 253–​254 right to maintain Indigenous languages and culture, 248, 271–​272 significant dividends from small investments, 277 use of art, song, and traditional rituals, 211, 223 revivalistics. See also documentary linguistics vs. revival linguistics; Native Tongue Title; reclamation overview, xxi–​xxx defined, 199–​200 importance of language revival, xxiii as investment, 243–​247 language revival and linguistic rights, 254 in service of mental health, 267, 273–​280 speakers given preference over language, xxiii revivalists. See also Aboriginal language revival; language revival movements challenges for Israeli, 24–​25, 36, 40, 112–​113,  150 Hebrew vs. Aboriginal advantages, 192–​194 remarkable success resulting in hybrid vigour of Israeli, 28 social skills required of linguists, 207–​209, 275–​276 revival languages (revlangs) as category, xxiii–​xxiv comparing to constructed languages (conlangs), 164 Israeli should be linguistically categorized with, 6 neologisms common in, 93–94 revival linguistics, 214–​219. See also documentary linguistics vs. revival linguistics

revolutionized languages, neologisms common in, 92 Richards, Jenna, 280 Richardson, Crystal, 221 Ridgeway, Aden, 187 RLS. See reversing language shift (RLS) romanization proposals, 50–​51 roots creating from nouns, 113, 115, 115f in Hebrew that resemble foreign ones, 156 paucity in Hebrew, 27, 95 uprooting of Semitic root’s importance, 71–​72 Rosén, Haiim B., 61, 150, 159 Rosenthal, Ruvik, 91 Rosenzweig, Franz, xxvii, 122–​124, 149 Russian language, 63, 64, 80, 81, 82, 83–84   sákhar mékher, 97f sákhar mékher trade, 96 Sami Language Act (1990/​Norway), 265 Sanskrit, Vedic, 62 Sarid, Yossi, 21 Schleicher, August, xxii, 39 Schoenfelder, Erin N., 270 Scholem, Gershom, xxvii, 122–​124, 149 Schürmann, Clamor Wilhelm, 191, 210, 228, 230, 231, 233, 234, 242 schwa mobile (shva na), 54–​55, 56 schwa quiescence (shva nakh),  54–​55 Schwartz, Seth, 143 Schwartz, Yigal, 72 ‘science fiction,’ in various languages, 43 Scientific Secretariat of the Academy, 153–​154 Scrimgeour, Anne, 190 Scrymgour, Marion, 250 sderót vs. shdérot, 48 second language, as mother tongue vs. nativist principles,  19–​20 secularization. See also Hebrew: conscious ideological secularization of terms; ideological secularization in Israeli abuse of vagueness or ambiguity resulting from, 13, 112 presented as superseding/​supersession, 127 of religious terms, 27 reverse process to, 117 Selbstgefühl view, 107 self-​loathing, 267, 274 semantic loan, 99 semantics. See also survival of the best fit phonological considerations supersede semantic ones, 70–​71 re-​semantization neutralizing religiously negative meanings, 117, 130–​132

320 Index semantic shifts. See also Zionism; specific words considered as internal development, 153 in Hebrew, 67 of pre-​existent words, 116 sémel, 119 semi-​engineering, 15,  28–​33 Semitic languages. See also prosodic structure; roots; Sephardic/​Sephardim; verb-​templates influence on Israeli, 41–​42 Israeli not Semitic vernacular, 19 Semitic forms cum European patterns, 40f Semitic vs. Western identity, 18 sentence construction, tools offered by linguistics, 215 Sephardic/​Sephardim first recording introduced in 1974, 179 numbers speaking Israeli, 45 pronunciation vs. Ashkenazic, 25, 45, 56, 150 Shamir, Moshe, 147–​148 Shapira, Noah, 175 Sharett, Moshe, 21 Sharon, Ariel, 21 Shemer, Naomi, song’s use of blorít, 135 Shertok, Moshe. See Sharett, Moshe shift happens. See culturomics sifria, 86–87 signage, cities and streets, 40, 50, 211, 223, 232 Singaporean English paktorology, 82 single cause explanations, 108–​109 Sivan, Reuben, 160 slangisms, 48, 53, 69, 72, 81 sleeping beauty languages Barngarla by 1960’s, 228, 230 cannot be revived without cross-​fertilization,  106 defined, xxii easier to reclaim lexis than phonetics/​ phonology, 34 unspoken Hebrew as, 1, 32 social and economic benefits of language revival. See language revival movements; wellbeing social and political implications of this book, 108–​111 social phenomenon, language as, 220–​222 social skills, of language revivalists, 207–​209, 275–​276 soft law, 247, 254–​255, 256, 257 song and dance performances, 222, 224​ ‘soul’ or ‘spirit,’ 218 South Africa, language revival movements, 264–​265,  279

South Australia, State of, 2​ 55–​256, 257 Soviet Union, Yiddish banned 1948‒1955, 201 spelling Aboriginal decisions rule, 208 Israeli vs. Hebrew orthography, 47, 50, 60–​65 reflecting phonetic neutralizations, 47–​48 variations common, 182–​184, 210–​211 Spinoza, Baruch addressed as ‘brother’ by Klausner, 141 word for ‘heretics’ misunderstood, 55 spirantization, unaspired, 54–​56, 84–85 sputnik, 83 Stammbaum (Family Tree) model, xxii, 15, 33, 39 Standard Average European, 7–​8, 31–​32, 60, 61, 75, 84–​85, 150. See also word order Stanner, E. H., 218 Stolen Generations compensation scheme needed, xxx, 242, 255, 256, 259–​260 defined, 228–229 exhibition of art by, 232 linguicide due to policy of, 272 negative psychological impact, 268 Stolen Generations Fund (Tasmania), 259–​260 Stolen Generations of Aboriginal Children Act (2006/​Tasmania), 259–​260, 261, 262 structural linguistics, 187 suffixes in English, 81, 82 in Israeli, 81–​83 non-​Semitic,  41 suicide, link with linguicide, xxx, 266–​267, 269–​271 survival of the best fit, 121–​122, 124 Swadesh, Morris, 7, 15 Swahili, word for ‘book’ naturalized from Arabic, 83–84 swear words censored by Aboriginal tribe, 207–​208 syllable structure, 53–​54, 70–72, 74 symbiosis between sciences and humanities, 166 syntax cross-​fertilization in Hebrew and Israeli,  60–​65 tools offered by linguistics, 215   Taiwanese language, 214, 224 takhtoním, semantic shift, 144–​145 talknology, xxii, xxiv–​xxv, 167, 194, 234, 239 Tanakh Ram, 106 Tannaim, 24, 32

Index  321 tarbutomics Arabic lexical items within Israeli, 180f celebrities’ contribution, 180–​181 chapter overview, xxviii competing Hebrew-​derived neologisms, 181–​182 competing spelling variations, 182–​184, 183f from culturomics to, 167–​171 Hebrew failures and successes, 174–​179 trends in Israeli culture and language, 170–​174,  184 tarbút, semantic shift, 141 tautological infinitives, 64–​65 technology. See talknology tel avív, reversing its biblical association with exile, 141–​142 television, Indigenous language programmes, 224–225 temple utensils, semantic shift to kitchen utensils, 120 tense, aspects in Israeli and Hebrew, 80–​81 Te Reo Māori. See Māori tests inadequacies of Western for Aboriginal people, 279 should be in Israeli rather than in Hebrew, 106 ‘text theory,’ 65 theatre, aid to revivalistics, 206 Thieberger, Nicholas, 187 Thura-​Yura language group, 227 tikún, 121 time, conveying, 80–​81 tokens and types of new lexical items. See neologisms Tolkien, J. R. R. (Quenya creator), 164 Toowoomba, 223 toponyms amál in place names, 136–137 Indigenous place names being reinstated, 222–223 penultimate stress in Israeli, 57 pronunciation of unfamiliar Israeli, 50 torá, 119 Torah ark, calling it ‘the ark’ punishable by death, 140 torá veavodá, 146–​148 Torczyner, Naphtali Herz, 104–​105, 156. See also Tur-​Sinai, Naphtali Herz Torres Strait Islanders. See also wellbeing cultural tourism as important avenue for revival languages, 247 mental health, 268–​271

National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander (ATSI) Social Survey, 267 percentage of Australia’s population, 189 referendum to recognizing in Australian Constitution, 257 trans-​disciplinarity, 165–​167, 171f, 204–​209 transfer, in verb-​templates, 70–​71, 73–​74 ‘translate the Bible to Israeli’ approach, 9–​15 translation, 219 transvaluation, 127–​129 Trevorrow v. State of South Australia, 255–​256,  261 Trump, Donald, 58–​59 Truscott, Adrian, 277 trust, use of bitakhón in Israel’s Declaration of Independence,  13–​15 truth, inability of any one person to know, 108 Tsolyani, 164f Turkish language revolution, 162 Turkish okul, 93f Turkish tautological infinitive, 64 Tur-​Sinai, Naphtali Herz, 153, 160. See also Torczyner, Naphtali Herz types and tokens of new lexical items. See neologisms   Ullendorff, Edward, 9 United Nations acronyms subject to misinterpretation, 104 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People, 252–​255 Working Group on Indigenous Populations, 271–​272 University of Adelaide, Mobile Language Team (MLT), 191–​192 University of Oxford, world programme in Yiddish Studies, 204 utilitarian reasons to revive languages, xxiii, 194, 245–​247   verbal blending, 88–​89 verbs aspect-​time relations, 80–​81, 80f auxiliary, 67 inchoative, 77–​80,  78–​79f periphrastic complex verbal constructions, 67 tense/​aspect/​mood,  80–​81 verb-​subject disagreement, 62 verb-​templates, 40–​41, 68–​74,  77–​80 Vilnius Programme, in Yiddish, 204 vitamin, in Modern Standard Chinese, 94f vocalization, impacts of lack of, 49–​51 Volapük, 122, 164f

322 Index Waffle Day, in Sweden, 103 Waitangi Tribunal claims (New Zealand), 263–​264 Walker, Evelyn Dohnt, 280 Wampanoag reclamation, 200 Warlpiri Aboriginal language, 218–219 Watson, James, 165, 166 Weinreich, Uriel, 83 Weizman, Ezer, 39, 158 wellbeing. See also language revival movements; mental health ámal as health practices, 136, 137 link between language revival and, 208–​209, 231, 273–​274 measurement needed for Aboriginal people, 275 social issues or threats to, 268 Welsh, xxi, 164f, 200 Wessely, Naphthali Herz, 24 West Coast Talk, 229–230 Wexler, Lisa Marin, 271 Wexler, Paul, 2–​3 Whorf, Benjamin Lee, 165, 166 Whyalla, Australia, 229, 230 Wierzbicka, Anna., 217, 218–219 Wilton, Robert, 241, 241f Wimsatt, William, 17, 34 Wirangu language, 230 Wittman, Dola, 25 word order, 15, 60–​64, 197   Yaghan language, of Tierra del Fuego, 244–​245 yála, 178f, 179 yarid, 121 yéled ‘child’ supplants zakén ‘old man,’ 173, 173 f yeled sha’ashu’im, 10

Yiddish gastronomic Yiddishims, 90 grammar and syntax, 54, 62, 64–65, 67, 75–76,  77–​80 Hebrew/​Yiddish amalgamation, 42f literature websites and publications, 203 loss of literary standard, 202 multisourced with Hebrew and Aramaic component, 27, 42 neutralization of Israeli phonetics, 46, 47–​48 never as state language, 101 phonetics and phonology in Israeli sound system, 16, 57, 58–​59 reinvigoration as secular language, 201–​204 speaks itself beneath Israeli, 3–​4, 20, 37–​38, 44, 46–​52, 90–91, 106, 150 young people opting to learn secular, 202–​203 Y-​movement,  59 Yolŋu Matha, 164f, 196, 217 Yovel, Yirmiyahu, word for heretics misunderstood as diggers, nudniks, 55 yové, phono-​semantic matching (PSM), 118   Ze’evi, Reahavam, 142 Zelinsky, Wilbur, 17 Zionism actualizing of Hebrew, 122 appropriation of traditional Jewish terms, 145–​149 contribution to Yiddish linguicide, 201–​202 cultural centres in settlements called bet aám, 140 Hebrew revival intended to further, 1 semantic shifts, 127, 137, 138–​139 Zubrick, Stephen R., 270, 274