By Paul Shindman

It’s more than just the fractured English. It’s more than the transliterate term. The majority of houses and businesses in Israel have their own Niagara.

Well, it’s pronounced more like knee-uh-garra, but the source is the same – vast quantities of fresh water being hauled downwards by gravity in the quest to reach the ocean.

Via the toilet bowl.

Yep. The term in Israel for the pipe that joins the toilet tank holding the water to the toilet bowl is called a Niagra pipe. Tsinor Niagara in Hebrew (pronounced TSEE-nore KNEE-uh-garra). And how it ever came into common use is a mystery to the amateur philologists I’ve talked to.

Then there is the “artik” (pronounced AR-teek), what Israelis call a popsicle (yea, I know that Popsicle is a registered trademark, but is accepted vernacular). Does it bother me that they drop the “c” like too many North Americans who don’t pronounce it “ark-tick”? Of course! And I have a tough time teaching my kids that Don Maclean is WRONG when he says “feb-you-air-ee made me shiver” in American Pie.

The other direct Canadianism in the Hebrew lexicon is kabayim kanadim, or “Canadian crutches” (pronounced kuh-BUY-eem ka-NUH-deem), what are commonly known as forearm crutches. When I borrowed a pair two years ago from Yad Sarah, the national volunteer agency that lends out medical equipment, they had no idea why they’re called Canadian, but that’s what they’ve always been. I thought they were ribbing me because they knew who I was when I hobbled in with my broken ankle in a fresh cast (more on Yad Sarah below).

But then again, some Israelis also have a tough time saying “Mitsubishi”. It often comes out Meetsee-booshee. A neighbour of mine looked at me weird when I asked him, then we wrote it out in Hebrew, he looked at it, and still said Meetsee-booshee. Looked at me, looked at the word again, mumbled “Meetsee-booshee” again, then walked back to cleaning his living room floor shaking his head and probably thinking that I couldn’t spell in Hebrew…
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So, your Hebrew lesson will finish up with a few favourite gems from my collection and collected from some friends:

Bowelling – (prounounced like exploratory road rally surgery on your intestines) – When an Israeli says he’s going “bowelling”, it’s not a trip to the check out the Niagara. It’s actually a trip to the local bowling alley. In Hebrew, the vowels simply don’t come out the same, and when an Israeli pronounces the word in Hebrew, well, that’s what it sounds too much like going to your gastroenterologist and not strikes and spares.

Puntcher (procounced PUNTCH-er) – a “puncture” of your car tire. There is a proper Hebrew term (necker), but almost nobody uses it. The word puntcher is also slang for an unplanned pregnancy. It also refers to a hole in a rubber…

Puntcheria – yes, it rhymes with pizzaria. And yes, it’s the tire garage that fixes “puntchers”.

Narcoman – a drug addict.

Blauwer (pronounced BLAUW-wer where BLAUW rhymes with wow) – when you turn on the fan in your car, my guess is the first Israeli importer read the manual and instead of fan, it said “blower”. So they wrote it in Hebrew, but like I said, the vowels just don’t come out the same. The first time the car mechanic told me in Hebrew “your blauwer is kaput”, it went back and forth 3 or 4 times in Hebrew: :”my what? your blauwer. my what? your blauwer. what’s the blauwer? You know, the blauwer, the blauwer.” And then, exasperated, the mechanic used the Hebrew word for “fan” (pronounced something like meh-uh-vrair). To which I held it in and didn’t burst out laughing. My blauwer. Right. It was still $150 to fix it.

Vishereem, or Wishereem – You’ll love this one. Get in your car and read what it says for the window washer switch. “Washer”. Well, you have two windshield wiper blades, and you use them when you use the “Washer”, which in Hebrew comes out sounding like wisher or visher. Since there are two wipers, the plural is wishereem.

There are some other fun ones like “maf-tay-uch shwvedie” for an adjustable wrench (literally translates as a Swedish key); a “jeckson” is a jig-saw; an “installator” is a plumber – the guy who comes and installs your Niagara, or comes at 3 am when it breaks and is turning your bathroom into Lake Ontario.

Computer geeks still use “l’kampell” to say they are compiling a program, even though most other computer terms have Hebrew equivalents.

However, there are terms near and dear to our Canadian hearts that do come out sounding normal in Hebrew: ketchup, maple syrup, and the word offside in a hockey game. In case you’re here and ordering, beer in Hebrew is a feminine word, and has an “ah” on the end. One beer-ah, two beer-ot. But everybody will understand if you just order a beer.

Enough Hebrew for today?

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I promised a few words on Yad Sarah – a very cool volunteer organization whose model is being copied around the world. Established by former Jerusalem mayor Uri Lupolianksi, it’s the largest Israeli national volunteer organization that helps the disabled, elderly, housebound people and all families who need medical devices. There’s a branch in almost every major town.
Broke a leg and need crutches? Grampa visiting and you need a wheelchair for 3 weeks? Baby having breathing problems and you need a ventilator for a month? You simply give them your personal info and a deposit cheque, and the equipment is yours to use. If you don’t bring it back, you lose the deposit. What Yad Sarah found out is that lots of people borrow the equipment, return it, and leave the deposit as a donation they’re so thankful for the service.

With their volunteers and lending of equipment, Yad Sarah claims they save the Israeli economy about US$320 million a year in hospitalization and medical costs. Every year when Jerusalem hosts an international mayor’s conference, Yad Sarah is a stop on the agenda that gets a lot of attention from the visiting leaders.

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