For such a small country, Israel has a surprisingly large vocabulary for frozen treats.

The classic name for ice cream, גלידה (glee-dah), is also one of the most famous Hebrew words around. Coined by Eliezer Ben-Yehuda during the revival of the Hebrew language, today the term refers to everything from soft serve and gelato to sorbet. It’s all גלידה.

Then there’s שלגון (shahl-gohn), the official Hebrew word for a popsicle. It comes from שלג (sheh-lehg), meaning “snow”, so in Hebrew it’s essentially a “snow-cicle.”

But ask an Israeli for a popsicle, and they’ll probably call it ארטיק (ahr-teek) instead. What started as the name of a popular Israeli ice cream brand eventually became the everyday word for almost any popsicle.

And finally, there’s טילון (tee-lohn), the famous chocolate-lined ice cream cone. Its name comes from טיל (teel), “rocket,” a nod to its pointed shape.

The only difficult part? Deciding which one to eat!

In Hebrew, the entire world of telling a story: who tells it, the field it belongs to, and the story itself, shares the same root.

It’s ס.פ.ר, one simple root that holds so much meaning. ספר (seh-fehr) is a book, but סיפור (see-poor) is a story. When it comes to the art of telling it, the verb is לספר (leh-sah-pehr), and the storyteller is a מספר (meh-sah-pehr).

Now, to one of the most imaginative and important roles in any community, the authors themselves: סופר (soh-fehr) and סופרת (soh-feh-reht) are the people who write the stories, and the field they belong to, literature, is ספרות (seef-root).

Here’s where it gets even more interesting: the word for number is מספר (mees-pahr) and to count is לספור (lees-pohr). Why should counting and recounting share a root? It’s hard to say, but Hebrew connects the two and leaves us wondering about the transparent web exists between words.

In Hebrew, the root ח.ד.ש is everywhere.

חדש (chah-dahsh), means new. The news that you watch every evening (and in Israel perhaps even more) are חדשות (chah-dah-shoht).
And a month, which shares the same DNA in Hebrew, is חודש (choh-desh).

The connection runs deep: the Hebrew calendar follows the moon, and each month begins with the first appearance of a new moon. So חודש month, literally carries the idea of newness inside it. And חדשות, news, shares the same root because by nature, it’s always what’s current and fresh.

Perhaps the most personal form of this root is תתחדש (teet-chah-desh) — something Israelis say to each other after a haircut, a new outfit, or anything new that someone gets. It roughly means: “may you renew yourself!” The feminine version is תתחדשי (teet-chahd-shee), and we invite you to use it as often as you like.

In Hebrew, a root is like a key: once you have it, you can unlock the meaning of words you’ve never seen before and suddenly understand how they’re all connected.

Take the root ש.ב.ר, for example. The verb לשבור (leesh-bohr) means to break. A glass, a silence, a habit.

From the same root comes משבר (mahsh-behr), a crisis. Which makes sense, when you think about it: a crisis is a moment when something has cracked, when reality itself seems to have split in two.

And then there are שברים (shvah-reem), fragments, the pieces left behind. Also, interestingly, the Hebrew word for fractions in math. Because a fraction, too, is just something that was once whole.

So next time you come across a verb, pay close attention to its root. You never know where it will show up next, and when it does, you’ll have a head start understanding what the new word means.

In times of uncertainty חוסר וודאות (choh-sehr vah-dah-oot), language finds a way to hold what we can’t quite say.
Hebrew has a few words for that:

אולי (oo-lie) – maybe. The most honest answer when you don’t really know.

יכול להיות (yah-chohl lee-yoht) – could be. A little more open, a little more generous with the unknown.

הלוואי (hah-leh-vai) – I wish, if only. A beautiful and optimistic wish.

יהיה בסדר (yee-hee-yeh beh-seh-dehr) –  It’ll be alright. The most Israeli of all, and the one that carries us through the day at the moment.

In Hebrew, where you live says something about how you live:

עיר (eer) — city. From Tel Aviv to Jerusalem to Haifa, this is where most Israelis live today. Crowded, individualistic and full of options.

מושב (moh-shahv) — a rural community where each family owns their own farm and home, but some resources are shared. A bit of independence, a bit of togetherness. The word comes from the root י.ש.ב (to sit, to settle).

קיבוץ (kibbutz) — a collective community, traditionally based on shared ownership and communal life. Kids grew up together, meals were eaten in a חדר אוכל (dining hall), and the idea was “from each according to their ability, to each according to their needs.” The word comes from the root ק.ב.צ (to gather).

So choose wisely. Or let the rent decide for you, like most Israelis.