Rachel Bluwstein (1890–1931) wrote short and wrote plainly, which is why she is a better first poet for a learner than almost anyone else in Hebrew: there is very little vocabulary in the way. What there is instead is syntax — an imperative chain across two binyanim, a fronted adverb doing topicalisation, a participle whose subject is a line above it, and one interrogative particle that modern Hebrew has not lost so much as absorbed. Rachel died in 1931, so the poem is public domain and quoted here entire — all sixteen lines; the Naomi Shemer page in this same group has to make do with two.
How the text is set
The pointed reading is he.wikisource's pointed text, checked against its own unpointed twin, with a handful of obvious pointing slips in the web transcription silently normalised (a missing dagesh after the definite article, one stray dagesh in a word-final khaf). The displayed line is that text's consonantal skeleton, which is classical ktiv haser — poetry of this period was printed pointed and spelled short. So Rachel's מצוים is today's מצווים, her צנה is צינה, her עצר is עצור, her שער is שיער and her בחרף is בחורף. The drill sentences below are modern and unpointed, and the two spellings are never mixed inside one example.
Stanza 1: three imperatives in two lines
שם הרי גולן, הושט היד וגע בם! –
sham haréi golán, hoshét hayád vegá bam!
There are the hills of Golan — put out your hand and touch them!
בדממה בוטחת מצוים: עצר.
bidmamá botákhat metsavím: atsór
In confident silence they command: halt.
בבדידות קורנת נם חרמון הסבא
bivdidút korénet nam khermón hasába
In radiant solitude grandfather Hermon slumbers
וצנה נושבת מפסגת הצחור.
vetsiná noshévet mipisgát hatskhór
and a chill blows down from the white summit.
Three imperatives, all masculine singular, all in two lines, and they are not built the same way.
| Form | Binyan | Root | Infinitive | What happened to the root |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| הוֹשֵׁט | hif'il | י־שׁ־ט | לְהוֹשִׁיט | the pe-yod turns into the וֹ of the hif'il prefix |
| גַּע | pa'al | נ־ג־ע | לָגַעַת | the pe-nun drops out entirely — two letters left |
| עֲצֹר | pa'al | ע־צ־ר | לַעֲצוֹר | the pe-guttural takes a chataf-patach |
גַּע is the one worth stopping on. Its root is נ־ג־ע, and in the pa'al imperative the initial nun assimilates away completely, leaving a two-letter word — the same loss that gives גַּשׁ from נ־ג־שׁ and סַע from נ־ס־ע. If you try to build this imperative by stripping a prefix off a form you know, you will produce the nun back and be wrong.
הוֹשֵׁט is a hif'il, and hif'il imperatives keep the הוֹ־ of the infinitive rather than the הִ־ of the past. Everyday Israeli mostly sidesteps the whole issue with the future used as an imperative:
תושיט לי יד, אני לא מגיע לזה.
toshít li yad, aní lo magía lazé
Give me a hand, I can't reach it. (to a man — everyday)
אל תיגע בזה, זה עדיין חם.
al tigá bazé, ze adáyin kham
Don't touch that, it's still hot. (to a man)
עצור ברמזור האדום, יש שם מצלמה.
atsór baramzór ha'adóm, yesh sham matslemá
Stop at the red light, there's a camera there. (to a man)
That last one is the poem's third imperative, unchanged, seventy years on: עצור is what every stop sign in Israel says.
The subject that never arrives
Line 2 has a plural participle, מְצַוִּים "they command", and no subject anywhere in its own clause. The subject is הָרֵי גוֹלָן, in line 1 — masculine plural, which is why the participle is masculine plural. Hebrew poetry drops a repeated subject across a line break freely, and so does ordinary Hebrew prose across a comma; what makes it readable is that the participle agrees, so the form itself tells you what to go looking for.
שָׁם at the front of the clause
Stanzas 1 and 2 both open with שָׁם. That is not a stray adverb of place — it is topicalisation: the locative is moved to the front of the clause to set the frame, and everything after it is understood as holding there. Hebrew does this far more readily than English, and it does it in ordinary speech, not only in verse.
שם בקצה הרחוב יש מכולת שעובדת עד חצות.
sham biktsé harekhóv yesh makólet she'ovédet ad khatsót
Down at the end of the street there's a grocery that stays open till midnight. (fronted — the place is the topic)
יש מכולת בקצה הרחוב.
yesh makólet biktsé harekhóv
There's a grocery at the end of the street. (neutral order — nothing is being framed)
Note also that line 1 is a verbless clause: שָׁם הָרֵי גוֹלָן has a locative and a subject and nothing else, because Hebrew supplies no present-tense "to be".
Stanza 2: an adjective in a construct chain
שם על חוף הים יש דקל שפל צמרת,
sham al khof hayám yesh dékel shfal tsaméret
There on the shore there is a palm with a low crown,
סתור שער הדקל כתינוק שובב,
stur se'ár hadékel ketinók shováv
the palm is tousle-haired like a mischievous child,
שגלש למטה ובמי כנרת
shegalásh lemáta uvméi kinéret
who has slid down and in the waters of the Kinneret
משכשך רגליו.
meshakhshékh ragláv
is paddling his feet.
שְׁפַל צַמֶּרֶת and סְתוּר שֵׂעָר are the same construction: an adjective in the construct state, bound to the noun that specifies what it is low or dishevelled in. English has to unpack it with a preposition ("low in the crown") or a compound ("tousle-haired"). Hebrew simply puts the adjective in smikhut, and this is fully productive today:
הוא בחור קצר רוח, אל תבקש ממנו לחכות.
hu bakhúr ktsar rúakh, al tevakésh miménu lekhakót
He's an impatient guy, don't ask him to wait. (to a man)
חיפשנו מנהל רחב אופקים, לא עוד פקיד.
khipásnu menahél rekháv ofakím, lo od pakíd
We were looking for a manager with broad horizons, not another clerk.
רַגְלָיו in the last line is a plural bound noun with a third-person masculine suffix — "his feet". Everyday Hebrew says הרגליים שלו; the suffixed form is literary or formal, and the contrast is register, not correctness.
Stanza 3: an exclamative and a multiplier
מה ירבו פרחים בחרף על הכרך,
ma yirbú prakhím bakhóref al hakérakh
How many flowers there are in winter on the Kerakh,
דם הכלנית וכתם הכרכם,
dam hakalanít vekhétem hakarkóm
the blood of the anemone and the stain of the crocus,
יש ימים – פי שבע אז ירק הירק,
yesh yamím pi shéva az yarók hayérek
there are days when the green is seven times greener,
פי שבעים תכלה התכלת במרום.
pi shiv'ím tkhulá hatkhélet bamaróm
seventy times bluer the blue up above.
מַה יִּרְבּוּ is not a question. מַה in front of a verb is the exclamative — "how many there are" — the same מָה as Psalm 104's מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ, "how many are your works". The dagesh in יִּרְבּוּ is what מַה does to the word that follows it. Modern Hebrew has handed that job to כמה and left מה to the questions:
כמה פרחים יש כאן בחורף!
káma prakhím yesh kan bakhóref!
How many flowers there are here in winter! (the modern exclamative — כמה, and note the modern spelling of the poem's בחרף)
הַכֶּרַךְ is not the everyday כְּרַךְ krakh "metropolis". It is a place name: hakérakh, from the Arabic al-Karak, is the local name of the mound on the lake's south-western shore now called תל בית ירח — a few minutes' walk from the farm where Rachel worked and from the cemetery where she is buried. He.wikipedia's article on the site lists הכרך among the mound's names and cites this very line for it. (The digitised pointed text puts a dagesh in the word-final khaf, which is impossible; it is dropped above.)
פִּי plus a numeral is the ordinary Hebrew multiplier and it has not moved an inch: פי שניים "twice", פי עשרה "ten times", פי כמה "several times over". Note that פִּי takes the feminine numeral form here — שֶׁבַע, not שִׁבְעָה — and that שֶׁבַע is one of the five feminine numerals Israelis stress on the first syllable, shéva.
Stanza 4: the question prefix modern Hebrew absorbed
גם כי אורש ואהלך שחוח,
gam ki ivarésh va'ahalékh shekhóakh
Even if I am dispossessed and go about bowed down,
והיה הלב למשואות זרים –
vehayá halév lemashu'ót zarím
and my heart becomes a signal-fire for strangers —
האוכל לבגד בך, האוכל לשכח
ha'ukhál livgód bakh, ha'ukhál lishkóakh
could I ever betray you, could I ever forget
חסד נעורים?
khésed ne'urím
the grace of youth?
הַאוּכַל is הַ־ plus אוּכַל. That הַ־ is the interrogative prefix, an entirely different morpheme from the definite article, and it turns a statement into a yes/no question. Modern Hebrew does not use it bare — but it did not disappear either. It is sitting inside four words a learner meets constantly:
| Word | Made of | Means | Register |
|---|---|---|---|
| הַאִם | הַ + אִם | the standard yes/no question particle | neutral, leans careful/written |
| הֲלֹא | הֲ + לֹא | "is it not the case that…", rhetorical | literary |
| הַאוּמְנָם | הַ + אוּמְנָם | "really? is it truly so?" | literary / emphatic |
| הֲיִיתָּכֵן | הֲ + יִיתָּכֵן | "can it be?", indignant | formal, journalistic |
האם אתה בטוח שסגרת את הגז?
ha'ím atá batúakh shesagárta et hagáz?
Are you sure you turned off the gas? (to a man — careful register)
בטוח שסגרת את הגז?
batúakh shesagárta et hagáz?
Sure you turned off the gas? (to a man — everyday: intonation does the whole job)
הלא אמרתי לך שזה ייגמר ככה.
haló amárti lakh shezé yigamér kákha
Didn't I tell you it would end this way? (to a woman — literary/rhetorical)
He.wikisource prints an unpointed variant text beside the poem in which הַאוּכַל is simply replaced by the ordinary modern איך אוכל, "how could I". That substitution is the whole register story in one word.
Three binyanim, one person
The stanza also happens to hand you a compact first-person future paradigm:
| Form | Binyan | Root | Class | Modern equivalent |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| אִוָּרֵשׁ | nif'al | י־ר־שׁ | pe-yod, whose י surfaces as ו in nif'al | "I will be dispossessed" — literary; modern Hebrew rephrases with an active verb |
| אֲהַלֵּךְ | pi'el | ה־ל־ך | strong | literary "I will walk about"; the everyday verb is the suppletive אֵלֵךְ |
| אוּכַל | pa'al | י־כ־ל | irregular pe-yod | unchanged — this is still exactly how you say "I will be able" |
Only אוּכַל has come through untouched. And in ktiv male אִוָּרֵשׁ is written איוורש — a yod for the chirik and a doubled ו — which is a good reminder of how far the modern spelling can travel from the pointed one.
אני אלך ברגל, זה עשר דקות.
aní elékh barégel, ze éser dakót
I'll walk, it's ten minutes.
נָם, and a verb that lives in one phrase
נָם in stanza 1 is the pa'al past of the hollow root נ־ו־ם, "to slumber" — its ו is not a consonant but the vowel you see in the future יָנוּם. That future is the word in Psalm 121: אַל־יָנוּם שֹׁמְרֶךָ, "may your keeper not slumber". Modern Hebrew has essentially retired the verb — except in the fixed phrase the psalm produced, which Israelis use for anything that runs around the clock:
הוא אומר שהוא שומר על הבית, לא ינום ולא יישן.
hu omér shehú shomér al habáyit, lo yanúm veló yishán
He says he's guarding the house — never dozing, never sleeping. (the fixed phrase, straight out of Psalm 121)
Common Mistakes
1. Reading a fronted שם as "name". Unpointed, the two words are identical.
❌ שם
shem, a name
Incorrect at the head of this clause — שֵׁם shem 'name' is a noun and would govern something; שָׁם sham 'there' is the locative that opens both stanzas 1 and 2.
2. Reading הַאוּכַל as the definite article. The skeleton האוכל is also "the food", and that is the reading most learners land on.
❌ האוכל
ha'ókhel, the food
Incorrect here — the poem has הַאוּכַל ha'ukhál: the interrogative prefix הַ־ on אוּכַל 'I will be able'. The definite noun הָאוֹכֶל has qamats under the ה and a cholam, not a shuruk.
3. Putting the nun back into the pe-nun imperative.
❌ נגע
Incorrect as an imperative — נ־ג־ע loses its nun in the pa'al imperative: גַּע (to a man), גְּעִי (to a woman). Unpointed נגע is the past 'he touched' or the noun 'a plague'.
4. Back-deriving נָם to the wrong root. Strip nothing off it and you are left with two letters, which invites a doubled or lamed-hey root.
❌ נ־מ־ם, נ־מ־ה
Incorrect — both are back-formations from the surface. The root is the hollow נ־ו־ם, whose middle radical shows up as the vowel in יָנוּם and לָנוּם.
5. Carrying the poem's spelling into a modern sentence.
❌ עצר
Incorrect as the modern imperative spelling — ktiv male writes the cholam with a ו, so every stop sign in Israel reads עצור. Unpointed עצר is the past 'he stopped'.
Key Takeaways
- Three imperatives, two binyanim, two lines: hif'il הוֹשֵׁט keeps the הוֹ־ of its infinitive; pa'al גַּע loses its pe-nun down to two letters; pa'al עֲצֹר takes a chataf-patach under its guttural — and is still the word on the stop sign.
- מְצַוִּים has no subject of its own. Read agreement backwards: masculine plural sends you to הָרֵי גוֹלָן a line above.
- Fronted שָׁם is topicalisation, not decoration. Hebrew fronts a locative to set the frame far more readily than English does, in speech as well as verse.
- שְׁפַל צַמֶּרֶת is an adjective in the construct state, and the pattern is alive: קצר רוח, רחב אופקים, ארוך טווח.
- מַה + verb is an exclamative, not a question: מַה יִּרְבּוּ פְּרָחִים "how many flowers there are". Modern Hebrew says כמה — and הַכֶּרַךְ is a place, not a city: the mound of תל בית ירח beside her farm.
- פִּי + numeral is the ordinary modern multiplier (פי שניים, פי עשרה), and it takes the feminine numeral: פי שבע, shéva, stressed on the first syllable.
- הַאוּכַל is the archaic interrogative prefix הַ־/הֲ־. Bare, it is gone; folded into האם, הלא, האומנם, הייתכן, it is everywhere.
- נָם is the hollow root נ־ו־ם, whose only living modern trace is לא ינום ולא יישן, out of Psalm 121.
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