I’ve long since gotten used to the fact that words keep changing their meanings. (That’s a lie — you never really get used to it.) It’s normal, the world changes, and we change with it. Today, the pantomime for “writing” isn’t a pen moving across paper — it’s both hands typing on a keyboard. An “article” isn’t something you read anymore; it’s something you watch. A “book” is increasingly something you listen to. A “letter” hasn’t been on paper for decades. And email itself is already going the way of the telegram, replaced by messaging apps — which, by the way, people increasingly dictate rather than type.
Some basic concepts are simply lost on the younger generation. Almost nobody knows what “ironing” means anymore. Here in Israel, winter clothing has largely disappeared, and seasonal footwear is following. If a young Israeli buys a jacket, it probably means he’s heading to a ski resort in Austria. “Bicycle” and “scooter” now prompt the question: how long does the battery last?
A few years ago, a cop stopped me for riding my bike on the sidewalk. He wanted to write me a ticket — the law prohibits electric bikes on sidewalks. I told him that if he could find anything electrical on my bike, I’d pay the fine plus a personal bonus. He spent a while looking for a motor, then stood there blinking in disbelief. He was genuinely disappointed.
Yesterday, my son came home for his first weekend leave from the army. We asked whether he had enough clean socks and underwear, or if they had laundry facilities on base. He said he had plenty — his socks had been recycled. Our son knows perfectly well what “doing laundry” means: you put things in the washing machine and turn it on. Or hand them to Mom — she knows better. There’s no washing machine on their base. So instead of washing his socks, he recycles them — with water, soap, and his hands.
Where is the world headed? Or have I just missed the train?