The Conundrum
Transliteration is a mug’s game, and I confess, I have made a cat’s meal out of it. Of course, I am primarily concerned with English as my mother tongue. But I notice that in all European languages, the problem is the same. There are different sounds, different letters, symbols, and different opinions about what is correct or acceptable. They used to say being ‘U’, speaking the Queen’s English, Received English, or BBC pronunciation, were all indications of belonging to the upper classes. Once, the moment an Englishman opened his mouth, you either admired or despised him (or her). Think of “My Fair Lady.” Nowadays, thank goodness, as Cole Porter sang, “anything goes.” But chaos is not ideal.
If this is so for speaking, why not for transliteration? Why can’t I choose what usage I want to adopt? I don’t apologise for my idiosyncrasies. Yes, there are academic preferences, but these too vary. You only conform if you want to pass an exam or publish an article.
The first translation of the Bible was Ptolemy II’s, some 2,250 years ago, into Greek. Then came Latin, but neither Ancient Greek nor Latin had letters for the sounds we have in Hebrew. Names were approximate. So, inevitably, there are many variations as to how to correctly transliterate from Hebrew to English. Let alone the hundreds of different translations in different languages. Quite apart from translations.
Ptolemy translated it into Greek. But Greek has letters and sounds that Biblical Hebrew does not, and vice versa. You can scroll down to AI’s list. And later came Jerome’s Latin version with similar differences. And they were the basis of the hallowed King James 1st Bible. A magnificent literary achievement that has dominated the English-speaking Bible world for hundreds of years. In my day, it was studied in the English department of Cambridge for its almost poetic language. For hundreds of years, non-Jewish theologians and academics arbitrarily decided how to transliterate Hebrew into English. And it doesn’t work for me.
Some of the English biblical names are laughable. Malkitsedek (My King is Righteous) in Hebrew, becomes Melchizedek. Why did the king of Gerar, AviMelech (My father the King) in Hebrew, become AbiMelek in English? Or, for that matter, why is Avraham Abraham? And why is Moses not called Mosheh (with a Hey at the end)? In English, they talk about God as Jehovah. In Hebrew the primary name is made up of five letters A Yod, a Hey, a Vav and a Hey. But there is no J in Hebrew. I used to hear clerics call a VaV a Wow!!!!? And Rabbis’ names like Akivah,can be Akiba, Akiva or Akibah. But the one that riles me most is that the wonderful queen Shlom Zion becomes Salome!!!
And why in our free-for-all world, where anything goes, are there two Ps in Yom Kipur, two Bs in Shabbat (and forget the Dagesh)? Amongst Chassidim (or is it Hasidim), many say ShEEl instead of ShUl and Kigel instead of Kugel. And you will, of course, know that in our Jewish world, many prefer Bereishis and Shemos to Bereishit and Shemot. Don’t even try to understand how to pronounce the letter AYIN! And don’t forget Yiddish.
Nowadays, even rabbinic translators cannot agree either on translations or transliterations.
But there’s more. We know that it was the Church that gave us the chapters in the Torah and named the Five Books: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. But why do we not write Bereishit, Shemot, Vayikra, Bamidbar and Devarim? I often mention Jerusalem. But I have decided to call it Yerushalayim instead, and too bad for anyone who objects! One in the eye for the antis and deniers.
For my non-Jewish readers, I apologise if I confuse. Don’t worry, I confuse Jews too. I guess it’s the downside of living in a multi-lingual and cultural world. What’s more, I admit I am not a grammarian. Although they often seem confused.
Scroll down here for what AI tells us.
Het (ח): In Greek, the voiceless pharyngeal fricative (χ) was primarily treated as an aspiration or dropped completely. Thus, Ha-wa (Eve) becomes Eva, and Hebron drops the “H” in some older traditions. Latin consistently treated it silently, as it had largely lost its own “H” in native speech (e.g., Hezequiah became Ezechias). [Vav (ו): In Biblical Hebrew, this was pronounced as a “w” sound. In Koine Greek translations (like the Septuagint), it was frequently transliterated as a vowel diphthong (ov) to represent /u/, or occasionally as β when it retained a consonant value. In Latin, it was consistently transliterated as the consonant “V” (originally pronounced /w/).
Bet (ב): Hebrew “Bet” with a dagesh (dot) represents a hard /b/ sound, while without it, it becomes a fricative /v/. Greek initially used β to represent both. Over time, Greek shifted β to a /v/ sound, so words like David became David with a “v”. In Latin, it remained firmly a hard /b/. [Ayin (ע): This pharyngeal guttural has no direct equivalent in Indo-European languages. Greek treated it primarily as a vowel, often transliterating it as “A” or “E” (e.g., Amos remains Amos). Latin followed suit, usually ignoring the harsh guttural and turning it into a pure vowel sound. [Shin (ש): In Hebrew, this can represent both “sh” and “s” sounds. Early Greek transliterations mapped this to the letter Sigma (σ), which is a pure /s/ sound (e.g., Israel became Israel). Latin also rendered it using the “S” character, losing the “sh” nuance in most names. No W, no CHET nor AYIN.
Good luck! And Shabat Shalom or Good Shabes!
Rabbi Jeremy Rosen lives in New York. He was born in Manchester. His writings are concerned with religion, culture, history and current affairs – anything he finds interesting or relevant. They are designed to entertain and to stimulate. Disagreement is always welcome.