Transliteration trials and tribulations
A person I like to think of as a friend writes a weekly column on his father’s blog. My friend, one of his brothers, and his father are rabbis, the father is a rosh yeshiva.
I read my friend’s words almost every week. They usually are thought provoking and always worth my time.
But
But my friend – even though he claims a Sefardi connection – is Ashkenazi.
His Hebrew pronunciation is Ashkenazi Hebrew.
What little Hebrew I speak is mostly Israeli Hebrew.
The problem is compounded by my friend’s transliteration.
A final tav (ת) becomes a samach (ס).
I encourage him to put in parentheses the actual Hebrew for words he has transliterated. If you read Some thoughts on Sukkot you would see a number of examples of that I wish everyone who transliterates Hebrew would do.
My friend is not alone. I received, 6 days-a-week, emails from several rabbis-in-America. One is Syrian and one is Iraqi. I usually can comprehend their transliteration, but sometimes the spelling gives pause. One writes “Qiddush” and the other writes “Kiddush” and both intend קידוש. One writes "pasuq" while most write "pasuk" but "q" or "k," it's still פסוק .
Is it “etrog” or “esrog”? Actually, it’s אתרוג .
Spoken Hebrew can sometimes be “problematic.” Not just because of the Ashkenazi vs. “Sefardi” vs. Temani (Yemenite) accents, but because where some people – I think North Americans, mostly – place the accent on the word. Hebrew (and I suspect Japanese as well) usually places the emphasis on the last syllable: דוש קי.
Transliterations and variations on the spoken word make life interesting, sometimes with amusing results, but more often the result is someone left wondering “what did he/she mean – really?”
Still it could be worse; try deciphering roshi tavot ראשי תיבות (abbreviations).
