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Toponymy and monopoly: one toponym, two parents; ideological hebraization of Arabic place-mames in the Israeli language Ghil‘ad ZUCKERMANN Israeli soldiers at Jerusalem’s Western (Wailing) Wall shortly after its capture during the Six-Day War, 1967 Introduction ‫הגדולה שבמעלות למלה חדשה – אם איננה חדשה‬ Hagdolá shebamaalót lemilá khadashá – im enená khadashá. “The greatest virtue of a new word is that it is not new.” (Pínes 1893, 61) ‫אַ קלוגער פֿאַרשטייט פֿון איין וואָרט צוויי‬ A klúger farshtéyt fun eyn vort tsvey. “A wise man hears one word and understands two.” (Yiddish proverb, cf. Bernstein 1908, 243) “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, says Juliet to Romeo (or Yael to Ram, as per a fin-de-siècle translation to Modern Hebrew) in a piece by the famous 164 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN playwright referred to by Libyan leader Muammar al-Qaddafi as “Sheikh Zubeir”. There are cases in which the name is extremely important because it determines the way people perceive the thing it stands for. Just as thought influences language, language can shape thought. It was Confucius who said 2,500 years ago that the first thing a politician has to do is to rectify names! Indeed, in 1950, two years after the establishment of the State of Israel (1948), Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion—Ben-Gurion being a Hebraization of his original surname Grün—founded the Geographical Names Committee for the Hebraization of Arabic toponyms in the Negev, the southern part of Israel. The committee worked for six months and suggested 537 names. This article consists of three parts: it will first explore mechanisms of neologization involving more than one source; it will then analyse examples of such mechanisms throughout Jewish history, and it will finally propose that these mechanisms were prevalent in the ideological hebraization of Arabic toponyms requested by Ben-Gurion. Talking about names, I use the term Israeli )see Zuckermann 1999) to refer to the language otherwise known as Modern Hebrew. The reason is that the beautiful language spoken in today’s Israel is a multifaceted and fascinating fin-de-siècle hybrid, based not only on “sleeping beauty” (or alternatively, “walking dead”) Hebrew but also on the revivalists’ mother tongues such as Yiddish. 1. Etymythological nativization Onomastics is sometimes separated from the field of lexicography. But in Israeli many mechanisms of lexical expansion occur in the case of toponyms—and anthroponyms (see Grün → Ben-Gurion above)— exactly as they do in “normal” lexical items. Consider the numerous neologisms deriving from more than one source (one toponym, two parents), a phenomenon of lexical enrichment referred by Zuckermann (2003) as multisourced neologization. An example of such multisourced neologization is the widespread process of etymythological nativization. But before describing it, let us first define etymythology. Etymythology (i.e. mythological etymology) is also known as popular etymology, folk-etymology, fake etymology, synchronic etymology and even para-etymology (cf. paretimologia – cf. paretimologia, the usual Italian term for it. However, despite its having so many TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 165 names, it has not been paid enough attention—as scholars such as Coates (1987) rightly assert. Definitions of etymythology vary. Some emphasize the subconscious (erroneous, nincompoopish) nature of the derivation (see Bolinger 1975, 406–407; Crystal 1993). Others focus on the reshaping of the word/phrase (see Trask 1993, 105). The phenomenon usually involves the fallacy that phonetic similarity means genetic relationship. Figuratively speaking, the etymythologizer applies his/her Apollonian tendency (cf. la tendenza apollinea in Pisani 1967, 160). Generally, the Apollonian tendency is the wish to describe and create order, especially with unfamiliar information or new experience. An updated, albeit frivolous, example of this general tendency is the story of the South Dakotan who went to Athens and was happily surprised to find out that the Greeks are NASA fans: wherever he went, he saw the name Apollo. As this anecdote shows, the Apollonian tendency would also seem to include a significant dimension of ethnocentricity. Specifically in linguistics, the “Apollonian tendency” is manifested in justifications for the use of a word and in the craving for meaningfulness. Consider the perception of naïve young Israeli readers of the name dóktor sus (cf. Dr Seuss [‘dækt¢(r) su:s]), the pseudonym of Theodore Seuss Geisel, American author and illustrator of children’s books (1904–1991). Many Israelis are certain that he is “Dr Horse” since the Israeli word sus means ‘horse’. Note the serendipitous prevalence of animals in Dr Seuss’s stories. Most importantly, our understanding of etymythology would be enhanced by providing a clear-cut distinction between (1) merely passive derivational-only etymythology, i.e. cases of mistaken derivation, where there is rationalization ex post facto, and (2) active, creative generative etymythology. The distinction is crucial, although often derivational-only etymythology is the first stage of generative etymythology. One of the most common mechanisms of generative etymythology is etymythological nativization: a camouflaged borrowing in which a foreign lexical item is matched with a phonetically (and sometimes also semantically) similar pre-existent native word/root. In other words, “etymythological nativization” is a multi-sourced neologism that preserves the (approximate) sound of the parallel expression in the source-language, using pre-existent target-language elements (and that sometimes has a similar meaning to the source-language expression). 166 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN Unlike morphemic adaptation, which only uses target-language grammatical morphemes such as noun-patterns, etymythological nativization is a kind of neologization that makes use of pre-existent full target-language lexical items to replace the source-language word. There are three types of etymythological nativization—according to the degree of semantic affinity between the source-language expression and the original target-language expression—before the latter undergoes etymythological nativization. This degree of affinity is on a continuum. 1. Phonetic matching (PM)—where the target-language material is originally similar to the source-language lexical item phonetically but not semantically. 2. Semanticized phonetic matching (SPM)—where the target-language material is originally similar to the source-language lexical item phonetically, as well as semantically albeit in a loose way. 3. Phono-semantic matching (PSM)—where the target-language material is originally similar to the source-language lexical item both phonetically and semantically. An example of the latter, phono-semantic matching, is the Israeli word dibúv ‘dubbing’, concocted in the late twentieth century to domesticate the English word dubbing with the pre-existent Hebrew word [dib’bub] ‘inducing (someone) to speak; speech’. See the figure below: English dubbing ˆ Israeli Hebrew ‫דיבוב‬ dibúb/divúv ‘dubbing’ ́ (Medieval) Hebrew ‫דבוב‬ [dib’bub] ‘speech’ ‘inducing someone to speak’ (in Israeli Hebrew) cf. ‫דובב שׂפתי ישנים‬ (Song of Songs, 7:10) An older phono-semantic matching, officially proposed on 27 April 1890 in the Hebrew newspaper HaZefira (published in Warsaw) is mishkafáim ‘glasses’. The coiner, Chaim Leib Hazan, from Hrodna, chose the (Biblical) Hebrew root √Òqp (the root of mishkafáim) “because TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 167 of its similarity to the Greek word skopéw skopéo (‘I look at’), which appears in the names for all glass lenses in the languages of Europe: telescope, microscope, kaleidoscope and the like” (see Zuckermann 2003, 1). See the figure below: Ancient Greek skopéw skopéo ‘I look at’ cf. Yiddish ‫ שפאַקולן‬shpakúln ‘spectacles’ (Lithuanian Yiddish ‫ ספאַקולן‬spakúln); English spectacles ˆ Israeli ‫משקפיים‬ mishkafáim ‘glasses, spectacles’ ́ (Biblical) Hebrew ‫שק״פ‬ √Òqp ‘look out/through’ Phono-semantic matching is widespread inter alia in the following language categories: 1. “Reinvented”, standardized and puristically-oriented languages, in which language-planners attempt to replace undesirable loanwords, e.g. Israeli, Revolutionized Turkish (Zuckermann 2003) and Icelandic. 2. Languages using “phono-logographic” script, e.g. Chinese and Japanese, in the latter to the extent that kanji are used (Zuckermann 2003). 3. Pidgins and creoles, where owing to the high number of languages involved in the hybridization, lexical conflation occurs naturally, e.g. Tok Pisin and Jamaican Creole (Zuckermann 2003). Phonetic matching is common in secret argots, where speakers camouflage lexical items to make them unrecognizable to outsiders, e.g. Judaeo-German, Jewish secret languages and thief argots (Zuckermann 2003). It can be found in minority languages, where attempts are made to create pure identity and sometimes to prevent outsiders from understanding key utterances, e.g. Romany. It is widespread in migrants’ languages—consider American Italian bimbo (‘child’) ‘beam’, giuro (‘I swear’) ‘Jew’ and grasso (‘fat, greasy’) ‘gas’ (Livingston 1918, 225). But given the widespread, natural Apollonian tendency, phonetic matching is obviously common in numerous other languages. A simple example of phonetic matching in English is mayday, which nativizes 168 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN French m’aider ‘(to) help me!’ (according to the Radio Telegraph Convention in 1927; Oxford English dictionary [OED]) or Dialectal/ Colloquial French m’aidez ‘help me!’ (in contrast to Standard French aidez-moi) or French venez m’aider ‘come to help me!’ (cf. OED). The meaning of the pre-existent English lexical items May and day have nothing to do with ‘help’. Note that the currently common calls for help in French are au secours ‘help!, assist!’ and aidez-moi ‘help me!’ The first Spanish sailors who encountered Nahuatl (Aztec) ahuakatl ‘Persea gratissima, avocado’ (lit. ‘testicle’), adapted it phonetically as aguacate (this is the current Spanish word for ‘avocado’ and may have been influenced by Spanish agua ‘water’). However, in some places this adaptation was matched phonetically with Old Spanish avocado, lit. ‘advocate’ (cf. Contemporary Spanish abogado ‘advocate’, cf. Spanish evocado ‘recalled, evoked, invoked’), although of course, ‘advocate’ has nothing to do with the large testicle-shaped fruit. Note that Spanish avocado entered English in the late seventeenth century as alligator (pear), again a phonetic matching. The Apollonian tendency is the reason for phonetic matching being prevalent also in the case of toponyms. Consider the following: • Tamil [amba†’†a∞] (/ampa†’†a∞/), lit. ‘barber’ (also a Hindu caste traditionally of hairdressers), the name of a bridge in Mylapore, an old cultural citadel of Madras (currently Chennai): a phonetic matching—perhaps via Ambuton (Yule and Burnell 1886, cf. 1903, 67a)—of Hamilton, the name of the engineer who built it. Intriguingly, the Tamil name was later re-adopted in English as Barber’s Bridge. • Latin unguentum Neapolitanum, lit. ‘Neapolitan ointment’ was nativized in German as umgewendten Napoleon, lit. ‘turned around Napoleon’ (cf. Schleicher 1860, 116). • French Château-Thierry was referred to by American soldiers in 1918 as Shadow Theory (cf. Anttila 1989, 93). • Geras ‘old people’ (cf. Greek gòras ‘old age’), the name of a Roman town in Jordan (Jarash) entered Arabic as ‫‘[ جرش‬d”®araÒ] ‘crop, grinding’. • Nahuatl (Aztec) cuauhnahuac, lit. ‘near the trees, beside the forest’ (a place currently in Mexico) > Spanish Cuernavaca (cuerna ‘horn, glass made of horn’ + vaca ‘cow’. TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 169 Besides the universal Apollonian tendency, one of the main motivations for toponymic phonetic matching might have been iconicity, the belief that there is something intrinsic about the sound of names. The very iconicity might be the reason for refraining from translating Hallelujah and Amen in so many languages, as if the sounds of such basic religious notions have to do with their referents themselves—as if by losing the sound, one might lose the meaning. This brings us to etymythology in Jewish tradition.The gematric (numerological) value of ‫‘ יין‬wine’ is 70 (‫ = י‬10; ‫< = י‬10; ‫ = ן‬50) and this is also the gematric value of ‫‘ סוד‬secret’ (‫ = ס‬60; ‫ = ו‬6; ‫ = ד‬4). Thus, this sentence, according to many Jews at the time, had to be true. 2. Rejective vs. adoptive toponymic matching in Jewish tradition Besides the universal phenomena of iconicity and the Apollonian tendency, toponymic phonetic matches have been widespread throughout Jewish history because of the Jewish midrashic tradition of homiletic commentary on the Hebrew scriptures. In these midrashim (plural of midrásh ‘examination, investigation, commentary’), playful puns and the use of serendipitous similarity between etymologically-distinct words were employed in the service of interpretation. In later generations too, wordplay has been a conspicuous feature of Jewish oral argumentation— cf. pilpul (lit. ‘peppering’) Producing a witticism (in both the general and the contemptuous use of this word itself), reflecting humour at the expense of another—and extremely often at the expense of oneself—has been most welcome in Judaism throughout the generation. I distinguish between rejective etymythological toponyms and adoptive ones—according to whether negative or positive meaning is associated with the material used to match the original name. Whereas rejective toponyms originate in Othering, us versus them, adoptive toponyms reflect appropriation and cultural flirting. Let us begin with the “bad ones”. 2.1. Rejective lexical engineering: Othering Rejective lexical engineering manifests, among other things, the phenomenon of Othering, defining and securing one’s own (positive) identity through (the stigmatization of) the Other. The Other is what permits us to discover—and even constitute—the Self. The Self is defined in 170 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN relation to Others; we define ourSelves through the Others: us versus them. Consider the following toponymic matches in Jewish tradition: • Medieval Hebrew !amaleq ‘Amalek’, a nation epitomizing evil since the days of the Old Testament, was used to refer to hostile Armenia. • Lithuanian Ashkenazic Hebrew ra dom (cf. Yiddish ra dam, from Hebrew ra! dam) ‘of bad blood’ is a rejective match for Polish Radom, the name of a town in Poland (approximately 100 km south of Warsaw), or of its Yiddish adaptation ród¢m (see Weinreich 1955, 609; Wexler 1991, 42). Thus, if a pogrom had occurred in Radom, it would have been rationalized by ra dam ‘of bad blood’. Obviously, providing such an etymythological explanation for the pogrom was regarded by some Jews as a mere wordplay. However, others might have conceived of ra dom as having deep intrinsic truth, which might have been religiously and homiletically based. One should remember that at that time it was a common belief that all languages were Godcreated and that Hebrew was the divine Ursprache. • Ostra (south-east of Rovno)—cf. Yiddish óstr¢ and Polish Ostróg— was referred to in Yiddish as óys tóyr¢ ‘without Torah’. However, by others (or by the same people in other times), it was Ashkenazic Hebrew oys tóyro or Yiddish ‫ אות תּורה‬os-tór¢, i.e. ‘sign of Torah’ (cf. Bar-Itzhak 1996, 29), which is an adoptive toponym. Rejective lexical engineering occurs in literary works. In Dovid Hofshteyn’s poem Kíndershprukh (first published in 1920, cf. Shmeruk 1987, 261), Kiev is rhymed with Yiddish íev ‘Job’, from Biblical Hebrew ?iyyoß ‘Job’, the connotation being of distress and disaster, corresponding to the life story of the biblical Job. A fin de siècle antiAmerican Hebrew match is as following: International America ˆ Modern Hebrew (jocular) ‫עמא ריקא‬ !ammå reqå ‘America’ cf. the opening page of Gershon Rosenzweig’s satirical Massékhet Amérika ́ Aramaic ‫! עמא‬ammå ‘nation’ + ‫ ריקא‬reqå ‘empty’ cf. ‫עמא פזיזא‬ !ammå p¢zizå ‘hasty nation’ (Talmud: Kethuboth 112a), referring to the Israeli nation TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 171 Similarly, Israeli am reykaní, lit. ‘empty nation’, has been jocularly replaced (International >) Israeli amerikáni ‘American’. Compare this to the diametrically opposite Chinese 美国 Modern Standard Chinese (henceforth MSC) meiguó, Cantonese meikok, lit. ‘beautiful country’, a domestication of America. There are, however, also Chinese examples of rejective toponyms used to propagandize against hostile nations: • The Turks were called in Classical Chinese 突厥 MSC tujué, consisting of 突 tu ‘attack, invade’ and 厥 jué ‘stone-launcher’ (sixthninth centuries). • Mongol was allied with Classical Chinese 蒙古 MSC ménggu, consisting of 蒙 méng ‘dark, obscure, abuse’ and 古 gu ‘old, locked, stubborn’ (introduced around the eleventh century but still used). On 非洲 MSC feizhou ‘Africa’ (cf. ‘wrong/not continent’), 英国 MSC yingguó ‘England (cf. ‘hero country’), 海地 MSC haidì ‘Haiti’ (cf. ‘sea land’), 泰国 MSC tàiguó ‘Thailand’ (cf. ‘safe country’), 德国 déguó ‘Deutschland, Germany’ (cf. ‘virtuous country’, 法国 MSC faguó ‘France’ (cf. ‘law country’) etc., see Zuckermann (2000, 259-262). Hebrew oys tóyro ‘sign of Torah; Ostra’ and Chinese 美国 MSC meiguó ‘beautiful country; America’ lead to the discussion of adoptive lexical engineering, including ‘politically correct’ toponyms, which manifest appropriation. 2.2. Adoptive lexical engineering: appropriation • Mishnaic Hebrew [jå’wån] ‘Hellas, Greece’ (Midrash Rabba to Genesis 44), from: 1. Greek I3nia ‘Ionia’ 2. Biblical Hebrew [jå’wån] ‘one of Japheth’s sons, the name of a people’ (Genesis 10:2) On Medieval Hebrew sprd (Israeli sfarád) ‘Spain’, Medieval Hebrew ?Òknz (Israeli ashkenáz) ‘Germany, Ashkenaz’, see Zuckermann (2000, 137-41). • Ashkenazic Hebrew shapíro ‘Speyer’ (a town near Heidelberg, Germany), from: 1. Yiddish shpéy¢r, German Speyer (toponym) 172 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN 2. Aramaic shappirå ‘beautiful’, the feminine form of Aramaic shappir (Daniel 4:9) ‘handsome, pleasing, good, cheerful’ The positive connotation of this toponymic match might explain its frequent appearance in many Jewish surnames appearing from the beginning of the sixteenth century, e.g. Shpiro, Shapirin, Shapira, Sapir (cf. Beider 1993, 532b). The dynamics between tonomymy and anthroponymy is a fascinating topic, which deserves its own paper. • Ashkenazic Hebrew mógeyn vetsíno ‘Mainz’ (cf. Wexler 1991: 42), from: 1. Hebrew magéntsa ‘Mainz’, Yiddish magénts¢, Polish Moguncja, Latin Maguntia (Moguntia, Mogontiacum) (toponym). 2. Biblical Hebrew mågen w¢Òinnå, a tautological dvandva conjunction which appears in Jeremiah 46:3, Ezekiel 39:9 and Psalms 35:2, meaning ‘shield and shield’. • Ashkenazic Hebrew har adonoy ‘Hrodna, Grodno’ (Weinreich 1955, 610), from: 1. Yiddish gródn¢, Polish Grodno, Belorussian Hrodna, Russian Grodno Gródno (toponym). 2. Ashkenazic Hebrew har adonoy ‘The mount of the Lord’, from Hebrew har ?adonåy, cf. har yy ‘The mount of the Lord’ in Isaiah 2:3. Consider Medieval Hebrew polin ‘Poland’. Blanc (1989, 57) claims that there is no reason for its [i] vowel, cf. Yiddish póyln, Polish Polska (polski ‘Polish’), Russian Polàja Pól’sha, Italian Polonia, English Poland. This might lead to the conclusion that is a semanticized phonetic matching based on the Hebrew autochthonous root √lyn ‘lodge, stay, dwell’. Blanc mentions the well-known popular rationalization according to which “when the Jews came to Poland, the skies ordered them to stay there”. A detailed investigation is presented by Bar-Itzhak (1996, 30-7). However, my explanation, which may refute Blanc’s claim regarding the [i] (y) in pwlyn, is that Yiddish póyln was spelled in pre-Modern Yiddish as pwlyn or as pwylyn (cf. the current spelling pwyln). Note that the pronunciation of (Medieval Hebrew >) Israeli pwlyn by some speakers of Israeli, especially in the past, has been pólin, which resembles the German and the Yiddish forms (as distinct TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 173 from polín). This pronunciation could serve to strengthen the orthographic explanation. It seems that Medieval Hebrew pwlyn was not an etymythological nativization ab initio but rather a mere phonetic adaptation that has been rationalized etymythologically ex post facto. Another name for Poland is Israeli polánya, which could be reanalysed as po lan ya ‘Here stays God’. The term might have been induced by analogy to other Israeli country names corresponding to the feminine form of the noun which refers to the person who lives in the country (or to the feminine adjective), cf. ángliya ‘England’ versus angliyá ‘English (feminine)’, and rúsya ‘Russia’ versus rusiyá ‘Russian (feminine)’. Consider also Italian Polonia ‘Poland’. 2.3. Etymythological toponyms in the Haskalah period Toponymic matches were very common among maskilim, followers of the Jewish Enlightenment movement Haskalah in Germany (1770s1880s; cf. Aufklärung), led by the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn (1729-86) and the poet, linguist and exegete Naphtali Herz Wessely (1725-1805, also known as Váyz§). Consider the following examples: • Maskilic Hebrew poyálo tóvo (Israeli poalá tavá), lit. ‘good workingman/labourer’—an Aramaic expression appearing in the Talmud as [po!ala †åßå] (cf. Jastrow 1903, 281b, 1145a)—was the name some maskilim used for Poltava, a city in the Ukraine (south-west of Kharkov, east of Kiev), with a thriving Jewish community— cf. Yiddish poltáv¢, Russian Poltava Poltáva and Polish Po¥tawa (cf. Avinery 1946, 135; Klausner 1949, 97). • Maskilic Hebrew sar to(y)v, lit. ‘good ruler’, was a matching of Russian Saratov Sarátov (the name of a city in Russia)—cf. Weinreich (1955. 610, fn.). • Maskilic Hebrew harérey élef (or harérey ólef) (see Saddan 1955, 40) stands for International (The) Alps—cf. Russian Alàpx Ál’py and Polish Alpy. Biblical Hebrew [har¢’re ‘?ålep] (Psalms 50:10) means ‘a thousand hills’ (cf. Israeli haálpim ‘The Alps’). In Israeli this expression could be understood as ‘mountains of a thousand (metres)’. Note that only the second part of harérey élef is a matching. • Maskilic Hebrew i shfánim, lit. ‘island of coneys’ (shfaním could colloquially also mean ‘rabbits’), referring to the Iberian peninsula, was used by Gordon (as khatsí í hashfaním ‘peninsula of coneys’) 174 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN in his poem bimtsulót yam (In the Depths of Sea)—cf. Gordon (1956: 107a). It is a phonetic matching of Latin Ispania, or Hispania—cf. Greek ?????? Spanía, Russian Ispaniq Ispániya, Polish Hiszpania, Old English Ispania. The origin of Latin Hispania, the name of the Roman Province, is the Phoenician name for the western areas of the Mediterranean Sea, described by the Phoenicians as “the coast of coneys” (see Rosen 1994, 90). If this theory is true, then Maskilic Hebrew i shfánim might be an “incestuous” matching, in the sense that the material used in the target language (TL, here Maskilic Hebrew) is etymologically related to the nativized item from the source language (SL, here Latin). Maskilic Hebrew po novi ze (Israeli po naví ze), lit. ‘here (this) is my (beautiful) dwelling’, was a matching of Yiddish pónivezh, the name of the town in Lithuania, famous for its Jewish centre (cf. Lithuanian Yiddish pónivez) (used by Gordon 1883, 151, cf. Klausner 1949, 97). Hebrew nwh—originally pronounced [nå’we]—‘(beautiful) dwelling’, which participates in Maskilic Hebrew po novi ze leads to the discussion of ideological hebraization of Arabic place names in Israeli. 3. Hebraization of Arabic place-names in Israeli: reclamation Israeli uses the Semitic feature known as construct-state (smikhút), in which two nouns are combined, the first being modified or possessed by the second. For example, repúblikat banánot, lit. ‘republic bananas’, denotes ‘banana republic’. Hebrew [nå’we] ‘dwelling’ is often used as nomen rectum (governed noun) in Israeli toponyms constituting a construct state, for example nevé-atív on Mount Hermon in northern Israel. In Biblical Hebrew there are two different [nå’we], deriving from two distinct roots, both spelled as √nwh (cf. √nwy). Biblical Hebrew √1nwh means ‘pasture site in the desert’ (see II Samuel 7:8), ‘dwelling, habitation’ (see II Samuel 15:25)—cf. Arabic [‘nawa:] ‘emigrated, wandered (m, sg)’ and Biblical Hebrew n?wt (e.g. Joel 2:22, Amos 1:2). Biblical Hebrew √2nwh means ‘beautiful, comely’ (see Jeremiah 6:2) and is a variant of Biblical Hebrew n?wh—cf. Arabic [‘nawwaha] ‘extolled, praised, raised, elevated (m, sg)’, ‘excelled (m, sg)’, Mishnaic Hebrew n?h ‘beautiful’, Mishnaic Hebrew nwy [noj] ‘beauty’, Biblical Hebrew √y?h (cf. √y?y) ‘be beautiful’ (Jeremiah 10:7) and Aramaic y?y ‘beautiful’. TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 175 Biblical Hebrew √1nwh was the nomen rectum of several biblical construct state toponyms, e.g. [n¢’we ?e’tån] (Jeremiah 49:19, 50:44) and [n¢’we tan’nim] (Isaiah 34:13, 35:7). Therefore, the modern use of nevé- could be regarded as deriving directly from these biblical construct-states alone—cf. Israeli nevé shaanán (inter alia, the name of a neighbourhood of Tel Aviv, Haifa and Jerusalem), from Biblical Hebrew [nå’we ∫a?a’nån] (Isaiah 33:20). However, I suspect that, as usual, the reality is much more complex, characterized by multiple causation—with several elements simultaneously influencing the creation of some toponyms with nevé-: (i) Arabic [‘nabi:] ‘prophet’. Examples include the following: • Israeli nevé danyél, lit. ‘Daniel’s dwelling’, the name of a communal settlement in Mount Judaea, matches phonetically Arabic [?an’nabi: dan’jal] ‘the Prophet Daniel’. It was named after the Israeli convoy called in Arabic [?an’nabi: dan’jal], which returned from this area on 27 March 1948 and was attacked by Arabs near Bethlehem. • Israeli nevé yamín, lit. ‘the right side dwelling’ or ‘the dwelling of Yamin’ )a biblical name, e.g. the son of Simon, Jacob’s son), a moshav (smallholders’ cooperative settlement) near Kfar Sava in central Israel. This is a phonetic matching of Arabic [?an’nabi: ja’mi:n] ‘the Prophet Yamin’, and was thus named in accordance with the Arabic tradition that it is the place where Benjamin, Jacob’s son, is buried. Benjamin is called in Arabic [binja’mi:n] and on occasion [ja’mi:n]—cf. (the now rare) [‘jamana]/[‘jamina]/[‘jamuna] ‘was lucky, fortunate (m)’, [‘jumn] ‘luck’, [maj’mu:n] ‘lucky’ and [ja’mi:n] ‘right hand’; see also Entsiklopédya Mikraít (iii:701). (ii) International new, cf. Russian novxî nóvyi, e.g. Novxî Afon nóvyi afón ‘New Athens’ in Abkhaz; Novxî Arbat nóvyi arbát, a street in Moscow, established in the 1960s; Novxe Werëmujki nóvye cher6mushki, a neighbourhood in Moscow which is much newer and more beautiful than the preceding Cher6mushki. Compare these with Slovene Nova Gorica, a city in Slovenia, near Gorizia, Italy, as well as with German neu(e), English new, e.g. New Hampshire and New York. (iii) Biblical Hebrew √2nwh ‘beautiful, comely’. (iv) (Hebrew>) Israeli nevé-midbár, a widespread construct-state which literally means ‘dwelling of desert’, referring to ‘oasis’. 176 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN The last three inputs are apparent in the tendency to use Israeli nevéin the names of new and supposedly attractive neighbourhoods of existing cities. Israeli nevé- is associated with a place which is green, non-urban, different from its environment. Consider Nevé Savyoním near Savyon in central Israel, Nevé Avivím and Nevé Dan in Tel Aviv, Nevé Granót (1963) and Nevé Yaakóv (1924) in Jerusalem, and Nevé Khaím (1950) in Hadera. 3.1. “Judaization” of Arabic toponyms in the Negev (1950) It is instructive to compare and contrast the policy of David BenGurion, Israel’s first Prime Minister, and Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore. Lee Kuan Yew shrewdly kept Malay as an important symbolic language in Singapore. Thus, although it would be extremely hard for anyone to find a Malay/Indian pilot or high officer in the Singaporean Army (they are all Chinese) or a Chinese cleaning lady at the National University of Singapore (NUS), the national anthem and the army commands are in Malay rather than in English, Mandarin or Hokkien! Such an advanced pro forma lip service is impossible in Israel. The Jewish psyche would not tolerate singing the Israeli national anthem in Arabic. Everything must be in ‘Hebrew’. Ben-Gurion (a phonetic matching of his original surname Grün, using the Mishnaic Hebrew name [gur’jo:n]) wanted all Israelis, let alone government officials, to Hebraize their names. In 1950, two years after the establishment of Israel, Ben-Gurion urgently founded a governmental Geographical Names Committee (henceforth GNC) for the Hebraization (Shnaton HeMemshala 1951, 279 prefers “Judaization”) of Arabic toponyms in the Negev (in the southern part of Israel). (The committee was called in Israeli haveadá hageográfit likviát shemót banégev—mitáam misrád rosh hamemshalá.) As a rough estimate, the GNC worked for 6 months, had 60 sessions and suggested over 500 Israeli names. The Head of GNC was Dr Avraham Yaakov Brawer and among its members were Professor Shmuel Yeivin, Professor David Amiran and Zalman Lif (Lifschitz). Analysing Shnaton HaMemshala h.t.∫.y.?. (The Government Year-Book of 1950-1) (1951: 259-311, and especially 279-88), it is possible to infer that the GNC used three main methods for suggesting Israeli toponyms: TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 177 1. Matching of the Arabic toponym with a phonetically-similar preexistent Hebrew item (i.e. etymythological nativization). 2. Literal translation of the Arabic toponym into Hebrew (cf. calquing). 3. Linking the place to a site mentioned in the Hebrew scriptures, especially the Old Testament, and suggesting the ancient Hebrew toponym as a replacement for the Arabic place name. Of the 537 neologisms suggested by the Committee, 175 were phonetic matches, 167 literal translations and 124 ancient Hebrew toponyms linked to the present sites. The remaining 71 included other kinds of neologization such as the following euphemistic neologisms, each constituting an enantiosemic auto-opposite with its Arabic origin: • The semantically positive en yáhav, lit. ‘The Spring of Hope’, replaced the semantically negative Arabic [!ajn alwa’ba?], lit. ‘The Spring of Plague’; Arabic [wa’ba?] meaning ‘plague, pest, epidemic’. • Arabic [bi:r ‘hindis] ‘The Well of Darkness’ was translated as (Hebrew>) Israeli beér orá ‘The Well of Light’. However, the initial name for this place, coined by the soldiers of the Israeli Army Engineering Corps who stayed there while building the road to Eilat in 1949-50, was beér handasá, lit. ‘The Well of (the) Engineering (Corps)’, a phonetic matching of Arabic [bi:r ‘hindis]. Juxtapose these examples with Benevento, a town (and province) in Campania, Italy, 50 km north-east of Naples. Benevento is understood today as ‘good wind’ (Nissan, personal communication) or ‘good event’. But its original names were actually Maleventum, Malowent and Maloenton, which meant in the original Italic language neither ‘the site of bad events’ nor ‘bad wind’. But the Romans re-interpreted the name and after they won a battle there, they replaced Maleventum with Beneventum. Examples of phonetic matches from the suggested 175: • Arabic [‘d”®abal (al)xa’ru:f], lit. ‘the mountain of the ram/sheep’ > har kharíf, lit. ‘hot/sharp/fast-flowing mountain’ (p. 282b). Cf. Medieval Hebrew nhl hryf ‘fast-flowing river’, which might have been taken into account by GNC. In fact, GNC also matched Arabic [‘wadi xa’ru:f], lit. ‘river of ram/sheep’, with nákhal kharíf, lit. ‘hot/sharp/ fast-flowing River’. 178 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN • Arabic [?al!unÒu’rijja], currently ‘racism’ (cf. [‘!unÒur] ‘component, element, race’) > har nétser ‘mountain of sprout’ (p. 284a). • Arabic [‘d”®abal almah(a)’wijja] (cf. [‘?ahwa:] ‘side of a valley, dark green colour’, √hwj ‘gather; dark green’) > har mikhyá ‘mountain of living’ (p. 284a). By using phonetic matching, literal translation and recycling ancient Hebrew toponyms, the Geographical Names Committee did not exhaust all the possibilities that were theoretically available. However, these methods were also prevalent in lexical, non-toponymic, neologization in Israeli, analysed by Zuckermann (2003). 3.2. Hebraization of Arabic toponyms in other regions Phonetic matching of Arabic toponyms has been widespread in all areas of Israel, not only in the Negev. Consider the following: • har tov, lit. ‘a good mountain’, the name of a settlement located on a mountain in Judea and having good air, is a phonetic matching of Arabic [!ar’†u:f], the name of the nearby Arabic village. Vilnay (1940, 323) intriguingly asserts that the Arabic name is meaningless. Perhaps it is a nativization to Latin Aretusa. Note the existence of the mistaken forms [!ar’tu:f] (Kol Makom Veatar, 136) and [?ar’†u:f] (Avinery 1946, 139). • en véred, lit. ‘The Spring of the Rose’, the name of a settlement in the Sharon area (central Israel), is a recalibration of Arabic [!a’j:un alwar’da:t], lit. ‘springs (for) the women going down (to draw water)’ (cf. Vilnay 1940, 325). • bet gan, lit. ‘The House of the Garden’, the name of a settlement near the Sea of Galilee (cf. Biblical Hebrew [bet hag’gån], the name of a place in Samaria, see II Kings 9:27), is a partial phonetic matching of Vernacular Arabic [be:t d®an], lit. ‘The House of the Ghosts’ (Vilnay 1940: 329) (cf. Arabic [d®inn] ‘demons, jinn’, but see also [‘d®anna] ‘garden’). • ramát shafát, a neighbourhood in Jerusalem < Arabic [Òu!a’fa:t] (cf. √Ò!f ‘love, affection’, [Òu’!a:f] ‘madness (love sickness)’). For further recalibrations, see Maisler (1932), Tazkír HaVáad HaLeumí (1932) and Vilnay (1940). TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 179 Importantly, these concoctions are prescriptive and scholarly, introduced by clerk rather folk-etymology, by informed language planners. Sociologically, albeit not structurally, they should be distinguished from lay, uninformed toponymic matches, such as the following: • Israeli givát hanóar ‘The Hill of the Youth’ was the name children in Givataim gave to ‫ גבעת אנואר‬givát ánwar ‘The Hill of Anwar’ (from the name of an Arab, cf. Arabic [‘?anwar], lit. ‘giving more light’). • Under the British Mandate, George V Avenue in Jerusalem was called (Hebrew>) Israeli avínu malkénu, lit. ‘Our Father Our King’ (i.e. ‘Our Lord’). • Israeli givát haradár, lit. ‘The Hill of the Radar’—the name of a place near Jerusalem where the British/Jordanian aviation radar was located from the Second World War until 1967—was matched phonetically with the Hebrew name ‫אדר‬-‫ הר‬har adár, lit. ‘Mount Addar’, Addar being the name of a month in the Jewish calendar— cf. Akkadian addaru. On naming places as a mechanism for landscape transformation in the territories captured by Israel in the Six Days War of 1967, namely the Golan, Gaza and the West Bank, please see Cohen and Kliot (1992). 3.3. Intra-lingual multisourced toponym An example of an intra-lingual multisourced toponym: • Israeli aléy zaháv, lit. ‘leaves of gold’, the name of a collective farm in southern Israel, was coined in the 1980s. It derives from two sources: (i) Hebrew!ly zhb ‘golden leaves’ (which are common during autumn)—arising from the name of the establishing group, ‫ גרעין סתיו‬garín stav, lit. ‘autumn nucleus (core-group)’ (ii) Clipping of !lyzh bgyn, Alizah Begin, wife of Menachem Begin, then Israel’s Prime Minister. The settlers were supported by Begin’s Kherut (-Beitar) Party and wished to commemorate his wife. But they knew that there was no chance of accomplishing this formally since it was too close to Mrs Begin’s death and Mrs Begin was not, at least officially, an influential figure herself. 180 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN 4. Concluding remarks Juliet: What’s in a name? Answer: A lot! Juliet: Retort: That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet. Not in the Middle East! This article analyses toponyms that simultaneously have more than one etymon (etymological source), championing hybridity and multiple causation. Special attention was given to toponymic neologisms proposed by the Geographical Names Committee for the Hebraization of Arabic toponyms in the Negev, the southern part of Israel, in 1950-1952. The article contributes towards the development of a typology of onomastic neologization in general and toponomastics in particular. Based on examples from Israel’s efforts in building and defining itself as a nation—as well as from rejective and adoptive lexical engineering by Jews throughout history—this article explores the intricate and intriguing relationship between names and identity. References Anttila, Raimo. 1989. Historical and comparative linguistics, 2nd edn. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Avinery, Isaac. 1946. kibushéy haivrít bedorénu. [The achievements of Modern Hebrew.] Palestine: ‘Sifriat Poalim’ Workers’ BookGuild. (In Israeli.) Bar-Itzhak, Haya. 1996. polín – agadót reshít: etnopoétika vekorót agadatiím. [Legends of origin of the Jews of Poland: ethnopoetics and legendary chronicles.] Tel Aviv: Poalim. (In Israeli.) Beider, Alexander. 1993. A dictionary of Jewish surnames from the Russian Empire. Teaneck, NJ: Avotaynu. Ben-Yishai, Aharon Zeev. 1971. Parody, Hebrew. In: Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. XIII, 124-40. Jerusalem: Keter. Blanc, Haim. 1989. leshón bney adám. 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Tazkír HaVáad HaLeumí lememshélet érets yisraél al shitát haktív behaatakát hashemót hageográfiim vehapratiím. [Memorandum of the National Committee to the Government of Eretz Yisrael on the Spelling Method of Copying Geographical and Personal Names.] 1932. Lesonénu 4, supplement to No. 3, 1-12. Trask, R.L. 1993. A dictionary of grammatical terms in linguistics. London: Routledge. Vilnay, Zev, born Vilensky. 1940. shemót lishuvím ivriím halekukhím mishemót arviím. [Names of Jewish settlements taken from Arabic names.] Lesonénu 10.4, 323-31. (In Israeli.) Weinreich, Uriel. 1955. Yiddish blends with a Slavic element. Word 2, 603-10. Wexler, Paul. 1991. Yiddish – the fifteenth Slavic language. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 91, 1-150, 215-25. Yule, Henry, Burnell, A.C. 1903. Hobson-Jobson: a glossary of colloquial Anglo-Indian words and phrases, and of kindred terms (etymological, historical. geographical and discursive). London: John Murray. [1st edition: 1886.] Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad. 1999. Review of Nakdimon Shabbethay Doniach and Ahuvia Kahane (eds.), The Oxford English-Hebrew dictionary (Oxford University Press, 1998). International Journal of Lexicography 12, 325-46. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad. 2000. Camouflaged borrowing: ‘Folk-etymological nativization’ in the service of puristic language engineering. Unpublished DPhil thesis, University of Oxford. Zuckermann, Ghil‘ad. 2003. Language contact and lexical enrichment in Israeli Hebrew. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. TOPONYMY AND MONOPOLY 183 Ghil‘ad Zuckermann Professor of Linguistics of Endangered Languages Australian Research Council (ARC) Discovery Fellow 211 Distinguished Visiting Professor at Shanghai International Studies University School of Humanities The University of Adelaide South Australia 5005 Australia Email: [ghilad.zuckermann@adelaide.edu.au], [gzuckermann@gmail.com] www.zuckermann.org adelaide.academia.edu/zuckermann Summary: Toponymy and monopoly: one toponym, two parents; ideological hebraization of Arabic place-mames in the Israeli language This article analyses toponyms that simultaneously have more than one etymon (etymological source), championing hybridity and multiple causation. Special attention is given to toponymic neologisms proposed by the Geographical Names Committee for the Hebraization of Arabic toponyms in the Negev, the southern part of Israel, in 1950-1952. It contributes towards the development of a typology of onomastic neologization in general and toponomastics in particular. Based on examples from Israel’s efforts in building and defining itself as a nation—as well as from rejective and adoptive lexical engineering by Jews throughout history—this article explores the fascinating and multifaceted relationship between names and identity. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, says Juliet to Romeo (or Yael to Ram, as per a fin-de-siècle translation to “Modern Hebrew”) in a piece by the famous playwright referred to by Libyan leader Muammar al-Qaddafi as “Sheikh Zubeir”. There are cases in which the name is extremely important because it determines the way people perceive the thing it stands for. Just as thought influences language, language can shape thought. Already 2,500 years ago Confucius said that the first thing a politician has to do is to rectify names! Résumé: Toponymie et monopole: un toponyme, deux parents; hébraïsation idéologique de noms de lieux arabes dans la langue d’Israël Cet article analyse les toponymes qui ont simultanément plus d’une origine étymologique, champions de l’hybridité et de la causalité multiple. Une attention particulière est accordée aux néologismes toponymiques proposés par le Comité de toponymie pour l’hébraïsation des toponymes 184 GHIL‘AD ZUCKERMANN arabes dans le Néguev, la partie sud d’Israël, en 1950-1952. Il contribue à l’élaboration d’une typologie de la néologisation onomastique en général et en particulier toponymique. Reposant sur des exemples des efforts d’Israël dans la construction et la définition d’une nation – ainsi que dans les techniques de rejet et d’adoption lexicaux par les Juifs à travers l’histoire – le présent article explore la relation fascinante et multiforme entre les noms et l’identité. «Qu’y a-t-il dans un nom? Ce que nous appelons une rose embaumerait autant sous un autre nom», dit Juliette à Roméo (ou Yael à Ram, selon une traduction fin de siècle de l’hébreu moderne) dans une pièce du célèbre dramaturge que le leader libyen Muammar al-Kadhafi nomme «Cheikh Zubeir». Il ya des cas dans lesquels le nom est extrêmement important en ce qu’il détermine la façon dont les gens perçoivent la chose qu’elle représente. De même que la pensée influence la langue, de même la langue peut façonner la pensée. Voilà déjà 2500 ans, Confucius disait que la première chose qu’un homme politique doit faire est de corriger les noms! Zusammenfassung: Toponymik und Monopolstellung: ein Toponym, zwei Ursprünge; die ideologische Hebräisierung von arabischen Ortsnamen in der Sprache Isreals Dieser Artikel analysiert Toponyme, die gleichzeitig mehr als ein Etymon (etymologischen Ursprung) und damit Hybridität sowie mehrfache Ursprünge besitzen. Spezielle Beachtung finden toponymische Neologismen, die das Geographical Names Committee for the Hebraization of Arabic toponyms 19501952 für das Gebiet der Negev-Wüste, dem südlichen Teil Israels, vorschlug. Es trug damit zu einer Entwicklung einer bestimmten Typolgie onomastischer Neologisierung im Allgemeinen und im toponomastischen Bereich im Speziellen bei. Basierend auf Beispiele von Bemühungen Israels, sich selbst als Nation zu konstruieren und zu definieren – es werden sowohl ausgesonderte als auch durch angenommene lexikalische Entwicklungen in der jüdischen Geschichte werden betrachtet – untersucht dieser Artikel das faszinierende und vielgestaltige Verhältnis zwischen Bezeichnungen und Identität. “Was bedeutet ein Name? Was wir eine Rose nennen, würde mit einem anderen Namen genauso süß riechen“, sagt Julia zu Romeo (oder Yael zu Ram, wie in einer fin-de-siècle-Übersetzung in „modernes Hebräisch) in einem Stück eines berühmten Autors, auf den sich der libysche Führer Muammar al-Qaddafi als “Sheikh Zubeir” bezieht. Es gibt Fälle, in denen ein Name äußerst bedeutsam ist, weil er die Art und Weise bestimmt, wie Menschen die Sache verstehen, für welche der Name steht. So wie die Gedanken Sprache beeinflussen, kann die Sprache die Gedanken beeinflussen. Schon vor 2.500 Jahren sagte Konfuzius, dass die erste Pflicht eines Politikers sei, Namen zu korrigieren!