I grew up hearing the Code of Hammurabi read out loud, in Akkadian, at the dining-room table. I did not know that my graduate-student mother was one of Akkadian’s few regular readers. The language of the ancient Akkad region, or modern-day Iraq, is considered a “dead language,” just like Ugaritic and Phoenician. All these dead tongues, however, fed into the Hebrew Bible, the most read book in history, and so they have a form of eternal life.
And so the language my mother read sounded familiar. Abum is like abba, the Hebrew word for father; imum like ima, or mother, and kalbum like kelev, or dog. For years I told myself that Akkadian, its strict legal code, and its dramatic descriptions of what would be done to losers in battle (hint: towering piles of body parts displayed for all to see) was my mother’s terrain, not mine. But the truth is that it is nearly impossible to avoid Akkadian’s influence on all of us.
The language of triangles and lines pressed into clay tablets has a stealth presence in Jewish culture and Western culture. Many of us say a word of Akkadian daily without realizing it; some of us even have Akkadian names. Leah comes from litum, the Akkadian word for cow. Laban, an idol-worshipping shepherd whose other daughter was Rachel, which means ewe, clearly named both his daughters after prized animals. But for centuries, Akkadian itself has been a prize, ensnaring the wealthy and the socially prominent, along with generations of devoted scholars.
Auteur : Aviya Kushner
Tiré du site web : forward.com
Date : 12-09-2016
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