11/17/2025
𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞’𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬
Growing up in a Christian family, I was surrounded by Scripture for as long as I can remember.
Every Sunday, we’d attend church. While the adults listened to sermons, we kids were sent off to Sunday School, where we learned Bible stories in ways meant to help us understand.
But even with all that early exposure, I can’t say I really understood the Bible.
What I knew was this: Jesus died for my sins, and because of that, I’ve been forgiven—sins passed down from Adam and Eve.
As a child, that was enough for me. Jesus = Heaven. Simple. Clear. Safe.
But looking back, that’s where my understanding stopped.
Eventually, I began to learn things that shaped how I saw the faith. I grew up hearing that Jesus wasn’t accepted by His fellow Jews as the Messiah—and I just accepted that. But that changed when life brought me to the Middle East. Ironically, in a place where my own beliefs couldn’t be expressed publicly, my faith deepened in private.
I witnessed people pausing multiple times a day for prayer—together, consistent, unwavering. I saw how an entire season was devoted to fasting and reflection. At first, I viewed it through the lens I was taught: “just rituals.” But the more I watched, the more I realized—there was reverence. There was rhythm. There was devotion. Not everyone may have meant it from the heart… but is that really so different from us?
Sometimes, I wondered: how can those outside our faith be more disciplined than we are? We say we have the truth—yet we’re often the first to treat it casually.
That season of quiet watching and wondering stirred something in me. It humbled me. It made me ask deeper questions. And slowly, God began the work—not of adding more knowledge, but of unlearning what I thought I knew.
And just when I thought I was already going deep, something deeper began to stir.
I started leaning into something I never paid attention to before—the Jewishness of Jesus. Not as a trivia fact, but as the missing lens that could make the whole story make sense. That’s when the shift happened.
Not just to read the Bible…
But to recover what’s been lost in translation.
▶️ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲
I used to think Bible translation was just about words—changing Hebrew into English, Greek into Tagalog, Aramaic into whatever language a person could understand.
But now I know…
Translation isn’t neutral. “It never was. It never will be.”
When we change the language, we often change the lens. And that’s exactly what happened with the Bible.
It started in the early centuries when the Hebrew Scriptures were translated into Greek. Then Latin. Then English. Each time, the Bible was not just reworded—it was reinterpreted through the culture of the translators. And the more the language drifted from its original form, the more the meaning shifted with it.
See, Hebrew is not like English. It’s not cold or systematic. It’s a relational language—filled with emotion, imagery, and layers. It moves from the heart. But Greek? Latin? Even English? They’re more philosophical. They define, divide, and explain. And that’s fine—unless you’re trying to capture a God who reveals, not just defines.
▶️ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝
Jewish poet Hayim Nahman Bialik once said:
𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭.
It’s provocative—but painfully true.
But what if the veil isn’t just language? What if it’s also culture, translation bias, and theology passed down without question?
That’s when I realized—we’re not just dealing with differences in wording…
We’re dealing with a loss of texture. Of emotion. Of soul.
✝️ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬
In Matthew 27:46, we read Jesus’ cry:
𝘌𝘭𝘪, 𝘌𝘭𝘪, 𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘪? — 𝘔𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘔𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘔𝘦?
For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why Yeshua would say this if He were God. I prayed about it, I asked God for clarity—but nothing made sense. Eventually, I stopped asking—not because I didn’t care, but because I kept hearing that we shouldn’t question things that “aren’t essential.” That the message was all that mattered.
So, since I couldn’t find the answer and felt like I wasn’t supposed to dig deeper, I just accepted it. I believed it simply because I thought that was what faith was supposed to look like.
But then came that season when I started wrestling with the idea of eternal life. That changed everything.
I discovered Hebrew studies… and suddenly, the verses I used to set aside—the questions I thought I wasn’t allowed to ask—began to open. One by one, the things that never made sense finally started finding their place.
Many scholars believe Jesus spoke in Old Galilean Aramaic. If that’s the case, then some of His words may have been misunderstood—not just in translation, but even in how they were originally heard.
In the book: Does the Bible Really Say That? by Chaim Bentorah, he proposes that sabachthani might not come from the Aramaic word for “forsaken,” but from a root that means to be kept or reserved for destiny. And Eli might not only mean “My God,” but could also mean “my heart” in their northern dialect. If that’s the case, Jesus wasn’t crying out in despair—but declaring His purpose:
“𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙈𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩—𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙈𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙮”.
It could be that Jesus, seeing His loved ones weeping at the foot of the cross, was telling them:
“Don’t cry for Me. This is why I came.”
And somehow, that pierced my own heart. Because all my life, I thought faith meant silence—accepting mystery without asking why. But in that one phrase, I heard something different. Not distance. Not despair. But purpose. Intimacy. Love.
It was as if Yeshua was saying—not just to them, but to me—
“You’re not forgotten in this pain. This is the plan. I see you.”
This doesn’t deny the written Word. It simply invites us to peel back the layers of translation and culture that may have veiled the intimacy behind His words.
Scripture is inerrant—but our understanding keeps growing. And sometimes, in the digging, we hear His heart more clearly.
That one phrase from the cross became my turning point—
But it wasn’t the only thing that had been lost in translation.
▶️ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚
For most of church history, the Bible has been read and preached in translation. But over time, translation became more than just language—it became interpretation. And interpretation? sometimes, unintentionally shaped by the lens of power more than the purity of purpose.
After the first century, as Christianity spread across Gentile territories, something subtle—but devastating—began to unfold. At first, the shift was cultural. Then it became theological. Eventually, it turned political.
The early church, once rooted in Jewish identity, slowly detached from its Hebraic foundations. And the farther it aligned itself with empire—especially under Constantine—the more it sought to erase the Jewishness of the Messiah and His Scriptures.
Gone were the idioms and imagery of Hebrew thought. In their place came dogma, doctrine, and Greek categories.
The Bible’s original language—Hebrew and Aramaic—is poetic, circular, symbolic, and deeply relational.
But as Scripture passed through Greek and Latin filters, its soul was lost.
𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗰𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝘀𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗳.
𝗡𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀. 𝗛𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝗿𝗵𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗺 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰.
As The Complete Jewish Study Bible puts it:
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 ‘𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩’ 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘐𝘴𝘳𝘢𝘦𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 ‘𝘖𝘭𝘥 𝘛𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵’ 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘑𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤.
— 𝘙𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘪𝘯
But this wasn’t just bad theology—it became antisemitism. Church fathers like Justin Martyr and John Chrysostom outright demonized the Jews.
The very people through whom God gave His Word were now branded as “Christ killers.”
By the time of the Crusades, the separation wasn’t just spiritual—it was soaked in blood.
But Yeshua never came to start a new religion. He didn’t cancel the Torah—He fulfilled it (Matthew 5:17). He taught as a Jewish rabbi. Quoted the Tanakh.
Used Hebrew parables. Preached in the land, rhythm, and poetry of Middle Eastern thought.
When we interpret Him through Western eyes, we risk putting words in His mouth.
Kenneth Bailey, who spent over 40 years teaching in the Middle East, writes:
“Much of the New Testament cannot be fully understood without grasping the Middle Eastern context…
Western theology, shaped by logic and abstract categories, often misreads what was originally given as story, poetry, and parable—relational at its core.” — Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes
This isn’t just a cultural misstep—it’s a spiritual loss.
When we erase the Jewishness of Scripture, we lose the beauty of covenant language, the intimacy of verbs like yada (to know deeply), the soul behind the Psalms, and the depth of words like shalom, chesed, and racham.
“𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘏𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵.”
Maybe it’s time we opened those doorways again.
Not to be smarter.
But to see Him more clearly.
➡️ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐩 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬
𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭 #𝟑: “The Separation of the Church from its Jewish Roots”
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📚 𝗥𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
• 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘩, 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵?
• 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘌. 𝘉𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘴
• 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘑𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘉𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘙𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘪𝘯
• 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯 𝘙. 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘮
• 𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢 & 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘢, 𝘗𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺?
• 𝘚𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦: 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘸 𝟱:𝟣𝟩, 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘸 𝟤𝟳:𝟦𝟨
• 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘏𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘮 𝘕𝘢𝘩𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘬
• 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮, 𝘈𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘰𝘴 (𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘯 2004; 𝘋𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘻 2016)
