Atalia—uh-TAY-lee-uh in English, ah-TAH-lyah in Spanish—traces her lineage to the Hebrew Athaliah, meaning “the LORD is exalted,” a name that once belonged to the formidable queen who briefly ruled ancient Judah; history buffs note that Atalia has spent the last three millennia rehabilitating that résumé, shifting from an iron-fisted monarch to a lyrical girl’s name with a soft, sun-washed cadence. Handel set the tale to music in his 1733 oratorio “Athalia,” and the name has since wandered through opera programs, a French tragedy, and even a Pacific-Northwest fishing town, collecting cultural patina like well-traveled luggage stickers. In the United States, Atalia has hovered in the low 800s and 900s for the past four decades—never a chart-topper, but reliably present, rather like the quiet student who always hands in polished work while the class clamor swirls around her. Parents who favor biblical roots yet want to sidestep the heavily trodden Abigail-Hannah-Ruth corridor find Atalia’s blend of antiquity and airy vowels appealing; it offers gravity without gloom, a touch of drama without the diva surcharge, and just enough rarity to earn that coveted first-day-of-school “What a beautiful name!” without the follow-up “How do you spell it again?”