Names
Rosh Hashanah: September 23, 2006
Rabbi Jeffrey Summit

My grandfather once explained to me that he never felt bad that he legally changed our family name from Slomowitz to Summit in the late 1940s, decades after he had emigrated from Rumania to the United States. He said, “Our name was never Slomowitz; that’s what the clerk at Ellis Island wrote on my new papers when I entered the country. Besides, a new name seemed to fit with a new country.” When questioned, my grandfather would say he forgot the original family name; it was so long ago and we had a sense that names were often changed to avoid serving in the army. Now, as much as I like my name, I sometimes wonder what our original family name was. Is a good thing or a bad thing to change your name?

Here’s another story. (It’s a true story. All of my stories are true stories.) When I was studying abroad in England during my junior year in college, I met an amazing group of people, many of them Americans on our program leaving home for the first time to study abroad. One of our friends introduced himself to us as Casey, so Casey he was. It was only at the end of the year that we found out that his real name was Harold. He said, “Yeah, I never liked my name. Casey is actually my dog’s name. I always loved it so I thought, no one knows me here, I’ll just be Casey.” Should people just be able to change their names? The students on the program had no trouble with that, but I bet his parents, or his friends from home who always knew him as Harold, might have had a different reaction.

This Rosh Hashanah, I’m thinking a lot about names. What do we call ourselves? What do other people call us? Names can tell us a lot about our personal history, the people we are now, and the people we wish to become, as a new year begins.

In the Mishna, Rabbi Simeon said: “There are three crowns. The crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood and the crown of kingship. But the crown of a good name exceeds them all.” (Ethics of the Fathers 4:17). Basically, I think what he means is that you can be an educated person and have the crown of Torah, but if you are arrogant, a know-it-all with your wisdom, then being well- educated isn’t going to serve you well. You can be a person who is very observant religiously, the crown of priesthood, but if you lord it over other Jews, showing off how observant you are and not being sensitive to the people around you, then your religiosity doesn’t count for that much. You can rise to a position of leadership, the crown of kingship, but if you don’t use that leadership to better peoples’ lives, to build a society of justice and peace, then you betray the trust of those who brought you to that position. But if you have established a good name, a good reputation, that’s a truly important achievement. If people can count on you, if you’re known for being thoughtful and constructive, if you have a reputation for doing what you say you are going to do, then you’ve really achieved something worthwhile. A good name isn’t about what people call us or the titles or degrees we’ve accumulated. It’s about the reputation we’ve built through our actions, both small and large.

Names go in and out of fashion. Zackary used to be very old- fashioned, and so did Max, Joshua and Gabriel. When I was born, my parents never would have considered one of those old-fashioned names. But now Zack, Max and Gabe are cool names, very in. But some names haven’t made it back to the cool list yet. I used to think that way about the name Irving -- that is, until I met my friend Irv, who turned out to be one of the most interesting, thoughtful people I know. Now when I hear the name Irv, I think of him and the name has all the connotations of his being, of his actions.

This has special relevance to Rosh Hashanah, a time when we ideally are thinking a lot about who we are and the person we most want to be. While we can call ourselves by any name we choose, the fact is that the way people think of our name, the association people have with Jeffrey or Lauren or Ethan, are very much shaped by the way we comport ourselves in the world. Are we supportive to the people around us when they need our help? Are we sarcastic when instead we might be kind? Do we take time to listen when friends and family need to talk? It’s our actions that create a whole range of associations with our names.

In the midrash, the rabbis teach that one of the reasons that the Israelites merited being redeemed from Egypt was because they never changed their Hebrew names and did not take on names from local Egyptian culture. But the examples they give (such as “they never called Reuben “Rufus”) shows us that it was Roman culture that they feared. They wanted to make sure that Jews didn’t abandon our commitment to Judaism, our practice, our pride in being part of a unique people. Here, keeping our names is a way to set us apart, to assert and maintain our Jewish identity. To what extent do we embrace our Jewishness, and when we do we hide it, wanting to pass undetected in our larger society?

There are times when a change in a name signifies a whole change in our being. You remember that story in the Torah when Jacob wrestles with an angel. They struggle all night but Jacob holds on and he won’t let the angel go until the angel agrees to give him a blessing. As part of that blessing, Jacob’s name is changed from Yaakov to Israel. In Hebrew, the root of the name Yaakov is ekev, literally, “heel” and the story is told that in the womb, Jacob grabbed onto his brother’s heel, struggling to be born first. All through his life, Jacob has been a “heel,” undermining his brother and stealing his brother’s birthright. But for the first time in his life, Jacob has mustered the courage to return and confront his brother, to deal with his past. He has managed to change himself into a different person and his old name no longer fits. When his name is changed to Israel, “one who struggles with God and people” — and prevails – we see a person who in fact needs a new name. To his credit, he has become a better self.

Who are we as this New Year begins? What name should we carry? How do we want to be known? Essentially, Rosh Hashanah gives us the opportunity to change parts of ourselves that need changing. In the past, old behaviors have defined who we are: perhaps now we don’t like that definition. Deep down, we don’t want to known as the son who doesn’t call his mother, or the person who always comes late, or the person who is always doing things at the last minute or who doesn’t seem to be around when her friends need her. We don’t want to be the parent who is always working. The New Year gives us the opportunity for a new definition, to change the way we are named in the world.

The Israeli poet Zelda wrote a poem that I sometimes read at funerals. It’s called “Each of us has a name.”

“Each of us has a name given by God and given by our parents. Each of us has a name given by our stature and our smile and given by what we wear./ Each of us has a name given by the mountains and given by our walls./ Each of us has a name given by the stars and given by our neighbors./ Each of us has a name given by our sins and given by our longing./ Each of us has a name given by our enemies and given by our love./ Each of us has a name given by our celebrations and given by our work./ Each of us has a name given by the seasons and given by our blindness./ Each of us has a name given by the sea and given by our death.”

While our parents wrote our names down on our birth certificates years ago, in truth, when it comes to naming, little is written in stone. On this Rosh Hashanah, as we look towards a new year, as so many possibilities open before us, the issue is less about changing our names than it is about changing ourselves.