What's in a (Jewish) Name?

A Jewish name can take a number of different forms, and each has its own shade of meaning. Let me explain. 

Hebrew names

Biblical 

In our cycle of weekly readings from the Torah, Jews are coming to the end of the second book of the Torah. That is the book known in the English-speaking world by the Greek name "Exodus." 

Many Jews, however, know it by its Hebrew title, Sh'mot, meaning "names," from the opening words of the book:  These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt....   

The names in Sh'mot 1:1-4 are all single names, or what we are used to calling in English "first names." That's because the people on the list are all members of the same family, and they were all introduced in B'reishit, or Genesis. There won't be any "Joseph who? Issachar who?" We know these people. Just mentioning their names is enough.

But the Israelites were fertile and prolific; they multiplied and increased very greatly, so that the land was filled with them. (1:7, Etz Hayim translation)

So, it became necessary to specify who you were talking about using patronymics. That is, so-and-so the son or daughter of so and so. I think (but I am open to correction!) the first person to be named this way in the Torah shows up in the story after the revelation at Sinai. It is the chief craftsman in charge of building the portable sanctuary.

The Lord spoke to Moses: See, I have singled out by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. (31:1)

And something like that format has continued until today, with a few small changes:

• Now, in liberal Jewish circles at least, we tend to use the names of both father and mother. For instance, I am Dov ben (son of) Akiva Meir (my father) v'Tziporah (and my mother). My wife, Rona, is Rivkah Yehudit bat (daughter of) Mordechai v'Chayeh Feigeh.

• More recently, some congregations and some individuals have started calling people up to the Torah using the words mibeit ("from the house of") or l'veit (of the house of") the person's parents, instead of calling them "son" or "daughter." (For instance, if I used that format, my Hebrew name might be Dov mibeit Akiva Meir v'Tziporah.) That format shows respect to Jews who don't think of themselves within a gender binary, and respect has always been an issue considered in Jewish names. See the Rabbinical Assembly's in-depth discussion. 

• We don't identify people by tribe anymore, since most of the tribes were assimilated by the Assyrian conquest in 721 BCE. Instead, people who are descendants of Aaron the High Priest are called so-and-so ha-Kohen. People who are descendants of the Levites (the tribe that Aaron, Miriam, and Moses all came from) are called ha-Levi.
  

Rabbinic

One of the rabbinic writers that even non-Jews may have heard of is Maimonides. Just like the word "exodus," the name "Maimonides" is not really English, at least in origin. The -ides ending means "son of," so the name means son of Maimon. So, from what we have already discussed, you will not be surprised to learn that in Hebrew this noted scholar is called Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon.

But you will also hear the same man referred to as the Rambam. That is an acronym, from the first letters of each word in "Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon." Similarly, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman is called both Nachmanides and the Ramban; Rabbi Levi Ben Gershon is both Gersonides and the Ralbag. (Are we confused yet?)

An additional layer is that some rabbinic authors are best known by the title of their most famous book! For example, Rabbi Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz, Rabbi of Prague from 1604 to 1619, is often called "the Kli Yakar," after the title of his influential Torah commentary. Isaiah or Yeshayahu ben Avraham Ha-Levi Horowitz, his successor in Prague, is called "the Shelah" after the acronym Sh'nei Luchot ("two tablets") used in the title of his most famous work. In fact, until I listened to a podcast about those two thinkers and their predecessor Rabbi Judah Loew, the Maharal (Moreinu Ha-Rav Loew, or "Our Teacher, Rabbi Loew"). I ONLY recognized them by these titles!

Names that aren't in Hebrew

In my synagogue, my Hebrew name is used to call me up to say the blessings before and after a Torah reading. Most people there won't remember it offhand. Certainly, they won't refer to me that way in conversation: they'll call me "Dennis Fischman." Where does that name come from, and what does it mean?

 

Last names

The Fischman part literally comes from Hungary. That's where my father's side of the family came from. In the 18th and 19th centuries, all over Central and Eastern Europe, Jews were forced by the governments under which they lived to take a surname, a "last name," for official purposes. There were several ways of inventing surnames. Some took Cohen or Levi to indicate their ancestry. Some used place names: Warshawer from Warsaw, Berliner from Berlin, etc. Some took or were given names that ended with -berg ("mountain") or  Some took the names of their occupations: Schneider ("tailor"), or Diamant ("diamond," for a jeweler). Presumably, one of my ancestors caught or (more likely) sold fish.

 

Frequently, you hear someone say something is or isn't "a Jewish name." That's too general, and as time goes on, it's more likely to be mistaken. Because of interfaith marriages, I know a Levine who's not Jewish and an O'Malley, a DiNitto, and a Tambimutu who are! Also, people in the U.S. are more likely to recognize German and Eastern European Jewish names, because that's who came here in great numbers in the 1880's-1920's, and their descendants are still numerous. 

 

But Ascoli and Tedeschi are common Jewish names from Italy. Abravanel and Cordova are common Jewish names in Spain and Spanish-speaking countries. And there are Arabic names that are typically Jewish in the countries where those Jews came from.  Be careful about your assumptions!

 

First names

Many years ago, when I was a college student, I rented an apartment off campus. One of my neighbors was an Irish woman, with the accent to match. She always called me "Mr. Fischman." One day, a piece of mail addressed to me came to her apartment instead, and of course she brought it to me. She looked at the name on the label and remarked doubtfully, "Dennis. What kind of a name is that for a boy like you?"

What my neighbor didn't know was that from one generation to the next, the process of Americanization changed the way Jews named their children.

My grandparents were the immigrant generation. They had names like Dovid Hirsch, Lillian, Wolf (usually anglicized to William, or Bill), and Yetta. To their children, they gave names that sounded Protestant to them: Melvin, Irving, Florence, Phyllis. As a result, many non-Jews stopped using these names, in a linguistic equivalent of white flight. 

In my generation, the use of names to signify Americanness continued, only the Americans my parents and their peers came into contact with tended to be from other parts of the British Isles than England. That's why there are all the Jewish Scotts, Brians, and yes, the occasional Dennis. (To be fair, two of my cousins were named David, after my grandfather Dovid Hirsch Fischman, before I was born!)

 

What's in a name? Sometimes, survival

My friend Steven Varga recently died, at the age of 88, and I miss him. But no one would have known him as "Steven Varga" when he was a young boy in Hungary. His first name was Istvan (nickname "Pisti"), and that made a natural transition to its English equivalent, Steven. 

But his last name, Weiss, was recognizable as Jewish--and in the Nazi era, that could have meant death. So, this little boy had to remember his name was not Weiss, and never respond to "Weiss." He had to recognize Varga, and only Varga--to ensure his family's survival.

This post is dedicated to Istvan Weiss/Steven Varga and his whole family (including my former bat mitzvah student Juliette Rooney-Varga, her husband Michael Rooney, and her sons, my former bar mitzvah students, whose last name is Rooney). May his memory be for a blessing. 

 

Winning the Budget Battle in Congress

 Read the message from Heather Cox Richardson to understand why the budget battle in Congress is crucial to all of us, today and for years to come. Read this message to make sense of what the House of Representatives did and didn't do on February 25, and to be encouraged.

 

Generally, I don't like military metaphors for politics. In this situation, however, it's important to see how any one battle is part of a longer war against fascism in this country. Small victories add up. Even narrow defeats can make eventual victory more likely.

 

Where do we stand today? I would point out:

 

1. The bill passed in the House of Representatives is not a U.S. government budget, not even a draft budget, but a "framework," the general picture of what a budget should look like. (Call it the concept of a budget!)

 

2. Even on that general level, yesterday "The vote was 217-215, with a single Republican and all Democrats opposed, and the outcome was in jeopardy until the gavel." One member of each party was absent. (Source: AP article by Lisa Mascaro, Kevin Freking and Matt Brown).

 

3. That means the Republicans cannot afford to lose even a couple of votes in the House throughout the rest of the long, drawn-out budget process if they are going to pass an actual bill. And when it comes to cuts that affect their own districts, some Representatives are going to balk. Some of the more ideologically populist reps may vote against massive giveaways to the rich.

 

4. Bottom line: Democrats in Congress are in a good starting position to delay or halt destructive cuts and giveaways entirely AND to demand concessions that will serve the rest of us--if they stay united and strategic.

 

So, please call your Congressperson and urge them to do just that!

 

 

“Hard pressed on my right. My center is yielding. Impossible to maneuver. Situation excellent. I am attacking.” -Ferdinand Foch

A Reading List for the Resistance

As we take a deep breath before the would-be dictator Trump and his plutocratic appointees take office in January, one way we can prepare is by reading and thinking. Here are some books I am finding helpful right now.

For some inspirational examples from the past--

The Presidents and the People: Five Leaders Who Threatened Democracy and the Citizens Who Fought to Defend It, by Cory Brettschneider. Emphasis on the words "people" and "citizens." That's us!

Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts, by Rebecca Hall, Hugo Martínez (Illustrations). Listen to Black women.

Waging a Good War: A Military History of the Civil Rights Movement, 1954-1968, by Thomas E. Ricks. It wasn't just a dream: it was strategy, training, and discipline.

For how to apply those lessons to the present-- 

This Is an Uprising: How Nonviolent Revolt Is Shaping the Twenty-First Century, by Mark and Paul Engler. How to make our long-term community organizing support the protest movements of the moment, and vice versa. Read this to be prepared for highs and lows and periods when it feels like nothing's happening and we might have wasted our time--but if we use the quiet times wisely, we come back stronger.

For some tools we can use--

Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die, by Chip and Dan Heath. Because we've got to get better at getting our message across!

I'll be adding to this list as I go along. Your suggestions would be welcome!

I also have reading lists on prison and incarceration (which more of us may face in the years ahead), and on the way people have been deprived of decent housing, and on racism, antisemitism, sexism and homophobia, and on the history of capitalism (which may be giving way to fascism in the U.S. but has always been a fertile ground for repressive actions). If any of those are your particular interest, let me know.

Give yourself time and space to learn and to think...but please, do not think that learning and thinking will be enough by themselves. The ancient rabbis posed the question, "Which is more important, thought or action?" Their answer: "Thought is more important, when it leads to action." Be ready, please, to move between the two.

Such a time as this: November 2024/ Heshvan 5785

In light of the Torah portions and the elections in the past couple of weeks, it seems to me we have three biblical models we could follow.

Some of us, like Noah, will build an ark. We will try to save our family and the animals we love.

Some of us, like Abram and Sarai, will leave the country, our birthplace and the home of our ancestors, and go to a land we hope is more promising.

But some of us, like Abraham and Sarah  (the people that Abram and Sarai became when they found their mission in the world) will open our tent doors and welcome guests. We will feed them (and when necessary, house them). We will listen to what they have to say. And when we hear that our neighbors are being destroyed, we will not remain silent but protest, even to God. Even against God. We will save what we can and who we can.

And who knows, maybe (like Esther in the book we will read on Purim), maybe we have come to our positions in the U.S. for such a time as this?

What we do, who we are, and the High Holy Days

 

Both last year and this year, in the month of Elul leading up to the High Holy Days, I have read Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg's On Repentance and Repair. At the end of 5783, I read it on my own, and this year, as we approached the close of 5784, I re-read it with a group led by Rabbi Eliana Jacobowitz at Temple B'nai Brith in Somerville. (Yes, it's worth reading and re-reading!) 

The book builds on Maimonides' teachings about teshuvah (the repentance and returning to the right path that is the focus of the High Holy Day season). Rabbi Ruttenberg stresses certain aspects of those teachings that she thinks that we, in Christian-dominated American society, may be in danger of forgetting: 

• that acknowledgment, amends, and apology by the perpetrator are the central issue--not forgiveness by the victim--and 
• that true teshuvah involves self-transformation so that if we found ourselves in the same situation again, we would not repeat our mistakes. We would act differently.

On one point, Ruttenberg (and, I think, most of us) would disagree with Maimonides. He states that if the perpetrator does true teshuvah and asks the person he has hurt to forgive him, and the victim repeatedly refuses, then the victim takes the sin on themselves. All of us in the TBB reading group recoiled at this. We are too familiar (and Ruttenberg gives examples of) cases where the harm was so deep and permanent that the sin is unforgivable. We have seen too many cases of victim-blaming (especially by men, of women they have hurt) to want to fall into that trap again.

To be fair, Maimonides is aware of such examples. It's clear he's talking about an extreme and extraordinary occurrence. Still, given our respect for his scholarship and thoughtfulness, I asked Rabbi Eliana: why does he bring it up at all? What makes it important to him to say that being unforgiving can sometimes be a sin in itself? She taught me that he is imagining a case in which the victim is now in a position of power. Refusing to forgive when the offender has truly repented can ruin their lives and their reputation, even lead them to desperation and suicide. It's that abuse of power, she explained, that motivates Maimonides to address this rare case.

I was satisfied. In Jewish learning, we do not have to agree with a conclusion in order to ask how the person stating it arrived at that conclusion, and to learn something from the person with whom we disagree. (See the ongoing debates between the schools of Hillel and Shammai.) The abuse of power is an issue I have been paying attention to for at least fifty years, and I honor Maimonides for being sensitive to it, even if I cannot go where we goes with that train of thought.

Teshuvah, virtue, love

I was reminded of this discussion just today, when I listened to Rabbi Shai Held discuss Maimonides on teshuvah, but with a different emphasis. Rabbi Held wants us to hear Maimonides--and, I think, God!--speaking to us in two different voices at the same time. He calls them the prophetic voice and the pastoral voice. The prophetic voice wants us to pay attention to how far we are from acting righteously all the time. The pastoral voice wants us to be encouraged to believe that we can and will do better.

Not only do, but be. Rabbi Held thinks of Maimonides as the principal Jewish advocate of virtue ethics, the idea that we want not only to do the right things, but for the right reasons, in the right spirit. (A Jewish school of thought that sounds a lot like virtue ethics is mussar.)  

He puts repentance and repair in the context of our relationship with God, which as he says in his recent book that I am also perusing this month of Elul is about love. Following God's commandments is important, but so is recognizing God's love for us and trying to live up to it--in part, by how we treat other people.

Held reminds us that if teshuvah is about trying to correct our actions and also transform ourselves, the High Holy Days are only the beginning of the process. Having a new beginning every year is vital, but every single day, we should be engaged in self-examination, acknowledgment of where we have gone wrong, making things right with people and with God, and changing our lives. It's a tall order, but it's a Jewish way to live.

Shanah tovah to all my readers, and if I have injured you in the past year, or week, or day, I hope you will lovingly bring it to my attention so I can do better by you, starting now.