Vayishlach

It was the early 1980’s and Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. I had resisted the earliest years of the fad, but finally decided to indulge my young toddler daughter (or was it myself) in an addition to our playtime family. I remember mulling over the shelves of dolls for a long time, choosing one whose name, which was printed on the pretend birth certificate, would be perfect. We settled on a cute doll names Cedric, but my daughter insisted on calling him Eric. Then, when I was expecting my second child in 1987, we wanted a name that started with an “E” after my mom, Elsbeth, who had died in 1984. We settled on the name, Eric, but felt obligated to ask our daughter whether she minded having a duplicate Eric in the family. She was fine with our name choice, although I’m not sure what I would have done if she had objected. And so, we gave birth to Eric in May of that year.

Choosing a name for a child is a task that most parents take seriously, reflecting that the character of one being remembered with a name (in the case of my mother) will carry to the next generation, or perhaps, will project the destiny of one being tagged with a word of meaning.

In Parashat Vayishlach, patriarch Jacob is preparing to reunite with his brother Esau. Setting up his troops and gifts in anticipation of how he might be met by a possible angry brother, he sends them on ahead while he remains in camp. At night he is left alone, and a “man” wrestles with him until dawn. While Jacob suffers an injury to his hip, he prevails over the being. He asks the other for a blessing, and is told, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed.” This moment is a pinnacle in Jacob’s life, leaving the name that had negative associations and becoming the patriarch of the nation named Yisrael. Jacob recognizes the interaction of human and divine in this encounter. He names the place Peniel, as he says: “I have seen a divine being face to face, yet my life has been preserved.” That name anchors the importance of the encounter, and ensures that he remembers its significance throughout his life.

A change in names is not uncommon in Judaism. In the Gemara, the second part of the Talmud, we read: “Four things annul the decree that seals a person’s fate; namely, alms, prayer, change of name and change of deeds.” Traditionally, if a patient is sick with a serious illness, his or her name may be changed - Chayim, Shalom, Rephael, Azriel, or Chanah, Sarah, or Yocheved, serving as an omen that they will recover from their illness. A sinner who returns and does teshuvah or repentance, should have his name changed. And if someone has been married to his wife for ten years, and she has failed to produce a child - some say that her name should be changed, and that this will help her to conceive.

Earlier in the Torah, we read that Avram and Sarai had a name change to Avraham and Sarah. The Hebrew letter v (hay) was added to their names, a letter that signifies the presence of God. Their new names also represent their new roles. As such, they now needed to behave in order to live up to their identified labels.

As a child, I asked why I was named Miriam. I was told that my parents wanted a name that could not be shortened into a nickname … So much for Mimi, Mir, and Mo. My sister, Linda, could also be called Lin or Lindy. While my Hebrew name was never a question since it has Biblical origins, I did not have a Hebrew middle name for my English middle name, Sue. So I gave myself the Hebrew middle name of Shoshana, which means lily or rose. My sister’s middle name, Olivia, was one that she never liked, so she never took a Hebrew middle name. Years after my parents had died, I began to think about our names. While our first names had randomly been chosen, the realization came to me that the first initials of our middle names were anything but random. My maternal grandfather’s name was Salomon and my paternal grandmother’s name was Ottilie. Those initials had to be instrumental in the choosing of our middle names.

Consider the name or names by which you are called. How do their meanings define you? How do they fulfill your life’s destiny? The poet Zelda reflected on the power of our names in her 1985 poem:

Every man has a name
Given him by God
And given by his father and his mother
Every man has a name
Given him by his stature and his way of smiling,
And given him by his clothes.
Every man has a name
Given him by the mountains
And given him by his walls
Every man has a name
Given him by the planets
And given him by his neighbors
Every man has a name
Given him by his sins
And given him by his longing
Every man has a name given him by those who hate him
And given him by his love
Every man has a name
Given him by his holidays
And given him by his handiwork
Every man has a name
Given him by the seasons of the year
And given him by his blindness
Every man has a name
Given him by the sea
And given him
By his death.

May we live up to the name given to us throughout our lives, whether by others or ourselves. May it imbue us with a sense of holiness to become partners in the work of creation. And may we, like our patriarch Jacob, prevail over struggles with those around us as well as with that which is beyond us.  Shabbat shalom.