21 Dec SHABBOS IS IN THE AIR: SHEMOS: WHAT’S YOUR NAME?
“V’eileh Shemos Bnei Yisroel, These are the names of Bnei Yisroel.”
(Shemos 1:1)
There is a well-known Midrash which teaches that the Jewish people merited to be redeemed from Egypt because they retained their names, their language and their way of dress.
Upon naming a child, a parent is blessed with the gift of prophesy. Though not always recognized at first, there is a name-soul connection. In fact, the middle two letters of the Hebrew word neshamah, are shin and mem, which together spell the word sheim, name. The name is the essence of the neshamah. One’s name is reflective of his/her life mission.
Sefer Shemos introduces us to Amram and Yocheved, parents of Aaron, Miriam and Moshe. All three children grew to be leaders of Am Yisroel. Their teachings and accomplishments are still studied and remembered. Even now, thousands of years later, we strive to emulate their ways, their deeds and their leadership qualities.
Under the best of circumstances, raising children is challenging. We must ask, how did Amram and Yocheved raise three great children during those turbulent times in Egypt. Children who grew to be bastions of faith and kindness.
Perhaps the answer can be found in their names.
Amram, from the two Hebrew words, Am-nation, Rom-exalted. An exalted nation.
Yocheved, in the Hebrew language begins with the letter “yud”. The yud signifies HaShem’s name. It is followed by the letters vov, chof, bais and dalet, the same letters which comprise the word kovod, honor. To give honor to HaShem.
As parents, Amram and Yocheved emphasized to their children what it meant to be part of an Am-Rom, to be representatives of a dignified and illustrious people. To know that being chosen comes with a responsibility to bring kindness, blessing and healing to the world. To make it a better place. To be a living Kiddush HaShem, sanctifying HaShem’s name. To live their lives with emunah and bitachon, faith and trust in HaShem.
Aaron, Miriam, and Moshe’s names are also very telling about their unique missions in life.
Though Moshe was named Tuvia at birth, he is called Moshe, the name given to him by Basya, Pharaoh’s daughter, when she rescued him from the river. Using the name Moshe always reminded him, and should remind us, of the importance of living with “an attitude of gratitude.”
Moshe means “he who draws out.” Within his very name is his life story. The Midrash explains that HaShem caused Moshe to be drawn out of the water, so that in the future, he would be able to save others
Rashi notes that Miriam is a contraction of the Hebrew words mar-bitter and yom-day. Miriam was born during a very difficult and painful time for the Jewish people. At the same time, within her name is an allusion to the Hebrew word mered-rebellion. Miriam’s positive spirit teaches that we all have the power to “rebel”, to stand up and rise above whatever adversity and challenges life confronts us with.
Aaron has within his name the words ohr-light and har-mountain. As the first Kohein Gadol, Aharon brought light and illumination to the Jewish people, giving them strength to climb the mountains of life.
Amram and Yocheved raised their children to live the meaning that their names conveyed.
To my parents, Jewish names were always important. They were a connection to past generations. A continuation of the family’s lineage.
I was named Chaya Sora, after my paternal grandmother who perished in the Holocaust. Each of my siblings, Yisroel, Slova Chana and Osher Anshil, likewise carry the names of our grandparents. Our names are links to the past, affirming that the chain isn’t broken. With our names, comes the obligation to preserve their legacy.
I grew up in suburban Long Island, at a time when religious communities were few and far between. I was the lone “Chaya Sora” amongst many Sallys and Staceys, Jills and Joanies.
My father would tell me about his mother. How her children were her life. How she loved and cared for them. That inculcated in me – her namesake – a tremendous source of pride.
I will never forget the story my father shared with me about his older brother, Yosef Dov z”l. Yosef Dov was taken by the Germans before the rest of the family was deported. From that day on, my grandmother, Chaya Sora, wouldn’t sleep in her bed at night, but sat in a chair all night long. She would say “How can I lay down when my Yosef Dov isn’t here?”
A mother’s love. A mother’s heartache.
My father lost all his siblings, but one, in the Holocaust. My children Yosef Dov, Rivkie, and Nechama Fradel carry the names of three of his siblings. My daughter Tziri, carries the name of my husband’s grandmother. The links remain.
Boruch HaShem, today, I have my own grandchildren, two of whom are named after my parents, Meshulem and Esther. Once again, the chain continues.
Encinitas, California. A totally secular vacation community, where my mother was lecturing. She broke her hip and I flew out to be with her. A young doctor entered the hospital room. My mother asked him his name, to which he replied “Dr. Shapiro”. Once again, the Rebbetzin asked his name. “Dr. Shapiro” he replied, this time in a louder tone, thinking that perhaps my mother hadn’t heard him.
The Rebbetzin, a”h heard him very well, but had her own intentions. This time, my mother asked “What’s your real name?” He replied “Bruce Shapiro”, and pointed to his nameplate.
The Rebbetzin was never one to give up, even amidst pain.
“Surely, you had a bubby, a zaidy. What did they call you?”
“Boruchel…. Boruchel”, he said wistfully. “They called me Boruchel.”
“Boruchel, do you have any children?” A smiled spread across his face. “I have two adorable little girls.” He pulled out his phone and shared pictures of them.
After admiring them, my mother got to her point.
“What’s a Boruchel doing in Encinitas? Who will teach your children about HaShem, their Torah, their heritage? How will they understand that they have a G-d given mission in this world?”
The kind doctor stayed and stayed. My mother put her pain aside, and he put his phone on silent. The doctor returned day after day. He helped my mother with her hip, and the Rebbetzin gave him a daily infusion of Torah.
From Egypt to Encinitas, a Jew must always remember his real name … his true identity.
Shabbat Shalom!