What's In A Name?

When I was in third grade, living in Bellevue, Washington, my parents had signed me up for little league baseball. It was my first time playing baseball. Ever. On the first day of practice, we all huddle together and do the "What's your name?" game. But by the time we finished, we all realized there was going to be some confusion. We had four "Aaron's" on our team. Well, my ingenious 8–year old brain came up with a revelational idea. To make things easier, I would go by a different name. For reference, my parents at home didn't typically use my first name; they called me "Ky," a shortened version of my middle name, "Kyle" – a completely viable option. But instead, I had something different in mind. I would go by the name "Bob." Yes, "Bob." Now, if you're wondering why I chose "Bob," I have not the first clue. Seriously, zero idea.  

Our first game was amazing. I was thrilled. My parents were in the stands, and I was up to bat for the very first time. Swing and a miss. They threw again. Swing and a miss. Strike two. They pitched, and I knocked the ball clear into right field. I was elated. I started sprinting after first base, as all the parents stood up to cheer: "Run, Bob! Way to go, Bob! Good job, Bob!" – And as my parents stood up to join in, they were slightly perplexed: "Who the heck is Bob?" You see…what I had forgotten to do is tell my parents that I had changed my Baseball Alias. To say they were confused would be an understatement; that is until one of the parents had filled them in. 

The title of our parsha this week is called Shemot, meaning “names,” which begins the Book of Exodus. And as we are all aware, names can make or break everything in life. As Jews, the names in the Torah and Talmud are precious to us. They carry the weight of family history, struggle, persecution, and travails. The personal names we use for others can validate or affirm the identity of another. As author Maria Konnikova writes, “We see a name, implicitly associate different characteristics with it, and use that association, however unknowingly, to make unrelated judgments…[Meaning,] the effects of name-signaling — what names say about ethnicity, religion, social sphere, and socioeconomic background” is immense [1]. They can go so far as to confirm our very existence, not only in the eyes of our peers but in the eyes of God. The Book of Exodus begins with the following: 

“These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob. [2]”

“Rashi points out [here] that when the Jewish people were compared by God as ‘numerous as the stars,’ God meant that these stars are not just numbers but each one has a name…[That] in spite of becoming numerous, the Jewish people never were just numbers, but each one having a name ensured that [they] would be treated on an individual basis by God.” [3] 

What this verse is really saying is that while the Jewish people are plentiful, we still retain individuality. Distinction. Uniqueness. That really we're not just a number like we are at the DMV, but that we have a name. A place. That we are recognized under the auspices of God. And while that sentiment rings true for all of us – wanting to be seen and heard in our own unique voice – I have a slightly different take on names... 

Because as much emphasis we put on names – remembering them, pronouncing them correctly, and being known by them – Personally, I think we’re too obsessed. I don't believe they are as significant as we make them out to be. The reality is, that our uniqueness isn’t in our names. It’s in who we are. How we are known. Which isn’t always by our names.

Because often, there are a plethora of other impressionable items we do remember about someone other than their name. Their face. Laugh. Smile. Questions. Their insights. Reactions. Demeanor. Your interactions together. And I promise this isn’t just a diatribe about my inability to remember names. No, I truly believe that names are just the tip of the existential iceberg. Because for me – and maybe it’s just me – my name isn’t the most memorable thing about me. It actually has very little to do with me. 

Just this past year my father informed me after thirty–two years, I have a Hebrew middle name. I’m not just “Aharon,” I’m “Aharon Ephraim.” Meaning, the smicha (ordination certificate) that hangs in my office, right now, isn’t accurate! But that’s okay! Because I’m still a rabbi. Aaron. Ephriam. Bob. They’re all still me. I was the one who hit my first baseball. I was the one was ordained…

One of my favorite quotes, attributed to Carol Buchner, Maya Angelou, and many others –  again, names aren’t the emphasis here – goes something like this: “They may forget what you said — but they will never forget how you made them feel.” I love this sentiment because it vocalizes what happens so regularly in our lives – not recalling the semantics and details, but remembering and appreciating the true, unadulterated essence of another human. As Shakespeare writes, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Because how many times do we come across extraordinary people in life, whose names we will never know, but affected our lives so profoundly? The stranger who saw your passport fall out of your jacket and returned it in. The child whose smile made a terrible day more bearable. The retail associate who helped you pick out the perfect outfit. The elderly man who struck up a conversation in line, making you feel noticed. A bartender who saw something being slipped into your drink, and saved you from the worst night of your life.

Just because you don’t remember a name – which happens to all of us at some point or another – doesn’t remove that person from the experience you had. A name doesn’t disconnect you from the human that’s standing right in front of you. Because knowing someone’s name isn’t the same as knowing them. 

With a few clicks of a keyboard, we can plug a name into my phone and pull up someone's Facebook timeline, Instagram feed, or website. But what their name and posts don’t give us, is give me knowledge of them. Which is exactly the reason why we have in-person interviews and go on first dates. Because we can read all about someone. You can google them. Search them. But it doesn’t give you them. It doesn’t give you their full story - the complete experience of that human. Right after we begin Exodus, we are given the following: 

“A new king arose over Egypt who did not know (יָדַע) Joseph. [4]”

What’s significant about this verse is one Hebrew word יָדַע meaning “To know.” It also means, “To know by experience, to perceive, to find out and discern - to recognize.” As our Sages explain, “There can be no question that in the annals of Egyptian history the 80-year reign of Joseph and his legislation saving Egypt from the famine was duly recorded.” Meaning, it’s impossible that this new King wouldn’t have heard about Joseph! He was kind of a big deal. In the Talmud, we are told that this phrase, “Who did not know Joseph” (Exodus 1:8), means that he was like someone who did not know him at all.” [5] 

Which makes sense. Because that King didn’t know Joseph. This new king didn’t observe and recognize the full story of Joseph: His dream interpretations which saved Egypt from starvation, the welcoming of his family into the Egyptian kingdom, the altercations with Potiphar, the years he spent in jail, and his eventual claim to a position of leadership. In Shemot, the book of Exodus, a word that literally means names, Joseph’s name literally meant absolutely nothing! Joseph’s name was void of the prestige it had once carried. It didn’t carry with it the weight of knowledge about Joseph.

What I don’t want anyone to walk away with is that names aren’t important. Or worse. That we shouldn’t care to remember someone’s name. But rather, our names don’t define us. And the fact that we don’t always have the option of choosing our names means that we are left with the choice of choosing how we will be known. How we will be recognized. How we will be seen in our unique shades of character. This choice is ours to make. My message is simple: Care less about what people call you, and care more about how you want to be known. 

[1] “Why Your Name Matters” By Maria Konnikova December 19, 2013
[2] Exodus 1:1 
[3] Chizkuni, Exodus 1:1:1
[4] Exodus 1:8
[5] Sforno on Exodus 1:8