Finding the Right Name Can Be Divine

When Charlotte and Richard Greenberg of Westlake Village sought a Jewish name for their first child, they consulted their family, and--with apologies to Gertrude Stein--this Rose is a Rose is a Rose.

Legally, 2-month-old Rose is Stephanie Lauren Greenberg, but on religious occasions throughout her life, Stephanie will be addressed as Vered (Hebrew for Rose) Leah (for Lauren) bat (daughter of) Rachmiel (her father’s Jewish name) Gabriellah (her mother’s Jewish name).

Quite a mouthful for someone still looking forward to baby talk.

Like the Catholic tradition of choosing a saint’s name at confirmation, Jews traditionally choose a separate religious moniker for newborns in a bris (covenant) ceremony. The name can be Hebrew, Aramaic, even Yiddish. Some names are passed down in families through many generations.

Stephanie’s parents hope she fulfills her Jewish name: Rose means beautiful. A flower. She also has two great-grandmothers and an aunt named Rose.

Names that have a divine meaning have been serious business for millenniums, said Father Edward Owens of St. John’s Catholic Seminary in Camarillo.

“In Judeo-Christian culture, names traditionally expressed the essence of a person,” Owens said. “The hope is that the person will embody the meaning of a name as he grows.”

Even the ancient Egyptians had their own take on the custom. When a royal baby arrived, the pharaoh would announce a decoy, “public” name to the pyramid-building masses. The child’s real name was a closely guarded family secret.

“They believed names had power,” Owens said. “Because of incantations, someone could plug the child’s name into a curse and lay harm on them.”

Biblically, the custom has its origin in Genesis, in which Leah chose the name Judah for her son, said Rabbi Shimon Paskow of Temple Etz Chaim in Thousand Oaks.

“Judah means, ‘to give thanks,’ ” Paskow said. “In Hebrew, the word for ‘thank you’ is related to the word Yehovah [a name for God]. From Yehovah you have Judah, from Judah you get Jew.”

Paskow says discussing a name’s etymology and ancestry essentially fulfills the name’s purpose.

“The tradition is to keep alive the memory,” he said. “Life is ephemeral. We look for something eternal, so you name [children after] your ancestors.”

Changing a name usually implies a radical life change.

Owens said the Old Testament patriarch Abram was renamed Abraham in honor of his covenant with God. In the New Testament, Saul of Tarsus became Paul of just-about-everywhere after his conversion. Today, monks take a new name along with their holy vows.

“To change someone’s name represented a new authority over you,” Owens said. “You went into a religious order as George Johnson and now you’re Brother Sebastian. You have a new religious life.”

He said the modern trend of choosing a name purely because it is popular or sonorous is regrettable.

“We’ve kind of lost the sense of one’s name connected to one’s religious identity,” he said. “The question for today is to look at names and retrieve the root meaning. A lot of African Americans are returning to that today, picking a name that would bespeak a quality in an African tongue.”

Rabbi Paskow said many Jews nearly forget their Jewish names through disuse, then in old age come to appreciate the sense of connection to family and faith the names bring.

One 85-year-old man at Paskow’s synagogue survived the Holocaust and promised himself to someday confer a particular name on a descendant. His great-granddaughter was born last year.

“He chose this name Ami Chai,” Paskow said. “Chai means ‘life’ and Ami means ‘my people.’ This is a new life, and that’s the name he chose.”