blogs/rabbi-huberman

About a month ago, I watched a compelling PBS documentary about one of baseball’s greatest players, Roberto Clemente.

 In many ways, Clemente was the Hispanic parallel to Jackie Robinson. Robinson, of course, was the first African American major league baseball player, while Clemente, who hailed from Puerto Rico, served as a role model for young Spanish-speaking players across the country and in the Caribbean.

 Eventually, Clemente broke into the Majors with the Pittsburgh Pirates but was afforded that opportunity on one condition—that he change his name to Bobby.

 The idea incensed Clemente—he was Roberto, not Bobby. But ultimately he agreed. As biographers would later note, Clemente often played with a “chip on his shoulder.”

He perpetually searched for validation, as he and his image were forced to reflect someone he was not. And it all began with the way others referred to him.

The idea of names comes up in this week’s Torah portion: We are introduced to two characters who would eventually become Judaism’s first couple.

As this week’s parashah opens, God speaks to Abram whose name translated to “exalted father.” His partner Sarai’s name meant “my princess.”

About 4,000 years ago, Abram and Sarai were living the good life in Haran, located north of today’s Tehran. The couple was wealthy and comfortable. They dwelt in a very large tent surrounded by sheep, cattle and the luxuries of their time.

But God had other plans for them: God speaks to Abram saying: Lech Lecha—”Go forth from your native land…to the land that I will show you.” And that land was Canaan, later to be known as Israel. God’s commandment in this week’s Torah portion forms the basis of Judaism’s eternal claim to the Holy Land.

At first, Abram is unenthusiastic. God initially offers a blessing, but Abram does not respond. But then God promises that if Abram and Sarai obey, “I will make your name great.” Soon after, Abram and Sarai agree, packing up their possessions and relocating to Canaan. The story of Lech Lecha—Go Forth—is not that far removed from today.

How many times in our lives have we felt comfortable in our jobs, relationships, where we live, then decide to shake things up—challenge our status quo—and travel to some new physical or spiritual space?

Many of our parents and grandparents did that. Who among us is not descended only a few generations back to Europe or the Middle East?

For many years, as I’ve studied the phrase, “making your name great,” my thoughts have centered on the connection between a “great name” and respect. Each of us wants to be welcomed and respected as we interact with others.

But that’s not God’s call. God does not control someone’s good name—we must earn it. Enter Rashi (1040-1105), Judaism’s most respected commentator, who interprets the sentence quite literally.

Rashi saw the Biblical phrase as a promise to alter the actual spelling and sound of Abram and Sarai’s name—adding the H sound—the sound connected with God’s name. And thus, we are reintroduced to the couple as Abraham and Sarah.

From there, the life of Judaism’s first couple radically changes. God visits their camp. Abraham serves as a peace maker in a local conflict. When Abraham argues with God, God considers his position. And eventually, later in life, a son, Isaac, is born to Abraham and Sarah.

Can this be possible? Can the addition of one letter change the character of who we are and our fate? There may be something to this.

As children, how many of us endured derogatory nicknames? How did that affect us? I remember one teacher calling me by a disparaging term in front of my elementary school classmates, and for many years, that tempered my sense of self-worth.

Over the centuries, Jews have been called so many hurtful and offensive names—and add to that list a plethora of degrading terms for African Americans, Hispanic Americans and Asian Americans.

Young girls in particular are today bullied online based on appearance or untrue allegations regarding their morality. The same holds for many within the LGTBQ+ community.

A few years ago, members of my Jewish elementary school class began reconnecting. During our many years together, at least two of our classmates were assigned nicknames that were less-than-kind. 

Michael was a classmate who lived some distance from the school and did not completely fit in

Michael had a Jewish sounding last name which began with the letters D-U-N-S. He was known as “dunce.”

Michael never made it to the top of the honor role, nor did a team routinely pick him first for a game of soccer during recess. Recently, many years later, one of our classmates reached out to one of our affected students, and that apology was graciously accepted.

We were just kids then, but I always wondered whether how these students were referred to—in jest or in all seriousness—affected their self-esteem. 

Names do mean something. According to Rashi, in the case of Abraham and Sarah, when God said, “I will add a letter to your name,” the fate of Judaism’s first couple radically changed.

And so, this week—in our never-ending quest to identify new meanings to ancient texts, I thought about Roberto Clemente and Michael, and the power of a name.

Either now or in your past, have you ever been called by a name that affected you?

As for the first couple of Judaism, adding one letter that contained the breath of God proved to be the turning point of their life. And so, Abram became Abraham—meaning Father of Nations, and Sarai became Sarah, princess of multitudes.

Perhaps there is really nothing contained in our names. But I, for one, take great pride when I am referred to as Zaidie, Dad, husband, brother, son, friend, or Yisrael—my Hebrew name. I feel elevated.

Rashi said that names do matter—a lesson so many could learn from today. There are many assets we can acquire in a lifetime, but the most important is a Shem Tov—a good name.

Indeed, over time our souls may depart this earth, but a good name will endure forever.

Shabbat shalom v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman