What’s in a Name?
| December 9, 2025True Tales from the Corners of Our World
The Background
I met Rabbi Moshe Ginz years ago, when he moved to Ramat Beit Shemesh from Canada. He recently shared the following story that brings home the incredible power of roots.
W
hen I was a young teen living in Eretz Yisrael, my father wanted me to attend a yeshivah ketanah, specifically Yeshivas HaDarom, located in the city of Rechovot — yet I had no interest in doing so. I wanted to become a lawyer, which meant I needed to attend a regular frum high school (not a yeshivah).
Yeshivas HaDarom was a good yeshivah, with a solid name. Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach had been a rebbi there, as had Rav Shneuer Kotler before returning to America. Other prominent members of staff included Rav Yehoshua Levinthal who taught Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel in Chicago. Clearly, it was the kind of yeshivah where a bochur could shteig in learning if he was so inclined.
There was one problem: I was not so inclined.
But it wasn’t up to me. I was sent for a test, whether I wanted to go there or not, which left me one recourse — to hope I wouldn’t be accepted. And since I had never been into learning and didn’t know much Gemara, I was fairly confident that the person giving the farher would spend five minutes with me and then tell me that while I seemed like a nice enough boy, I wasn’t cut out for the yeshivah.
It almost worked out. At the end of the farher, the rebbi looked me in the eye and said, “I am sorry to inform you, I cannot accept you to the yeshivah.”
This was very good news for me. I rose from my seat, shook his hand, and prepared to leave the office. I was almost out of the room when I heard the rebbi call out.
“Tell me, what is your name again?”
I turned around and replied, “Moshe Ginz.”
He was taken aback.
“Moshe Ginz, the father of Rav Akiva Eiger?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I am ben achar ben from Rav Akiva Eiger and his father Reb Moshe.”
His next words shocked me.
“I changed my mind. You are accepted to the yeshivah. With a name like that, there’s no way I can possibly turn you away.”
I wasn’t happy about this development. Sure, I knew I was descended from a long line of chashuve rabbanim, but I had never paid much attention to it. Yet now, I was being forced to go to yeshivah ketanah by virtue of my family’s yichus — and despite the fact that I really didn’t want to go.
When I came home, I told my father that I had been accepted to the yeshivah, not because I deserved it, but only because of my name. That was enough for my father, and he let me know that I was going to Rechovot, and I knew I had no choice but to go, whether I liked it or not.
After a relatively short amount of time in the yeshivah, I sat with my father and said, “I don’t understand anything the rebbi is talking about in shiur. I feel like I’m wasting my time. Please let me move to a regular religious high school in Tel Aviv.”
My father wasn’t going to force me to spend the next couple of years in a place I really didn’t want to be, and he agreed.
“You gave it a fair shot,” he said. “You can go where you want.”
I transferred to a regular high school in Tel Aviv and settled in to my new life, attending classes, taking tests, and making friends. It was everything I had dreamed of, and I knew it would help me achieve my goal of becoming a lawyer, but I wasn’t happy. For some reason, I kept thinking about the Yeshivas HaDarom beis medrash. I missed the kol Torah, the roar of hundreds of boys swimming through the sea of Gemara. After a month at regular high school, I informed my father that I wanted to return to the yeshivah.
“After being away from the yeshivah, I suddenly understand what a special place it is,” I explained.
I returned to Yeshivas HaDarom in a very different state of mind. The first time, I went because my father forced me to go and because my name was Moshe Ginz. Now, I was there because I felt like it was the right place for me — kind of like the way Klal Yisrael accepted the Torah for the second time in the days of Purim, but this time from love.
One day, I was sitting in shiur, listening to my rebbi explain the Gemara, and I raised my hand.
“What we’re saying now doesn’t fit with what the pshat from a couple days before,” I questioned.
My rebbi was very excited.
“Boys,” he said, “did you hear Moshe’s question? He just asked Rav Akiva Eiger’s question!”
For the next 20 minutes, the class debated the matter, and then a thought occurred to me and I raised my hand again. When the rebbi called on me, I explained that I had realized why the contradiction really wasn’t one after all.
When I was done, my rebbi looked even more excited than before.
“Moshe just gave us Rav Akiva Eiger’s answer!” he exclaimed.
That was the moment I realized that I had the potential to learn Torah.
After shiur, I approached my rebbi and told him I needed help to grow in my learning. I also told him I was a descendant of Rav Akiva Eiger. My rebbi was more than happy to help and he arranged for me to learn with an older bochur from the yeshivah gedolah.
Looking back, the rebbi who tested me made the right call when he decided to accept me to the yeshivah even though I barely knew how to learn. There’s an idea in the Gemara that “Torah chozeres al ha’achsanya shelah,” the Torah returns to its original lodging place or host.
In my case, the host was Rav Akiva Eiger and his father and sons. But the truth is, so many of us come from truly special Yidden who were moser nefesh to learn Torah. And since this is the case, there is a very good chance that the moment you sit down and start learning for real, the Torah is going to recognize where you come from — and happily return to your side.
I know what I’m talking about. After all, that’s exactly what happened to me.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1090)
Oops! We could not locate your form.
RELATED CONTENT
“The chassan and kallah are waiting outside. Let me know when you’re ready!”
Getting into a taxi is like sticking your hand into a box of chocolates
“The only reason I’m able to do the things I do today was because of that solo”
