Join the Sisters (who share the name Stark, which means strong!) as we look at some of the names we’ve encountered

"What’s in a name?” William Shakespeare famously asks. He answers his own question: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Well, Bill, that may or may not be true in the botanical world, but for human beings, it’s just plain wrong.

Names matter.

Look at Tanach, where names from A to Z (Avraham to Zechariah, for example) are significant. In Sefer Shmuel, Avigayil states it clearly. Describing her husband, Naval, she says, k’shmo ken hu, he is like his name. In our everyday lives, we know that names can connect us to the past, can impact on how we see ourselves, and can affect how others see us.

Join the Sisters (who share the name Stark, which means strong!) as we look at some of the names we’ve encountered: the name of a child, the name of a “nameless” stranger, and the name of a grandfather whose name lives on in us.

Emmy Leah recalls... Naming Racheli

We’re told that parents enjoy some level of ruach hakodesh when they name a child.

But when naming a child covers two countries, a makom kadosh, nine flights of stairs, a bomb shelter, a tzaddik’s brachah, a trip to the Kosel, and a view of Har Hazeisim, well, that’s ruach hakodesh intensified….

Rochester, NY, mid-1990

We were parents of a son and three daughters and baruch Hashem expecting another child. For the first time, we had no family names to give. Until it hit me: None of our girls bore the name of any of our Imahos. If it was a girl, how about naming Girl Number Four for one of the Four Foremothers?

Great wordplay, said my husband, but… which foremother? Obviously, Leah wouldn’t work. So if we needed to take the well-worn pink stretchies and hand-me-down pink baby blankets out of storage, would we be cuddling Sarah, Rivkah, or Rachel?

Beit Lechem, 11 Cheshvan, 1990

Almost miraculously, our family came for a year in Israel. (For details, read previous Schmoozes.) One day in Cheshvan, I found myself at Kever Rochel, on Rochel Imeinu’s yahrtzeit.

Though the yahrtzeit wasn’t as well-known as today, when tens of thousands crowd the small area, Kever Rochel was still packed. So packed, that even though I’m Brooklyn born-and-bred and expert at navigating crowds, I decided that since I was in my sixth month, I’d stand back and not push my way to the tziyun itself.

Suddenly, an ancient-looking savta grabbed my hand. She shouted something to the crowd in fast, and to me, incomprehensible, Hebrew, and they cleared a path for me. Standing next to the blue velvet paroches, I felt like I’d passed through a mini-Kri’as Yam Suf.

At that moment, through my tefillos and my tears, I knew my child would be a daughter — a daughter who would be named for Rochel Imeinu.