Of all the crowns of glory that humans can achieve, there’s one that stands supreme: kesser shem tov

“She… gave birth to a son, and she said, ‘This time my husband will become attached to me, for I have borne him three sons.’ Therefore, he named him Levi.” (Bereishis 29:34)

“Who am I?”

This is the most powerful question that a person ever asks himself. For many of us, there are no easy answers as we’re uncertain of our own identities.

An important component in the formulation of an answer to “Who am I?” is the answer to another question, “What’s in a name?”

I’d like to suggest that our sense of personal identity is largely determined by the names we’ve been given. Our names were chosen for us because they have a certain meaning to those who named us, and a message about whom they expected us to become. Generally, a person knows that his name was not randomly chosen, and to a greater extent than we realize, our self-concepts are shaped by our names. (Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb, OU Torah)

B’chasdei Hashem we recently were zocheh to a new granddaughter. After leaving the hospital, my daughter moved in with us, and that first Friday night the fun began with the million-dollar question: What were the proud parents going to name this bubah?

In this week’s parshah, 11 newborns are given names by Leah and Rochel. Each name is carefully crafted by these women and is designed, not only to reflect the emotions of the moment, but to shape and direct the destinies of each of these children.

Leah gives her third son the name Levi, which means “connected,” or “attached.” This reflects her confidence that with the birth of a third son, her husband, Yaakov, will become more attached to her. But it’s also a message to baby Levi that he will grow up and his progeny will be “attached” to the Al-mighty as the shevet of Kohanim and Leviim.

All the Peritzman aunts and uncles (i.e., my kids) threw their suggestions into the ring. The seudah progressed but the topic was still not exhausted; instead, the suggestions became increasingly wild.

“Penina Perel Puah!”

“Chaval her last name isn’t Peritzman; that would go well together.”

“Name her Minchah!” decided Yitzi. “It has a kametz-hei so it’s a girls’ name.”

“Sufganiyah!” shouted Shloime.

“Do you have any Sephardi roots?” demanded Avi of my son-in-law. “I think you should name her after Mommy.”

“How come no one names after Shimshon’s mother?” I joined the fray. “She was a huge tzadeikes and a malach spoke with her. Her name was… Tzlelponis!”

In more recent times, the prevalent custom is to name a child for a deceased ancestor or revered personage. The child who carries such a name surely internalizes the message that he should reflect some of the values of that ancestor.

I know for whom I was named. He was my great-grandfather, Tzvi Hersh Kriegel. As a child, I learned much about him from his widow, my great-grandmother. I visit his grave more frequently as time goes on. And I both consciously and unconsciously model myself after him. When I ask myself, “Who am I?” a significant part of my answer relates back to his name that was bequeathed to me.

Our Sages say we each have three names: First is obviously the name given at birth. But there’s also the name that we earn by our own deeds, part of the answer we provide to the question, “Who am I?”

And finally, there’s a name that others give us, the reputation that we deserve. It’s that name Shlomo discusses in Koheles when saying, “A good name is better than fragrant oil.” And it’s that name which the Mishnah in Avos has in mind when it concludes that of all the crowns of glory that humans can achieve, there’s one that stands supreme: kesser shem tov.

The names were coming fast and furious, and the ones suggesting them found them hysterical, though the rest of us were less amused. Throughout it all, my daughter and son-in-law sat serene. The baby would only be named in shul the next day, but they were holding their secret, secure, knowing that no matter what they named her, we were going to love her. (After all, doesn’t everyone love a sufganiyah?)

I’m not going to share with you what the actual name is, as my granddaughter deserves her privacy as she starts her new life, forging a path unique to her. I’ll just give you a hint: It’s not Tzlelponis.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 921)