A Jewish Namesake

It’s terrible to feel like you don’t stand out. Like you could fall in to chasm of Jewish people at shul and never be identified because your parents thought it was beautiful to make your name sit amongst many. It’s the way we work as a people. A baby boy clearly has a chance of being named Josh, Ari, Dan, Issac, Jacob, David or Matthew. A baby girl also has a risk of commonality: Rivka, Leah, Sara, Rachel or Miriam. Some of us have been blessed by getting both a first and a middle name that are common, almost stripping us of our individuality at the core.

For years my mother bragged that she had given me a very Jewish name. She said she wanted everyone to know with a name like Rachel Sara that I would be a strong woman. At shul she could yell my name and thought it was a sheer delight when 20 other girls would turn their head to a thick Brooklyn accent yelling for her daughter. Little did she ever know she would have to direct her voice to the other Joshes and Davids of the world because that’s where I was, playing football during breaks at shul.

Everywhere I went someone had my name. It made me feel like I was swimming in a world of Rachels and I had nothing special in my name to offer. I met a Merav once and nearly wept at the fact she had such a different name than most. Even dating got awkward since I have had a fair share of dates with Davids and Daniels. Speaking to my friends, we would have to name them attributes of their character, to distinguish one from the other.

As I got older there were so many Rachels at one particular shabbos table that I had to become “Schiff”. Now I not only had a first name that was so common we had to come up with something new for me, but I felt like a line backer for a major football team. What girl gets called by her last name? Like being a member of the tribe was a team and I had a jersey that read “Schiff” in large letters on the back. I was like all the others, but now had a new issue of feeling masculine. People introduced me by my last name, like I had no first. This name thing was really getting to me.

Just recently, I decided to read “The Boy in Stripped Pajamas”. A young boy name Shmule is in a death camp. He’s around 7 years old and talks about how everyone on his side of the fence has his name. He complained that his name was nothing special and that he was one of many. I bawled. What a way to identify with people. To have a name that binds you culturally, historically, and shows understanding on such a deeply rooted level. Then, I finally realized what my mother had been so proud of. It took me 27 years and a book with a 7th grade reading level to get it, but I think it did.

A name is like an onion. First, at the center (for my name), is Rahel, who is buried in Israel at the side of a road. Ever since her, there have been other Rachels in Jewish history, each making a layer around the original. My name adds to the many generations that have come since then. I stand on the shoulders of strong women who have come before me.

It is an Ashkenazi tradition to name your child after a family member who has passed away. My mother continually tells me that all Jews are family. That when one is hungry, we all need food and that when one needs help we should give as though they are our flesh and blood. By giving me a name that seems so unoriginal, so plain, she was giving to those women who had come before me.

Although I still find it frustrating to thumb through my blackberry and try and distinguish one Jewish name from the next; I have found some humor and pride from it. Funny enough, I owe my comprehension and appreciation of my name to a small, fictional boy in stripped pajamas.

I no longer complain about being one of many.

Be true to the streets! –Yentapunker

To Bret- the Man in the Sukkah

Well, it’s been three years since college, but I think I can give this a try again. See, I wouldn’t have even bothered; it didn’t interest me because no one reads these right? Well this last weekend I had a few revelations. One, being that I should probably pray more and talk with Hashem, but the other was I needed to write. I didn’t think it was something I needed to share. I have journals full of blogg worthy items, but no one was able to read those.

This weekend, in the sukkah, I met (excuse me…re-met) a very attractive guy. I apparently had met him before, but I didn’t remember. Anyone who knows me, knows not to put that past me. The first thing he says to me is, “You’re Yentapunker!” I was thrown off. I don’t have my pictures posted. How does he know? He explains to me that he met me the same time last year, but this year he was upset. I hadn’t posted in a VERY long time. What!?!?! Posted??? Posted what? Apparently he was referring to my blogg.
This attractive Jewish man reads my posts. Interesting. Okay I am sure he’s not my besherit, but he might just be onto something.

So here I am again folks, making an online comeback 20 days before my 25th birthday. I’m a high school English teacher making her comeback, just as Britney Spears did. (Hopefully I wont have to dance like a hooker to make my way back into readers hearts.)

As they say in Europe- Cheers!

The original Yentapunker
AIM:Yentapunker
Email:Yentapunker@yahoo.com

I am reading (for the millionth time) The diary of anne frank for class. It's funny how when you're 12 and read it, then when I was 16, and now at 21... just sitting in my appartment, alone and quiet. Here I am reading, thumbing through the pages of a life stoped short, when I come across my last name mentioned in her journal. I had family around where Anne was and although it may not be my family at all, my eyes could not be removed from that word on the page. Yes, I lost a lot of family in WWII. Many died in concentration camps and were shot by the SS. I tried to get past that one word, but it was like all other words had dropped off the page as I was reading the fate of my family in some 13 year olds journal. I finally got a glass of water and was able to continue, but how many times did I have to read the book before I was going to notice my family name mentioned in a book full of death and discomfort. I guess I am more aware of the world at 21 than I ever was at 12 and 16.

Today Israel is being bombed by Syria and Lebanon... I made calls to my family in Israel and wrote a sincere email to those who are in the IDF. I urge anyone who reads this to do research for themselves. I read the Wallstreet Journal and their commentary disgusted me. It was bias and completely incompetent. Either way, this maybe another battle in the eyes of Americans, but for Israelis this is what they do daily. I am slowly learning that I cannot trust people to inform themselves and that I must educate myself to become a better supporter of my father's native country. I implore you to do the same. Not because you are Jewish or Israeli... You maybe completely opposite, but because you care about world affairs and politics. You MUST realize that civilians are being killed. Yesterday a young Israeli girl was murdered by an axe splitting her skull... yes, an extreamly sad story! Please, protect yourself from ignorence, it maybe the only way to support countries other than our own.