Both surnames and first names have a lot of significance to
individuals as well as to Klal Yisroel. One of the merits our
ancestors had for being redeemed from Egypt was that they
didn't change their distinctive names, dress and language.
There has been a tremendous surge in genealogical research
which hopefully presages a real return to roots. I read
recently that a Shuvu teacher asked her pupils to bring
family photos and to interview relatives about their
memories. Many children discovered they were only two
generations removed from important rabbonim. One child was
found to be related to Harav Shach ztvk'l; when
parents realized the significance of this, they began taking
a greater interest in their child's Jewish studies.
In our family, some interesting stories took place because we
didn't change our names. As a result of the Holocaust, I
didn't have any relatives with my father's name (my maiden
name also begins with a `G'). At my nephew's bar mitzva, my
brother commented that it was the first time in fifty years
that the G. family had a mezumon.
We thought we were the only ones in the world with our
surname but one day several years ago, someone called and
said she had found my father's name in the phonebook and
wondered if that person was related to her stepfather in
Argentina. They were from the same city and I began to hope
we'd located a long lost relative. However, he had a stroke
before she could ask him more details.
When I visited the States a few years ago, I saw an ad asking
if anyone had information about his grandmother's family
named G. Since it is an uncommon name, I called, but
unfortunately, we weren't related.
A cousin told me that 25 years ago, he got a call from a man
who had returned from Russia where he met a woman claiming to
have relatives by the name of S. in Brooklyn. She told him a
gruesome story of how her grandfather was killed and asked
him to find her relatives, saying that they would surely know
of that incident. My cousin was the seventh person he called,
and distinctly remembered hearing the same story about his
grandfather. The family enabled her to emigrate to Eretz
Yisroel and reunite with her sister.
A businessman came on a buying trip and was invited to our
uncle's house for Shabbos. When he heard the names of his
host's brothers, he exclaimed, "We have the same names in our
family!" It turned out they had a common grandfather.
A long lost relative from Central America researched my
maternal grandfather's family back to the 1770s and found
many first names repeating themselves. He told an amazing
story -- his father once had an appointment at a huge medical
center and when the receptionist called for Mr. F., his
father and another man both stood up. It turned out that the
other man was a distant cousin from South America. He related
some other interesting stories, on the genealogy printout I
received.
It is said that parents have ruach hakodesh when
naming a child. However, the Chazon Ish said one should not
give a name that a child might be ashamed of. If you want to
waken a person, gently calling his name is very effective.
If you've ever been called by a telemarketer, you will hear
your name mentioned a dozen times during the spiel.
Psychologists have found that a person is fond of his name
and responds to those using it.
Jewish Tongue
Children in all societies develop speech in the same stages:
babbling, jargon, words, sentences, along with the
intonations and accents appropriate to their language. It is
preferable to speak one language well until the age of five;
a second language can be learned easily until the age of
ten.
For many generations, Yiddish or Ladino was spoken by
respective Jewish communities in order to enable all
generations and geographies to communicate. Many olim
prefer to speak their native tongue at home to enable
grandparents to understand their grandchildren. However, if
children are having difficulty with two languages, it may be
best to stick to Hebrew, which they need to communicate with
in kindergarten and daily life. There are other ways to give
grandparents nachas; singing, drawing, dancing, being
helpful and affectionate and behaving nicely can all
compensate. Besides, the language of the heart does not
always need words. Generation gaps can be spanned through the
combination of affection, body language and sign language as
well.
If a child speaks both Hebrew and English, insist s/he speak
one or the other, but not Heblish.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND HEBLISH?
Can you decipher the following words? Mefeeda, Arafat,
haroging, milchemetz, "he had a pigua" and whobody?
No, they are not related to Arabic or the intifada but are
examples of Heblish, the jargon spoken by children in
bilingual homes.
At age three-and-a-half, my daughter was asked where Ima was.
She answered, "Ima mafeeda et hababy." She adapted a
Hebrew prefix and conjugation to convey feeding a baby.
After the Yom Kippur War, we were discussing previous wars.
My five-year-old asked me, "How many milchemets were
you in?" using an English plural form for milchoma.
Then there was the time a tot ceremoniously announced that
"Whobody badelet" to announce a visitor at the door.
She was confusing the popular merry-go-round of Hebrew and
English that runs, "She is he and he is
hu and who is mi." And woe is me if you don't
get it straight.
In our family lexicon is the verb haroging that came
up through a parsha story. Then there was the grandson
who told his brother to look out the window at the
arafel (fog). The little bilingual tyke garbled it to
his mother as, "Ima, there's Arafat outside." I don't think
he has the foggiest notion who Arafat is, but there it is, in
his vocabulary.
Then another grandson was talking about the simple operation
a cousin underwent, and said, "He had a pigua" which
is the word used for a bombing incident.
May all our linguistic errors be funny/happy ones and may our
speech always be typically Jewish loshon hatov.
