Many of us look at our childhood names with warm emotions
How did that happen? Well, my maternal grandmother was Rivka, and my paternal grandmother was Leeba Chava. Why my father (Rabbi Joshua Sperka z”l), turned Leeba into its modern Hebrew variation remains a mystery, but I believe that his joy at the creation of the State of Israel motivated him to name me Ahava Rivka. (Please, no letters from Ivrit experts who question why my name isn’t Ahuva! I really don’t know, but my sister assures me that she was present at the naming and Ahava is my name.) But when I first entered Bais Yaakov, my “cool, modern, Hebrew name” morphed into my babbi’s more traditional, “Chava.”
Names… a simple, straightforward topic. A child is born to parents from the One Above. They give the child a particular first name — based on whatever reasoning (familial, literary, historical, Biblical, or random) — and their family name. It seems so uncomplicated. Well… it ain’t necessarily so.
