Is the baby’s name and significance determined by what the parents have in mind when the name is given?
I’m the commanding general when it comes to baby naming (with my husband’s agreement). From the moment I find out I’m expecting, I’ve got names running through my head, and it only takes a few days for me to settle on a possible boy’s or girl’s name. By the time nine months are up, I’m settled into the name, knee-deep, and no good general gives up his conquered territory.
Don’t think I’m unfair when it comes to naming my way or the highway. I always keep both sides of the family in mind.
In one pregnancy, though, I was stuck. If the baby would be a boy, I’d have no problem. It was my husband’s side’s turn and there were plenty of suitable boys’ names there for the choosing.
But if the baby would be a girl (I’m one of those who doesn’t like to know before; takes all the fun out of labor and delivery), then we were in serious trouble. On my husband’s side, one grandmother’s name was Sarah — oops, my name! That took her out of the running. The other grandmother boasted the Yiddish name Genna, a.k.a. Jenny, and neither found favor in my eyes.
But maybe it would be a boy and we’d have nothing to worry about.
It was a girl. And she was born four weeks early, right on my own grandmother’s yahrtzeit. Now what? I didn’t want to insult my in-laws but I loved my grandmother dearly, and the baby to be born so early, davka on the yahrtzeit! I wanted so badly to name this baby after my grandmother.
“Did your mother, Genna, have a second name?” I fished for some solution from my mother-in-law.
“No, and she was very proud of her Yiddish name as well,” she said. Plank by plank, I was being nailed into a corner.
“How about your mother?” I asked my father-in-law. “Maybe she had a second name other than Sarah?”
“Nope!” Another nail went in. “But,” continued my father-in-law, “Sarah wasn’t her Hebrew name. She just chose it because she liked it. Growing up in America, most people didn’t use their Yiddish names at that time.”
“So what was her Hebrew name?” I grasped at this new information, hoping it would solve my problem.
Yes! My husband’s grandmother had the same Yiddish name as my own grandmother.
Problem solved beautifully. Each side felt that the baby was named for their own side. As for me, ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 970)