What's in a Name?

Rosh Hashanah 5766

by Rabbi Jared Saks

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As a child, I hated my name. I knew no other Jareds. I constantly had to repeat my name for people. I knew how to spell it probably before I knew the whole alphabet. People called me everything from Jerry to Gerald, and when I made collect calls home from camp, the operator insisted that I was a girl named Sharon. It had gotten so bad by my pre-teen years that I insisted that my parents call me Keith; I begged them to legally change my name. Fortunately, they didn’t. As I grew older, I not only began to accept my name, but I began to love it. I understood it as a critical part of my identity.

So, what’s in a name? On August 5, the National Collegiate Athletic Association, the NCAA, banned the used of Native American mascots by college sports teams during postseason tournaments. This was an important step towards eliminating the use of “hostile or abusive” nicknames by its membership, the American colleges and universities. This ruling affected eighteen schools, including the University of Illinois and its Fighting Illini, the Utah Utes, and my alma mater, the Florida State Seminoles.

Almost as quickly as the NCAA issued its ruling, colleges and universities responded, hoping to appeal the decision. T.K. Wetherell, the president of Florida State University, threatened to sue. The issue, as he saw it, was that Florida State has permission from the Seminole tribe in Florida to use the nickname “Seminoles.” According to FSU, that’s not offensive because of the strong relationship we have with the Seminole tribe in Florida. Other teams, like the University of North Dakota’s Fighting Sioux argued that they use the nickname and logo with great pride and respect.

Who has the right to determine what’s offensive and what’s not? During my time at Florida State, I struggled with our mascot. Since the third grade, I have had a pen pal, Kevin Tsosie, who is a Navajo Indian. While in college, I prominently displayed the Florida State Seminole head logo. When it appeared on a website of mine to which I had directed Kevin, he kindly asked me to remove it. As a Native American, it was offensive to him. Kevin once told me that he’s also offended by that term, Native American, because it didn’t acknowledge his tribe’s individuality. Not all Native Americans are the same, he argued. He’d rather be called a Navajo Indian, recognizing his Navajo heritage.

So, did Kevin have the right to speak on behalf of the Seminole tribe? If the Seminole logo was offensive to him, as a Native American, as a Navajo Indian, did that give him the right to ask for its removal, or would he have to be a Seminole himself? Regardless, I listened to his concerns. Beginning then, I did what I could to stop wearing and displaying the Seminole head logo and I stopped truncating the team name to ’Noles. Both, he said, were offensive. The next year, the Hillel house on campus removed a four-foot wide Seminole head logo from its front window and nobody even noticed it was gone. No one missed it.

But if Florida State were to remove logos from all over campus, or even change the name of the team, it would not go unnoticed. As it turns out, T.K. Wetherell’s claim that our relationship with the Seminole tribe in Florida bears some consideration caught the NCAA’s attention. On August 23, the NCAA removed Florida State from the list of universities banned from using “hostile and abusive” nicknames during post-season play.

Why? Because of what the Seminole tribe had to say. The Seminole Tribe of Florida had helped Florida State design the costume for Chief Osceola, one of FSU’s mascots, approving the face paint, the flaming spear, and the Appaloosa horse on which he would ride. None of these symbols, by the way, have any historical connection to the Seminole tribe. Even the Seminole Nation of Oklahoma endorsed the nickname. Bernard Franklin, one of the NCAA’s senior vice presidents said, “The decision of a namesake sovereign tribe, regarding when and how its name and imagery can be used, must be respected even when others may not agree.” T.K. Wetherell, Florida State’s president said, “That the NCAA would … label our close bond with the Seminole people as culturally ‘hostile and abusive’ is both outrageous and insulting.”

The ruling went even beyond the Seminole tribes. The Miccosukee Tribe of Indians of Florida broke away from the Seminole tribe in the 1960s. As an independent tribe with a connection to the Seminoles, the Miccosukee could have supported the ban, preventing Florida State from using the nickname “Seminoles.” However, they did not support the ban. They supported Florida State.

What it all boils down to is that, at least in this case, the decision lies with the offended party to determine what is offensive. Because the Seminole tribes in Florida and Oklahoma, and the Miccosukee all agreed that the nickname “Seminoles” was not offensive, the NCAA couldn’t argue.

This argument fits with other schools that were not included in the ban. The University of Notre Dame has not been included in the ban because, according to the NCAA, no group representing the Irish or those of Irish descent has ever filed a formal complaint with the NCAA regarding Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish, in spite of the fact that the mascot depicts Irishmen as brawling and half-drunken. One could argue that the Holy Cross Crusaders should have to change their name because of the thousands of non-Christians who died during the Crusades in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. We must ask why people are so bound to a mascot when its use offends others.

If, as a child, I had actually convinced my parents to call me Keith, that change would not have been simple. If a college or university has to change its mascot, considerable cost would accompany the change. I can think of murals, logos, street signs, and even statues and buildings at Florida State that would have to undergo renovation. Changing a name is no small feat. According to our tradition, changing one’s name is of more significance than you might think.

In Song of Songs Rabbah, a collection of midrashim, rabbinic stories explaining the Biblical text of Song of Songs, Rabbi Huna teaches that God delivered us from Egypt because we possessed four virtuous qualities. The first of these merits is that we did not change our names. Reuben and Simeon went down to Egypt and Reuben and Simeon returned. Reuben did not become Rufus, nor did Simeon become Julianus. A new name would have meant more than just a name change, it would have changed our identity. In order for God to redeem us from Egypt, we had to remain true to who we were and thereby, true to God.

However, as with most things, when there are two Jews there are often three opinions. We have prayed this morning the words of the U’netaneh Tokef, that repentance, prayer, and charity temper judgment’s severe decree, that by repenting, worshipping, and doing acts of tzedakah, the punishment we would endure for the sins we have committed can be less harsh. This lesson comes to us from the text of Genesis Rabbah. In the passage immediately following this teaching, Rabbi Huna, the same rabbi whose argument I mentioned a moment ago against changing our names, says here that changing one’s name and doing good deeds are additional ways to temper judgment’s severe decree. He teaches us that we learn about changing our names from Abraham and Sarah.

Abraham was not always Abraham, nor was Sarah always Sarah. Until he had accepted the covenant, Abraham’s name was Abram and Sarah’s was Sarai. At first glance, this small change in their names, essentially a change in spelling – Abram to Abraham and Sarai to Sarah – appears to be of little significance. However, upon re-examining the text, we see that this change is of great significance. Abram added the Hebrew letter hey to his name. Avram became Avraham. And in Sarai’s name, the yod became the Hebrew letter hey. Sarai became Sarah. The question is: what is the significance of the Hebrew letter hey? This letter, hey, is one of the ways in which we write God’s name. What changed for Sarai and Abram was that God became inherently part of their identities when they became Sarah and Abraham. For Abraham and Sarah, the change of their names, and in turn, the change of their identities was a blessing, because they brought God into their lives.

The difference between the lesson from Song of Songs Rabbah in which we have learned not to undergo a name change, just as Reuben and Simeon did not change their names and the lesson from Abraham and Sarah, who teach us the value of a name change, boils down to why one changes one’s name. Had Reuben or Simeon changed their names, it would have removed them from God; however, when Sarah and Abraham changed their names, they incorporated God into their identities, bringing themselves closer to God.

We can’t have a conversation about God becoming part of our names without having a conversation about God’s name. We only know the Divine Name by its four letters, yod-hey-vav-hey. We do not know how to pronounce it. Our tradition tells us that during the days of the Temple in Jerusalem, the High Priest whispered God’s name on Yom Kippur, but with the destruction of the Temple, we have lost the pronunciation of yod-hey-vav-hey. We only know to say Adonai, which means ‘my Lord.’ Even without knowing how to say God’s name, we are still capable of profaning it.

In a Talmudic discussion from Tractate Yoma, the rabbis discuss various ways in which we use God’s name in vain. According to Rav, someone who takes meat from the butcher without paying immediately has profaned God’s name. He has not conducted himself ethically in business and has also set a precedent for taking a product without making a payment. If others learn from his example, the butcher could suffer economically. Playing a role in causing another person to suffer is one way in which we use the Divine Name in vain.

The school of Rabbi Yannai teaches that if one’s colleagues are ashamed of his reputation, then that constitutes using the Divine Name in vain. This is to say that each person’s behavior affects others. If we behave in a way that embarrasses our friends, family, or colleagues, we have used God’s name in vain.

The rabbis even go so far as to say that if someone has profaned the Divine Name, either literally or through actions, repentance will not suspend punishment. Yom Kippur will not be enough to help achieve atonement. And suffering will not be sufficient for ending punishment. Only when all three occur, repentance, worship on Yom Kippur, and suffering, can a person acquire forgiveness for using the Divine Name in vain.

While I was teaching fifth grade last year at the religious school at Temple Shaaray Tefila in New York City, Chloe, one of my students, asked me an insightful question about the Divine Name, about yod-hey-vav-hey. “If we don’t know how to say yod-hey-vav-hey,” she asked, “how do we know that it’s not pronounced ‘God?’” She had a very good point. I told her that we don’t know that yod-hey-vav-hey isn’t pronounced like the word ‘God.’ For that matter, as Chloe pointed out, we don’t know if God’s name, yod-hey-vav-hey, is pronounced like any word we say. The bottom line is that we have to guard our speech. Every time we speak, the words we use can either praise God or profane God’s name. We have to decide how we will use our words.

Every Rosh Hashanah affords us the opportunity to change who we are. We have to be more aware of the manner in which we might offend others, acknowledging that it is up to the offended party to decide what is offensive, even when we disagree. We cannot attach ourselves to a mascot when it puts others down. What are your mascots? To what do you give your allegiance? Are you putting others down because of what you support? Our mascots are not only our sports teams, but also the things we do each day that occupy our time and energy. We must constantly strive to show respect for one another.

We have the opportunity to change the way that others see us. We speak of making a good name for ourselves, which has less to do with our actual names and more to do with our reputations and what people say about us based upon our behavior. We have to take ownership of our names. It may be our parents who named us, but it is up to us to make the best of our names. It is through our names that we can bring God into our lives. Our actions and our words are ways that speak both to God and about God. Let us praise and not profane. This year, may we make a good name for ourselves and, in turn, make a good name for God, through our words and our deeds. And may we be inscribed in the Book of Life for blessing and for peace. Shanah Tovah.

Sources:

Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Yoma 86a.
Genesis Rabbah Lech Lecha 44:12.
Powell, Robert Andrew. “Florida State Can Keep Its Seminoles.” The New York Times. August 24, 2005.
Smith, Sean. “NCAA: Mascot Ruling: Postseason ban on ‘hostile’ images.” The Boston Globe. August 6, 2005.
Song of Songs Rabbah 4:12, 1.
Timanus, Eddie and Steve Wieberg. ”Schools Consider Appeals to NCAA.” USA Today. August 10, 2005.