What's in a Name: Thanksgiving Torah on Jewishness

As we head into the Shabbat of Thanksgiving weekend, I am feeling grateful for both my Americanness and my Jewishness, despite the fact that neither identity is particularly simple at this juncture in history.

In a box of family photos and artifacts, I recently came across a document that sits at the intersection of the two identities: my great-grandmother Esther's Certificate of Naturalization, from when she became a US citizen. The year was 1931 and she was 30 years old and married by that point, with children who were themselves US citizens. The certificate lists her former nationality as Polish, and her race as "Hebrew."

The term "Hebrew" or "ivri" is one vocabulary word for talking about Jewish collectivity. It goes back to Abraham, who -- when a messenger reports to him about his nephew Lot being taken captive -- is identified in Genesis 14:13 as "Avram ha-Ivri," "Abram the Hebrew." The "ivri" identifier has multiple possible meanings: it certainly could connect to the fact that Abraham is a descendent of Ever (on the genealogical list in Genesis 11). However, it's more commonly understood as meaning "one who crosses over," which refers to Abraham having originally come from the other side of the Euphrates river or -- according to midrashim -- having stood on one side (in belief) while the rest of the world was on the other.  

"Hebrew" was certainly the preferred term for talking about our ancestor's collective identity in the first couple of chapters of Exodus -- as there we find phrases like "Hebrew midwives" (Exodus 1:15), "Hebrew women" (Ex. 1:16), "Hebrew child" (Ex. 2:6) and "Hebrew nurse" (Ex. 2:7) in quick succession. In early 20th century America, "Hebrew" was a racial category used to talk about Jews. However, among the Jewish community, the preferred term would probably have been "Israelite." 

"Israelite" -- or "b'nai yisrael" in Hebrew -- literally refers to the descendants of Israel, and Israel, as we know, is the new name given to our ancestor Jacob in Genesis 32:25-33. There (in next week's Torah portion), Jacob wrestles all night with a mysterious being and in the end is told by this figure: “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel (Yisrael), for you have striven (sarita) with beings divine and human, and have prevailed.” To be an Israelite, then, is to be identified as part of a group that wrestles... certainly with God, and perhaps also with humans.

Today, our community isn't likely to refer to ourselves as either "Hebrews" or as "Israelites." Since World War II, the dominant terms for describing our collectivity here in America would be "Jews" ("yehudim") or "Jewish" ("yehudi"), and we call our religious tradition "Judaism" ("yahadut"). All of these words stem from the name of Judah (Yehudah), one of Jacob's sons and the father of one of the twelve tribes of ancient Israelites. Eventually, Judah also became the name of the southern Israelite kingdom, which survived even after the Assyrian conquest of the northern kingdom of Israel, and so the surviving people became collectively known as "yehudim." The term yehudim appears many times in the Tanakh, including in II Kings 16:6 and frequently in the book of Esther, where Mordecai is first introduced as "ish yehudi," "a Jewish man."

If you have never stopped to think about what the word Jewish actually means, this week is the perfect opportunity to do so, as this week's Torah portion, Parashat Vayetze, is where we find the birth and naming story of Judah, our namesake.

You may recall the back story: that Jacob has fallen in love with Rachel, but ends up married to her sister Leah as well. In a family drama that features dysfunction and extreme sibling rivalry, the two sisters embark upon child-bearing as though it's a competitive sport. Leah gives birth first, to four sons in quick succession (literally, in four back-to-back Torah verses!). The first three fall into a pattern, where the name given to each new baby is a Hebrew language word-play that underscores her feeling of being unloved and the non-preferred wife (see Gen. 29:32-34):

Leah conceived and bore a son, and named him Reuben; for she declared, “It means: ‘Adonai has seen my affliction’; it also means: ‘Now my husband will love me.’”She conceived again and bore a son, and declared, “This is because Adonai heard that I was unloved and has given me this one also”; so she named him Simeon. Again she conceived and bore a son and declared, “This time my husband will become attached to me, for I have borne him three sons.” Therefore he was named Levi.

The arrival in Gen. 29:35 of Leah's fourth son, however, breaks the tragic pattern:

וַתַּ֨הַר ע֜וֹד וַתֵּ֣לֶד בֵּ֗ן וַתֹּ֙אמֶר֙ הַפַּ֙עַם֙ אוֹדֶ֣ה אֶת־יְהֹוָ֔ה עַל־כֵּ֛ן קָרְאָ֥ה שְׁמ֖וֹ יְהוּדָ֑ה וַֽתַּעֲמֹ֖ד מִלֶּֽדֶת׃

She conceived again and bore a son, and declared, “This time I will praise/thank Adonai.” Therefore she named him Judah. Then she stopped bearing.

The name Judah (Yehudah), in other words, is the only name in the set that isn't an expression of Leah's bitterness, but rather of her gratitude. 

Rabbi Shai Held shared a beautiful Dvar Torah on this topic several years ago, which he titled "Can We Be Grateful and Disappointed at the Same Time?" I highly recommend reading his whole essay here, but I'm happy to share this relevant excerpt here:

"Leah is disappointed, and as we have seen, she has every right to be. But she is also grateful -- despite the intensity of her pain, she, too, has her blessings... With the birth of Judah, Leah has discovered the awesome capacity to feel grateful even amidst her sorrows.

A Talmudic Sage makes a surprising, even jarring statement about Leah. Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai says that Leah was the first person in the history of the world who ever expressed gratitude to God (Babylonian Talmud Berakhot 7b). What could this possibly mean? Of course other people before Leah had offered thanksgiving to God... What makes Leah's gratitude unique? What is it that establishes her as the first truly grateful person? It is one thing to be grateful when everything is wonderful, when all of our dreams have been fulfilled and all of our hungers sated. But it is quite another to be grateful when life is complicated, when some of our most cherished dreams have remained painfully unrealized, when some of our yearnings are so intense that they threaten to burn right through us. Leah is the first person to feel and express gratitude even and especially amidst profound sorrow and enduring disappointment. 

Strikingly, the name Leah gives her fourth son, Judah, meaning "I will praise" or "I will express gratitude," becomes the name of the Jewish people as a whole. Who is a Jew? One who discovers the possibility of gratitude even amidst heartbreak. That is why we are given the name that expresses Leah's courage, and her achievement: a Jew is, ideally, a human being who, like Leah, can find her way to gratitude without having everything she wants or even needs."

I love Rabbi Held's assertion that our identity as Jews is fundamentally grounded in Leah's ability to feel and express gratitude, even and perhaps especially when we are also disappointed. Gratitude is not conditioned on perfection.

This feels like a great message to uplift on this particular Shabbat, of Thanksgiving weekend 2025 / 5786.  Here in America over the last few centuries, we have been identified at different times as "Hebrews," "Israelites," and "Jews." The meanings of all three words ring true: we have "crossed over" from one land to another, "wrestled" to get to where we are today, and we continue to follow the example of our foremother Leah, expressing gratitude, even as we strive to help both our people and our country live up to the blessings of their full promise.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum