Anatomy of a Name: Chaviva

So I was thinking, my name is Chaviva -- חביבה -- is quite pretty, and I often get comments about how bizarre and unique it is. Yes, it's pretty rare in the scheme of things. It's not a modern Hebrew name, although it's working its way into the lexicon pretty swiftly. So from where is the name sourced?  I see it in two different interesting spaces.

1. משנה תורה מנוקד - ספר עבודה - הלכות מעשה הקרבנות פרק ד

Even though the eimorim and the limbs [of the sacrifices] may be offered on the fire of the altar at night, they may not be willingly delayed. Instead, an attempt should be made to offer everything during the day, for it is desirable that a mitzvah be performed at its designated time. [The importance of this can be seen from the fact that] the offering of the eimorim and the limbs [of the sacrifices] on the fire of the altar supersedes the Sabbath prohibitions on that day. We do not delay this until Saturday night. (via Chabad.org)

2. משנה תורה מנוקד - ספר זמנים - הלכות מגילה וחנוכה פרק ד

The mitzvah of kindling Chanukah lamps is very dear. A person should be very careful in its observance to publicize the miracle and thus increase our praise of God and our expression of thanks for the miracles which He wrought on our behalf. Even if a person has no resources for food except [what he receives] from charity, he should pawn or sell his garments and purchase oil and lamps to kindle them [in fulfillment of the mitzvah]. (via Chabad.org)

And then, according to my Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, חביבה was the name of many Amoraim. Most oft' quoted I see is

"R. Habiba says men call their grandsons sons..."

So what's in a name? I'm still not sure. I chose it way-back-when because my given name, Amanda, means lovable or "worthy to be loved." Chaviva means basically the same thing in Modern Hebrew. The translations above suggest that חביבה means desirable or very dear.  I searched again and found three pages worth of Chaviva goodness. A super common use of חביבה that many folks know is the following:

חביבה עלי כת קטנה שבארץ ישראל יותר מסנהדרין גדולה שבחוצה לארץ

Essentially, it says something along the lines of, "More beloved to me is a sect/faction in Eretz Yisrael than a Great Sanhedrin outside of the land." I'm also loving a portion from the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Berakoth 63a where it discusses what to do if the people hold the Torah dear, and what to do if they do not hold it dear (תורה חביבה).

Okay, I could seriously spend days looking at the references to this word in the Talmud, but I won't bore you with it. It seems that the word חביבה is used in instances of deep and passionate commitment. In Babylonian Talmud, Berakoth 10a, the text refers to King David, saying,

כל פרשה שהיתה חביבה על דוד פתח בה באשרי וסיים בה באשרי

Basically, every parshah or chapter that was "beloved" by David began with happiness and ended with happiness. It seems to be a word of endearment, devotion, passion.

A long time ago, in my senior year of high school, I wrote a paper on etymology -- the study of names. I learned of the importance of names in the development and creation of our personalities and lives, and it's something I've always clung to. I chose the name Chaviva without really thinking about it, and all of the years as I've further embodied the name, I haven't really thought about whether I'm actually embodying the depth of the name. 

So, what do I say? To fully live up to the oomph of my name, I would live a life such that HaShem would be comfortable and eager to call me חביבה חביבה -- Chaviva, beloved. Chaviva, very dear. And am I living my life in such a way that HaShem -- or even those closest to me -- would see me as someone ever-so dear and beloved? 

I think that every day when I open my eyes, when I thank HaShem for giving my spirit back to me, I am trying. I am starting and striving to embody the beloved. So, you could say it's appropriate that I'm spending the month of Elul reading Shir haShirim -- Song of Songs -- every day. It's a segula, you see.

There's a tradition to say Psalm 27 during morning and evening davening from Rosh Chodesh Elul through Yom Kippur. I won't explain it here, but you can read about it here.  The bit about reciting Shir haShirim comes from the fact that Elul is an acronym from Ani l'dodi, v'dodi li -- I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine -- from Shir haShirim 6:3. During this time, the Ba'al Shem Tov said that these are the days when "the King is in the field." The idea here is that HaShem is in the field, ready to listen and accept, to hear our prayers completely. 

So 'tis the season to really talk to HaShem for me. To be the beloved, to learn to embody my name. To ask HaShem to see my deeds, grant me a zivug sheni, grant me shalom. And then, perhaps, my second Hebrew name -- אליענה -- will make all the more sense. 

How are you embodying your name? How are you approaching the month of Elul?

Balak: Retro-style.

Because I'm too insanely busy schlepping things back and forth from Connecticut to the Poconos and today to New Jersey (where I'll happily be reunited with Husband Tuvia), I don't have much time to review the parshah and put some decent, practical thought to it. So, I've looked back THREE YEARS (good lord, I can't believe I've been sustaining this blog that long) to this post, and I've pasted below a portion of the blog post's thoughts on this week's parshah, Balak. Enjoy!

I don't have much (if anything) to say expressly about Balak, this week's Torah portion. The only sort of thought-invoking bit of commentary in Etz Chayim is in regards to Balak's urging for the curse on the Israelites and Balaams persistent relaying of G-d's message that you cannot curse those who are blessed.

The text cites the Baal Shem Tov, who said "A Jew is never alone. G-d is always with every Jew." Then there is Abraham Joshua Heschel (not cited here, but all the same), who said "The Jew is never alone in the face of G-d; the Torah is always with him." Is G-d with us? Torah with us? Neither? Either? Both? Are they one in the same?

I was watching this episode of "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style last night, and I was taken by one of the stories. It was a couple who had hastened their wedding vows after they'd started dating. Why? Well, she was diagnosed with an incredibly rare form of leukemia (.5-two people diagnosed each year worldwide) and given three-five years to live. She surpassed the time frame and six years after the diagnosis met the man. His story was that he'd been in a horrible car accident on an exit ramp on the freeway and had walked away. Less than a week later, because of a concussion and emotional trauma from the other accident, he rammed his car into the back of a city truck, completely decimating his vehicle and causing his near death. Then they met, realizing that they both were sort of knocking on heaven's door, fell in love, and got engaged. I don't consider it a miracle or necessarily a gift from G-d that either of them are bright, shining people who are giving back with a cancer scholarship and countless philanthropic activities -- they are the epitome of the perfect romance. However, I have to think that perhaps the everyday presence of G-d maintains some balance, some equilibrium. Then again, I don't even know if these two people were religious -- let alone Jewish (not that that matters).

If you Google "A Jew is never alone" ... you receive (at present) 76 entries (though only about 20 *really* show up). Many are variations on the Baal Shem Tov's famous words. Then there's random expressions of the Jew and his loneliness: "The Yarmulke is a constant reminder that a Jew is never alone. He walks with G-d. It is a feeling of assurance and comfort" (Jlaw.com).

It would seem that the Jew is never alone -- be it G-d or the yarmulke as a reminder of G-d or the mitzvot and laws of G-d in Torah. I imagine it is whether we accept or deny this as such. Does the denial of the constant presence make those moments in which we pray hard and fast for the protection of a sick relative or lover that much more effective and strong -- in OUR eyes? I often look at the religious Jew, he who is constantly swimming in Torah and wonder if -- when there are moments of desperation -- he feels as effective and firm and hopeful in his prayers as he who perhaps only calls on G-d in moments of crises. The constant presence may dull the effectiveness (in our minds, that is), nu? On the other hand, acknowledging the constant presence might allow us to take G-d for granted, to not appreciate the peace of mind.

Okay, so I lied. I had plenty to say about this tiny little quip of the Baal Shem Tov. I just didn't anticipate it.

For what it's worth, about 200 results come about today. That's quite a few more than three years ago. It's an interesting reflection on who I was three years ago, saying "I often look at the religious Jew ..." and here I am, now, a religious Jew. I think I can answer that question: Yes. Yes she does feel as effective and firm and hopeful in her prayers as those individuals who only call on G-d in moments of crises. That she is me, and I know how it feels.

I will add, however, that I feel quite blessed with all that I have in life. Those who once cursed me for who I am and how I choose to live my life be damned, because you can't curse the person who is blessed!

Here's an early Shabbat Shalom to you all. Stay tuned for upcoming posts on the illustrious Susanne Goldstone-Rosenhouse, recently named one of the awesome 36 Under 36 by The Jewish Week, as well as a blog post on Jewish truckers (yes, you read that right, it's an intrigue that I have after my many days of highway time these few weeks).

Revisiting Shabbatai Zvi, the False Messiah.

Oy it's been a busy couple of days. Word got out that I really wasn't doing much at work, so my administrator decided to throw a whole bunch of work at me, just to make sure my last week really reminds me of what I'm leaving. At any rate, I haven't had much time at work to respond to comments or to work on any blogging. So here I am, sacrificing dinner to hang out at this lovely coffee shop in my neighborhood for some liquid dinner so I can respond to some emails and perhaps elaborate on comments I made about Shabbatai Zvi and the Baal Shem Tov and the book Constantine’s Sword in this post. In that post, I mentioned a note I had made while reading the text some months ago about the author's mention of these two men so close together implied "falseness." Let's discuss.

(As background on the author: James Carroll, is a former priest and former Catholic chaplain, who left the cloth to become a writer. He is active in the Jewish-Christian-Muslim debate circle and has written extensively on Catholicism. This book, in particular is a confessional of sorts, about his coming to terms with the church's role in Jewish history.)

I've transcribed the text from the scanned copy of the page (389) I have, and I realized that the rest of the section, which is important, is on a page that I didn't scan (and 390 isn't part of the Google Book Preview!). Thus, this is what I have:

... other manifestations of Jewish vitality showed themselves. Messianic figures appeared, like David Reubeni and Solomon Molcho in Portugal, and conversos and unconverted Jews alike took heart from their bold rejection of the idea that Jews were fated to be oppressed. In the next century a Kabbalist from the Turkish city of Izmir emerged as the leader of one of the most potent religious-political movements in Jewish history. He was Shabbatai Zvi, a self-declared Messiah who found enthusiastic followers in Jewish communities around the Mediterranean, and in Europe as well, especially Poland. The political hopes that many had for Shabbatai came to nothing when, imprisoned by the Turks in 1666 -- the combination of sixes in that year had made it portentous -- he chose to convert to Islam rather than risk martyrdom. But his heroic movement had by then spawned numerous centers of enthusiastic Judaism, including one that would quicken in Poland and Ukraine in the eighteenth century. Spreading throughout eastern Europe, this movement was led by Israel ben Eliezer, the beloved Baal Shem Tov.  ...

I know that it is the author's intention to discuss the prevailing movements during this period in relation to Kabbalah, and I know that a simple reading of this section alone would leave an average reader with the sense that Shabbatai Zvi did a good thing for the community, as his "heroic movement ... spawned numerous centers of enthusiastic Judaism." Follow this with the Baal Shem Tov, and the reader is just aglow with the glory of these two men and their contributions to Judaism and the Jewish community. But for those who know about Shabbetai Zvi and how he truly effected the Jewish community, this is a mess of irritating text.

Shabbatai Zvi declared himself the Messiah. The Baal Shem Tov never did such a thing (some of his followers see him as coming from the Davidic line and thus is a part of the Messianic story, though). From a very basic perspective, this puts the two men very, very far apart. SZ was viewed later as a loony, sort of a joke and an unfortunate person in the history of Jewish thought, whereas the BST is revered as a great sage and a great founder of a mighty powerful spiritual movement. Simply saying that SZ helped create this lively, enthusiastic Judaism is ignorant, because as Torah Jew pointed out in the comments on my previous post, he did a lot to destroy much of Judaism. The short-term effects might have been useful, but the long-term effects were tragic. I can't even fathom why the author would call SZ's efforts a "heroic movement." I just can't bring myself to think that there IS NOT some type of subtext here.

Am I crazy? I am an analyst of text; it's what I do. And to me, obviously when I read this it set off some red flags, and it continues to grate my cheese.

There are some interesting comments about what it was that Shabbatai Zvi was doing juxtaposed with what the Baal Shem Tov was doing. These comments are from The Rebbe, but more can be found at that link:

As for comparing the movement of Shabbatai Zvi to the Hassidic movement—every movement that is started by someone of the Jewish people has some common point because it was started by a Jew. Shabbatai Zvi also was a scholar not only in Kabbalah but in halacha, but after a few years he deviated from the right derech (path). It became something that not was only deviant just the opposite of Judaism. ...
Shabbatai Zvi negated halacha. In the time of Shabbatai Zvi there was a group of Catholic priests that translated Kabbalistic manuscripts and studied Kabbalah. But this is not considered Jewish Kabbalah, as the Catholics did not put on tefillin. It is just like someone in Sorbonne, Brooklyn College, or some other university who can learn Kabbalah without putting on tefillin. For true Kabbalah cannot be separated from halacha.

I feel awkward posting this for some reason. I'm not a Hasid, nor am I Orthodox (yet!), but I think examining the two routes are significant. At any rate, this point of view makes sense to me, and it's also why I roll my eyes at Madonna and A-Rod.

Anyhow, if it is most necessary I'll pick the book back up and find out what's on that next page to satisfy the readers of the blog. I'm not sure if I'm getting my point across, but I hope that I am. Let me know what you think, and please let me know if you think I'm reading way too much into the author's intent. 

NOTE: Computer battery is dying, so I might add more to this post in the AM. Stay tuned, please!

The Wandering Blog

I don't have much (if anything) to say expressly about Balak, this week's Torah portion. The only sort of thought-invoking bit of commentary in Etz Chayim is in regards to Balak's urging for the curse on the Israelites and Balaams persistent relaying of G-d's message that you cannot curse those who are blessed.

The text cites the Baal Shem Tov, who said "A Jew is never alone. G-d is always with every Jew." Then there is Abraham Joshua Heschel (not cited here, but all the same), who said "The Jew is never alone in the face of G-d; the Torah is always with him." Is G-d with us? Torah with us? Neither? Either? Both? Are they one in the same?

I was watching this episode of "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style last night, and I was taken by one of the stories. It was a couple who had hastened their wedding vows after they'd started dating. Why? Well, she was diagnosed with an incredibly rare form of leukemia (.5-two people diagnosed each year worldwide) and given three-five years to live. She surpassed the time frame and six years after the diagnosis met the man. His story was that he'd been in a horrible car accident on an exit ramp on the freeway and had walked away. Less than a week later, because of a concussion and emotional trauma from the other accident, he rammed his car into the back of a city truck, completely decimating his vehicle and causing his near death. Then they met, realizing that they both were sort of knocking on heaven's door, fell in love, and got engaged. I don't consider it a miracle or necessarily a gift from G-d that either of them are bright, shining people who are giving back with a cancer scholarship and countless philanthropic activities -- they are the epitome of the perfect romance. However, I have to think that perhaps the everyday presence of G-d maintains some balance, some equilibrium. Then again, I don't even know if these two people were religious -- let alone Jewish (not that that matters).

If you Google "A Jew is never alone" ... you receive (at present) 76 entries (though only about 20 *really* show up). Many are variations on the Baal Shem Tov's famous words. Then there's random expressions of the Jew and his loneliness: "The Yarmulke is a constant reminder that a Jew is never alone. He walks with G-d. It is a feeling of assurance and comfort" (Jlaw.com).

It would seem that the Jew is never alone -- be it G-d or the yarmulke as a reminder of G-d or the mitzvot and laws of G-d in Torah. I imagine it is whether we accept or deny this as such. Does the denial of the constant presence make those moments in which we pray hard and fast for the protection of a sick relative or lover that much more effective and strong -- in OUR eyes? I often look at the religious Jew, he who is constantly swimming in Torah and wonder if -- when there are moments of desperation -- he feels as effective and firm and hopeful in his prayers as he who perhaps only calls on G-d in moments of crises. The constant presence may dull the effectiveness (in our minds, that is), nu? On the other hand, acknowledging the constant presence might allow us to take G-d for granted, to not appreciate the peace of mind.

Okay, so I lied. I had plenty to say about this tiny little quip of the Baal Shem Tov. I just didn't anticipate it.

I have quite a bit to say about the book I'm reading, Women and Jewish Law by Rachel Biale, but I'll save that for a little later this week or early next week. I have to say, though, that it's one of the most well-written Talmud-heavy texts I've read in a long time. Often I find such books hard to keep down, but Biale is BRILLIANT in her presentation of the texts. That is, she offers the Talmud text, then piece by piece explains in plain text (but not dumbing down) what exactly the sages were saying, then examines the evolution, importance, contradictions, and actual application of the laws. In the long run, I think this might help me if I decide to pursue/examine Rashi's daughters (or the women of Rashi's time/area in general) and the extent of his sentiments/interpretations of certain laws, including womens' study of the major texts.

Until then, shalom my friends. Stay cool in summer's heated breeze!