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?

I present to you, a conundrum.

I've written a million times about names, the importance and significance of names, and the future I likely have as Chaviva E. The web world knows me as Chavi, and when I say the web world, I mean bloggers across the blog-o-sphere, people on Yelp (a review site I take part in), and even most recently I was featured on a Chicago Jew site with this moniker, meant to be permanent.

When I meet new people from the interweb in person (such as at Yelp events or when meeting friends of people on the web who know me via my blog or another blog), I'm always asked how I got my name, what it means, why I use it. I always explain that it means the same thing as my given name, which leaves the questioner wondering what the deal is with the given name. It's then that I explain that Chavi is my Hebrew name, which I chose, and that at some point will become my "permanent" name. I usually get funny looks, but it typically surpasses the whole "listen, I'm a convert" bit, not to mention usually gets a nod and a "Well, that's a beautiful name." And we call it a day.

And until now, I haven't had anyone say flat out that they REFUSE to call me Chavi.

See, there are those (family, exes, friends from the past) who will always know me as Amanda and will probably call me as such, and that's just fine. No problem at all. But most of those who are still very close to me (in the friend category) and understand and respect my choices are more than happy to integrate Chavi into their lexicon. One of my closest chums started calling me Chavi on his own accord, and it means the world to me. There are those on Yelp who knew me first as Amanda and then as Chavi and they flip back and forth, but are always careful to say "Which do you prefer?" and then go by that.

But today, someone essentially said they refuse to call me Chaviva. This person, ironically, is a Jew.

It seems that lately I've run into several Jews who just can't handle me. I'm too much Jew, I'm over-Jew-ing it. I'm Jew Jew Jew all the time. I was even accused of trying to convert the masses (what the hell?).

Now, when it comes down to it, I really don't care. I don't need every Jew on the planet to accept me, and I guess if my biggest problem right now is one Jew refusing to call me by my chosen, Hebrew name, then I'm doing pretty good.

I just wish I could understand why this person, who at one time welcomed me as a member of the tribe and treated me with the same respect as others, suddenly is unable to call me Chavi.

EDIT: So here's what this Jew has to say to me, flat out, in a public forum.

"Amanda, sorry, you'll never be jewish no matter how hard you try. I don't care if you change your name legally. I don't care if you go to shul every friday for the rest of your life. I don't care if you keep strict kosher rules. I really just don't care. You'll never be jewish. It's just not going to happen. It's not in your blood. Furthermore, I'm really just sick and tired of your holier-than-thou attitude."

Someone explain to me how people are allowed to keep their Jew card with this attitude? This person is just as bad as the ultra-Orthodox Jew who denies my Jewishness, except this person is on the other end of the spectrum. People never cease to amaze me in their ignorance, and they will eat the words they spew one of these days.

A brief interlude for music and words.

"I'm packing heat like the oven door." -- Jay Z

I'm attempting to look at rappers as poets, in the fashion of Tupac, if that makes sense. On my way in this morning I was listening to one of the many mixes that a Yelper put together of tunes that members of the Yelp-o-Sphere were listening to. Among these are lots of hardcore angry metal tunes, which to be frank I can't even bring myself to listen to. I don't see any musical value in them, nor can I really muster the patience to try. There's some Dragonforce and Dolly Parton ("Jolene") not to mention plenty of new "indie" rock and classic indie music. And then there is plenty of rap and I guess what you'd call hip hop by artists like Jay Z. I find it hard to listen to a lot of that type of music because of the prevalence of the "n" word.

Listen, as a grammarian and amateur etymologist, I don't believe in this whole "reclaiming words" business. Yes, language grows and changes and words take on colloquial meanings. New words are added to the lexicon and old words fade away. There's the old adage that "When I say a word, it means what I choose it to mean," or something to that effect, and my father used to spout that off frequently. Yet when I would say a word without knowing its meaning and dad would ask me what I thought it meant and I replied "I don't know," he'd insist I go look it up. I usually didn't, though. It was a rebellious act of a young wordsmith. But in my experience, in a single generation or two, words don't change their meanings.

In 500 years, the "n" word might fade into oblivion, left in old dictionaries never to be seen, read, or heard again. In truth, I'd prefer this route for the word, not to mention for words like "k*ke" and "c*nt" and "d*ke." The latter two, of course, have been embraced by the women's movements and the lesbian community. They've "reclaimed" the words, making them empowering -- not harmful or derogatory. But aren't there still those who use these words in the very way that ARE hurtful? The words themselves can be found in the dictionary with general definitions, but the colloquial usage has transformed them into words of hate and words of empowerment. It's like the word "queer" -- the GLBT community embraced the term, they say, and are proud to call themselves queer. But there's most definitely a difference in the types of people who call themselves "queer" versus those who call themselves "gay" or "lesbian." There's still a stigma with the word, and in many circles the word is still derogatory and full of hate.

The word "k*ke" is not used so much anymore, and it is said to have derived from Ellis Island. The story goes that Jews were supposed to sign with an X, like all new arrivals, but since it resembled the cross too much, they'd draw a circle. The German word (I think it was German) for circle is kikel or something of the sort, and thus the officers at Ellis Island began calling Jews "k*ke." It evolved, hate fell behind it, and now it's a word of oppresion. I'm reading the book "Generation J," and I have to say I find the book pretty distressing and self-centered. The author discusses the reclaiming of words and thinks, Why can't Jews reclaim the word? What a stupid idea.

So back to where I started -- the "n" word. I can't even type it. I find it easier to type the other words than I do the "n" word. I'm not sure why, but when I hear it, or see it, it says to me "HATE" in big, bold, angry, black letters. It screams of slavery and oppression and hate; pure, vile, violent hate. I've never understood the desire for the black community to "reclaim" the word. I don't know why you wouldn't just want it to fade away, to be left to the annals of a horrible time in history like slavery. For there is a difference between remembering and reliving and in my mind, everytime the word is uttered, it's reliving that anger and oppression. It's better to remember; it's wiser, at that.

But I'm giving Jay Z a shot. And it's phrases like that which I wrote above -- "I'm packing heat like the oven door" -- said with a rhythm and poetry that strikes me as worth listening to. It's a simple phrase, but it's quite beautiful in its poetic quality. So for now, I'm giving rap a chance, though I cringe at every utterance of the "n" word. I just can't help it.

On a different, yet related note, thanks to Melanie, here's a new video from Mates of State, who have an album coming out in May. It's good stuff, so give it a watch.

A Vocabulary Lesson.

Listen, Pesach doesn't mean Passover. Passover means Passover and Pesach derives from the word "pe" for mouth and "sach," which means to converse.

Pesach, thus means the mouth that speaks. This is emblematic of the holiday in general, as it is a festival of freedom and only the free have the ability to speak freely from the mouth.

Capiche? Capiche.

EDIT: Okay, I suppose I should issue you some sources, right? You can find information about this on any of these: Hagshama.org, Rabbi Mordechai Gafni also writes about this here, as well as in a piece by the OU that can be found here. Pesach is noted in m-w.com as first appearing in 1613, and Passover is dated to 1530. Thanks for suggesting I post some sources, David!