From the village priest, to Yosef in Egypt, to the Greeks in the Land of Israel — how changing a name, or holding on to it, can shape our destiny.
Quite a number of Jewish families have begun bringing a ‘Chanukah Bush’ into their homes on Chanukah. Does calling it a “Chanukah bush” make it Kosher? Does changing the name, change its identity?
This reminds me of a story about a Jew from a small town in Eastern Europe who struggled to provide for his family and had no source of income whatsoever. At that time, he discovered that the local priest would pay any Jew willing to convert to Christianity. What could a desperate man with no livelihood and no money do? He decided to try.
On Sunday he went to the priest and asked to convert. The priest told him a few things he had to affirm, and so on. The Jew answered “yes” to everything, the priest sprinkled a bit of “holy water” on him, and he received the payment—enough to support his family for the week.
The following Sunday he went to a different church and repeated the same process. Week after week, he found a new place and managed to earn his family’s livelihood this way.
On one of his visits, the priest said to him, “I know your type — you’re doing this for the money. Remember,” he warned the Jew, “I’m going to check up on you to see whether your conversion is real or not.” The priest put him through the conversion process again, and among the instructions told him that on Friday it was forbidden to eat meat or poultry. (In those days, Christians were strict about not eating any meat — not even chicken — on Fridays.) The Jew promised to comply, everything went smoothly, the priest paid him, and the man went home happily.
That Friday night, the Jew sat at his Shabbat table eating chicken soup — because how can a Jew get through Friday night without chicken soup? The priest decided he wasn’t giving up. He went to the Jew’s house to check what he was eating on Friday night. He peeked through the window, saw him eating chicken soup, and immediately burst into the house shouting, “Aha! I caught you red-handed!” He pointed at a cooked chicken wing sitting in the bowl.
The Jew answered calmly, “My dear friend, this isn’t chicken — it’s fish.”
The priest demanded, “Since when does a fish have wings?”
The Jew replied slowly, “Do you remember last Sunday when you ‘converted’ me? You sprinkled a little water on me and declared, ‘You are no longer a Jew — from now on you are a Christian.’ Well, tonight when I sat down at the Shabbat table, I took a little water, sprinkled it on the chicken, and declared, ‘You are no longer chicken — from now on you are fish.’”
This is exactly what has happened in the United States in recent years: they took the very same tree, gave it a different name, and suddenly it became “acceptable.”
Changing a name
“Changing one’s name” is a well-known concept in Jewish law, and it is connected to the story of Yosef that we read in this week’s Torah portion. The Talmud in Rosh Hashanah (16b) teaches: Rabbi Yitzchak said, “Four things can tear up a person’s negative decree: charity, crying out in prayer, changing one’s name, and changing one’s deeds.” Regarding changing a name, the verse states: “Sarai your wife — you shall no longer call her Sarai, for Sarah is her name,” and immediately afterward, “I will bless her, and I will also give you a son through her.”
We all know the three things mentioned in the prayer of “Unesaneh Tokef” that can annul a harsh decree on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur — repentance, prayer, and charity. But the Talmud adds a fourth: changing one’s name. When a person receives a new name, the decree can change because he or she is no longer considered the same person.
Where do we learn this idea? From the story of Avraham and Sarah. At first her name was Sarai, but after G-d changed her name to Sarah, He promised she would bear a child. As Rashi explains: “Avram — he had no son; Avraham — he has a son. Sarai — she will not give birth; Sarah — she will give birth.” (Lech Lecha 17:5)
The change of name reflects a shift in destiny and in essence. Since she becomes, in a spiritual sense, a “new person,” the previous decree no longer applies to her.
According to the teachings of the Arizal, the name given to a newborn by his or her parents is not random at all. He writes: “When a person is born and his father and mother choose a name that comes to their mind, it is not by chance or coincidence, for it is G-d who places that name in their mouths — the name that is necessary for that particular soul.” (Sefer HaGilgulim, Introduction 23). For this reason, the custom is not to change a person’s name outright, but rather to add a new name when needed.
There are various reasons for adding a name, but the primary and most common case is when someone is ill. A meaningful name is added — such as Chaim, Rafael, Chaya, and the like — and this new name is usually placed before the existing name. (If the person does not recover, the added name is considered not to have “taken effect,” and he continues to be known by his original name.)
In such situations, “changing the name” is considered a positive act, because it creates a new spiritual channel of blessing and mazal from Above; the person is no longer, in a spiritual sense, the same individual he was before.
Yosef or Tzafnat Paneach?
Conversely, we learn from the Midrash regarding the exile in Egypt: “For four reasons the Children of Israel were redeemed from Egypt: … because they did not change their names…” Reuven and Shimon went down to Egypt as Reuven and Shimon — and they came up as Reuven and Shimon. (Vayikra Rabbah 32). One of the strategies used by the Egyptian sages to assimilate the Jewish people was to uproot their Hebrew names and replace them with new Egyptian names, hoping to blend them into Egyptian society.
The Egyptians understood the tremendous power of a person’s name and its deep connection to that person’s essence. The Rav of Dinov explains on the verse, “And the king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, the name of one was…” (Exodus 1:15): Pharaoh knew that as long as the midwives were known by their Hebrew names, Yocheved and Miriam, he could not approach them with his cruel plan to kill the Jewish infants. Therefore, he first ordered them to change their names to Shifrah and Puah. He believed that once they would be called by Egyptian names, it would influence their mindset, alter their identity and character, and only then would they be capable of carrying out the decree.
Only after changing their names did he issue the second command: “If it is a boy — you shall kill him.” For a person’s entire essence is bound up with his or her name, and when a name is altered, it can create an inner change — in spirit, in identity, and in character.
The Egyptians used every possible method to prevent the Jewish people from using their Hebrew names, but the Jews withstood the test and did not change their names — neither outwardly nor among themselves.
We see this as well in the case of Yosef. In Parshat Miketz, the Torah tells us that Pharaoh called Yosef “Tzafnat Paneach.” The intention was to change Yosef’s very identity and absorb him into Egyptian culture. Pharaoh believed that by giving him an Egyptian name, Yosef’s practices and beliefs would eventually change as well. But Yosef did not cooperate. He continued to present himself to everyone by his Hebrew name, and in doing so, he completely undermined Pharaoh’s plan. This is the meaning behind the verse, “And Yosef went out over the land of Egypt” — specifically as Yosef, with his Hebrew identity intact.
Yosef is the first person in the Torah whose name was changed by a foreign king — yet he never adopted the foreign name. “Tzafnat Paneach” appears in the Torah only a single time, which clearly shows that Yosef himself never used it. And the same is evident in Parshat Vayigash: when Yosef reveals himself to his brothers, he proclaims, “I am Yosef” (45:3). He emphasizes that he remains Yosef the Hebrew, their brother — and therefore they can approach him.
It is from Yosef’s steadfastness that generations of Jews drew the strength to hold on to their Jewish names, despite the pressures of surrounding non-Jewish cultures trying to reshape their identity.
My friends, the war of the Maccabees was not a battle to save Jews from genocide. The Greeks did not seek to kill Jews the way Haman did in the Purim story; their goal was something else entirely — to destroy Judaism itself. They aimed to abolish Jewish practice — circumcision, Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, and more — and to make the Jewish people forget the traditions of their ancestors. It was a religious war. The Maccabees fought so they could continue to live as Jews in the Land of Israel.
If so, the purpose of Chanukah is to live openly and proudly as Jews — pirsumei nisa — to publicize the miracle and our Jewish identity. Any attempt to adopt customs from foreign cultures is the exact opposite of what Chanukah stands for. Our task is to strengthen our Jewish identity and inspire every Jew to light the menorah.
One simple way today is to take a photo or a short video of your own menorah lighting at home and share it with family and friends. Our personal example will inspire many other Jews to do the same — and together we will illuminate the world with the light of the Chanukah candles.
May we soon merit to see the light of Moshiach, speedily in our days.
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