Our names aren’t just our names. Our names tell a story about our past, our present, and our future. Our names are full of hope, passion, and promise. When I tell you that I want to know your names, I tell you that I want to know you. Truly. Who are you? Where do you come from? What do you care about? Who do you want to be in the world? When we know each other’s names, that is to say, when we really know each other…that is when we enter into sacred relationship. That is when we build a spiritual community of meaning and purpose. That is what seals us for blessing in the Book of Life.
Hello!
…I’m Rabbi Jason Fenster. Who are all of you? Will you share your names with me? Ready…one, two, three. Nice to meet you.
So, now that we’ve met…can I be honest with you for a moment? This, this right here. This is kind of weird. Not the rabbi part. Not the High Holy Days. Not giving a sermon. It’s this (directional arms). I’ve been at BJBE for about 43 seconds (well…82 days to be exact, but who’s counting). We don’t really know each other yet. And all of a sudden, here I am, standing on the bimah, speaking to you for 15-20 minutes at one of the most sacred moments of our year.
It’s weird for me, because my Judaism, my theology, my politics, my worldview, my spiritual practice, my belief in God, are rooted in relationships. Rooted in the connections that we will form with each other in the coming weeks and months of 5778. And the first moment of connection with the vast majority of you is this directional moment where I will talk and you will listen. Unless you take a nap.
Sure, we may have spoken at an oneg. Or you may have swung by the office. Or maybe we even had a few minutes of kibitzing in the Village Center. But I want you to know that it weighs on me that I don’t yet know you.
And, whether you nap or not, I need you to know that I want to know your names. And I want to you to know my names.
I don’t just mean “Rabbi Jason Eli Fenster.” For sure, it would be nice if we knew that, but our tradition believes that our names are more than what is on a driver’s license, credit card, or electrical bill. Our names are who we are.
It goes like this:
Each of us has three names:
The name our parents give us.Our names aren’t just our names. Our names tell a story about our past, our present, and our future. Our names are full of hope, passion, and promise. When I tell you that I want to know your names, I tell you that I want to know you. Truly. Who are you? Where do you come from? What do you care about? Who do you want to be in the world? When we know each other’s names, that is to say, when we really know each other…that is when we enter into sacred relationship. That is when we build a spiritual community of meaning and purpose. That is what seals us for blessing in the Book of Life.
The name our friends call us.
And the name we earn ourselves.
That’s the foundation of a sacred community. Sacred community is where we know each other. Where we see each other and see into each other’s souls. And, knowing who we are, we make God manifest in our world so we can set about creating a world worthy of our prayers this High Holy Day season.
For sure, it is not an easy process. It will take time. And it is time critically worth spending. So, let me tell you my names. And your assignment, during this holiday season, or in the weeks, months, and years to come, is to return the favor. Deal? And this isn’t the kind of vow that gets wiped away at Kol Nidre! I expect follow up!
Our first name is the name our parents give us. My Hebrew name is הרב יעקב אליהו בן ראובן יוסף ומשאה רחל. I am Rabbi Jason Eli, the son of Remy Jean and Marilyn Rochelle Fain Fenster.
As a Bar Mitzvah student recently asserted to me…"our Hebrew names are really long. Can’t we just shorten it at the service?" No! Our given names, the names our parents choose for us tell us where we come from. It’s why I gave that student (and every other student I’ve met on the bimah for a Bar or Bat Mitzvah) a homework assignment: find out who you are named for and why. Your name isn’t just your name. Your name is your family. Your name is the history that you inherit.
When we share name number one, we share where we come from. The past that informs our present and that dreamt of our future.
I’m named for my maternal grandfather, Jerome Fain. I never met Jerome—he died when my mother was 20. Jerome was a man of principle. Jerome’s eldest child was his daughter Marilyn, my mom. She was a bright student and committed to her community. But, at the synagogue where they belonged, women were not permitted to read from the Torah. So, Jerome and few of his friends founded a new synagogue. And my mother was the first woman to read from the Torah at Temple Emanuel of Rochester, New York. Through my name, I inherit a legacy of strong morals that lead to sacred action.
My middle name is Eli. It comes from my paternal great grandfather, my dad’s Opa, Erwin Fenster. Erwin had one son, Pierre who was born in Berlin in 1933. Pierre, Erwin, and Elsa, survived the Holocaust and because of their perseverance and luck, I stand here today. I am a third generation Holocaust survivor. Through my name, I inherit a legacy of memory and commitment to the Jewish people.
Who are you named for? What did your parents hope for you when they named you? What legacy did you inherit and how do you live it out? If you have children, do they know who they are named for? Do they know why? When we know name number one, we know where we come from, so we can dream about where we might go.
So, what of name number two? The name our friends call us. Our second name is who we are in the world today. It’s what we do and what we love. How are we are known to the people around us.
Usually, the way we try to find this out at cocktail parties, oneg, and bagel brunches is we ask “What do you do?” It’s a simple, well-meaning question. It’s an attempt to connect. I, for one, find that I ask it all the time. And, sometimes, that question is right on point. If we were to meet at a party, and you were to ask me “what do you do?” I would say, “I’m a rabbi.” And after you got over the initial shock of the reality that rabbis do, in fact, go to parties, you would learn that I am a rabbi because I believe in the power of conversation around shared values that inspire us, bring us together, and call us to action. And I’m a rabbi because I love asking questions and I love being a part of joyous community. And I am a rabbi because I believe that, as a Jew, I am obligated to insist on a world of peace, justice, and compassion. And then, you would have a pretty good idea of who I am.
But, if you were to ask me that question in late 2009, I would have said that I was a part-time telemarketer for the National Symphony Orchestra, and that I was temping. And I would have been embarrassed. And you wouldn't really know all that much about me.
I sense a growing cultural pushback against this question. On the one hand, there are a host of articles on business and click-bait websites that talk about better ways to answer. They recognize that we are more than titles. So they recommend ways to twist your response to market yourself in a way that is more interesting and helps you avoid getting pigeon holed into society’s assumptions about a given profession.
And, on the other hand, there are those who say that this question, in and of itself, is flawed, and that we ought to extricate it from polite conversation all together. To ask “what do you do?,” the argument goes, is to actually ask, “what do you do for a living?” or “how do you earn a paycheck?” As if to say that we are only interesting based on the bullet points of our resumes. And, for sure, there are many who are quite proud of the work they do and the passion they bring to it. But what about people who are looking for work, but unable to find something. What about someone whose job is unsatisfying. What about those who are underemployed? How does the full-time caregiver who does not go to work, but spends time supporting generations young and old in the family, answer?
Instead, to know our second name, we need to learn something different. When I was peddling classical music to residents of the nation’s capital, I would have shirked away if you asked me, “what do you do?” But, if you had asked me what I love, I would have loved to share that with you.
Instead of a reluctant retelling of my job hunt process, I would tell you how I love musical theater, board games, and singing around the Shabbat table. I would have told you that I was thinking about what it means to build a world of justice and equality and that I was trying to explore the best avenue for fulfillment and having a positive impact.
To know each other’s second names, we need to learn not just what we spend the most hours of our day doing, but rather what we love to do, what we are thinking about, what we are building. To know the name our friends call us, we need to know more than each other’s resumes, we need to learn about each other’s passions.
So…what are your passions? What do you love? What makes you feel fulfilled? What big ideas are you thinking about?
Our first name is our history. Our second name is our present. And now we come to our third name. The name we earn for ourselves. The name that our tradition tells us is the best of our three names. Our third name is our legacy. Our third name is our future.
What could be a more critical question for this season? Who do you want to be? How do you wish you could be known by the world?
I am fascinated by Clayton Christensen’s answer to this question. Clayton Chirstensen is a Harvard Business School professor. He is an author and the thinker who coined the term “disruptive innovation” to consider the paradigm shifts that are the structures of our modern world. And, Clayton Christensen is a father. Of five. And one day, one of his children got into trouble in school for pushing a classmate. He and his wife held a family meeting. And they announced a new family motto: ‘The Christensens are known for kindness.” And from there, they could measure the family’s actions against their newfound creed. In the decisions they made, from the most important to the most mundane, they could ask does this support our family brand? Is this in line with the family mission statement? Are our actions consistent with the name we want the Christens to earn in the world?
Over the last few weeks and months I’ve been talking a lot with my wife, Gavi, about this question. You can’t see all this from where you’re sitting, but Gavi is the kind, thoughtful, wise, tall, beautiful, curly, brown-haired woman sitting in the tenor section. We have been trying to figure out; what is our family motto? What is the legacy that we want this iteration of the Fenster clan to leave? What is the name that we hope the Fensters will earn in this world, so that we might merit blessing in the years to come?
We have a few ideas that we have put together, and this name is still in progress. I am sure that as the years go on, and as our life and family change, more will come into focus. For the time being, we have been playing with a few key words. Words like love, positivity, compassion, friendship.
And through this process, I’ve come up with a theory. As much as we can pen our own motto, the legacy we leave the world is not up to us. It’s up to the world. So, I polled a few friends from our lives in NFTY, camp, and Hillel—the people who know us best. I asked them, what do you think is the brand of the Fensters?
And I was delighted to find the same themes appear. They said things like: “doing the right thing the right way;” “warmth and comfort;” “open-heartedness.”
And I am so grateful to these friends. Those friends from relationships forged over Shabbat dinners, song sessions, text studies, and late nights talking about what we believe and know about the world. Our third name is clearest when we surround ourselves with people who know us, who love us, and who want us to help us make manifest the world we dream about. The people who see us as if we stand in a spotlight worthy of celebration for nothing more than being ourselves.
And this is why we need community. This is why we need the synagogue. We need people who know us. People with whom we can talk about our dreams. Who can reflect to us what they see in our words and deeds. Who can lovingly hold us accountable to our highest ideals.
Isn’t that why we are here? We come to synagogue to know each other and to be known. The synagogue is where we know each other’s names. Without a doubt, nametags are great. Especially for the new rabbi struggling to tie together names of the driver’s license variety. And, the synagogue is where we strive to know each other’s many names. The names that tell our past, present, and future. That names that dig to the core of who we are. The names that allow us to stand and be seen for the gifts, skills, and talents we bring, and for the dreams that we might build together.
So, now you have learned some about my names. And don’t forget, I want to learn yours as well. And, while we are here, getting ready for 5778, let’s add a few more commitments for the year to come. On your way out of and into the building. When you come for a class. When bring the young people you love to the JLC or a celebration at the synagogue. When you come for Shabbat services. When you volunteer. When you meet up with the people you’ve known for years over a meal. Share your names. Know each other more deeply. See each other in a new and more brilliant light so we can know each other’s history. So we can know what each of us loves. So that together, may we build a legacy worthy of our future.
As we stand on the precipice of 5778, I pray that we are blessed with a year of joy. A year of sweetness. And a year of names learned and names well earned. Shanah Tovah.
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