This is going to turn out to be the story of my name. But I’d like to start by talking about one of my favorite novels, The Chosen by Chaim Potok.
The Chosen was published in 1969, the same magical year Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon, half a million gathered at Woodstock and the New York Mets won the World Series. But it takes place in the years before and after World War II, when two kids named Danny Saunders and Reuven Malter are growing up in Brooklyn. Both are sons of famous Jewish leaders: Danny Saunders is the celebrated first-born of a revered Hasidic rabbi, and Reuven Malter is the son of a controversial and secular-minded political journalist. The two are not meant to know each other, mainly because of the separatist traditions of Hasidic Judaism (which is highly mystical but ultra-conservative, and which does not welcome outsiders to the tradition). But they meet playing baseball, discover mutual interests and become best friends despite their vastly different religious backgrounds.
But Saunders, the Rabbi’s son, is fascinated with Freudian psychology, and he drifts constantly from his father’s teachings. Reuven, meanwhile, becomes caught up in the Israeli war of independence in 1948 and discovers himself filled with religious yearnings. The best part of the book is the end, when the boys have become adults and finally manage to complete their own transformations. In the book’s unforgettable final scene, Danny the Rabbi’s son shows up at Reuven’s door in a business suit, his long hair shaved and his earlocks cut off. These symbols of his culture seemed unremovable, and yet he simply removed them. Meanwhile, Reuven, who was raised to disdain religion, has become a rabbi.
Last week I talked about books by two Palestinian authors, Elias Khoury and Mahmoud Darwish. I wrote that I hoped Palestinians and Israelis would sometimes read each other’s books, but the honest truth is that I have never read a novel by an Israeli writer (not even David Grossman, who lost a son this weekend). If I had to recommend any one novel to represent the Jewish experience, though, that novel would be The Chosen by Chaim Potok. I also heartily recommend the 1981 film version starring Barry Miller (of Fame) as Reuven and Robby Benson, who is surprisingly good despite being annoying in every other movie of his career, as Danny Saunders. Rod Steiger also makes a great impression as the commanding Reb Saunders.
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Now, about the name. What intrigued me so much about The Chosen was the idea that humans can change themselves at the deepest levels. For the course of the entire novel, we cannot conceive of Danny without his heavy suit and long hair and earlocks. This is his essence, but he is somehow compelled to become something different. This is an expression of ultimate freedom, the type of freedom Jean-Paul Sartre and William James wrote about. It reminds me of the way we all transform ourselves during our lives, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.
Around the time I first read this book (ok, I’ll admit it, I saw the movie first) I was thinking about the name I was born with, a name I never particularly liked. Like many American Jews, I was stuck with a name that denied my own ethnicity: my first name is of Roman and French origin, and my last name is German. I never understood why an American Jew should carry around a German last name. I don’t even like my born name enough to tell it to you now, but I’ll just say it’s a familiar combination like one you could make by putting together one from column A and one from column B below:
| Leonard | Zimmerman |
| Allen | Stein |
| Philip | Marx |
| Carl | Ginsberg |
| Marc | Roth |
| Robert | Bernstein |
I spent a lot of time thinking about names, and I decided that I wanted to honor my ethnic heritage by taking on a Hebrew name. This was not a religious decision, but it was an aesthetic one — I simply wanted a name I’d be proud to call myself by.
I also thought, around this time, about the fact that my grandmother had come to America from an Ukranian village called Potok Zloty, which hinted at a connection with Chaim Potok. I thought about taking a name from The Chosen, but neither “Danny Saunders” nor “Reuven Malter” had the right ring to it. But then, Chaim Potok had also written this other book.
And that’s how I became Levi Asher. If you’ve ever contemplated changing your own name, I can tell you that it’s not easy. Family members and old friends aren’t likely to ever get used to it. Former names also have a way of sticking to you, and sometimes you forget who you are.
Still, I firmly believe that every human being has the right to choose a name they enjoy living with, although they should try to avoid the Prince/P. Diddy syndrome of changing it too often. I’m going to be sticking with Levi.
6 Responses
What’s in a name?So what
What’s in a name?
So what you’re saying is that your birth name was Marc Marx? What were your parents thinking?
The German last name for a Jew just doesn’t fit. Neither does the Franco/Roman first name, come to think of it.
I like Levi Asher. It fits what I know of you.
BTW, 2 of my kids have Irish/Gaelic first names and one a Jewish name, heritages neither myself or my wife come from. We just loved the singsong lilt to the ones we came up with. (Besides, with Hill as a last name, it’d be a crime and a shame to give them another incredibly boring Anglo-Saxon name.)
by any other name…I’m happy
by any other name…
I’m happy to hear the story of your name, Levi. When I first came to LitKicks, I called you by your user name, brooklyn, but people were always referring to someone named “Levi.” As you know, my last name was not always Ectric, but it is now, and that’s the way it’s gonna stay.
I want to read The Chosen. I think my most fundamental interest is in the dichotomy of secular vs. spiritual or natural vs. supernatural – not only the differences, but also how these concepts merge in the molecular magic of mind, body, time, and space. My interest in Transcendentalism first prompted you to suggest I write an article for Litkicks. I am convinced that spiritual progress must take place inside each individual, not by one nation imposing their religion on another nation.
Kind of like meIt’s true. My
Kind of like me
It’s true. My name is really not singlemalt. Okay it is. I just wanted to bond with you, brother Asher.
On the one hand, names mean nothing. On the other hand, my kids are very attached to their names which, I suppose, is good. It’s a big deal giving someone a name, even if that someone is you.
Nice post. You don’t read this kind of stuff on genmay.com, I’ll tell you that.
You can’t fool me, Malt. I
You can’t fool me, Malt. I know your real name is Blended Whiskey!
Great essayLevi – thanks for
Great essay
Levi – thanks for a good piece of writing. I enjoyed it.
A friend of mine of 10 years recently began the one-year transition from male to female required before sex-change surgery. Along with hormones and a new wardrobe, this entails a name change. She changed both her first and last name. It is strange in some ways to talk with her – as though someone you knew had gone away but was still present in different form.
She is married with children and an observant Jew; don’t know what the religious types think about it.
I don’t know if… you can
I don’t know if
… you can change your name in my country. I don’t know anybody with official changed names, so I guess you can’t.
I never thought in change my name or surname. I like my name. It was an uncle’s idea (my parents only had boys names in mind and Erica and Florencia just in case… but my uncle’s idea won!). My surname has the spelling “desventaja”.
Nobody that hears it for the first time writes it well. So you have to spell it, and spell it through the years. It’s not common here as a surname but it’s very common as a lunfardo homofono for “girl”. The ventaja is that it always causes a smile, a joke or a piropo (maybe my brother’s experience with the apellido was different but I didn’t heard about big problems caused by it). Also a polish doctor told to my father that in his land and other slavic countries it means “beer”. Later, I also found out in my grandparent’s italian dictionary that it means “bagpipe” in italian. I like the three words!.
My internet most used name Arcadia was the name I had given to a group of texts written long time ago.