| Dear Yeshiva Family:
Before turning to this week's parsha, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to the more than five hundred people who came together this past week to celebrate 'The Yeshiva'. It was an incredible evening filled with Torah and a genuine sense of a shared mission of Avodas Hashem. To see our supporters all coming together to strengthen and uplift the Yeshiva was deeply moving. We cannot thank everyone enough, from near and far, for your participation and for always being there for us. Your support is a tremendous chizuk and a powerful reminder of what can be accomplished when a community rallies around Torah.
What's in a Name Rashi, at the beginning of this week's parsha, explains that even though Klal Yisrael had already been counted during their lifetime, Hashem counted them again after their passing in order to demonstrate how precious they are to Him. Rashi adds an additional detail: Hashem did not merely count them as numbers, but He counted them by name, mentioning each one individually. What is the significance of names? Why is it so important not just to count the Jewish people, but to say over their names?
Reb Lazer Shach Zatzal[1], in his sefer Machsheves Mussar on the parsha, addresses this question by drawing on a Ramban at the beginning of Sefer Bereishis (2:19). The Torah tells us that Adam HaRishon named all of the animals. The Ramban explains that Adam was not simply assigning arbitrary labels. Rather, each name expressed the inner essence of the creature. Adam HaRishon possessed a unique spiritual clarity that allowed him to perceive the defining nature, purpose, and character of each animal, and he articulated that essence through the name he gave it. The name was a description of what that being truly was at its core. The name captured the inner reality of the creation, expressed through the letters of the aleph-beis, each combination reflecting the full makeup of that being. To name something, in this sense, is to truly understand it.
Therefore, Rav Shach concludes, the names of the children of Klal Yisrael were not arbitrary designations. A name, in the Torah sense, expresses the inner makeup of the person, their nature, their role, and their unique spiritual identity. Calling someone by name is not merely a way of referring to them; it is an act of relating to who they truly are, to their full essence. When Hashem counted Klal Yisrael and mentioned each one by name, He was affirming the individuality and inner worth of every single Jew.
This, Rav Shach explains, is why Hashem did not suffice with counting alone, and why the Torah emphasizes the repetition of the names. Hashem wanted the names themselves to be relisted, because each name represents a complete world, worthy of recognition and relationship.
The Double Layered Meaning of a Name The Midrash states in Shemos Rabbah (1:5) that all of the names of the Shevatim were connected to the future redemption of Klal Yisrael. Each name, according to the Midrash, expressed an aspect of the geulah. Reuven, for example, is linked to the verse (3:7) "Re'eh ra'isi es oniyei ami" — "I have surely seen the affliction of My people." Shimon is associated with the idea that Hashem heard our cries (2:24), and the Midrash continues in this vein with the rest of the Shevatim.
The Kli Yakar points out a well-known statement of Chazal: Klal Yisrael was redeemed from Mitzrayim because they did not change their names, their language, or their clothing. At first, this statement itself is puzzling. What does it mean that they did not change their names? None of the Shevatim named their children Avraham, Yitzchak, or Yaakov. Even later, we do not find people naming their children after the Shevatim themselves. Moshe and Aharon did not bear "tribal" names. So in what sense were these names so central to Jewish continuity?
The Kli Yakar explains that a "Jewish name" does not mean a name passed down from ancestors, nor does it mean a specific list of acceptable biblical names. Rather, a Jewish name is one that reflects Jewish values. As we saw earlier with the Ramban's explanation of Adam HaRishon naming the animals, a name expresses essence. In the case of the Shevatim, their names expressed foundational Jewish beliefs: that Hashem sees suffering, that He hears cries, that history has meaning, and that redemption is possible even when circumstances appear bleak.
When Chazal say that Klal Yisrael was redeemed because they did not change their names, they are not speaking about phonetics or external titles. They are describing something much deeper: Klal Yisrael did not abandon the values that defined who they were.
We see this very clearly with Yosef. When Yosef rose to power in Mitzrayim, Pharaoh gave him a new name: Tzafnas Paneach, which is commonly understood to mean "the revealer of secrets." It was an impressive title, reflecting Yosef's role in interpreting dreams and managing the kingdom. But Yosef never adopted that name as his identity. Within his family, within his inner world, he remained Yosef. That was the name that reflected his essence and the values he carried. The external title described his function; his original name described who he was.
This pattern appears repeatedly throughout Tanach and Chazal. Chananiah, Mishael, and Azariah were given Babylonian names when they entered positions of prominence, yet they are remembered by their Jewish names. Daniel as well was given a new name, but his identity remained unchanged. These new names were imposed titles, reflective of political systems and external roles. They were not embraced as defining identities.
Even in other cultures, we intuitively understand this idea. When a pope is elected, he takes on a new name meant to signal the values, direction, or priorities of his leadership. Names reflect aspirations and ideals. They are statements, not placeholders.
In Torah thought, this is all the more true. A Jewish name is a carrier of Jewish values. To "not change one's name" means to refuse to redefine oneself according to the surrounding culture or circumstance. It means holding onto an inner identity rooted in faith, purpose, and connection to Hashem. That fidelity to identity is what preserved Klal Yisrael in exile and ultimately made redemption possible.
At first glance, this Midrash is difficult to understand. In Sefer Bereishis, the Torah itself gives very different explanations for these names. Reuven is named because "Hashem saw my affliction," referring specifically to Leah's personal suffering. Shimon is named because Hashem heard that Leah was unloved (Bereishis 29:33). These explanations are personal, immediate, and situational — not national, and certainly not explicitly about redemption. So which is it? Were the names about Leah's private pain, or were they about the future geulah of Klal Yisrael?
The Sefer Ohel Moshe explains that both explanations of the names are true. On the surface, the names reflected Leah's personal experience. But embedded within those same words was a far deeper message — one that would later define an entire nation in exile. Reuven meant not despair, but faith that Hashem sees. Shimon meant not silence, but confidence that Hashem hears. These were not merely names; they were statements of identity and hope.
But from here we see that this idea of names goes even deeper. When Leah named her children, she certainly did not consciously understand the full historical and national significance those names would one day carry. She was responding to her immediate reality, to her own pain, tefillah, and relationship with Hashem. And yet, those very names later became the language through which the redemption of Klal Yisrael would be described. How could that be?
Naming a Child The answer is that Leah was not acting alone. Chazal teach that when a Jewish parent names a child, they are granted a measure of Ruach HaKodesh, Divine inspiration, guiding that choice. The parent may not fully grasp the long-term implications of the name, but Hashem does. Through that moment of naming, something much deeper is taking place. The name is not only a reflection of the present; it is a window into the child's essence and, at times, into the role that child will play in a much larger story.
Sometimes a name captures the inner nature of the child, as we saw earlier with the Ramban's explanation of naming as expressing essence. At other times, the name carries a message, a mission, or a value that the child will bear throughout life. And sometimes it is both at once. All of this is folded into that sacred parental decision. The parent chooses the name, but Hashem infuses it with meaning far beyond what the parent can consciously articulate at the time.
Leah's naming of the Shevatim becomes a powerful example of this. What began as deeply personal expressions of pain, hope, and faith ultimately became the spiritual vocabulary of a nation in exile, words that would sustain Klal Yisrael until redemption. A moment that seemed private and limited was, in truth, shaping the destiny of generations.
To continue this thought, in Maseches Yoma (83b), the Gemara relates that Rabbi Meir would sometimes assess a person's reliability based on his name. If he sensed that the name reflected something negative, he would be wary of trusting that person. The point was that Rabbi Meir understood the same principle we have been developing: a name is connected to essence. Even though the name is given at birth, Rabbi Meir assumed that Hashem, in His providence, guided that child to be called what he was called, because that name reflected something real about the person.
Taking this even further, the Gemara in Maseches Berachos (7b) discusses the idea that a person's name can have impact and can shape outcomes. In other words, a name is not only descriptive; it can be formative. It can express something about the soul, and it can also become part of the way a person's life unfolds.
The Seforno (2:10), when discussing the name Moshe, points out that if the name were merely describing what happened to him ("because I drew him from the water"), one might have expected a different grammatical form. The fact that he is called Moshe is read as something deeper: not only "drawn out," but someone who will "draw others out" — a person whose very identity is to pull others from danger, from confusion, and ultimately from bondage. Once again, the name is not just a historical footnote; it is a mission statement.
All of this reinforces the central idea: in Torah thought, names matter because they express inner reality and enduring values. A Jewish name is never only what people call you. At its best, it is a window into who you are — and sometimes, into what you are meant to become[2].
In our own times, we no longer assume that we can consciously access the shoresh haneshamah, the inner spiritual root of a child's soul, in the way earlier generations could. Instead, we follow the longstanding minhag of Klal Yisrael to name children after parents or earlier generations. This, too, is not merely sentimental. It reflects a deep hope and belief that the strength, values, and spiritual legacy of those neshamos will continue to live on through the child, guiding and supporting him throughout his life. The name becomes a bridge between generations — a way of anchoring a child's identity in the accumulated faith and resilience of the past.
But as we have seen, the act of naming itself is still guided from Above. Hashem places into the hearts and minds of parents the name that is meant for that child, just as He did with Leah, and as we saw from the many sources discussed earlier. Parents may experience this as a choice, but it carries within it Divine guidance. Naming a child is therefore not only an expression of hope or memory; it is an awesome responsibility. In that moment, parents are entrusted with giving voice to something real and enduring — a name that will accompany their child throughout life and help shape his sense of self, purpose, and connection to who he is meant to be.
At the dinner this week, we spoke about the fact that our institution is simply known as "the Yeshiva." That itself invites a question. What does the word yeshiva actually mean, and why has a place of Torah study always been called by that name? From the earliest generations, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov established places of learning that Chazal refer to as yeshivos. This term has followed Torah study throughout history. Why?
Perhaps the answer is that yeshiva comes from the word to sit, to dwell. Success in Torah does not come primarily from brilliance or talent, but from the ability to sit, to stay, to focus, and to give oneself fully to learning. Torah requires presence. It requires a person to block out distractions, to remain anchored, and to return again and again to the same holy pursuit. A yeshiva, then, is not merely a building or a schedule. It is a space that allows a person to dwell in Torah, to settle into it, and to be shaped by it.
In that sense, the name "Yeshiva" captures the essence of what we are trying to build. It is meant to be a place where people can sit and focus on Hashem, on His Torah, and on what truly matters. Just as a name reflects identity and values, the name of our institution reflects its mission.
May Hashem help us continue to live up to that name, to strengthen Torah, and to build a place where individuals are not treated as numbers, but are known, valued, and nurtured — each one by name.
Thank you again to everyone who joined us, supported us, and stands with us.
Wishing you all a wonderful Shabbos,
Rabbi Moshe Revah Rosh HaYeshiva Mrevah2@touro.edu
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[1] This idea is echoed by many sefarim as well. [2] There are, in fact, multiple sources that express this concept very explicitly. The Likkutei Ha'aros on the Ohr HaChaim (on Devarim 29), explains that when a Jewish father names his child, Hashem places into his mind an awareness of the shoresh haneshamah, the spiritual root of that child's soul. In other words, the parent may feel that he is choosing a name, but in a deeper sense he is being guided to articulate something true about who this child is. The Ohr HaChaim himself makes an even stronger statement in his commentary to Berachos (13): the name that the father gives is not only what the child is called in this world, but it is the very name by which the soul is known Above, in the higher spiritual realms. This is also the approach of Rav Chaim of Volozhin in Ruach Chaim (Avos 1:1). He explains that a shem, a name, expresses the essence of a person. It is not a superficial title, and it is not simply based on what others happen to call him. It is an expression of inner reality. And this idea is echoed in other sefarim as well, including Noam Elimelech (Parshas Lech Lecha), which also speaks about the significance of names as something rooted in the deeper identity and mission of the person. | 
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