Change Your Name, Change Your Destiny

A Post by Emet

Changing my name wasn’t such a big deal.

One of the first things I did in Israel was to change my name.

No one really knew me by my previous name. As they say in the States, if you start living by a name, then basically that is considered to be a name change. Of course if you want all the potential “rights” that come with changing your name, such as having your IDs and credit cards match what you say your name is, then you have to go through official channels. In Israel, from the beginning, my name was already what it was, so when people don’t know you by anything else, and there’s no one there to contradict that or call you anything else, it sticks. For the record, the process of changing your name in Israel is REALLY easy. You just go down to the proper government office, fill out an application, wait for your number to be called, and the clerk stamps a few things, types a few things, and then you’re good to go. No problems.

In the United States it’s not so easy to change your name.

Why? It seems as though they are worried about fraud. So, you have to start out first by going to your local superior courthouse. You have to fill out many forms in a very particular way with a certain amount of copies. Then you have to pay a lot of money. If you’re low or no income, then you can apply to have the court feeds waived, but that doesn’t exempt you from the completely strange and antiquated system of publishing your old name and requested new name along with your court-date in a local paper for a month. Yes, that’s right, you actually need to appear in front of a judge to explain yourself. You’re completely stuck with whatever fees you have to pay to this random paper to do something that no one pays attention to. Jess and I hunted for a local paper, calling a few to find out who had the cheapest rates, and it was still over $100 in fees! Does anyone even read these random, small circulation print papers anymore? I have to say it was pretty bizarre. Then, the paper provides you with a certified affidavit that they published an announcement of a change in name for a month in their little podunk paper that you have to bring to the courthouse.

Finally my court-date arrived. I had all the paperwork and had made up my mind there was no reason to be nervous, even though I had to go in front of a judge. Even when you’re innocent of anything, somehow having to stand in front of that guy makes you feel guilty. Jess and I hoped somehow they would call up the day before and say, “Aw, don’t worry, everything seems good with you. No need to come in. We’ll just stamp the papers for you.” But no such luck.

So we arrived to the courthouse early. We sat outside the courtroom until the bailiff let us in. I was thinking it was going to be some kind of small private event, but nooooo. As we waited, more and more lawyers kept buzzing around the hallway. I prayed that they would go elsewhere, but that didn’t happen. They were all waiting to get into the same courtroom as me. I thought, “What the hell! I reserved the damn thing for my trial at 8:30. What are these fools thinking they get to do? They’re going to try to cut me in line!” I was hoping the judge would be a meanie and put the kibosh on that. There was another observant Jew there, also changing his name and probably thinking along similar lines as us. As we sat there, the lawyers got weirder and creepier. One man-lawyer started cajoling a lady-lawyer about making some sort of settlement. You couldn’t help but feel bad for her the way he was pressuring her. It was so awkward. We were right there so you couldn’t help but listen. In the meantime, there was like this little club starting where they all seemed to know each other and were patting each other on the back and talking about their weekends and children. Finally, the bailiff lets us in to the courtroom and I’m thinking, “I hope the judge makes these shmucks wait around.” But, there was all this procedural stuff first. The judge seemed very nice although I didn’t really like all the lawyers listening. When the judge called my case number, I had to approach the podium where the lawyers had addresses the judge.He said that everything was in order. I might have said Sir one time instead of your honor, but then stamp stamp stamp and he sent me on my way!

All in all, it really wasn’t too bad of an experience. I think I thought it would be much worse than it was. But then I thought it was going to be even less of a big deal than it was, and I started to feel like it was.

I didn’t alter my birth name lightly. I felt the loss of my old name (even though hard as they try, well some of them try anyway, it’s hard for them to get it right). I grieved it, although part of it will always be a piece of me. There’s no denying or changing that, and I’m completely ok with it.

Why did I change my name?

I knew that when I was going to Israel not only did I want a fresh start, but I wanted to have a Hebrew name, one where I could be easily absorbed into Israeli culture. I knew that wasn’t possible with some English name. I spent months looking for something that would fit. I wanted something that would keep the same initials. I wanted something simple that would fit me. I wanted something meaningful. I also thought it would be nice if it was gender neutral (before realizing that nothing in Hebrew is gender neutral) or a unisex name, which it seemed like there were plenty of those in Hebrew. I didn’t find anything as many websites and baby naming books that I looked at. Finally I just started searching in Google Translate for values that I felt were important for me. Being “true” is one of them. That’s when I found Emet, or for those Ashkenazi Jews out there, Emes. But at the time, I didn’t know anything about Ashkenazi accents, and I didn’t know that words ending in Taf are feminine. I just knew that I liked the name in English. It could be unisex, or even more masculine, and it had a meaning I identified with. I didn’t know at that time that changing your name or adding a name had such significant in Jewish culture.

When I arrived in Israel, the reactions to my name were very strong. It’s not a word people use for a name. But I also didn’t know the religious significance of the name at the time either. I struggled with people’s reactions. Instead of integrating me into society, I was sticking out like a sore thumb. I thought about changing it again. But for whatever reason, Baruch Hashem, I was there, and I chose what I chose knowing what little I knew then. So I think it had a reason, and I chose to leave it that way. How could I ever change it when I hear my bashert say my name? Baruch Hashem, it’s a very strong and powerful name.

May I do my best to live up to it.