Does your name tell a story? I love the stories of people’s names. The person you were named for, or the town a name comes from. Was your name changed to sound more English? Do you have nicknames or names you have chosen for yourselves? Our names tell stories, they contain an insight into our history, and into who we choose to be. This morning we heard Serena beautifully leyn part of the story of Abraham and Sarah. But she didn’t read to us about Abraham and Sarah. Instead it was Abram and Sarai. Their names will be changed in this week’s portion, in the next chapter after our reading concluded.
Abram becomes Abraham – meaning Father of a multitude, shortly after Ishmael is born. Sarai becomes Sarah. One rabbinic tradition suggests the adding of the Hebrew letter hey to each name is adding in a part of God’s name – with two hey’s appearing in the four letter name yod hey vav hey. Thus it is God’s continuing presence in their lives. Perhaps it is a reminder of the image of God that lives in them and in us all, or perhaps their openness to being in relationship with God, that helps them grow into who they were destined be.
However another part of this equation, I believe, comes right at the start of our portion – this is when we first meet Abram, as he is being commanded by God – Lech Lechah – Go Forth. Abram is asked to leave behind all that he knows, his father’s home, the land of his birth, and in doing so, God promises:
I will make of you a great nation,
And I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
And you shall be a blessing
It is only in leaving behind all he has ever known, that Abram can become Abraham, that Abram can fulfil and find his full self, and that he can become a blessing, with a name of greatness.
This story of travelling, of journeying from the land of your birth, is a familiar one to many Jews. Indeed the travels are often contained in our names – my own surname – Young – was originally Yankelovitch – the Russian for son of Jacob, changed so that my grandfather could attend Cambridge in the 1930’s without being so obviously of immigrant, even enemy, stock. The change is now part of the story.
Going even further back, on the other side of my family, some of my ancestors arrived in the UK in the 1670’s, with names like Nunes and DaCosta, Spanish names that tell of a story of exile from Spain and Portugal in 1492. But they weren’t refugees, they were immigrants, partly looking to expand trading businesses. And the poverty stricken relatives who fled Eastern Europe were fleeing pogroms and persecution, but also the grinding poverty and dead end of opportunities.
The plight of refugees, asylum seekers and economic migrants has dominated our news this week. The rhetoric we have heard using words such as ‘invasion’ are not so different from the papers of the 19th and 20th Century describing Jewish immigration. The Daily Mail, for example, in 1938, wrote “The way stateless Jews from Germany are pouring in from every port of this country is becoming an outrage […] The number of aliens entering this country can be seen by the number of prosecutions in recent months. It is very difficult for the alien to escape the increasing vigilance of the police and port authorities”. Jews themselves were also worried about this influx, not wanting to draw attention to their small community and increase anti-Semitism. The community that offered the warmest welcome was in fact the small British Quaker community, who in 1933 set up the Germany Emergency Committee and led the way on finding hosts for those who found freedom through the privately organised Kinder Transport. The Kinder Transport was not a National, Government led initiative, but the result of the hard work of many private individuals, led by the amazing visionary Sir Nicholas Winton.
As we face a crumbling NHS and a cost of living crisis it is understandable that people fear the collapse of our basic institutions under the weight of the burden already being born. But we must also remember the humanity of those arriving, particularly in the language we use and the way we approach the challenges ahead. Abraham and Sarah famously kept all 4 sides of their tent open so that travellers would know, from whatever direction they approached, that they were welcome, that they would be fed, and cared for, perhaps not permanently, but with what they needed until they continued their journey. Many of us here in synagogue today are here because someone opened the side of a tent, and we managed to find a way to survive in a strange and sometimes hostile new home.
This Wednesday will be the 84th anniversary of what we call Krystalnacht – the night of broken glass – but which in Germany is known less euphemistically as the November Pogrom. 7 months later, on the eve of World War Two, in June of 1939, 937 German Jewish passengers on the SS St Louis were denied disembarkation at American, Canadian and Cuban ports. They returned to Europe where one third of the passengers did not survive the war. The tent was not opened, and for many this was fatal.
Our names carry the stories of our travels. The movement of people is bound to continue to be a reality we face in a world of growing climate instability and wars fought over resources and power. In the last two years we have seen an Afghanistan Refugee crisis and a Ukranian refugee crisis, and both times, as a community, and as a country, we have shown ourselves able to be like Abraham and Sarah, able to open the tent and to support those who need. Perhaps it is harder to deal with the slow trickle of crisis arriving day after day, but our ancestors both recent and ancient ask us to remember the humanity of all, and to be a part of honouring the needs in front of us.
People are not numbers. People are not aliens or vermin. Our father was a wandering Aramean, we know what it has meant to be a stranger in a strange land. This Shabbat, may Abram and Sarai be a reminder to us that the tent sides should be open, and that we are all made in the image of God. Serena you are an expert in finding the humanity in those around you, may we continue to learn this lesson, and to be a community that responds with compassion and care to all those who have need, and in this way, may our name be made great. May this be God’s will, venomar. Amen.
