"God, before whom my fathers Abraham and Isaac walked, the God who has been my shepherd all my life until this day, the angel who redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads; and let my name be named on them, and the name of my fathers Abraham and Isaac; and let them grow into a multitude in the midst of the earth.” (Gen. 48:15-16)
This blessing that Jacob gives to Joseph’s two sons in parashat Vayechi is one of the most beautiful lines in the Torah. It has been set to music, and is a favorite lullaby of many Jewish parents today.
One of the key lines in this blessing is, “and let my name be named on them.” The interpretation of the verse is subject to a three-way dispute between Rashbam, Ibn Ezra and Ramban. Rashbam (N. France, c. 1080–85–c. 1174) maintains that the words essentially mean that Ephraim and Menashe should have offspring and descendants, and in this way Israel’s “name,” that is his DNA, will be carried on. Ibn Ezra (Spain and Italy, 1089–1164) maintains that the verse refers to the future historical reality, after the reign of Solomon, when the northern ten tribes, and particular the tribe of Ephraim, would be referred to as “Israel,” while the southern tribes of Judah and Benjamin would be referred to collectively as “Judah.” Since Israel is blessing Ephraim and Menashe, the meaning of the blessing is literal—his name, Israel, will be their name. Ramban (Spain, 1194–1270) disagrees, and says Jacob’s blessing is for all of his future descendants to remember his name, and the names of his father and grandfather.
We began reading the book of Genesis with the idea of names—the names of God and the names of people. And it turns out that we close Bereshit with the same theme. What is at stake in this verse and its various interpretations? What can we read behind the approaches of the three commentators?
Ibn Ezra’s approach is the easiest to deal with: His is a literalist-historical interpretation. He sees in Jacob’s words the power to create a future historical reality. Jacob here is not expressing a hope, but is stating a fact: “God will bless these lads and He will cause my name to be called on them.” As we peel back this reading, the invocation of the name of Israel becomes an expression of power on the part of Jacob, a final exercise of will by a dying man. He plays on the historical import of the moment and invokes his name in order to create an inevitable bond of duty between himself—or the memory of himself—and his grandchildren. The name in this reading is a political-historical tool.
Between Rashbam and Ramban we have less literal, though simpler, readings of the text. Rashbam’s reading is a biological one, understanding “my name” in the verse to refer to “my DNA” (though Rashbam wouldn’t have called it that). A name for Rashbam is not a symbol, but a real physical presence. Ramban takes the opposite view: the name here is the spiritual name—of course Jacob wants his grandsons to have many offspring, which will also be his offspring; but more than that, he wants the symbol of his name to be a symbol that they relate to and keep alive.
We can reduce these interpretations a little further: Israel in this verse is, for Ibn Ezra, a political designation; for Rashbam it is a tribal moniker; for Ramban it is a spiritual title. Obviously all three of them turn out to be accurate in their own way. But Ibn Ezra’s and Rashbam’s readings, which are based on physical and historical understandings, ultimately lead to a dead end: after the destruction of the northern kingdom by the Assyrians, we have no more tribe of Ephraim—neither in a political nor in a tribal sense. But for Ramban, who understands the idea of Israel’s blessing more broadly and more spiritually, the blessing continues—we still call ourselves Israel (we even have a state!), and we still refer to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob three times a day at the beginning of our Amidah. Even more so, we have, through centuries of Torah study and interpretation, built Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob into symbolic lives far beyond their historical reality. Indeed, at this point, our memory of them is more important and far greater than their actual historical existence. To paraphrase R’ Shimon, the crown of a good name outweighs all others (Pirkei Avot 4:13)—the accumulated symbolic interpretation of the name Israel over the ages is far greater than the actual weight of the name in Israel’s own lifetime.
Kavannah
Israel is indeed a tribal and historical label. But as history shows, those approaches are not enough to keep alive the name of Israel. “At the core of religion must be religious experience,” a teacher of mine said once. If we are to keep alive the name of Israel in all its greatness and potential, we must have a magnetic center built around a spiritual message. And if we keep that center alive and vibrant, then we will fulfill and be fulfilled by Israel’s blessing to his grandchildren.
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