No Name, No Bed

Traveling around the world for a better part of my adult life, I’ve become accustomed to lots of different methods of self-identification. In the States, of course, every document you will ever fill out asks for First, Middle, and Last Name. On my first flights to Europe, I had to adapt to the British English “surname” (which I still can’t hear without feeling slightly puzzled) on international immigration cards. In East Asian countries, you always put your “honorable name” (last name) first, making me Casey Sean (or “Keishi Shoun” as they say it). Japanese people customarily introduce themselves in conjunction with their place of business, so I would have been “Keishi Shoun of the Uchita Board of Education” and, in Chinese, you should remember to specifically ask for one’s family name upon meeting a new acquaintance.

I’d thought that I had heard it all and was pretty much un-catch-off-guardable, which is why I was so caught off guard when a portly rabbi in vestments showed up panting at my dormitory door at Tsfat (Israel)’s Ascent Institute waving my check-in slip in his hand and telling me that I had neglected to fill in my “Hebrew Name.” Of course I had nothing other than a blank look to offer in response was quickly shuffled off the premises after making my one phone call to secure other lodging in the area.

Now, the moment that I stepped in the door and bypassed a threesome of Hasidic Jews with their long curls, bushy beards, stiff hat, and standard issue black suits, I knew that I well out of my league. Everyone (in the whole town, really) was dressed just like they must have been in the good ole B.C. years when Moses came down from the Mt. Sinai and proclaimed “Thou shalt dress like nerdy 1920s mobsters,” but here’s the funny thing: 75% of them spoke with a New Yorker accent. It turns out that Tsfat is the place to go for rediscovering long lost Jewish roots. They could have chosen a worse place; its position atop the 3rd tallest mountain in Israel gives a sublime view of the surrounding valleys and the Sea of Galilee, and many followers actually believe that the Messiah will pass through the town on his way to Jerusalem. [As a note: Judging by bemused reactions of the 10,000 people who asked for my Hebrew name over a 3 day period, I think that I must be one of the annual dozen or so non-Jewish travelers that visit the region. After telling one teenage boy that I wasn’t Jewish, he thought that I must have misunderstood the question (granted my Yiddish isn’t perfect) and pointed to my pants signaling that he wanted to know whether or not I was circumcised (this I did very clearly understand).]

But that’s not the point. I had no Hebrew name and was back out on the streets. Of course, I wasn’t turned away because of my name, but rather because it was a big tip-off that I’m not Jewish. I freely acknowledge the benefits of rekindling spirituality and of religious community, but I can’t shake the feeling that I was unjustly treated. I’ve slept in Christian dormitories before, and never did they demand a baptism certificate or WWJD bracelet. I’ve stayed several times at Buddhist temples – most recently for 15 days – without a karma check. Now, I’m not going to lie and say that I really had my sights set on staying for several nights at this place… I just think it’s ironic that my first encounter with religious discrimination was at the hands of a group that has a 3,000 year old history of being persecuted against.

But that’s not the point either. I think what this is all a round about way of saying is that I need to adopt a Hebrew name for when I visit Jerusalem later this month and give the Jewish dormitory another go. Any suggestions?