“which way, which way? asks alice, sensing that it is always in both directions at the same time."—deleuze
we had a problem: it was alice’s hebrew name. i found it months ago on the internet, which said it was hebrew, but it doesn’t sound hebrew. it sounds hamptons: a crazy, silly, excessive, extravagant, insouciant, impractical name. marc and i got attached immediately, using it as an alternative or in addition to “alice” even before she was born. when she grows up, she can shrug off her parents’ last names and go by just her first name and her hebrew name. she will fit right in at bennington or sarah lawrence. i love bennington and sarah lawrence.
we wanted to have a weekend of festivities for the baby naming ceremony, and marc took charge of several details: creating a document for our families with travel and visiting information; making friends with the bagel king of the east end, who gave us free sable for sunday brunch at our house; setting up our sponsorship of the post-shabbat kiddush–but he refused to tell our rabbi the name we had chosen. what if he thought it was crazy? what if he said no?
marc had an idea: we would keep the real name–which is a diminutive–to ourselves, and tell the rabbi the name it was a diminutive of, and that would be the name used in the ceremony. i was intrigued by the idea of alice having a secret name–an official one for synagogue and another for at home–but it seemed a little too secret. marc is very comfortable getting what he wants by telling authorities what they want to hear, and this tactic often works to his (and my) benefit, but i couldn’t stop thinking about judy chicago (neé judith sylvia cohen), hannah wilke (neé arlene hannah butter), bell hooks (neé gloria jean watkins), and all the others: feminists change their names and they take their name changes seriously. anyway, it was going to be too much effort to convince every hebrew school teacher alice ever has that they should call her by the name they know we didn’t officially give her. better, i thought, to ask the rabbi if we could use the name we really wanted, providing him with a reasonable explanation of why we wanted it–even if there wasn’t one. but one thing i know how to do from years of working as a journalist, writing book proposals, and applying to selective schools: how to pitch an idea. i sent the rabbi a deferential email. then i waited.
“help me understand this” was what he finally responded. the name i was proposing–not rachel or naomi or hannah–was a little hard to understand. but the rest of his email was encouraging: he suggested that we give alice the name we just really liked along with the traditional, full name it is the diminutive of. two names. both names! the one the patriarchy wanted and the one we wanted, too. “which way, which way? asks alice.” i was delighted by this solution, partly because i would never have come up with it on my own, but also because it succinctly encompasses the one tenet i–who can’t stop importing radical ideas into the mainstream even as i import mainstream ideas into radical feminism, whose politics are all about more, not less, even though i keep getting told my position is untenable–would like alice to understand. it reflects the reason for us taking her to temple in the first place, given that i still think that being both jewish and catholic was what made me an intellectual.
anyway, alice is now “alice yosefa fifi jesella ellenbogen.” at her baby naming, she was “yosefa fifi.” at hebrew school, and sometimes at home, she will be “fifi.” “fifi” sounds like “kiki,” which is what my brother used to call me, and “keifer” or “keifie,” which he called himself to me, even in adulthood. my brother was mischievous, and hilarious, and i have no doubt that he would be happy that we used these resonances to get ourselves the name we wanted and, anyway, in deciding ex post facto that “fifi” honored my brother, the lie–or, rather, the alibi–became true. it is for keith now. and “yosefa” is the feminine of joseph, the old testament’s favored child whose jealous siblings sell him into slavery; he perseveres, becoming not only rich and important, but later forgiving them. this might speak to my own poetic imagination, or sense of poetic justice, than it does to alice’s. regardless, i like the associations. i once read that a name must bear all of its connotations and i think whimsy, subterfuge, tribute, accidental revenge, and benevolence are all good ones. hopefully alice fifi will agree, but if she doesn’t, the more names the better: she can always choose another one.
