SHEMOT: CALLING YOUR NAME
By Rabbi Moishe New
A LUNCHTIME ENCOUNTER
Something quietly profound happened not long ago at the office of one of my Lunch and Learn classes. About a year ago, a new fellow joined the staff. Israeli-born, raised mostly here, fluent in English, no accent. He attends the class consistently and listens with interest.
At the end of every class, as is my custom, I invite the men to put on tefillin. And just as consistently, he has declined — always politely, always respectfully.
“I respect it,” he says. “But I don’t believe in it. If I put on tefillin, I’d be a hypocrite.”
TIMELESS TEFILLIN
Tefillin—small leather boxes containing sacred scrolls—are worn daily by Jewish men as commanded in the Torah, a mitzvah more than 3,300 years old. Archaeologists have uncovered tefillin and mezuzot among the Dead Sea Scrolls that are virtually identical to the ones we use today.
No other people on earth can point to such unbroken continuity. Fashions change. Philosophies evolve. Empires rise and fall. But truth — divine truth — remains eternal.
By all laws of nature, the Jewish people should have disappeared long ago. Yet here we are. The secret to our survival has never been physical or political, it has always been spiritual. When Jews clung to Torah and mitzvot, we endured. When they were abandoned, Jewish identity faded within a generation or two.
TEARS
This week’s discussion naturally turned to Israel and the broader challenges facing our people. I spoke about spiritual unity—that the Jewish people are one body, and when one part is strengthened, all are strengthened.
At the end, I again invited this fellow to put on tefillin. Once more he hesitated. And then something unexpected happened. As he explained that he would feel like a hypocrite, his eyes filled with tears.
Why tears? If this were simply intellectual disagreement or indifference, why emotion? Why pain? Somewhere beneath the surface, something deeper was stirring—something he himself could not explain.
Eventually the conversation came down to this: “If I don’t put them on, Rabbi, you’ll be pained. If I do, I’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly right.”
He paused. Then said quietly, “Alright. I’ll do it — for you.”
THE SOUL STIRRED
He put on the tefillin. At one point his kippah slipped off his head—and instinctively, immediately, he bent down and put it back on. Not out of belief. Not out of obligation. But because something had been awakened.
He said the blessings fluently. The words flowed naturally. He recited Shema Yisrael with a depth and sincerity that took my breath away.
I found myself thinking: Halevai — if only I could say Shema, even at Ne’ilah on Yom Kippur, with such pure, unfiltered soul.
What we witnessed was not intellect, not emotion, not ideology. It was essence.
WHY THIS PARSHA IS CALLED “NAMES”
This week we begin the second book of the Torah: Shemot — “Names.”
At first glance, this is puzzling. The portion describes the descent into Egyptian slavery—the darkest chapter of our early history. Why call it Names?
In Judaism, a name is not a label. It is not arbitrary. A Hebrew name describes essence. More than that: when someone calls your name, for a split second your entire being responds — before intellect filters, before emotion moderates. A name summons the core.
Exile — galut — is a time of concealment. We don’t see G-d clearly. We don’t understand. The heart aches, the mind struggles. And yet, paradoxically, it is precisely in exile that the deepest bond emerges — not through understanding or feeling, but from our essence.
That is why Shemot is the perfect name for this portion. Slavery concealed G-d—but it summoned the Jewish soul.
THE PARADOX OF EXILE
This young man did not consciously believe. He did not feel inspired. His mind and heart were disengaged. And yet eventually his soul responded — instantly, unmistakably.
Those of us raised within Jewish life often serve G-d with understanding, emotion, and commitment. But sometimes those very strengths eclipse the pure essence of the soul. Exile strips away explanations, comfort, and clarity—and what remains is the deepest connection of all.
That is the mystery of Jewish survival. That is the power of a name.
May we merit the redemption when the best of both worlds: clarity of mind, warmth of heart, and the unbreakable depth of the simple, pure soul — will be fully revealed, without delay, amen!
