My parents named me “Hannah” without considering, perhaps, the ramifications:
That I might one day see myself in the biblical narrative
And cry as I chant the story of my namesake.
Again. Even as I remember the year my son impossibly ran into the sanctuary the moment I reached the verse, "For this child I prayed."
But, when Sarit was called to the Torah yesterday and gave the gabbait her name I was virtually slapped across the face. "...bat Velvel Yaakov v'Hannah Ephrat" she whispered.
Not to make a point but simply because that's her name.
The same child who stood in our Orthodox shul as the first woman to blow shofar in its sanctuary, her sister the first to celebrate becoming bat mitzvah on Simhat Torah.
My parents named me "Hannah" considering, perhaps, the ramifications:
That I might one day raise daughters who would emulate my biblical namesake
And feel empowered as they connect to God.
So I will chant those ancient words.
And maybe this year I will focus on counting my blessings.
And maybe this year I will succeed in fighting back tears.