Weisberg Gardens

Weisberg Gardens

Today I received a package notice for “Weisberg Gardens.”
I was confused until I realized that this was an auto-translation of my name Jenny into Hebrew: ג’ני
Or (as Israelis often misspell it) גני.
This reminded me of my two names, Chana and Jenny, and how sometimes people I meet ask me what I prefer to be called. And how I usually tell them, “I prefer Chana.”
I associate Chana, the name my parents gave me at birth but only started using after I became religious, with all sorts of wonderful things. With the Biblical Chana’s fervent prayer and unwavering devotion. With my mother’s mother, Anne, whom I was named after, and wish I’d had an opportunity to meet before she died. With holiness and Jewishness and Israel. All sorts of things that are dear to me, part of my new life, here.
And Jenny? It’s a name that feels meaningless. Hollow. Empty.
Chana Jenny.
Fresh-squeezed orange juice vs. gaterade.
Butter vs. margarine.
Mozart vs. Justin Bieber.
But today’s package notice made me think differently about my English name. About the foundational decades of my life spent as Jenny.
Maybe not fresh-squeezed, but not gaterade either.
The name with which I began to blossom into the person I’ve become, within the Garden of Me.


  1. I love this 🙂

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