June 21, 2019
Drove My Chevy to the Zevy
My name is Aaron Zevy. My bubby, who spoke only French and Yiddish, affectionately called me Aarony. She called me that until the day she died. Everyone else in my family called me the shorter Ronnie. For the better part of my childhood, I spelled it Rony. In schools tests and book reports. I diligently and carefully printed out Rony Zevy. True fact. My mom kept them. My sister Danielle still spells it Rony. How the hell did I know. I was the first-born son of immigrant parents.
Years later, I was thrilled to see Syracuse University basketball star Rony Seikely spell it the same way. His family was from Lebanon. I don’t know, maybe it was a Middle East thing.
Although my entire family, including aunts, uncles, and cousins called me, and still call me, Ronnie, my father resolutely called me by the name he had picked for me.
Aaron.
But pronounced in the French way.
Aron.
I dated women who would say, “Why don’t you go by Aaron, it is a beautiful name.” I never had an answer.
I still don’t.
My father called me Aaron. And in synagogue, when I was called to the Torah I was Aaron ben Mordecai. Aaron son of Mordecai. My father was Mordecai ben Aaron. Mordecai son of Aaron.
Not going to lie. I used to love that shit. It gave me shivers.
But I was always Ronnie.
Or Rony.
When we moved to Ottawa from Montreal, my father decided I should apply to work as a counselor in the Jewish day camp. Am not sure who filled out the application but I think my father, not realizing the camp was going to hire just about anyone, thought I would have a better chance at getting the job if I applied using my Hebrew and given name.
Aaron.
So, all of a sudden, at 15, I was Aaron Zevy again. Over time, my Ottawa camp friends eventually switched to calling me Ron. The only holdouts were my friend Bernie’s parents. Mendel and Valerie Good.
Hungarian Jews and Holocaust survivors, their accent was straight out of Hollywood casting.
Out of their mouths Aaron came out sounding like Erin. With a very soft guttural letter ar.
Not going to lie.
I love that shit.
I was named after my paternal grandfather who I never met. I don’t know very much about him. I know he smoked four cigarettes a day. Always at the same time. I know he loved to play poker—which I like. And I know he died of a stroke at a relatively young age—which I’m not too crazy about. He was trained as a lawyer but worked as a bank teller. My bubby says they didn’t let him be a lawyer. Am not sure who ‘they’ were but am pretty sure she meant the anti-semites.
Zevy is not a very common surname. I don’t know of any Zevys who are not related to me. I guess I could do the Ancestry.com thing but the thought of spitting into a cup is a bit disgusting. Anyway, am not looking to meet any new cousins. I have enough aggravation with the ones I already have.
Although only four letters, it is a name people often have trouble with. My standard line is to say “like Levy with a zed.” When I am in the United States I often forget to pronounce it as a zee and people don’t know what the hell I am talking about.
For a time, when I made dinner reservations, I gave up entirely and used the name Dubrovnik. This was long before the Croatian city became a de rigeur travel destination. To tell you the truth, it was kind of fun to hear the hostess call out “Dubrovnik, your table is ready.”
In Israel, you often see it spelled as Zevi or even Zeevi (pronounced Ze-evi).
Rehavan Zeevi was an Israeli general who advocated the ‘transfer’ of Palestinians from the West Bank. He was assassinated in a Jerusalem hotel.
Our most famous namesake was Shabbetai Zevi. An ordained rabbi who lived in the 17th century. He was born in the town of Smyrna in the Ottoman Empire. Zevi had thousands and thousands of followers believing he was the messiah. I can’t get anyone to go for a coffee with me.
My high school basketball coach called me Zeevy. With a hard E. I never corrected him.
Zevy is a Hebrew name. Zev means wolf. It is actually not uncommon as a first name. My brother Dov married a Caroline Wolff. She changed her name to Zevy but she is still a Wolff.
My grandfather was from a small town in Romania. The type of town which changed countries every twenty years. His wife, my grandmother, was born Sarah Marcovitch. A pretty typical Ashkenazi name. Zevy is not a typical Eastern European name.
Many Eastern European Jews who emigrated to Israel Hebrewized their names upon hitting the shores of the promised land. David Grun famously changed his name to David Ben Gurion. Israel’s second President, Yitzak Ben-Zvi, was formerly Yitzak Shimshelevitz. Did my grandfather also change his name? Was it originally Aaron Zevilovowich? I ask my aunt in Israel. She says no. Her grandfather was Isadore Zevy.
My father, may he rest in peace, spoke seven languages. But French was his true mistress. He liked to say he loved French but hated the French. I think it pained him that his children never mastered it as well as they could have. A neglected gift.
Take a look at this image. It is from September 1959. My father has written a note on the back of a picture of his wife and 4-month-old son. Trying to be cute, he has penned the note, and signed it, Aaron Zevy, as if it were written by the baby, me, himself.
I love this picture.
Not because of the wholly out-of-character attempt at cuteness. But because of the wholly in-character Marco Zevy signature.
My father, as a true Francophile, had put an accent aigu over the letter e.
Not going to lie.
I love that shit.
My father loved our family name. He loved that it was unique. He wore and spoke it proudly.
He loved to tell the story of a letter which arrived at the National Research Council where he worked.
A secretary walked into the office and said he (see what I did there) had a letter addressed to a Mr. Edward Victoria Yellow. He asked if anyone knew who that was. Everyone shook their heads until my father sheepishly raised his hand.
“It’s for me,” he said.
“Are you living a double life, Mr. Zevy?”
My father explained.
He didn’t say “like Levy with a zed.” His name was Zevy. It was not like Levy with a zed.
No.
He had a better system.
Zulu
Edward
Victoria
Yellow
That was his system. He too used it until the day he died.
It mostly worked.
But sometimes we got letters addressed to Edward Victoria Yellow.
The end.