During our recent driving trip to New York, I convinced my family to make a stop in Allentown, Pennsylvania so I could spend a few minutes visiting the grave of Isaac Herskowitz.

Mr. Herskowitz was born in 1879 and lived into his 80th year, which is impressive for his generation. I am told that Mr. Herskowitz walked with a stoop, but that if he were able to stand upright, he would have been my height (again, impressive for that era). He is my great grandfather, and I am named for him, having been born just a few months after he died.

It had been about forty years (a nice biblical number!) since I last visited my great grandfather’s grave, and like re-reading a great book, this visit taught me new lessons.

In addition to being the same height and sharing a name, my great grandfather and I have other things in common. I had been reminded for years, and now saw with my own eyes, that he is buried next to a rabbi.

My great grandfather, like many of his generation, was a pious Orthodox Jew, who came from Europe to the U.S. to try to make a better living. He had a store in Allentown, but I am told that he spent most of his days sitting in the back of the store studying Talmud with the Rabbi!

Ironically, I am a rabbi who spends precious little time studying Talmud because there are always so many other things that get in the way.

It is nonetheless exciting to realize that I, born less than four months after he died, might be living out his dreams. When I graduated from Rabbinical School in 1987, my grandmother, the oldest child of Isaac Herskowitz, gave me a surprisingly tight hug and whispered in my ear, “my Rabbi!”

Then there is the issue of our names. My great grandfather’s name was Isaac. Today, we would name a child Isaac, but it wasn’t in fashion in 1959. So my parents chose Elliot.

But I always assumed that my Hebrew name, Yitzchak, was what I had in common with Isaac Herskowitz. Then I saw his gravestone and learned that I was wrong—his name in “Hebrew” (actually Yiddish) is Izak, just like in English.

My parents wisely chose a Hebrew name, rather than perpetuating a Yiddish name into the next generation. My middle name, Chananel, is similarly a Hebrew substitute for the Yiddish name, Henekh, of a great uncle on my mother’s side.

Choosing a Hebrew name for a child is one of the greatest responsibilities of Jewish parents. Some parents turn to the rabbi, mohel or grandparents and say: Pick the Hebrew name for me. It is wonderful, though, when parents take this role seriously and choose a meaningful name, honoring the memory of a good person.

I feel lucky to know so much about the person for whom I am named. It is all the more special that he is a man of many admirable qualities, and that we have a lot in common—both physically and spiritually.

Take this opportunity to ask yourself (and your children):

Do you know whom you are named for? Is your Hebrew name really Hebrew? Can you pronounce your name correctly? Do you know anything about the person for whom you are named?

For my personal tips on choosing a Hebrew name for your child, click What to Name Your Jewish Baby.