Which Name of God Will You Make Known?
Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2–25:9
Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI
Bereisheet Rabbah, commenting on Genesis 28:11, refers to God as HaMakom—“The Place”—not merely a location, but the sacred space where heaven touches earth, where we encounter the Holy, and more than that, where we dwell with him.
In this week’s parasha, when Bil‘am exclaims, “How goodly are your tents, O Ya’akov,” he beholds more than the neat rows of Israel’s encampment. He sees a mystery unfolding before him—the quiet radiance of the Divine Presence, Shekhinah, nestled within the tents of ordinary life. In that moment, Bil‘am’s understanding of God transforms. Hashem is no longer just a transcendent Redeemer who shatters the chains of slavery, but the indwelling God who abides in the everyday, sanctifying it from within. One might even say that Bil‘am intuits a new Name of God: “The Tent of Jacob”—a God who is not only above us, but with us, and even among us. And in a twist of irony and grace, it is this name that he makes known in a blessing instead of a curse, the blessing that opens our morning prayers in the Siddur: ‘How goodly are your tents, Jacob, your dwelling places, Israel” (Num 24:5, Koren Siddur).
When Moshe stood before the burning bush, he was overwhelmed by awe and uncertainty. The voice from the flames declared: “I am the God of your forefathers, the God of Avraham, the God of Yitzhak, and the God of Ya’akov.” And then, this voice—the voice of Hashem—said something astonishing: “I have seen the plight of my people, and I am sending you.”
In that sacred moment, Moshe asked a curious question: “What if they ask me your name? What shall I say to them?”
Was Moshe ignorant of God’s name? Surely, he had heard of Elohim, El Elyon, El Shaddai. So why ask?
Ibn Ezra suggests Moshe wasn’t simply asking out of ignorance, but with a strategic pastoral concern—he wanted to know which divine name would truly resonate with the Israelites, convincing them that the God of their forefathers was still present and powerful enough to redeem them.
Ramban (Nachmanides) goes further—he says that El Shaddai would have been sufficient. But God offered something else. Something deeper. He replied, “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh”—I Am That I Am.” But like Bil‘am’s perception, Exodus Rabbah interprets this as “I have been with you in this exile, and I will be with you in all future exiles.”
It is this name—YHVH—that God ultimately gives Moshe. A name not just of identity, but of relationship and mystery. A name that speaks of covenant, of journeying together through time.
God was saying: I am the God you will come to know—not just in theory, but through experience, through history, through walking together.
As a people, we perceive God in the collective: not just an “I-Thou” but a “We-Thou.” The God of our ancestors is not merely a personal deity; he is the God revealed through covenant and community. Yet, at the same time, each of us experiences God uniquely.
That’s why Scripture speaks not just of “The God of Israel,” but names the ancestors separately: “the God of Avraham, Yitzhak, and Ya’akov.” Each encountered God differently.
Avraham met him as Adonai Yireh at Mount Moriah, when God provided a ram in place of Isaac, revealing himself as the One who sees and provides (Gen 22:14). In that moment, Avraham not only encountered divine provision but also the depth of God’s faithfulness to his promises. It was a revelation born of obedience, fear, and profound trust.
Yitzhak encountered God during a season of conflict and uncertainty. After facing repeated disputes over wells, he named the final one Rehovot, saying, “Now the Lord has made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land” (Gen 26:22). That night, God appeared and reaffirmed the covenant, and Yitzhak built an altar and called upon the name of the Lord. For Yitzhak, God was the One who brings peace after striving, the God who honors quiet faithfulness.
Ya’akov, after wrestling with the divine through the night, emerged limping but transformed. He named the place Peniel, saying, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved” (Gen 32:30).
This continues on throughout the Torah and into the Besorah. Moshe raised a banner and named him Adonai Nissi after defeating Amalek. Gideon called him Adonai Shalom. David sang of Adonai Ro’i, the Shepherd. Hosea spoke of God as Ish—a husband. Shimon Kefa called Yeshua the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Mary Magdalene called him Rabboni, her beloved Teacher. Thomas declared, “My Lord and my God” after touching his wounds. Rav Shaul proclaimed him as the power and wisdom of God, revealed on the road to Damascus.
In the Besorah, Yeshua prays for his talmidim:
Righteous Father, the world has not known you, but I have known you, and these people have known that you sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will continue to make it known; so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I myself may be united with them. (John 17:25-26 CJB, emphasis added)
As I read that passage 30 years ago, the words leapt off the page. God whispered to my heart: “These verses are yours.”
That was my calling: to come to know God, and to make him known to others.
And, I am convinced, this is not just mine. It is our shared calling.
We are invited to seek him, to discover the Bush who quietly burns in our lives. We have to turn aside and look, as Moshe did. That means living lives of attentiveness, pursuing him through prayer, through study, through openness.
And just as Yeshua says, “I have made your name known,” we must ask: What name?
What name has God made known to you?
Sometimes the revelation of God’s name is inseparable from the revelation of our own. Avram becomes Avraham, the father of many nations; Sarai becomes Sarah, a mother of kings. Ya’akov becomes Yisrael after wrestling with God, forever marked by struggle and blessing. Shimon is renamed Kefa—the Rock upon which a community would be built. These moments are not just renamings; they are unveilings of true identity, given in the presence of the Holy One.
Each of us may carry a different name for God in our hearts—a name shaped by the path we’ve walked, the pain we’ve endured, and the grace we’ve received. For me, that name is captured in my Hebrew name, Yitzhak-Rephaiah. Rephaiah means “God has healed,” and Yitzhak means “laughter.” These are not just linguistic meanings—they are mile markers on my spiritual road. I began as someone weighed down with angst and inner wounds, but Hashem has gently rewritten my story: from a soul clenched in anguish to one able to laugh again, healed and held in divine love.
We live in a world that has not known Hashem. But we have. And now, we are called to make his name known.
So I ask you:
Have you discovered your name for God?
Have you discovered a new name for yourself as you have encountered the Living God?
Have you shared that name with others?
May we turn aside to seek the quietly burning bush. May we come to know the Name that speaks to us. May we make that Name known in love. And in doing so, may we be united with Messiah Yeshua, with our brothers and sisters, and with our Beloved Father.