Throughout my life, every person, book, and website has proclaimed the name “Rachel” to mean “ewe.” That is, until yesterday, when Dave revealed that my name actually means “goat.”
First, one might wonder how Dave even came to know this. Well, back in the days of working at a bike shop, he happened to work with someone of Jewish descent that told him so. Upon hearing this and deciding his leg was thus pulled, Dave investigated through the resource-rich internet. He, like me, found ewe. Returning to tell his friend the news, his friend replied that no one wants to be called a goat in America, so as a nicety, they switched the meaning.
I still did not believe him, that is, until he procured a Hebrew newsletter.
And there it said: “Rachel, meaning ‘goat.'” How did Dave take this win in stride? He simply told me that it was better to be a goat – and that he liked goats more – because they can eat your trash. Lovely.