SOPHIE, MEET SOPHIE. UH, SHE ALREADY HAS!
I am delighted to share this essay that Ben wrote about his little niece and my granddaughter, Sophie . . .

Sophie is apparently Sophie. Yet, one Sophie never met the other. In fact, had Sophie the Elder not predeceased Sophie the Younger, their names would have never created such a wondrous connection.

Sophie the Younger is my very first niece, my sister’s daughter. She is named – most auspiciously, we discovered – after my late grandmother, my father’s beloved mother and matriarch of our family. The name they share is only the beginning of the incredible, even eerie, déjà vu.

Once upon a time, no one doubted that a person’s name expressed his/her essence. The Bible is full of these instances: Abraham is the “great father.” Israel “struggles with God.” Moses “draws forth” his people from slavery. The four-letter Hebrew name of God so embodies God’s essence that it is never even pronounced. Today, when a child is named after a deceased relative, the gesture is typically symbolic, reflecting honor and fond memories.

For two-year-old Sophie, the ancient significance has taken over. My mother’s genes are obviously so dominant that neither I nor my siblings look anything like my father’s family. But then came Sophie. Straight out of the womb, she looked precisely like her great-grandmother. Then came the little facial expressions that stunned us. How could it be? They were precisely the same as those by which we so lovingly remembered my Grandma Sophie. My father was once so startled that he peered at her through the bars of her crib and whispered, “Ma, you can’t fool me. I know you’re in there. It took you 79 years, but I know you’re back!”

As the months came and went, the déjà vu became even more profound. When we gather at the Sabbath table to sing Shalom Aleichem and welcome the ministering angels, Sophie sways back and forth to the rhythm, precisely like her great-grandmother did. Likewise, when we recite Eshet Chayil (Woman of Valor, Proverbs 31), she averts her eyes, apparently with the same humility that her namesake did.

And then there was the music. Sophie the Elder’s tastes ran to arcane Yiddish folk songs and show tunes. From the age of five months to this day, Sophie the Younger sits on my father’s lap as he sings her the very same songs, and she falls silent and listens intently for longer than anyone would expect.

None of these similarities, though, is anywhere nearly so profound as how Sophie’s emerging personality reflects my grandmother’s. Just like her namesake, she stops to study new situations with riveted fascination. Once, an older child nearby threw an awesome tantrum. Sophie stood in place, watching and watching, taking in every nuance of this “novelty.” Just like her great-grandmother would have, we all instantly commented.

Little Sophie’s instinctive compassion and caring are the epitome of the déjà vu. Sophie the Elder did not have an evil bone in her body. Every one of her instincts led her to be a calming spirit, full of compassion, offering solace and comfort, trying to help people, even strangers, over the hardest of times. And now, her spirit has been hauntingly resurrected. Little Sophie is compassionate by instinct. When she sees someone crying or appearing to be sad, she stops everything, even if she has been in a foul mood, runs to him/her, plants a huge hug and kiss, and tries to bring the sadness to an end. One Sophie just like the other.

What is the origin of a child’s basic demeanor? How does s/he embark on the path or compassion or cruelty, selflessness or selfishness, calm or angry? Psychologists will forever argue between “nature and nurture.” I cannot tell you how sweet, compassionate Sophie will affect the debate. This, however, I can tell you: She “appears to be on a good path.” Ironic, isn’t it, that those are precisely the words that her beloved great-grandmother would use to show her approval whenever we achieved something small or large?

Grandma, you can’t fool me. I know you’re in there!