From Psalm 40: He turned to me and heard my cry

Written by M.

David Alexander. A namesake of two kings.

David, youngest son of Jesse, anointed by the Prophet Samuel, became King of Judah at the age of 30. David conquered Jerusalem and ruled over Judah and Israel for 40 years. David also wrote 73 of the Psalms.

Alexander III of Macedon, son of Philip II and tutored by Aristotle, became King of Macedon at the age of 20. His father had thrown the Persians out of Greece, and Alexander proceeded to conquer Persia. By the time he died at the age of 32, Alexander the Great had created an empire that reached from Greece to the Himalayas, and never lost a battle. When he came to Israel, Alexander allowed the Jews to remain autonomous, and the Jews agreed to pay taxes to him and name every child the next year Alexander.

Neither are the reason for our son’s name.

David was my father’s father. He was born in Minsk, grew up in Brooklyn, and became a talented physician and surgeon. The house where my father and aunt grew up, and where we visited frequently during my childhood, had a beautiful large entry foyer with a grand staircase up to the family’s living space on the second and third floors. The first floor was devoted to David’s medical and surgical practice, with reception space, examining and operating rooms, x-ray equipment, a hearing test booth, and more. My grandfather did all of my eye exams when I was young, and I refused to go to another eye doctor for several years after he died during my second year in college. David served as a major in the United States Medical Corps during World War II, worked for many years as a police surgeon in New York, treated patients from all over the world at hospitals around New York, and continued to see his patients even when he was himself dying. He was devoted to his wife and his family, and lived a life of true service to other people and to the institutions around him. I have always known that I could run my business at home because of him; if David could reconstruct a patient’s face at home, surely I can edit a book or design a book cover at home. And I have always known that I wanted to name my son David.

I met Alex during orientation week when I first arrived at college. Alex’s life was one of choices, even to the name Alex (not Alexander) that he chose before college to use instead of his given name. We hit it off immediately, sharing a sense of humor, an interest in classics and theater and language, a love of story, and a pride in our hometowns. We would happily talk for hours and hours. We also shared a deep frustration with our assigned roommates, and managed to snag a double room off campus to share for the spring semester of freshman year. One of my strongest memories from all of college is of Alex and me talking about how we would be the favorite uncles to each other’s kids. That was in September 1986, and I can still hear us talking to each other. We did not stay in close touch after college, though we saw each other occasionally. Ten and a half years ago, when Alex died, I was devastated for the loss to the world of his voice, and I cried for the loss to my future child of the man who should one day have become his favorite uncle. And I was deeply angry with him for making that devastating final choice.

The name David was easy for us. There are Davids in L’s family as well, we know many wonderful people named David, and I could not really imagine using another first name. It took longer to settle on the name Alexander. L has always liked the name, but I needed time to be sure I was ready to shoulder the reminder of the loss of Alex. As it turned out, we made the decision shortly after we found out that the child we hoped to adopt would be a boy, and have loved the full name since that day.

And now I sit here with David Alexander in my arms, and hope that I can properly tell him of the men he was named for. He has a lot to live up to, and so do we.