The rabbis of old certainly thought so. They saw names as holding the very essence of a thing, a little piece of its soul.

Think about the Israelite tribes staking their claim to the land east of the Jordan River. They weren’t just grabbing territory; they were choosing a home, a place to build their future. And the names of the cities they chose? Well, those names sang with promise.

The text from Legends of the Jews, drawing on sources like Numbers 32, paints a vivid picture. It tells us that the land these tribes selected was exceptional, and the city names prove it. There was Ataroth, meaning "garlanded with fruits." Can you just imagine the orchards overflowing with abundance? And then there was Dibon, "flowing with honey." A land literally dripping with sweetness! And Jazer, meaning "help" – because owning it was a big help to those who did.

The richness didn't stop there. We hear of Nimrah, “gaily colored,” because the earth there was so vibrant with the hues of its fruits, as cited in Legends of the Jews. Sebam, "perfume," scattered its fragrance like perfume, and Nebo, "produce," was known for its exceptional yield. It's like a garden of earthly delights, each name a little taste of what that city offered.

But names aren't just about descriptions, are they? They're also about power, about identity. And sometimes, as we find in these ancient stories, names had to change.

Legends of the Jews tells us that Nebo, along with Baalmeon, shed their old names when they fell under Israelite control. Why? Because the Israelites wanted nothing to do with names that honored idols. They wanted to cleanse the land, to make it truly their own, as cited in Numbers 32:38. It was a statement, a declaration of faith.

This desire to rename and reclaim extended to other towns as well. The text mentions Nobah, a warrior who conquered the city of Kenath. He renamed it after himself, hoping to achieve immortality. He had no children, you see, and perhaps he thought that by renaming a city, he could live on in its memory.

But here’s the twist. It didn't work! Legends of the Jews tells us that after Nobah's death, the city reverted to its original name, Kenath. His attempt to rewrite history, to cement his legacy, ultimately failed.

What does this tell us? Maybe that true legacy isn’t about renaming the world after ourselves. Maybe it’s about something deeper, something that resonates beyond a name etched on a map. Maybe it's about the fruits we bear, the help we give, the sweetness we bring to the world — things that don’t need a name to endure. Maybe those are the things that truly echo through time.