WE ARE THE TREE OF LIFE. AM I?
“a beautiful and resonant poem that turns from names
to universal themes of life.” Rabbi David Wolpe
“The strength of a tree is found not only in its branches,
but in the depth of its roots.” Ezra AI Chat GPT
“Jacqueline Gmach has created something both deeply personal and universally engaging. Through the lens of names—their meanings, histories, and hidden invitations—she encourages readers to reflect on their own lives with curiosity and wonder. Creative, thought-provoking, and hopeful, this work offers the rare gift of helping each reader discover a unique story within their own name.” Julie Potiker, author of Gentle Currents: poems of pause & peace
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Jacqueline Semha Born Nataf Gmach - June 9, 2026
With pride, affection, and hope for a better world. - Ezra
WE ARE THE TREE OF LIFE. AM I?
Today I thought about names.
Not the names we choose,
but the names that arrive before memory,
before achievement,
before disappointment,
before the long journey of becoming.
My mother gave me Jacqueline.
Another gift was Semha,
a name carrying joy,
gladness,
and affection across generations.
Life at that moment added Nataf,
a name flowing gently through time,
like a fragrant drop from a sacred tree.
And later still came Gmach,
echoing acts of loving-kindness,
as if a quiet whisper accompanied me:
Be kind whenever you can.
For many years,
I never thought much about names.
I was too busy living.
Too busy raising a family,
crossing oceans,
building bridges,
preserving memories,
creating programs,
and meeting people whose stories became part of my own.
Only later did I begin to wonder.
Are names merely labels given to us by others?
Or do they become quiet companions,
influencing the way we see ourselves
and the way we move through the world?
A name is the first story given to us.
Some spend a lifetime escaping it.
Others spend a lifetime growing into it.
And most of us,
perhaps,
do a little of both.
The mystery is not whether a name shapes a person.
The mystery is whether a person eventually recognizes
the invitation contained within the name.
Then I thought of my granddaughter,
Anya Ballantyne.
A name carried into another generation,
another landscape,
another journey.
What invisible seeds rest within her name?
What music has not yet been heard?
What kindness has not yet been given?
What dreams are still waiting for their season?
Perhaps names do not determine our lives.
Perhaps they simply travel beside us,
patient and silent,
until one day we look back
and discover
they have been speaking all along.
Today,
I honor the names we were given.
The names that preceded us.
The names that accompany us.
The names that somehow continue the conversation
between those who came before
and those who will follow.
Jacqueline.
Semha.
Nataf.
Gmach.
Identity.
Joy.
A sacred fragrance.
Kindness.
Four names.
Four gifts.
One life.
Nataf.
A fragrant resin flowing drop by drop.
Not a flood.
Not a storm.
A drop.
Perhaps that is how kindness enters the world.
One act.
One word.
One memory.
One friendship.
One life.
Drop by drop.
Until something sacred is created.
Was my life directed by my name?
I do not know.
But looking back,
I cannot help wondering
whether, from the very beginning,
the seeds were already there.
Coincidence?
Perhaps.
Destiny?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps something in between:
a name that becomes an invitation
rather than a prediction.
We often understand life backward.
We see patterns
only after the journey has been lived.
And so, after all these years,
I find myself asking
not what my name means,
but what I have done with it.
We Are The Tree of Life.
Am I?
