by Rich Robinson | September 19 2025
Ask any Israeli how to say “Jesus” in Hebrew, and you’ll invariably hear this response: Yeshu (pronounced YEH-shoo). Yet according to scholars, his Hebrew name is Yeshua (pronounced yeh-SHOO-ah). The New Testament notes, “And at the end of eight days, when he was circumcised, he was called Jesus” (Luke 2:21). Except that no one spoke English in that time and place. The name given him at the first-century equivalent of a bris (circumcision ceremony) would have been Yeshua, a common enough first-century name for Jewish boys.
So, why don’t Israeli Jews call him by his actual name of Yeshua? Shouldn’t they be the first to know and use his Hebrew name?
Here’s the thing. In the past few centuries, Jesus has been viewed in a positive light by most Jews—maybe not as the Messiah, but as a good teacher, a rabbi, “our brother,”1 maybe even a political martyr.2 But at one time, most Jews believed that he was a deceiver who led Israel astray into idolatry. Some even regarded him as a sorcerer. Consequently, centuries ago he was called by the name Yeshu, which was a pun on his real name. Yeshu is an acronym standing for a curse: Yimach Shemo Vezikro— “May his name and memory be blotted out.”3 Jesus is still viewed that way by some, especially within the Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community. Today, though, they are in the minority as far as opinions about Jesus are concerned.
And so, the name Yeshu has filtered down as the name by which Jesus is known in Israel. Most Israelis—who are secular—have no idea that it originated as an acronym of contempt. After all, we don’t think about the origins of many English names. Take the days of the week: Thursday was named for “Thor’s Day,” but that has nothing to do with its current meaning. Ask an English speaker what Thursday means, and the answer will probably be “the day of the week that comes after Wednesday.” Similarly, ask an Israeli who Yeshu is, and the answer will likely be “a man who lived in the first century, the Christians’ Messiah.”
For the answer, it’s helpful to think about how children are generally named. In today’s societies people are often given names that sound pleasant or that represent something important to their parents. Ashkenazic Jews often name children after a beloved deceased relative. Native Americans might be named after animals that epitomize admirable qualities or have cultural significance, such as Running Bear or Swift Eagle. The Puritans used to name their children after virtues such as Faith, Hope, or Charity. In the 1960s, that trippy time, the musician Frank Zappa famously named his children Dweezil and Moon Unit. And a name’s popularity changes across generations. Few Americans are now named Hortense, Sylvia, or Melvin.
In Bible times people were likewise given names that described them, their life situations, or the hopes that their parents had for them.
Many Bible names had significance beyond just sounding nice. Abraham’s original name was Abram, meaning “exalted father.” But God, after promising many descendants to him, changed his name to Abraham, meaning “father of a multitude” (Genesis 17:5). Pharaoh’s daughter chose the name Moses for the Hebrew infant she saved from the Nile “because … I drew him out of the water” (Exodus 2:10). Moses is said to be related to a word meaning “draw forth.” Not all these names can scientifically be traced to what they are supposed to mean; many are folk connections. But they are still often signs pointing to a God-given destiny.
When an angel told Joseph that his wife Miriam (commonly known as Mary) was to be the mother of the Messiah, he said of the child, “You shall call his name Yeshua, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). Yeshua means, “God will save.” It’s a short form of the name Yeshoshua, which comes to us in English as “Joshua.”
When Yeshua’s parents were in the Temple in Jerusalem, a man named Simeon cradled the infant Yeshua in his arms and prayed, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:29–32).
The name Yeshua indicated Jesus’ life vocation: to save his people, the Jewish people, from sin. What kind of a career is that for a Jewish boy?
Let’s be honest. Most Jews today don’t think about sin until Yom Kippur comes around. And at this moment in time, the main thing many would like to be saved from is antisemitism. Otherwise, as with the idea of sin, most aren’t thinking about being saved from anything. What would that even mean?
But let’s zoom in to antisemitism quickly. We’re living in a fraught moment. The so-called “Golden Age” for American Jews, at least, is over. No longer do we feel that we have arrived and been accepted by society. No longer are campuses safe havens for Jewish students. This is a time to be fighting antisemitism on multiple fronts.
And some wonder why there is antisemitism at all. Without playing the victim card, we are asking a legitimate question. Why have Jews seemingly from the beginning been the targets of hatred, violence, and even genocide?
It’s not a question that has pat answers. But certainly, one way of thinking about it takes us back to biblical times, when God promised Abraham that he would have many descendants, possess a land, and be a blessing to the entire world. For many who share a belief in God, it’s not hard to imagine that there are forces arrayed against God and his chosen people. Hatred of the Jews, some say, is really hatred of God. It is, in a word, sin, and an especially virulent one at that.
I have been asked why, if Jesus is the Messiah, there is not peace in the world. I respond along these lines: God could indeed snap his fingers, so to speak, and bring peace immediately. But unless our own hearts changed in the process, we would quickly see the world go back to the way it was, full of injustice and violence, fueled by our own acts. For there to be peace in this world, we need to be changed. The root problem is the sin that plagues us all. To make shalom (true and lasting peace) in the world, we need shalom in our hearts. We need to be saved from our own sin. Or to put it with a more Jewish phraseology, we need a redeemer not only from Egypt (as we recall each Passover) but from our sin. The same sin that made Pharaoh into a tyrant who enslaved an entire people group.
Yeshua came to be that redeemer. It’s why he received the name he was given. His death was an atonement for our sin: by putting faith in him as the redeemer that we need, we find that atonement. And we find God’s shalom in our lives, enabling us to pass his shalom on to others.
Recall what the angel told Joseph: “You shall call his name Yeshua, for he will save his people from their sins.” Remember, Yeshua was a common name. The name Saul (the first king of Israel) means “asked,” likely implying “asked of God.” But not every Saul was so named because his parents asked God for a child. Yeshua means “God will save” but not every boy named Yeshua had anything to do with saving anyone, or with God saving anyone.
Yeshua of Nazareth, as he is sometimes called, was different. His name represented his purpose, his mission, his life trajectory. He came to save his people, to save humanity, from sin. Remember what the old man Simeon said in Luke’s Gospel: “my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel.” He is not Yeshu, a cursed one. He is Yeshua, a light to non-Jews and a glory for his own people, the Jews.
1. Martin Buber called Jesus “my great brother,” according to many different sources.
2. In contrast, it is Paul, not Jesus, who has been seen as the “bad guy” who invented a new religion and “turned” Jesus into a god. This viewpoint is no longer widely held.
3. Some think Yeshu is a first-century Galilean pronunciation of Yeshua, spoken that way by Jews in Galilee, as opposed to those in Judea. The consensus leans to the acronym view, though. Or perhaps it was a combination of both.