Jebadiah, a rustic cousin of the biblical Jedidiah, carries the Hebrew benediction “beloved of God,” yet in the mouth it rolls like an old Italian folk song—soft J giving way to a bay-wind syllable and ending in a gentle sigh, as though Nonna were calling the children in for supper. One hears in it wagon wheels on frontier trails and church bells over sun-washed Tuscan rooftops, a mingling of New-World grit and Mediterranean warmth that makes the name feel both time-worn and timeless. He is the lad who can tip his wide-brimmed hat after morning chores and still recite poetry under olive trees, a saint and a storyteller in one homespun package. Though Jebadiah has never crowded the popularity charts—its quiet appearances over the decades resemble shy violets peeking through census pages—its rarity is precisely its charm, offering parents a name as unhurried as a Sunday stroll along the Arno and as heartfelt as a front-porch hymn.