Much scholarly debate about the origin of the word Yahweh. Some will tell you it was place lost to the sands of time, others will tell you it translates from an ancient Canaanite language into Popeye's "I am what I am," still others will come up with all sorts of mystical offerings and entirely possible because it has something to do with Religion and Politics and Academia there's no real incentive for an objective answer. My own view follows an account which naturally enough I can no longer find in any real sense, yet variations of which remain a constant for those moments in the vegetable Garden when there's just a little bit more to do and the body begins to express a sudden yearning for The Rapture and failing that a good long cigarette break in deep, Tic-less shade. The other point I'd like to make is that there's no way Bruce Springsteen singing "Santa Claus is Coming" figures in any reputable account of the origin of Yahweh, so best to keep that in mind.
Many years ago, in a part of the world where rain was uncertain and land subject
to plagues of Centipedes, a gardener exhausted from the endless monotony of
separating the Tares from the Wheat thought he heard a voice and he looked up
unto the heavens. And lo it was what sounded like a Late Bronze Age Bruce
Springsteen singing, "You'd better not cry, you'd better not pout, and I'm
telling you why, so be good for goodness sake." The gardener, having
followed the calling of gardeners, was a dour, fusty old grump and he replied,
"The odd Tare never hurt anybody! It's all roughage!" And with a degree of
unction the voice answered, "Well you'd better watch out because sooner or later
I'm coming to town." A terrible quarrel ensued during which Blossom End Rot was
mentioned several times, and finally the gardener put his good hand on his bad
hip and demanded, "Who exactly do you think you are?" "I am the Creator. I
have no name. I can't help it, I am what I am."