Lev—spoken in a quick, velvet breath, /lev/, like the soft pluck of a mandolin drifting across a Roman piazza at dusk—is a compact name with a grand itinerary: in Hebrew it means “heart,” pulsing with tenderness and resolve, while in Slavic and Russian lore it echoes the mighty “lion,” a reminder that even a brief word can prowl with quiet strength. He wears both meanings gracefully, as if strolling beneath Venetian colonnades with a book by Tolstoy tucked beneath one arm and a mischievous grin ready for the next espresso-sweet adventure; small wonder, then, that American parents have been slipping this pocket-sized passport onto birth certificates more often each year, letting it climb the charts like ivy up sun-warmed stone. Lev fits on a luggage tag yet holds more stories than a vintage steam trunk—biblical heartbeats, astrological roars, literary thunder—inviting a child to be at once tender and fearless, romantic and resilient, a little bit lion, a little bit love.
| Lev Vygotsky - |
| Lev Landau - |
| Lev Yashin - |
| Lev Grossman - |
| Lev Kuleshov - |
| Lev Pontryagin - |
| Lev Dovator - |
| Lev Okun - |
| Lev Meshberg - |
| Lev Shubnikov - |
| Lev Fyodorov - |
| Lev Gor'kov - |
| Lev Chugaev - |
| Lev Lyubimov - |
| Lev Lvovich Tolstoy - |