“Pinchas, the son of Elazar, the son of Aharon HaKohein, returned my anger from on Bnei Yisrael…” (Bamidbar 25:11)
Pinchas is introduced here with his illustrious lineage, because only a man of regal heritage could have acted as he did. In the middle of a full-fledged rebellion against Moshe and Torah, as the Jews were rejecting Divinely legislated morality, Pinchas stepped up and executed the leader of Shevet Shimon.
Despite his aristocratic heritage, though, Pinchas gained a new name in recognition of his vigilante justice — Kana’i, the Zealot. Furthermore, Bnei Yisrael mocked him, calling him Ben Puti, referring to his grandfather, Yisro, who once fattened (pitem) calves for idolatry.
Yet Pinchas persevered despite national opprobrium. Upon entering Eretz Yisrael, he embarked on a new role as a prophet, becoming known as Malach Hashem. (Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner, YU Torah)
More or less? When playing the name game, parents are often faced with this question. My parents decided the more, the merrier, and gave each of us three names. Since I don’t get called up to the Torah (unlike my brothers) with all three names, I’ve enjoyed this triple identity. It’s given me multiple personas to play with.
My parents, despite having bestowed this triple moniker upon my newborn head, were sure that my tastes would follow theirs and therefore chose to put only my first name, Sora, on my birth certificate. Perhaps they had mercy on the poor government worker who’d have to type and fit that long name onto the certificate. (Yes, I was born when government offices were still using typewriters; you can stop counting the years.)
The Midrash teaches: “A person is known by three names: One is the name that his parents call him, one is the name that others call him, and one is the name by which he’ll be known in the chronicles of his existence.” Our talents, skills, and proclivities stem from these three sources.
Our parents, the roots of our nature and providers of our nurture, establish our initial name. Our peers exert social pressure, as role models, sounding boards and reality checks. Our actions provide a third dimension — we’re blessed with an innate desire to rebel and forge our own way, and this catalyzes a certain independence.
In fourth grade, I realized I didn’t want the name my parents picked, maybe because they picked it, and decided to go by the last of my three names, Faigy.
But my legal name remained Sora. It doesn’t affect me much, except that when people address me that way, I don’t respond. Picture the dentist in the middle of a root canal telling me, “Sora, you’re doing great!” Maybe Sora was doing great, but Faigy wasn’t.
