Pinhas and Naming Names

Sections of the Bible are often known by one of the first words in the related text, which might be the name of a person. Torah readings are sometimes named after figures execrated in the Tradition, such as Korah, the rebel (Numbers 16), or Balak, the enemy king (Numbers 22-24). This week’s passage names a figure celebrated in the Tradition: Pinhas.

Pinhas, Aaron’s grandson and later high priest, is extolled in this week’s Torah reading (Numbers 25:1-15). In an incident at the end of the prior section, he impales an Israelite man and a Midianite woman whom the man had brought into the camp, with the text suggesting they were engaged in sexual relations. The context is that Israel had been warned against illicit conduct with women from other nations that could lead to adopting their idolatry (Numbers 25:1-5). Balaam, the verbally artful prophet-for-hire, had encouraged Israelites down this path (Numbers 31:16). The Bible generally urges that punishment not be inflicted without a trial, but Pinhas faced a brazen violation of the covenant, and the Israelites were dying from a plague caused by such conduct. God enters into a covenant with Pinhas (Numbers 25:12-13), granting him and his descendants the high priesthood forever. The Tradition celebrates his deeds and name.

More puzzling is that the cavorting couple is named in the Bible: Zimri, son of Salu, a chieftain of the Simeonite tribe, and Cozbi, daughter of Zur, a Midianite tribal chief (Numbers 25:14-15). The scribes who compiled and edited the text knew they were handling a sacred document, intended to be read and revered for all posterity. Why would they permit the names of two wrongdoers to live on, even in infamy?

The Israelites were a people of the word, and proper names held special resonance. Their God spoke the organized universe into being (Genesis 1). He engaged in a covenant—a verbal agreement—with the Israelites, charged with spreading His message and name. He provided a detailed set of written laws to guide them (Exodus 20). The Bible is fascinated by the origin of proper names. In Genesis, there is often an account—sometimes involving deep or whimsical wordplay—for the names of leading figures. Part of the covenant involves Abram and Sarai adopting their new names, Abraham (Genesis 17:5) and Sarah (Genesis 17:15). After wrestling with the angel, Jacob becomes Israel (Genesis 32:28). The burning bush story reveals God’s name as a combination of “what was, what is, and what will be,” compacted into a few syllables, conveying an infinite presence beyond the laws of history and physics (Exodus 3:14).

Yet we are told the names of the miscreants: Zimri and Cozbi. The naming partly conveys information. We learn that Pinhas was reacting to the conduct of leaders, including an Israelite chieftain, which heightened the threat—they could lead others astray by their brazen example. The fact that Zimri is a Simeonite is significant; the tribe’s numbers dwindled after the plague linked to his sin (Numbers 25:9), dropping from 59,300 to 22,200 in the wilderness censuses (Numbers 1:23, 26:14), and their absorption into Judah’s territory (Joshua 19:1-9) left few distinct mentions in later biblical accounts (1 Chronicles 4:24-43). As for Cozbi, we learn that Balaam had urged the Israelites toward idolatry through illicit relations with the Midianites (Numbers 31:16).

Still, given the brazenness of the act, why did the Bible not obscure their names? In ancient Greece, Herostratus burned a wonder of the world, the Temple of Artemis, in 356 BCE, seeking fame. The authorities ordered his name forgotten, but historians preserved it, giving rise to the term “Herostratic fame” for seeking notoriety through evil deeds. The ancient Israelites were, in Baruch Halpern’s terms, “the first historians.” Halpern meant that they not only preserved chronicles but sought cause-and-effect and meaning in historical events. Perhaps the scribes could not bring themselves to expunge the actual names. The names may carry poetic implications as well: “Cozbi” may be based on the Hebrew word for “deceit,” and Zimri perhaps on the Hebrew word for “singing.” As for “Pinhas” itself, the name may have its origin in the Egyptian language—like that of Moses. The Bible’s frequent use of Egyptian names for places and people may reflect its roots in historical events.

God enjoins Israel to destroy the memory of Amalek, the tribe that preyed upon vulnerable Israelites in the wilderness (Deuteronomy 25:19), yet their name persists in scripture (Exodus 17:8-16). Similarly, in the Purim service, when Haman’s name is read from the Megillah, the congregation expresses contempt by making noise, a tradition that adapts the naming of the wicked.

At the memorial to Yitzhak Rabin in Tel Aviv, the slain Prime Minister is named, along with others present. The assassin is referred to only as “the killer.” Israel’s humanity has limited its ability to erase the evildoer’s legacy; Israel does not have the death penalty, and Yigal Amir was permitted to marry in prison and have a child. Historians and documentarians are free to name and depict him.

In later Jewish tradition, names remained of the highest importance. Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) emphasizes the value of a good name. In Pirkei Avot 4:13, Rabbi Shimon says, “There are three crowns—the crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood, and the crown of kingship—but the crown of a good name surpasses them all.” Pirkei Avot 4:22 draws on Ecclesiastes 7:1, stating, “A good name is better than precious oil, and the day of death than the day of one’s birth.” At birth, a person’s legacy is unformed, but at death, their deeds and reputation are complete. These teachings underscore why the Bible preserves names: a good name inspires, while infamous names caution future generations.

The Book of Isaiah contains language of supernal literary power. Its themes of warning, disgrace, forgiveness, and redemption have inspired the Jewish people and helped give rise to the entire Christian tradition. One of its most astounding passages, Isaiah 56:3-5, promises that those who do not attain posterity through children can achieve an even greater presence through an everlasting name, recorded among the righteous. The passage reads:

וְאַל־יֹאמַר הַסָּרִיס הֵן אֲנִי עֵץ יָבֵשׁ׃ כִּי־כֹה אָמַר יְהוָה לַסָּרִיסִים אֲשֶׁר יִשְׁמְרוּ אֶת־שַׁבְּתוֹתַי וּבָחֲרוּ בַּאֲשֶׁר חָפָצְתִּי וּמַחֲזִיקִים בִּבְרִיתִי׃ וְנָתַתִּי לָהֶם בְּבֵיתִי וּבְחוֹמֹתַי יָד וָשֵׁם טוֹב מִבָּנִים וּמִבָּנוֹת שֵׁם עוֹלָם אֶתֶּן־לוֹ אֲשֶׁר לֹא יִכָּרֵת׃

Neither let the eunuch say: ‘Behold, I am a dry tree.’ For thus saith the LORD concerning the eunuchs that keep My sabbaths, and choose the things that please Me, and hold fast by My covenant: Even unto them will I give in My house and within My walls a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name, that shall not be cut off.

Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center, draws its name from this passage. It has sought to recover the names and stories of as many Shoah victims as possible in response to attempts to erase their past and future.

The Tradition is replete with remembrance of names. The name of a departed family member is recited in the Kaddish every day for eleven months. It is recited in the Yizkor service that accompanies Yom Kippur, Shemini Atzeret, Passover, and Shavuot. It is engraved on a burial stone.

Pirkei Avot (1:13) warns that pursuit of a name—the seeking of fame rather than the doing of mitzvot for their own sake—is destructive. In the Tradition, we honor those who have come before not because they sought fame, but because we are grateful to them, respect them, and love them.

In modern times, the names of Jews can be both alienating and amusing. My name came from a generation where children were given an anglicized version of their Hebrew birth names—hence Bryan Paul instead of my Hebrew names, Pesach Benjamin. The English versions have never felt quite right. As for the last name? It was Schwartzman in early twentieth-century Russia, and before that—before an ancestor’s adopting a false identity to avoid the 25-year Tsarist draft—perhaps Rubenstein. At least that had a biblical resonance. A tradition claims we are descended in the direct male line from the Baal Shem Tov—the master of the good name. True? Who knows. But captivating to the imagination. In Israel, many families eschewed “shtetl” names; they were “new Jews,” independent people in their own land, and often adopted names from modern Hebrew. Figures like David Ben-Gurion (formerly Grün), Golda Meir (Meyerson), and Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (Perelman) adopted Hebrew names to embody their new Israeli identity. Still, much of Israeli and diaspora Jewish society gives its children biblical names. Examples include Pinchas Zukerman and Pinhas Porat.

The Tradition teaches that burying the dead is a great mitzvah, because it cannot be reciprocated. Remembering the names of the dead honors them. It also provides the living a sense of having both roots and the potential to grow toward the sky. It helps to strengthen the sense of continuity in families and in our nation; it reminds us of the contributions our forebears made to our history and that of the whole world; it gives us hope that future generations will pass on the heritage and that we too will be remembered, in this world and perhaps in the annals of the Eternal.