Parashat Pinchas
July 3, 2021, 23 Tamuz 5781
Torah: Numbers 25:10-30:1; Triennial 26:52-28:15
Haftarah: Jeremiah 1:1-2:3
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In this week's Torah Sparks, you'll find a D'var Torah on the Parashah by Ilana Kurshan called "Why Should We Be Excluded?". Vered Hollander-Goldfarb poses questions titled "Earthly Law or Godly Law?" And Bex Stern Rosenblatt writes about "Mourning Childhood" in the Haftarah.
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Why Should We Be Excluded?
Ilana Kurshan
Our parashah introduces the five daughters of Tzlofchad, who petition Moshe to be allowed to inherit a portion in the land of Israel after their father died leaving no male heir. Moshe takes their case before God, who rules that “the plea of Tzlofchad’s daughters is indeed just” (Numbers 27:7), and they should receive a hereditary portion of land among their father’s clan. While the valor and eloquence these daughters demonstrate in the biblical text is laudable in its own right, the rabbis of the Talmud and midrash shower them in praise, offering them as a timeless example of what it means to speak out against injustice and stand up for ourselves.
The Talmud in Bava Batra, in the context of the laws of inheritance, declares that “the daughters of Tzlofchad are wise, they are interpreters of verses, and they are righteous” (Bava Batra 119b). The rabbis then proceed to demonstrate how the daughters displayed each of these virtues. First, they were wise in that they presented their case before Moshe at an auspicious time. They waited until Moshe, who was in the midst of teaching Torah to the people, came to the laws of levirate marriage, in which a man dies leaving no son to inherit him and his brother marries his widow to perpetuate the name of the deceased. It was then that they interjected, making their case about perpetuating their late father’s name. The daughters knew that to effect change, it is important to wait for the right moment to come forth and speak up; getting the timing wrong may mean losing the chance of being heard. And so they patiently waited until Moshe was most likely to be receptive to their plea. The daughters’ patience is also evident from the Talmud’s discussion of their righteousness, which the rabbis attribute to their willingness to wait to get married until they found suitable partners. According to the Talmud, none of the five daughters married before age forty, at which point they were blessed with many children; here, too, they recognized the value of waiting until the time was right.
As the daughters of Tzlofchad knew, successfully effecting change is not just about auspicious timing, but also about arming oneself with knowledge so as to make an informed case. The rabbis in Bava Batra, in explaining how the daughters were “interpreters of verses,” relate that they were sufficiently well-versed in the laws of inheritance that they could say to Moshe, “If our father had a son, we would not have spoken up.” They knew the law, and they knew how to make a reasoned argument invoking the language of the law. And they knew that if the law seemed unjust, then it ought to be questioned and reconsidered. According to an early midrash, the daughters, upon first learning the laws of inheritance, took counsel with one another, saying:
"God’s compassion is not like that of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood creatures have greater compassion for males than for female. But the One Who spoke the world into being is not like that, rather, His mercy extends to all, to the males and the females, as it is said, ‘The Lord is good to all, and his mercy is upon His works’” (Psalms 145:9) (Sifrei Bemidbar 133).
Tzlofchad’s daughters recognized that while human beings living at particular historical moments may be guided by the prejudices of their era, the eternal God extends compassion to all creatures regardless of gender. This source, from the early centuries of the common era, seems almost anachronistic in its feminism. And while it is perhaps anachronistic, too, for the daughters to quote from the book of Psalms, this midrash further underscores their learnedness, as well as their faith that God’s law must be just.
The daughters of Tzlofchad also succeeded because they knew to root themselves in tradition. They were not the first to appeal to Moshe because they felt excluded by the law; earlier in the book of Numbers, a group of individuals who were impure and hence unable to offer the Pesach sacrifice approached Moshe to ask, “Why should we be excluded (nigra) from presenting the Lord’s offering at its time with the rest of the Israelites?” (Numbers 9:7). Here, too, Moshe appealed to God, resulting in the institution of Pesach Sheni one month later as a way of including those who could not bring the Pesach sacrifice in the month of Nisan. The daughters of Tzlofchad use the same term (yigara, 27:4) to ask why their father’s name should be excluded from his clan, perhaps as a way for these learned women to remind Moshe that there already existed a precedent for amending the law.
The daughters’ respect for tradition is evident, too, from their frequent invocation of their father’s name in petitioning Moshe. Their request is not about them, but about their veneration of their father, whom they reference repeatedly: “Our father died in the wilderness… Let not our father’s name be excluded from his clan… Give us a holding among the kinsman of our father (27:3-4). The midrash (Numbers Rabbah 21:10) states that the Torah’s account of their petition follows immediately on the heels of the Torah’s mention of the death of the generation of the spies at the end of chapter 26 to underscore the contrast between the men who did not want to enter the land and gain possession of it, and the women who demanded a portion in it. And so Tzlofchad’s daughters approached Moshe out of respect for tradition, respect for their father, and a deep love for the land of Israel.
The daughters of Tzlofchad, who appealed to Moshe out of concern for their father’s legacy, left an indelible legacy themselves. The Talmud (Bava Batra 119a) teaches that the portion of the Torah concerning the laws of inheritance was supposed to be written by Moshe, but on account of their appeal, the daughters merited to write this portion instead. They thus had a hand not just in shaping the Torah’s legislation, but also in recording that legislation in the Torah, where their names—Machla, Noa, Hogla, Milka and Tirza—are perpetuated. May we be guided by their example in our own efforts to ensure that those who might otherwise be excluded succeed in finding a place and a voice in our tradition.
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Earthly Law or Godly Law?
Vered Hollander-Goldfarb
Text: Bamidbar 27:1-8
1Then drew-near the daughters of Zelophehad, … of the families of Manasseh the son of Joseph…. 2They stood before Moshe and before Eleazar the priest and before the leaders and all the congregation, at the doorway of the tent of meeting, saying, 3“Our father died in the wilderness, …and he had no sons. 4“Why should the name of our father be withdrawn from among his family because he had no son? Give us a possession among our father’s brothers.” 5And Moshe brought-near their case before the LORD. 6And the LORD spoke to Moshe saying, 7“The daughters of Zelophehad speak correctly. You shall surely give them a hereditary possession among their father’s brothers, and you shall transfer the inheritance of their father to them. 8And to the children of Israel you shall speak saying, ‘If a man dies and has no son, then you shall transfer his inheritance to his daughter...’
- The daughters of Zelophehad stand in front of the leadership of the entire people. Why is the setting important?
- Various family situations regarding inheritance had to exist. Why do you think that the Torah chose to introduce the inheritance law through a case rather than God instructing Moshe to inform the people of the law as is the case of many mitzvot?
- What does this presentation and Moshe’s handling of it do for our understanding of the legal system of the Torah?
Commentary: Rashi Bamidbar 27:5
And Moshe brought-near their case: The law eluded him, and here he was punished for crowning himself by saying, “and the case that is too difficult for you, bring to me” (Deut. 1:17). Another interpretation: This passage ought to have been written by Moshe, but Zelophehad’s daughters were meritorious, so it was written by them.
- According to Rashi’s first reading, the law for this case should have been known to Moshe. What in Moshe’s behavior might have blocked him from recalling or knowing it?
- Rashi describes the situation as a law “written by”. What does he mean by that? (after all, it is dictated by God in the end.)
Commentary: Rashi Bamidbar 27:7
Zelophehad’s daughters speak correctly: …. [As if God said,] This is the way this passage is inscribed before Me on high. It teaches us that their eye perceived what Moshe’s eye did not.
- What do you think made it possible for them to perceive what Moshe did not perceive here?
Zelophehad’s daughters speak correctly: Their claim is correct. Fortunate is the person with whose word the Holy One, blessed is He, concurs.
- How does Rashi perceive the relationship between human-initiated and God-initiated legislation?
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Mourning Childhood
Bex Stern Rosenblatt
At what point does childhood end? When does someone transform from being a child into being an adult? Who gets to make this decision? And on what basis do they make it? The Tanakh is full of actual children and metaphorical children; we are, after all, b’nei Yisrael, the children of Israel. And so much of the Jewish tradition is centered around the idea of transmitting our tradition to our children. We are commanded to do so in the first paragraph of the shema. And yet, when we reach this week’s haftarah, childhood becomes something to cast aside and leave behind.
In this week’s haftarah, Jeremiah receives his prophetic call, his summoning to be a prophet of God. As Robert Alter translates Jeremiah 1:4-8,
And the word of the LORD came to me, saying: Before I fashioned you in the belly I knew you, and before you came out of the womb, I consecrated you. A prophet to the nations I made you. And I said, “Alas, O Master, LORD, for, look, I know not how to speak, for I am but a lad.” And the LORD said to me, Do not say, “I am but a lad,” for wherever I send you, you shall go, and whatever I charge you, you shall speak. Do not fear them, for I am with you to save you, said the LORD.
Childhood is complicated here. It seems to be ripped away rather suddenly. Jeremiah claims protection, claims innocence and inability based on his status as a na’ar, a lad. And God refuses to grant it. God refuses to think of Jeremiah in this way, as a child in need of protection who is not yet ready to face the world. Rather, because God is with Jeremiah, Jeremiah can no longer be a child. Jeremiah is forced out into the world, bearing God, whether he thinks he is ready or not. Moreover, he never had much of a childhood. From before he was even created through when he was in the womb, Jeremiah was already marked for this post-childhood existence, for a sense of purpose and destiny. At no time was he allowed to be safe, allowed to play, explore, and follow his own whims without consequence.
It is only right that we read such a haftarah now, as we enter the three weeks leading to Tisha b’Av. When we recite the Book of Lamentations, which tradition ascribes to Jeremiah, on Tisha b’Av, remembering the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, we find ourselves once again faced with a horrific loss of childhood. We read of “the tongue of the infant stuck to his mouth with thirst” and of “the hands of merciful women” which “cooked their children.” It is horrible, gut-wrenching. These children are not allowed any sense of protection, never mind the freedom of play. As we read theses verses, we remember, we sit with horrors. It is a time of mourning the many ends our people have come to, even with the knowledge that our people have never been ended, that a remnant of the children of the children of Israel have always persevered. During this time, we can allow ourselves to feel the fear of Jeremiah as the fear and desperation of every child who has ever been scared of the dark, of the unknown, of the responsibility of becoming the adult responsible for carrying on the tradition.
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