Rabbi Lewis Sermon – Shabbat Pinchas 5786
Vatikravnah – Drawing Close as Co-Creators of Community
Shabbat Pinchas 5786
Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel
Rabbi Annie Lewis
This week in our Torah, in Parshat Pinchas, as our ancestors journey through the wilderness, we meet five sisters named Noa, Tirzah, Hoglah, Milcah and Machla. Their father, Tzelophehad has died, leaving no sons to inherit his allotted portion of land in the territory of Menashe on the other side of the Jordan River. The sisters approach Moses, Eleazar the Priest, and the tribal leaders, vying for their place as beneficiaries of their father’s inheritance. The story begins, “Vatikravnah B’not Zelophechad” – And the daughters of Zelophechad stepped forward. They drew near (Numbers 27:1).
Vatikravnah.
This word has a root in common with korban, the term for sacred offering. The sisters bring their offering in the form of a question. They stand before Moshe, Elazar the priest, the leaders and the entire community, and ask, with holy chutzpah,
לָמָּה יִגָּרַע שֵׁם־אָבִינוּ מִתּוֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ כִּי אֵין לוֹ בֵּן
Lamah Yigarah shem avinu mitoch mishpachto ki eyn lo ben?
Why should our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son?!”
(Numbers 27:4)
They continue, “Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen.”
Their question gives Moshe pause. And he bumps the case up to the Supreme Supreme Court.
The Midrash in Sifrei Bamidbar (133) gives us insight into the process of the sisters, and the argument on which they base their case. The rabbis of the midrash teach – on the phrase, “Vatikravnah B’not Zelphehad…”
ותקרבנה בנות צלפחד – כיון ששמעו בנות צלפחד שהארץ מתחלקת לשבטים ולא לנקבות, נתקבצו כולן זו על זו ליטול עצה.
When the daughters of Zelophehad heard that the land of Israel was being divided up among the tribes but land was only being apportioned to the males and not to the females, they came together, to consult with one another, to discern how to make their claim.
אמרו: לא כרחמי ב”ו (בשר ודם) רחמי המקום!
They said: “The compassion of human beings is not like the compassion of God.”
ב”ו (בשר ודם) רחמיו על הזכרים יותר מן הנקבות,
Human beings in power favor males over females,
אבל מי שאמר והיה העולם אינו כן,
but the One Who spoke and brought the world into being is not like that.
אלא על הזכרים ועל הנקבות, רחמיו על הכל,
שנאמר (תהלים קמה) טוב ה’ לכל ורחמיו על כל מעשיו:
Rather, when it comes to matters of gender, God shows compassion to every living being, as it says in Sefer Tehillim, Psalm 145, Ashrei:
“טוב ה’ לכל ורחמיו על כל מעשיו”
“Adonai is good to all. God’s mercy is upon all God’s works (Psalm 145:9).”
The sisters understand that the compassion of God is unconditional and unlimited. It is not divvy’ed up based on difference, or apportioned according to status. God’s mercy, God’s lovingkindness is unending. On this, Noa, Milkah, Hoglah, Mahlah and Tirzah build their case.
Indeed, God rules that the claim of the women is just and the law is adjusted. The daughters of Zelophehad may inherit their father’s land and the system will evolve for others like them.
The sisters “bend the arc of the moral universe towards justice” – and yet, there is still a long way to go. For, unlike the complete compassion of God, the compassion of human beings is bound by bias. The law will be that if a man dies without a son, his daughters may inherit land, but if he has no daughters, the land will go next to brothers and uncles and male kinsmen. Still – the sisters have made a difference.
The midrash from Sifrei Bamidbar sparks our moral imaginations. It invites us to wonder – “What would it look like if our laws – Jewish and civil – were guided by the principle that each human being is equally deserving of God’s love and compassion?”
What would it take for our institutions and our leaders to wield our power to organize society around this truth? How might we move things closer to this vision of the world as it could be? What can we do – each of us as citizens and stakeholders in the fate of our society and in the fate of one another?
We can find inspiration for a next step in this direction in a contemporary midrash from Israeli writer, Rivka Lovitz in the anthology, Dirshuni. Rivka Lovitz notices that the five women of our parsha are at first referred to as B’not Tzelophehad, “daughters of Tzelophechad” (Numbers 27:1), and then only at the end of the verse, are they each identified by name (“Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah”).
She reads their father’s name, Zelophehad, as two words, shadow (צל) and fear (פחד). She suggests that in the beginning, they are called the daughters of Zelophehad – because of the shadow (צל) and the fear (פחד). The daughters are stuck in the shadow of their father, and they are afraid to go in front of the assembly. And what do they do in the midst of the shadow and the fear?
Vatikravnah – they draw close – to Moshe, to God, to Truth. They draw close to one another.
As they come together, they find courage and confidence.
Only when Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah stand together, are they able to emerge from the shadow of fear, to be called by their own unique names, to be seen in their fullness, to speak their truth.
As they gather together, each one is reminded by her sisters, that she, too, is created in the image of God, that she, too, is seen and known and loved, that she is worthy of dignity, compassion and life. That she has a place in the Promised Land. That “the only thing to fear is fear itself,” as a great American once said.
When we are held by the truth that God loves each one of us unconditionally, when we are reminded that we are seen, known and loved, that we are deserving of dignity and worthy of compassion and life, we ourselves to come close to others, those who are similar and those who are different.
We begin to see the fullness of the humanity of others.
When we stand arm in arm with others, we channel the courage to ask questions.
The courage to build power and to share power.
The courage to shift systems.
The courage to turn things around.
We have seen this courage on display over and over again from the individuals who came together to launch this republic and in social movements throughout the past 250 years of the unfolding of these United States of America.
In her 2014 book Our Declaration: A Reading of the Declaration of Independence in Defense of Equality, political philosopher Danielle Allen argues that the American democratic experiment we celebrate today is not only about the promise of individual liberty, but about the imperative of “political equality.” Allen suggests that true democracy requires citizens to treat one another as “co-creators” of our shared world. Democracy begins by our drawing close to one another – with a Vatikravnah.
When Noa, Machlah, Tirzah, Mikah and Hoglah stand before Moses, they step up as “co-creators” engaging in what Allen calls the “art of democratic writing.”
God’s response to their petition – Ken -Yes – the daughters of Zelophehad speak the truth – is a divine affirmation of their co-creative process. (Numbers 27:7)
It is a reminder that justice is not something handed down from above. Rather, justice and democracy are born through our collective, courageous and co-creative efforts.
In these times, in our beloved country, we are more distanced and more divided than ever. Too often our leaders seek to score points by stoking fear of those who are different – unleashing violence and empowering vigilantes. By questioning who among us has the right to inherit the blessings of liberty and equality and who can claim a stake in our collective future.
Our Torah opened today with the zealotry of Pinchas.
Our parsha then presents a counterexample, a beacon in the actions of the daughters of Zelophehad.
Vatikravnah B’not Zelophehad.
As I begin this journey as your rabbi,
I am hopeful for all the ways we will come close to one another as a BZBI congregation for many years to come.
As co-creators of our kehilah kedoshah, our holy community.
And as co-creators of our democracy, forever a work in progress.
Elohei Rahamim, God of Compassion, as we celebrate 250 years of democracy, help us to find the courage to come close, to hear each other’s stories with compassion, and to remember that there is a place for each one of us in the Promised Land.
