“Let not our father’s name be lost for his clan just because he had no son”.
I have a question for you regarding the very nature of God.
Do you regard God as all knowing, perfect, and in full control of the world?
Or is it also possible that God, like humans, can be open to criticism and change?
This week, the Torah makes a case for an evolving God, as we are introduced to five women who initiate the idea of feminism into the Jewish narrative.
They are Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah—the daughters of Tz’lafchad—and here is their story.
On their way to the Promised Land, their father dies. This creates a problem. Jewish law dictates that only men can own land. With no sons to inherit Tz’lafchad’s holdings, the daughters contemplate their own security and future.
They take aim at the distinctly sexist practice, asking, “Why can’t we as women own and work the land?”
They express a new and radical vision of what Judaism—and ultimately the land of Israel—could be.
They approach Moses, requesting a change to the law. They remind him that their father was a righteous man—neither a rebel nor a complainer.
“Let not our father’s name be lost for his clan just because he had no son,” they plead. “Give us his holdings among our kinsmen.”
The Talmud, our oral tradition, agrees. Some ancient rabbis noted that God’s law often appears to “have greater compassion for males than for females.”
Moses listens to their arugement and agrees to advance their issue to a higher power—God.
God ponders Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah’s request and ultimately concludes that even God’s law can be subject to review and change.
“The plea of Tz’lafchad’s daughters is just,” God says. “You should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them.”
And the law is changed.
What a monumental moment in Jewish tradition. It inspires us to consider that as the world evolves, so must Torah.
It also speaks of a God who is capable of change—where gender equality, dignity for all, fairness and compassion must be the primary driver of the Torah and—by extension—society and the laws which govern it.
There is a story in the Midrash—our ancient collection of stories, myths and explanations—where Moses is studying Torah with God.
Moses is puzzled by one passage. He notes that numerous times, the Torah says that a child shall be guilted by the sins of his ancestors back three or four generations.
Moses challenges God, referring to a story from the early pages of the Torah, which implies that Abraham’s father, Terach, was an idol maker and seller.
Moses advances the position that, “If that is so, how do you explain the rise of Abraham? Shouldn’t Abraham have been condemned for the sins of his father? Then, if so, Judaism would have never begun.”
God considers for a moment, and responds, “I believe I have learned something from you today.” And in so doing, God reveals a willingness to amend Jewish understanding and practice, based on how the Torah is applied on earth.
Later, in the Book of Jeremiah—the prophet Jeremiah writes that each of us is responsible for our own successes and failures.
That is why the story of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah is so important.
Friends, I like the idea of a God who is omnipotent. I need to believe that the challenges all of us currently face are part of an overall journey toward a better, more perfect world.
It is part of my faith.
But let us also remember that as God’s emissaries on earth—through that divine spark within each of us—God is connected and enlightened every day.
Indeed, we live in a world where—less and less—gender, our background or how we love, cannot determine our capacity to perform a job, own land, or even seek high political office.
The Torah reminds us in its closing pages, “The Torah is not found in heaven.” Rather, Jewish law thrives in the way we apply it to daily life.
This week, we remember the courage of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah, who approach Moses and, ultimately God, asking that an injustice be corrected.
They remind us that if God possesses the capacity to review, improve and evolve each day, so can we.
I believe that the greatest enemy of Judaism, and life itself, is stagnation. As we evolve on earth, in some way, according to both oral and written tradition, so does God.
Life is a journey. Judaism calls it a sulam, a ladder that we perpetually climb in our understanding of what is right.
How comforting it is to know that a dynamic and engaged God evolves with us along the way.
Shabbat Shalom v’kol tuv.
Rabbi Irwin Huberman