This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 2 July. Thanks to ChatGPT you can also read it in Hebrew, here.
Parshat Pinchas introduces us to the remarkable daughters of Tzelafchad—five sisters who courageously approached Moshe Rabbeinu to request a share in the Land of Israel after their father died without sons. Their request was unprecedented, yet God Himself affirmed their claim: "The daughters of Tzelafchad speak correctly." The Torah presents these women as models of faith, courage, and love of Eretz Yisrael. Chazal praise them for their wisdom and righteousness, and their story is forever enshrined in the Torah. Yet this raises an intriguing question. Who was their father?
The Torah tells us that Tzelafchad died because of his own
sin, while stressing that he was not part of Korach's rebellion. Chazal debate
the nature of that sin. According to Rabbi Shimon, Tzelafchad was among the ma'apilim—those
who attempted to enter the Land of Israel after God had forbidden them to do so
following the sin of the spies. According to Rabbi Akiva, he was the mekoshesh
etzim—the man executed for gathering wood on Shabbat (Bava Batra 119b).
Rabbi Shimon's opinion is easier to understand. Tzelafchad's
mistake was driven by an overwhelming desire to enter the Land of Israel. His
daughters inherited that same passion, but expressed it in the proper way. Rabbi Akiva's view is far more
surprising. How could the Torah's first public Shabbat desecrator become the
father of five of its greatest heroines?
Tosafot offer a remarkable explanation. They suggest that
Tzelafchad acted leshem Shamayim—for the sake of Heaven. Immediately
after the decree that the generation of the wilderness would not enter the
Land, some mistakenly concluded that they were no longer obligated to keep the
mitzvot. Tzelafchad deliberately violated Shabbat, knowing he would be punished,
so that the nation would see that the Torah's commandments remained fully
binding. His conclusion was tragically mistaken, but his motivation was to
preserve the Jewish people's commitment to Torah.
Whether or not this is the plain meaning of the story, it
offers a profound insight into religious life. Tzelafchad was not acting out of
selfishness or rebellion. On the contrary, he was prepared to sacrifice
everything for what he believed would strengthen the Jewish people. His mistake
lay elsewhere: he assumed that his own understanding of God's will was sufficient.
Passion is one of Judaism's greatest virtues. Without it
there can be no growth, no courage, and no spiritual ambition. Yet passion
untethered from Torah can easily lose its way. The greatest religious danger is
not only serving God for the wrong reasons; sometimes it is serving Him for the
noblest of reasons, while allowing our own judgment to replace His.
The story of Tzelafchad reminds us that authentic avodat
Hashem requires both a heart that burns with devotion and the humility to
recognise that God's will—not our own enthusiasm—is the final measure of what
is right.
Shabbat Shalom!
