Are you there, God? It’s me, Zelophehad’s daughter.

This upcoming Torah portion, Pinchas, beckons with hints and wisdom that stirs my heart. After their father dies, the daughters of Zelophechad were unable to inherit their father’s land because land could only be passed down to sons. Thankfully, after the daughters raised their objections to Moses, and Moses consulted with God, the law changed, establishing a new approach to inheritance. God said to Moses, “The plea of Zelophechad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them.” (Numbers 27:6).  The daughters found themselves in a terribly narrow place, one created by grief, and the community’s unjust policy added further injury to their loss. But the people paused, acknowledged the daughters before them, and together, established greater ethical standards in the apportioning process of land.

I imagine those daughters. I imagine them holding each other and calling out to God before approaching Moses. Amidst their grief they are resolute, and want to plant roots in the earth, to speak in common voice, to remain part of a collective, to challenge their people to evolve towards compassion and care, justice and healing. Can we hear them and see them? Can we rise each day for the daughters, for the sons, whose lives illumine the darkness?

Layers of grief at every turn. Fires and flood waters, children swept away by war and river. I’ve felt grief that feels both foreign and familiar–beyond what seems possible and simmering embers from the recent losses of home–in my body, in my family, in the Palisades flames, and so much more. We are part of many tribes, often with connections that go unseen, and some that emerge out of the greatest tragedies.

Ana Adonai harofei lish’vurei leiv um’chabeish l’atzvotam –Healer of the Broken Hearted and Binder of their Wounds, are you there? It’s us, we are the daughters of desert and hope. Give us strength as we make our way.