Bold Women Rewrote the Law

3
# Min Read

Numbers 27:1–11

My knees trembled as we stepped into the tent of Moshe — Moses, the leader who brought us out of Egypt. I wasn’t the boldest of my sisters, but I shuffled in behind them, head high. I am Tirzah, one of the five daughters of Zelophehad. You won’t find our tribe’s stories filled with women’s voices, but this moment changed that forever.

Our father had died in the wilderness. He wasn’t part of Korach’s rebellion — that dangerous uprising that defied Moshe — he simply died for his own sins, like so many others in the generation that wouldn’t cross into the Promised Land. He left no sons. And that was the problem.

When the list of who would inherit land in Canaan was read to the people, our father’s name wasn’t mentioned. Only male names. Though we were daughters, we were nothing in the eyes of the law.

I remember the night Mahlah — the eldest — spoke. “We are being erased,” she said, voice shaking with fury. “If we don’t speak now, Father’s name will vanish like he never lived.”

We knew the law. We knew the risk. But we also knew justice.

The morning we walked to the Tent of Meeting, the sun burned hot and eyes followed us. Not just curious glances — judgment. Women didn’t approach leaders about Torah and inheritance. We were daughters. But we came forward, standing not just before Moshe, but in front of Elazar the Kohen — the priest — and all the elders. And the whole community.

It was Mahlah who spoke. “Our father died in the wilderness,” she began, her voice steady. “He had no sons. Why should our father’s name disappear from his clan because he had no sons? Give us property among our father’s relatives.”

I held my breath. My palms were clammy. Silence stretched across the tent like a storm waiting to break.

Moshe didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and brought our case before the Lord.

We were scared. Not just of what might happen — but of having been bold. What if the Lord said no? What if we were punished for speaking up?

But when Moshe returned, his face was calm. Strong. I will never forget his words.

“The daughters of Zelophehad are right,” Moshe said. “You shall give them a possession of inheritance among their father’s kinsmen.”

I wanted to cry out — to weep, to dance. We had done it. Five sisters, daughters with no protector, no husband, no brother — we had gone before the leaders of Israel and changed the law.

From that day forward, others would follow. The Lord told Moshe that if a man has no son, his inheritance shall pass to his daughter. It was written in the law forever, not just for us — but for all daughters.

I was just a woman, just a daughter. But we learned that standing up for justice, even when you’re afraid, even when your voice trembles, can bring truth to the whole people.

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My knees trembled as we stepped into the tent of Moshe — Moses, the leader who brought us out of Egypt. I wasn’t the boldest of my sisters, but I shuffled in behind them, head high. I am Tirzah, one of the five daughters of Zelophehad. You won’t find our tribe’s stories filled with women’s voices, but this moment changed that forever.

Our father had died in the wilderness. He wasn’t part of Korach’s rebellion — that dangerous uprising that defied Moshe — he simply died for his own sins, like so many others in the generation that wouldn’t cross into the Promised Land. He left no sons. And that was the problem.

When the list of who would inherit land in Canaan was read to the people, our father’s name wasn’t mentioned. Only male names. Though we were daughters, we were nothing in the eyes of the law.

I remember the night Mahlah — the eldest — spoke. “We are being erased,” she said, voice shaking with fury. “If we don’t speak now, Father’s name will vanish like he never lived.”

We knew the law. We knew the risk. But we also knew justice.

The morning we walked to the Tent of Meeting, the sun burned hot and eyes followed us. Not just curious glances — judgment. Women didn’t approach leaders about Torah and inheritance. We were daughters. But we came forward, standing not just before Moshe, but in front of Elazar the Kohen — the priest — and all the elders. And the whole community.

It was Mahlah who spoke. “Our father died in the wilderness,” she began, her voice steady. “He had no sons. Why should our father’s name disappear from his clan because he had no sons? Give us property among our father’s relatives.”

I held my breath. My palms were clammy. Silence stretched across the tent like a storm waiting to break.

Moshe didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and brought our case before the Lord.

We were scared. Not just of what might happen — but of having been bold. What if the Lord said no? What if we were punished for speaking up?

But when Moshe returned, his face was calm. Strong. I will never forget his words.

“The daughters of Zelophehad are right,” Moshe said. “You shall give them a possession of inheritance among their father’s kinsmen.”

I wanted to cry out — to weep, to dance. We had done it. Five sisters, daughters with no protector, no husband, no brother — we had gone before the leaders of Israel and changed the law.

From that day forward, others would follow. The Lord told Moshe that if a man has no son, his inheritance shall pass to his daughter. It was written in the law forever, not just for us — but for all daughters.

I was just a woman, just a daughter. But we learned that standing up for justice, even when you’re afraid, even when your voice trembles, can bring truth to the whole people.

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