What America at 250 teaches us about Jewish identity.
America is celebrating its 250th anniversary. This is a great day for the United States, and it is also a day of special significance for the Jewish people.
Looking back over the 250 years of America’s existence, we see that its treatment of the Jewish people has steadily improved from generation to generation. American Jews have enjoyed increasing freedom, greater security, and more opportunities to live proudly as Jews in an atmosphere of genuine liberty.
The same is true regarding the Holy Land. Over the years, the friendship, support, and assistance of the United States toward Israel have only grown stronger. As Jews, we too should mark this day with gratitude—to thank G-d for all His kindness, and to thank the United States for all the good it has done for the Jewish people and for the Land of Israel.
This is exactly how the Rebbe referred to America: “a kingdom of kindness.”
In honor of this anniversary, many public surveys were conducted, asking Americans various questions about how they feel toward their country. One of the central questions was: “Are you proud to be an American?” A large majority answered that they are proud to be Americans—proud to have been born in the United States, proud to be its citizens, proud of their country, and proud of its military.
When we think about it, this is a very important point. There is great value in a person feeling proud to belong to his nation and country, feeling a sense of identity and gratitude for the privilege of being part of it.
One of the more puzzling things we find in the Torah is the attitude of the Jewish people toward the Land of Israel.
Already at the beginning of Sefer Shemos, when Moshe Rabbeinu, as G-d’s messenger, announces that He will take the Jewish people out of Egypt and bring them to “a land flowing with milk and honey,” this expression—which had never been used when speaking to Avraham, Yitzchak, or Yaakov—appears for the very first time. The Torah emphasizes the greatness of the land in order to encourage the people and give them hope.
Yet how do the Jewish people respond?
“They did not listen to Moshe because of their shortness of spirit and hard labor.”
Even after they finally left Egypt, when they found themselves trapped for the first time—with the sea before them and the Egyptians behind them—the Midrash tells us that about twenty-five percent of the nation said, “Let’s go back to Egypt. We tried. It didn’t work. Let’s return.”
Later, after receiving the Torah, the Jewish people remained at Har Sinai for almost an entire year. One might have expected that if they truly believed they were heading toward “a land flowing with milk and honey,” they would beg Moshe to continue the journey. Instead, they were comfortable where they were, until G-d Himself instructed them to move on.
Then came the episode of the spies. Two of them—Yehoshua and Calev—praised the land, declaring, “The land is exceedingly, exceedingly good.” The other ten insisted there was no chance of conquering it. The Jewish people chose to believe those who said the road would be difficult. The result was that “the entire congregation raised their voices and cried that night.” Our Sages teach that this became the origin of Tishah B’Av. Even worse, they declared, “Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt.”
This attitude continued for another thirty-eight years. Throughout that entire period, we hear almost nothing positive about Eretz Yisrael.
Then comes the remarkable surprise of this week’s Parshah.
The five daughters of Tzelafchad—the Torah’s first feminists, if you will—Machlah, Noa, Choglah, Milkah, and Tirtzah, approach Moshe Rabbeinu with a claim. What was all the excitement about?
Just a few verses earlier, G-d had instructed Moshe about dividing the Land among the tribes: “To these shall the land be divided.” Every tribe would receive its own portion so that each tribe would remain settled together within its inheritance.
The Torah then establishes that only sons inherit their father’s portion. Jewish identity is determined by one’s mother, but tribal affiliation follows the father. A Kohen is someone whose father is a Kohen, a Levi is someone whose father is a Levi, and the same applies to every tribe. If daughters inherited tribal land and later married men from other tribes, their children would belong to their father’s tribe, and eventually land would pass from one tribe to another, disrupting the entire structure of the original division of the Land.
This is where the daughters of Tzelafchad enter the story. Tzelafchad, the son of Chefer, had no sons—only daughters. They came before Moshe and argued: Why should our father lose his portion in the Land simply because he had no sons? If he had sons, they would inherit him. In the absence of sons, let the daughters inherit.
When Moshe Rabbeinu heard their argument, he was overjoyed.
At last, someone was demanding a share in the Land! At last, someone actually wanted Eretz Yisrael!
We must remember that this all took place before the Jewish people had even entered the Land, before it had been conquered. Everything still seemed like a distant dream. Who knew whether they would succeed? Who knew how events would unfold?
Yet here stood the five daughters of Tzelafchad—the daughters of a Jew whom the Rebbe described as “a mesirus nefesh Yid”—demanding their inheritance in the Land. They asked, “Why should our father’s name be diminished?” Just as those who were unable to bring the Korban Pesach came forward and asked, “Why should we be deprived?” requesting the opportunity of Pesach Sheini, these women came forward insisting on their share in Eretz Yisrael.
For Moshe Rabbeinu, this was wonderful news. After so many years of complaints, fear, and longing to return to Egypt, he finally heard Jews demanding the privilege of belonging to the Land of Israel.
And remarkably, this came from the women of Israel.
Therefore, Moshe immediately brought their case before G-d: “Moshe brought their judgment before G-d.” One could suggest that this was not because he did not know the answer (see Bamidbar Rabbah, Pinchas 21:12), but because he wanted to bring nachas to G-d. At the end of the fortieth year, shortly before Moshe’s passing, righteous Jewish women had arisen who were fighting for their portion in the Land of Israel.
The message for us is clear.
Just as the overwhelming majority of Americans are proud of their country—regardless of political disagreements or public debate—they are proud to be Americans and proud to belong to their nation, so too every Jew should be proud of who he is. Proud to have been born a Jew. Proud to belong to the Jewish people. Proud to possess a G-dly soul. Proud that Eretz Yisrael is our homeland.
This is our identity. This is our reality. This is our pride.
We cannot control the level of antisemitism in the world. What we can do is raise children with a strong Jewish backbone—children who can stand confidently in the face of society because they know who they are and are proud of it.
And finally—and most importantly—we learn one more lesson from this story. Judaism is not only about fulfilling the minimum that G-d asks of us. We should constantly ask ourselves: What more can I do to bring nachas to G-d?
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