The Hebrew word morashah is often translated as heritage or legacy, and at times it refers to a more concrete inheritance. But in the biblical imagination, inheritance is never just about land or possessions—it’s about identity, destiny, and continuity. In this week’s double portion, Matot / Massei, we find one of the most profound expressions of that idea in the story of the daughters of Zelophehad.
These five sisters—Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milkah, and Tirzah—stand before Moses and the elders to ask for a share in the land of Israel. Their father has died without sons, and they don’t want his name to disappear from among their people. This request wasn’t merely financial. It was spiritual. It was existential. And it was courageous.
The Inheritance of Torah
Torah gives spiritual inheritance a kind of physicality and proximity. The land wasn’t just soil—it was a vessel of covenant, a tangible expression of God’s promise. The daughters’ claim wasn’t about greed; it was about presence. They longed to remain within the people, to stand inside the promise, to have a place and a portion.
Their request also revealed the grace of inheritance. Though the laws of inheritance had defaulted to male heirs, their plea was heard by Moses—and Moses, in turn, brings it before God. And God affirms their claim. It’s an extraordinary moment of divine equity.
What is even more remarkable is the integrity with which the daughters receive the inheritance. Later, when instructed to marry within their tribe to preserve tribal boundaries, they do so willingly. They are governed not by entitlement but by conscience. They teach us that receiving inheritance must also include the responsibility to steward it wisely and in the community.
And their courage cannot be overstated. In a patriarchal culture, these women stood before religious and tribal authority—not with rebellion, but with faith. They trusted in the justice of God and the responsiveness of their leaders. Their courage wasn’t noisy; it was sacred.
One might even say their story demonstrates the gentle management of the Ruach—the Spirit of God moving beneath the surface of legal code, making space for mercy, wisdom, and equity. It’s a moment in which law is not overturned rather transformed by the Spirit into something more whole.
There’s a striking rabbinic teaching that reflects on the boldness of the daughters of Zelophehad and the nature of God’s love:
“God’s love is not like the love of a mortal father; the latter may prefer his sons to his daughters, but He who created the world extends His love to all His children. As it is written, ‘His tender mercies are over all His works.’” (cf. Psalm 145:9)
Though not found in this exact form in classical midrash, this teaching faithfully captures the ethos of the Torah and the ethics of divine compassion seen throughout Jewish tradition. It underscores that God’s inheritance is not limited by human preference or hierarchy—but flows out of His all-encompassing mercy and justice.
The Inheritance of Yeshua
In Messiah Yeshua, we find an inheritance that continues this same theme—one that is tangible, gracious, challenging, and ultimately eternal.
He teaches:
“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? … How much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”
— (Matthew 7:9–11)
Inheritance is not abstract. Like the land of Israel, it touches the physical. The Kingdom of Heaven is not just a heavenly ideal—it breaks into this world through acts of provision, healing, and restoration.
And yet, this inheritance is rooted in grace. Yeshua declares:
“Come, you who are blessed by my Father; inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”
— (Matthew 25:34)
We receive something we could never earn. Our status as children of God is not based on our performance, but on the generosity of the Father. That sense of chesed is part of what we must pass on.
But with inheritance comes responsibility and conscience. Yeshua says:
“Do not let your hearts be troubled… I go to prepare a place for you.”
— (Yochanon 14:1–3)
This is not passive waiting. It is active readiness. It is a heart oriented toward God’s purposes, willing to be corrected, willing to grow, willing to bear the weight of covenant.
Kefa reminds us that this inheritance requires endurance:
“In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope… into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade… Though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief… these trials prove the genuineness of your faith.”
— (1 Kefa1:3–6)
Courage is not the absence of pain, but the resolve to walk through it, to stand in places where others fall away. And many have done so. Jewish disciples of Yeshua in the first century endured rejection and persecution for their faith. Holocaust survivors clung to the God of Israel, even when His presence seemed hidden. And many risked their lives—Jews and righteous Gentiles alike—to hide and protect others from evil. This too is part of our inheritance: the willingness to stand for what is right, even when it costs.
And none of it is possible without the Spirit. Rav Sha’ul writes:
“You were marked with a seal—the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance… I pray also that you may know… his incomparably great power for us who believe.”
— (Ephesians 1:14–19)
The Ruach is not merely a comforter; it is the down payment on our future. The Spirit empowers us, strengthens us, and teaches us how to live as heirs.
Passing On Our Inheritance
So, what does it mean to pass on this inheritance?
It means giving our children something both material and eternal—providing for their needs while also teaching them that life is more than possessions. It means modeling grace—treating them as inherently worthy and showing them how to see that same worth in others. It means shaping their conscience—creating space for honesty, for correction, for ethical clarity. It means cultivating courage—teaching them not just how to fit in, but how to stand apart when needed, to act with integrity even when it’s costly. And it means inviting them into the life of the Spirit—teaching them to pray, to trust, to endure.
Each of us has received a portion—whether from our ancestors or directly from God. And each of us must choose how to steward it, how to live it, and how to pass it on.
We may not yet fully realize our inheritance. Like the daughters of Zelophehad, we may still be asking for our place within the promise. But the inheritance is real. It is active. It is ours to walk in—and ours to leave for those who come after us.
As it is written, “A good person leaves an inheritance to their children’s children…” (Proverbs 13:22). May we be those good people. May we live lives worthy of the inheritance we’ve received. And may we pass it on, not just in words, but in witness.