A man named Tzlafchad died in the wilderness with no male heirs, leaving his family’s assets and prospective plot in Israel in limbo. His daughters pointed out this legal grey area to Moshe:

לָמָּה יִגָּרַע שֵׁם אָבִינוּ מִתּוֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ כִּי אֵין לוֹ בֵּן תְּנָה לָּנוּ אֲחֻזָּה בְּתוֹךְ אֲחֵי אָבִינוּ – Why should our father’s name be eliminated from his family because he had no son? Give us a portion along with our father’s brothers. (27:4)

Rashi explains that this was not an emotional request, rather, a halachic one. If they would not inherit him, then their mother ought to perform yibum – levirate marriage, passing on the assets in this way. If they were considered progeny enough to avoid yibum, they ought to be progeny enough to inherit the plot in Israel. If they had had a brother, they would not have made a claim.

This seems very straightforward – what was so intelligent about this?

R’ Yehoshua Hartman explains that they demonstrated their understanding of property’s place in life, and the function of inheritance.

The conventional wisdom is that when someone dies, assets are transferred. It is a default process – assets cannot lie unclaimed. This is misguided.

What they understood was that all property is simply tools God grants a person to accomplish what they are meant to. The tools assigned are specific to an individual. Ownership means the use of an article to further the users goals. The Gemara notes that the righteous are meticulous with their possessions – for this reason.

When someone dies, the re-allocation of assets is only to perpetuate the name of the deceased, which lives on their property. The people who continue their legacy inherit, usually their children.

The daughters said if they weren’t continuations of their father’s legacy with regard to inheritance, then they ought not to be a continuation to absolve their mother of yibum. They understood that the function of both is the same – to continue the legacy of a father.

The association was so piercingly accurate, that Hashem told Moshe that they had intuited an unknown law. This displayed their intelligence.

This is very different to how society values possessions today. People are measured by the size of their driveway and its contents, as though that is the measure of a man, and not their character. This episode clearly articulates that property is given to people as tools. All “stuff” is value neutral. A million dollars says nothing about you. What you do with it says everything.

The Maharal explains that the reason Avraham, Yitzchak and Yakov did not and could not have received the Torah is because they had no “nation”. They were individuals, and individuals pass on. The Torah is eternal and cannot fade into obscurity; it must therefore be given to a nation.

Chazal understand that after the Golden Calf, Moshe argued in defence of the Jews that אָנֹכִי הֹ’ אֱלֹהֶיךָ was only said to Moshe, in the second person singular, so technically, the Jews had not violated אָנֹכִי הֹ’ אֱלֹהֶיךָ by engaging in idol worship.

But if the Torah is given to a nation, not an individual, how could Moshe, claim he received it alone?

The answer lies in understanding Moshe’s role.

After departing Egypt and being saved at the Red Sea, the Torah emphasises what Yisro heard had happened, to “Moshe and his people”. Rashi deduces that the Torah implies that Moshe was equal to the whole nation.

Much later, in the final stages of the journey through the desert, Moshe sent emissaries to Edom, requesting permission for the Jews to pass through on their way to Canaan, which was declined. Throughout the episode, the Torah alternates between Moshe and the Jews as having sent them, from which Rashi deduces that the Torah illustrates that a national leader acts in the capacity as a proxy for the entire people.

The Maharal points out that these seem mutually exclusive. If Moshe was equal to the Jews, he achieved something greater than any other leader. How then, would his actions shed light on the authority of other leaders, that they act as agents of the people they represent?

R’ Yehoshua Hartman explains that Moshe being equal to the Jewish people isn’t necessarily literal. If he were to pray, it’s not as though that would count as their prayer too.

A leader is an agent or representative of his people. Moshe was more than that; the “equality” meant his actions carried the same weight as the nation itself. Regular activity, such as diplomacy like sending emissaries, is an act of any leader as a representative, and it is from this aspect that we can extrapolate from Moshe to other leaders.

Moshe was a microcosm of Yisrael. There were the 600,000 people at Sinai, plus Moshe. Whatever made them into Yisrael at Sinai, Moshe already was. He could claim that only he heard אָנֹכִי הֹ’ אֱלֹהֶיךָ because the qualities of Yisrael at Sinai that he represented were not guilty of the Golden Calf. This is the intent behind labelling him equal to the nation.

Moshe was the pinnacle of Yisrael and humanity. He represented all that was good in the people. The people he represented could not be the people who were guilty of the Golden Calf, and thus, the people arguably ought not to be held guilty at all.

The Torah details curses, of tragedy and atrocities, that occur when the Jewish nation strays from its course of bettering mankind. One of them stands out:

וְכָשְׁלוּ אִישׁ בְּאָחִיו – Each man will stumble over his brother (26:37)

The literal translation is incorrect. Rashi explains that this curse is the inverse of the famous maxim of כל ישראל ערבין זה לזה – all of Israel are accountable for one another. The curse is that Jews will stumble over other Jews sins.

The Maharal explains why the literal meaning is incorrect. Tripping over someone has nothing to do with brotherhood. When the Torah says וְכָשְׁלוּ אִישׁ בְּאָחִיו – the tripping is because of the brotherhood – the tripping is over the accountability that brotherhood engenders.

The root of the word ערבין is the word ערב – meaning mixture – it is the same root as the word for tasty, evening, guarantor, Arab and eruv. R’ Ezra Hartman explains that these are all mixtures; An eruv mixes property rights; tasty is the cuisine that “mixes” when digested; evening is twilight, in contrast to בקר which means “differentiate”, in twilight things are hard to make out. The name for ערבי – Arab, is a mixture too. The pasuk in Bereishis says of Yishmael, their ancestor, that יָדוֹ בַכֹּל וְיַד כֹּל בו – his hand will be upon all, and everyone’s hand upon him (16:12). Today, we see this as terrorism. Terrorism has no borders – it is potentially everywhere, in a school, a mall, a bus, a train or a plane.

Rashi saw fit to quote that the solution is כל ישראל ערבין – the nation is a unit, a brotherhood, with components accountable for one another – the Torah assures us that we will stumble on our brother’s problems it if we do not help them.

For that reason alone, we have to help them.

The Maharal observes that all halachos of Korban Pesach pertain to unity; roasted in one piece, the bones have to be kept whole, eaten in one group, in one place, at one time etc. All these are meant to reflect that ה’ אחד – that G-d is One, and His unity is everywhere.

However, this would seem to be at odds Korbanos in general, that are meant to reflect the person bringing it. If the Korban Pesach displays Hashem’s unity, how does it relate to the people bringing it?

R’ Yehoshua Hartman explains that as a nation, we reflect the אחדות of Hashem. We have nothing to rely on but Hashem, with no fall back option. This is true across the spectrum of Judaism. In Egypt if it doesn’t rain for years, it’s not a problem, as the Nile provides water. If Israel has a poor rain season one year, there are serious shortages, and people start worrying(and when people start worrying, they start praying). We can place our faith in Hashem alone.

When the Jews said נעשה ונשמע – we will do and we will listen – what they were effectively meant was that they did not enter the equation. When Hashem asks something of us, that is all that matters.

This explains why so many Jews in history were willing to be מוסר נפש – display self-sacrifice – rather than cause a desecration of Hashem’s name. The rationale behind this is that Hashem doesn’t want something done, and if it is done, it’s removing oneself from godliness, as it is antithetical to what God wants.

In reality then, there is no contradiction. We say in Aleinu that אין עוד – which means there is no other reality other than what G-d wants. No one symbolises this more than the Jews. The Korban Pesach reflects both Hashem’s unity and the people bringing it.