Rosh Chodesh Iyyar: Pesach Sheni and Loss
Pesach Sheni – the fourteenth of Iyyar – has, since 2010, been marked as a holiday of “inclusion” by left-leaning observant Jews. That year, activists from the Orthodox feminist group Kolech and the religious lesbian organization Bat Kol highlighted the central message of “lama nigara,” “why should we be excluded?” This question is asked, in Parshat Beha’alotcha, by a group of people who want to do a mitzvah but can’t – specifically, the Korban Pesach at its set time.
וַיְהִי אֲנָשִׁים אֲשֶׁר הָיוּ טְמֵאִים לְנֶפֶשׁ אָדָם וְלֹא־יָכְלוּ לַעֲשֹׂת־הַפֶּסַח בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא וַיִּקְרְבוּ לִפְנֵי מֹשֶׁה וְלִפְנֵי אַהֲרֹן בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא׃ וַיֹּאמְרוּ הָאֲנָשִׁים הָהֵמָּה אֵלָיו אֲנַחְנוּ טְמֵאִים לְנֶפֶשׁ אָדָם לָמָּה נִגָּרַע לְבִלְתִּי הַקְרִיב אֶת־קׇרְבַּן יְהֹוָה בְּמֹעֲדוֹ בְּתוֹךְ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל׃ וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם מֹשֶׁה עִמְדוּ וְאֶשְׁמְעָה מַה־יְצַוֶּה ה לָכֶם׃ {פ} וַיְדַבֵּר ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר׃ דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר אִישׁ אִישׁ כִּי־יִהְיֶה־טָמֵא לָנֶפֶשׁ אוֹ בְדֶרֶךְ רְחֹקָה לָכֶם אוֹ לְדֹרֹתֵיכֶם וְעָשָׂה פֶסַח לַה׃ בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַשֵּׁנִי בְּאַרְבָּעָה עָשָׂר יוֹם בֵּין הָעַרְבַּיִם יַעֲשׂוּ אֹתוֹ עַל־מַצּוֹת וּמְרֹרִים יֹאכְלֻהוּ׃ לֹא־יַשְׁאִירוּ מִמֶּנּוּ עַד־בֹּקֶר וְעֶצֶם לֹא יִשְׁבְּרוּ־בוֹ כְּכׇל־חֻקַּת הַפֶּסַח יַעֲשׂוּ אֹתוֹ׃
But there were some householders who were impure by reason of a corpse and could not offer the passover sacrifice on that day. Appearing that same day before Moses and Aaron, those householders said to them, “Impure though we are by reason of a corpse, why must we be excluded from presenting God’s offering at its set time with the rest of the Israelites?”
Moses said to them, “Stand by, and let me hear what instructions God gives about you.”And God spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelite people, saying: When any party—whether you or your posterity—who is defiled by a corpse or is on a long journey would offer a passover sacrifice to God, they shall offer it in the second month, on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight. They shall eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs, and they shall not leave any of it over until morning. They shall not break a bone of it. They shall offer it in strict accord with the law of the passover sacrifice.
Bamidbar 9:6-12
This group of people, who are impure and therefore cannot do the ritual at its assigned time, appeal to Moshe for help. Hashem, via Moshe, responds with a new halacha: yes, if someone cannot offer the Korban Pesach in Nisan, they can have a do-over date, one month later.
This story shares striking parallels to another episode: that of Bnot Tzlofchad. This is one of my favorite stories in Tanach. Following a census of the Israelites that will help determine familial holdings in the land of Canaan, we meet these five sisters:
וַתִּקְרַבְנָה בְּנוֹת צְלׇפְחָד בֶּן־חֵפֶר בֶּן־גִּלְעָד בֶּן־מָכִיר בֶּן־מְנַשֶּׁה לְמִשְׁפְּחֹת מְנַשֶּׁה בֶן־יוֹסֵף וְאֵלֶּה שְׁמוֹת בְּנֹתָיו מַחְלָה נֹעָה וְחׇגְלָה וּמִלְכָּה וְתִרְצָה׃ וַתַּעֲמֹדְנָה לִפְנֵי מֹשֶׁה וְלִפְנֵי אֶלְעָזָר הַכֹּהֵן וְלִפְנֵי הַנְּשִׂיאִם וְכׇל־הָעֵדָה פֶּתַח אֹהֶל־מוֹעֵד לֵאמֹר׃ אָבִינוּ מֵת בַּמִּדְבָּר וְהוּא לֹא־הָיָה בְּתוֹךְ הָעֵדָה הַנּוֹעָדִים עַל־ה בַּעֲדַת־קֹרַח כִּי־בְחֶטְאוֹ מֵת וּבָנִים לֹא־הָיוּ לוֹ׃ לָמָּה יִגָּרַע שֵׁם־אָבִינוּ מִתּוֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ כִּי אֵין לוֹ בֵּן תְּנָה־לָּנוּ אֲחֻזָּה בְּתוֹךְ אֲחֵי אָבִינוּ׃ וַיַּקְרֵב מֹשֶׁה אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטָן לִפְנֵי ה׃ {פ} וַיֹּאמֶר ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר׃ כֵּן בְּנוֹת צְלׇפְחָד דֹּבְרֹת נָתֹן תִּתֵּן לָהֶם אֲחֻזַּת נַחֲלָה בְּתוֹךְ אֲחֵי אֲבִיהֶם וְהַעֲבַרְתָּ אֶת־נַחֲלַת אֲבִיהֶן לָהֶן׃וְאֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל תְּדַבֵּר לֵאמֹר אִישׁ כִּי־יָמוּת וּבֵן אֵין לוֹ וְהַעֲבַרְתֶּם אֶת־נַחֲלָתוֹ לְבִתּוֹ׃
The daughters of Zelophehad, of Manassite family—son of Hepher son of Gilead son of Machir son of Manasseh son of Joseph—came forward. The names of the daughters were Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They stood before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the chieftains, and the whole assembly, at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, and they said,“Our father died in the wilderness. He was not one of the faction, Korah’s faction, which banded together against God, but died for his own sin; and he has left no sons.Let not our father’s name be excluded from his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen!” Moses brought their case before God.
And God said to Moses,“The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them. Further, speak to the Israelite people as follows: ‘If a householder dies without leaving a son, you shall transfer his property to his daughter…’”
(Bamidbar 27:1-8)
Machlah, Noa, Choglah, Milkah, and Tirtzah use the same word as the group of impure people in Beha’alotcha. They ask “lama yigara,” “why should [our father’s name] be excluded?” And here the response is, if anything, even more definitively in their favor: God says “The plea of the daughters of Tzlofchad is just.” The connections between these two stories make Pesach Sheni an especially apt day to mark the oppression of women and queer people – why SHOULD we be excluded?
A consequence of marginalization and oppression is grief and loss for both the marginalized group and the community at large. Cynthia Ozick, for example, writes about the loss to the Jewish people that comes of women’s historical exclusion:
“We are the generation that knows more than any generation before us what mass loss means. It means, for one thing, the loss of a culture, and the deprivation of a transmission of that culture. It means lost scholars of Torah – a lost Rashi; a lost Rambam; a lost Baal Shem Tov; a lost Vilna Gaon. The loss of thousands upon thousands of achieved thinkers and physicians, nourishing scientists and artists. The loss of those who would have grown into healers, discoverers, poets.”
(“Notes Toward Finding the Right Question”)
But in both the story of Pesach Sheni and in the claim of Bnot Tzlofchad, we also see specific, personal griefs. It is easy to overlook, but death is at the center of both narratives.
Why can the initial group of advocates not bring their respective korbanot at the appropriate time in Nisan? All the Torah tells us is that they were “טְמֵאִים לְנֶפֶשׁ אָדָם,” impure by virtue of contact with a dead body. The Gemara (Sukkah 25b) suggests a few options: the people in question were impure from carrying Yosef’s bones out of Egypt and through the desert so he could be buried in the Holy Land; the people in question were impure from dealing with the bodies of Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu; and the people in question were impure from burying a met mitzvah, a person who died with no immediate relatives responsible for their burial.
Even as Hashem’s response widens the scope of Pesach Sheni to also grant permission for people who were unable to bring the initial korban because they were traveling far away, the central permission of Pesach Sheni is to allow those who have been engaging with death – and presumably, grief – to delay their korban rather than miss it entirely.
Pesach Sheni is a moment where Torah is influenced based not only on the needs of an excluded population, but because they articulated their needs in their grief. So too, the story of Bnot Tzlofchad is one of a family living in the aftermath of loss. The women’s claim begins with the simple fact: “our father died in the wilderness.”
Both the pshat of the story of Bnot Tzlofchad and the gemara’s suggestions about the reason for the tumah of the group who come forward about the Korban Pesach imply moments where personal grief meets the communal and political.
These are not simple stories. But both the Korban Pesach group and Tzlofchad’s daughters want to participate in community – in building a political group, in doing ritual – in ways that acknowledge their loss but that do not exclude them on that basis. These are both moments where the Torah changes because people speak about death and grief. “Lama nigara,” it turns out, might be a mourner’s question.
We do not get to choose when we experience personal grief, and we do not get to choose how we feel about it or how it changes us. Grief is messy and overflowing and impossible to discipline. But when we speak about that grief, we can – eventually, when it feels possible – do our best to use it to make the world bigger. We can push for a broader Torah, more people in the tent. We can make small choices about how we speak and behave and muddle through that connect us to others with similar or different pains.
Bnot Tzlofchad and the Korban Pesach group come to Moshe and Hashem together, rather than as individuals. We can start with connection and community, and then begin to speak. This is how the Torah is made.