We're approaching Tisha B'av, the annual reminder that the Temple in Jerusalem has been destroyed not once but twice. The first time was by Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BCE; the second time by Titus in 70 CE. It's been razed for nearly two thousand years, which gives us plenty of time to wonder: what happens if/when we rebuild it? Would we return to the Old Ways of worship, complete with their impressive body count?

I thought about this question as I worked through Parashat Pinchas, though I'm starting at the end because I'm procrastinating on the harder parts. Once Moshe names Joshua as his successor, we're treated to a detailed calendar of offerings and rules for the holidays. Take Pesach alone: eat unleavened bread for seven days, don't work, present a burnt offering of two bulls, a ram, and seven unblemished lambs, prepare meal offerings of flour and oil for each animal, and finally prepare a goat as a sin offering—all on top of your daily burnt offering. Then there are the other holidays. And the regular daily offerings. And the Shabbat offerings.

I'm not trying to make light of this, but that's a staggering number of dead animals. As someone who doesn't eat meat, this portion horrifies me. It's an uncomfortable amount of violence and bloodshed, performed daily, and not just sanctioned by God but commanded by God.

Which brings me back to the beginning of the parashat and our friend Pinchas. After his decisive slaying of Zimri (the Israelite man) and Cozbi (the Midianite woman), God doesn't merely praise Pinchas for his act of violence—God grants him a Covenant of Friendship. "Not only did you end the plague," God declares, "you totally killed my anger against the Israelites, so you and your descendants will be priests forever."

What the hell is this fuckery?

I'm not a biblical literalist, and I take these portions as they're meant to be: stories to learn about my ancestors and (hopefully) something about myself. But if there was ever a case of history written by the victors and justified by zealots, this would be Exhibit A. Immediately afterward, God conveniently tells Moshe to wipe out the Midianites for daring to lead the Israelites astray with their idolatry and "whoring."

To me, this reads like a convenient excuse for said zealotry and violence against another people. Blaming the Midianites for "the trickery they practiced" assumes the Israelites lacked agency and reason. We've read about them making countless mistakes without outside parties "tricking" them into anything. The Israelites can screw up on their own and still recover on their own. Justification for violence is, well, justification.

But speaking of agency, let's talk about a lighter subject: women's suffrage!

Sandwiched between another census of the new generation (tedious to read but important for the transition from emancipation to settling in Canaan), there's a chapter about the five daughters of Tzelophechad—Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah—who take a brave step for women's property rights. They present a compelling argument: "We deserve to inherit our father's property." Their father died in the wilderness leaving only daughters, no sons, but they don't want their father's name to die just because he had no male heirs.

I emphasize their bravery because they go before Moshe, Eleazar, and the entire assembly of temple chiefs—all men—who decide the outcomes of, well, everything. Women have no rights to property; they are property. And yet they not only win their case, but God grants women the right to inherit property if their father has no male heirs.

Yay! Feminism over! We won!

No, this is not a feminist story. Women still have no inheritance rights if they have male siblings. But it is an interesting examination of five women arguing a case for their own agency and winning.

When it comes to inheritance and agency, let's finally address Moshe and Joshua. I've noticed Moshe is a lesser presence in this portion than previous portions. Though he still speaks to God, he's doing less and less. Probably has something to do with striking a stone instead of speaking to it, but regardless, his time is short—both in life and leadership.

This is ending is bittersweet for our beloved Moshe. He'll die before seeing the Promised Land, but he won't leave his people leaderless. God approves of Joshua's leadership, and Moshe is allowed to pass the ceremonial garments to him. It’s a lot to unpack in this transition: Inheritance isn't just what we receive; it's what we leave behind for the next generation.

Moshe led the Israelites out of bondage and through the desert. He outlived his siblings. He withstood rebellions and battles. He built the tabernacle and weathered punishment from God when he disobeyed. And when he looked up to God and begged for death, he was shown mercy. It's more than one man should leave behind. This role isn't easy—the Israelites are a capricious people. But Moshe has the humility and grace to step aside for the next leader to take over.

Did he do so too late? Would he have seen the Promised Land if he had transferred leadership sooner? Who knows. But it's a thoughtful meditation on why leadership is such a powerful position and why so much responsibility falls onto our leaders.

So let me return to my original question: what would happen if the Temple stood again? Would we have mass animal sacrifices and pilgrimages to remind ourselves of communal worship? Would we justify more zealotry in the name of God, telling ourselves we've earned our own covenant?

Perhaps we should take a page from Moshe's book. I think we should look at a standing Temple from a distance, knowing our time grappling with these old ways has come and gone, and that we should bequeath new leadership to the next generation. Call me naive, but I hope for leadership that doesn't insist on violence as proof of devotion and doesn't mistake zealotry for righteousness. And lastly, I hope for leadership that doesn't deny half the population their agency.

The question isn't whether we deserve to inherit the past, but what kind of future we're brave enough to leave behind.