Parshat Pinchas and the movie Aftersun

July 19, 2025

This is a drasha I delivered to my synagogue community.

This week we read Parashat Pinchas. It begins with a census, but the heart of the Parsha lies in the dramatic story of the daughters of Zelophehad. I read the Parsha late one night this week, and the next morning I watched the film Aftersun.

Most of you probably haven't seen Aftersun. It's a quiet, arthouse film—not a blockbuster. Not Minecraft. Not Superman. But it has some striking parallels with this week's Parsha.

Aftersun is a movie about a young Scottish father on holiday with his eleven-year-old daughter, Sophie. It's 1999, they're in Turkey, staying at a cheap hotel. It's clear the father is struggling—financially, yes, but more deeply, emotionally. He's kind to his daughter: they laugh, they swim, but in private, there's something heavy lurking in his mind. He's sad and depressed for reasons unknown to the viewer.

Sophie films parts of the holiday on a camcorder. Sidenote: for the young ones in the room, a camcorder is a small video camera we had before smartphones existed.

When Sophie loses her father's expensive swimming goggles, we see that it hurts, though he pretends not to mind. She says sorry and tries to comfort him. And while she's young, she senses that something isn't quite right.

In her own way, she tries to connect. At one point, she asks him, "What did you imagine your life would be like at 30?" The question lands awkwardly. It visibly upsets him. He doesn't answer, but instead tells her to turn off the camcorder.

When I thought back to this week's Parsha, I kept returning to the daughters of Zelophehad—Machlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They too are young. They too are brave. And unlike Sophie, they do speak clearly. They notice something wrong, something unjust: their family name, and their father's legacy, will vanish simply because he had no sons. So they raise their voices. They come before Moshe and the entire assembly and ask, "Why should our father's name be erased?"

And God says: "Ken bnot Tzelofchad dovrot"—"The daughters of Zelophehad speak rightly" or in other words, "They are right."

Rashi, one of our most influential Jewish commentators, adds something astonishing. He writes: "So is this chapter written before Me on High." In other words, their claim, and this moment, was already written in the heavenly Torah. They didn't just challenge the law. They uncovered a divine truth that had been waiting to be seen.

And then Rashi says something even more remarkable: "Their eyes saw what Moshe's eyes did not see." These young women had a finer moral and legal perception than even Moshe. About legacy. About justice. About what should be remembered and passed on.

That makes their courage even more powerful. Because it wasn't just about speaking. It was also about seeing—really seeing—and then choosing to act on what they saw. Sophie sees something is wrong, but doesn't yet have the words. The daughters see something unjust—and they find the words to name it.

It made me reflect: how often do we see someone suffering, or notice something unfair, and yet we say nothing? Maybe we think we're too young. Too old. Or it's just not our place. Or we're scared to say the wrong thing. But sometimes, saying something—asking a question, naming what feels wrong—is the bravest, most loving thing we can do.

And that's what makes this Shabbat so meaningful. A bar mitzvah isn't just about ritual; it's about stepping into responsibility. Becoming an adult member of the community. Learning when and how to raise your voice. To ask real questions. To speak truth. To stand for what matters.

So I want to encourage all of us—and especially our bar mitzvah today—to have the courage of the daughters of Zelophehad. And to have the quiet tenderness of Sophie, who noticed something was wrong.

And just to bring up one more moment from this movie Aftersun:

At the very end of the film, we see adult Sophie watching the video footage of that holiday from so long ago. Her father dances wildly to a Queen song—"Under Pressure"—smiling, yet trying to hold himself together. Trying not to crack. And then, suddenly, the film shifts. We see adult Sophie, as she is now, in a dreamlike space, watching her father from a distance, reaching out but never quite touching him.

It's not dramatic. It's just a moment. But it lingers.

It reminds us that sometimes the most important questions go unasked. Sometimes the words we don't say leave a silence we can carry for years. For Sophie, this holiday was the last time she saw her father. And so much was left unspoken between them.

That's why the daughters of Zelophehad matter. That's why Torah preserves their question. May we all speak with honesty. See with compassion. Act with courage. And never stay silent when our voice is needed.

And to our bar mitzvah today: May your voice always be strong, your heart always open, and your questions always welcome. You're stepping into the age of asking, noticing, and speaking—and it's something to celebrate with joy.

Shabbat Shalom.