Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11

Hello, old friend. Remember those Hebrew school days? The scent of stale challah, the dizzying parade of unfamiliar Hebrew letters, and the overwhelming feeling that you were being handed a rulebook for a game you'd never play? For many of us, the encounter with ancient Jewish texts felt less like an invitation to wisdom and more like a mandated trek through a desert of regulations. You weren't wrong to feel that way; the way it was often taught did little to bridge the vast chasm between ancient legal codes and your burgeoning, complex modern life.

Today, we're going to dust off one of those seemingly arcane sections, a chapter from Maimonides' monumental legal code, the Mishneh Torah, specifically dealing with Inheritances. And before your eyes glaze over, let me promise you: this isn't just about dusty rules for a bygone era. It's a masterclass in ethical leadership, sophisticated risk management, and the profound art of stewardship that speaks directly to the intricate challenges of adult life, from your career to your family to your deepest sense of purpose. We’re not here to make you feel guilty for what you missed, but to rediscover the powerful resonance that was always there, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

Hook

Let's be honest. For many of us who passed through the hallowed, or perhaps slightly harried, halls of Hebrew school, the very mention of "Jewish law" often conjures a specific, somewhat stale, image. It's the image of an endless, intricate web of prohibitions and obligations, a labyrinth of "do's" and "don'ts" that felt utterly disconnected from the vibrant, chaotic world outside the classroom window. And if those laws pertained to something as specific as "orphans' money," well, the eyes might have glazed over entirely. "Just more ancient rules for a society long gone," we might have thought, "a dusty scroll about some poor kids and their long-dead dad's finances. What on earth could that possibly have to do with my life?"

This take, while understandable, is profoundly stale, and frankly, a tragic misstep. It’s stale because it reduces the profound ethical and operational genius of texts like the Mishneh Torah to mere historical curiosities. It becomes stale when we’re taught what the rule is without ever delving into the intricate why, the deep philosophical underpinnings, or the ingenious practical applications. What was lost in that simplification was the opportunity to see these texts not as relics, but as living blueprints for navigating universal human challenges, brimming with insights into economics, psychology, and moral leadership.

The truth is, our early encounters often failed to convey the sheer audacity and sophistication embedded in these ancient codes. We weren't shown how they wrestled with questions of trust, risk, responsibility, and the delicate balance between preservation and growth – questions that remain utterly central to our adult lives. The concept of "orphans' money" wasn't just about a specific scenario; it was a crucible for exploring the most profound aspects of human vulnerability and societal obligation. It was a laboratory for defining what it means to act with integrity when entrusted with the well-being and future of those who cannot advocate for themselves.

We missed the subtle yet powerful shift in perspective that these texts offer: from a simplistic notion of charity – merely giving away what you have – to a far more complex and demanding concept of stewardship. This isn't about mere generosity; it's about meticulous, ethical management of existing resources, ensuring their safety and growth for the benefit of others. It’s about creating systems of protection that transcend individual good intentions and instead embed responsibility into the very fabric of society.

So, let's peel back the layers of this particular chapter. Let's cast aside the notion that this is merely a dry legal document. Instead, let's approach it as a profoundly practical, ethically charged guide to navigating power, managing resources, and cultivating a deep sense of accountability – not just to a court or a community, but to a higher moral standard that echoes the "Father of orphans." What we'll uncover is a framework for ensuring that even the most vulnerable among us are not just cared for, but flourish, and in doing so, we might just re-enchant our own understanding of responsibility, trust, and the enduring relevance of ancient wisdom.

Context

To truly appreciate the richness of this text, we need to shake off a few common misconceptions that might have taken root during those earlier, less-enchanting encounters. This isn't just a list of arbitrary rules; it's a meticulously crafted system designed to protect the most vulnerable members of society.

Orphans are not a charity case, but a sacred trust.

One of the most profound shifts this text offers is moving beyond a simplistic view of orphans as recipients of charity. While charity is undeniably a Jewish value, the Mishneh Torah here isn't primarily discussing giving to orphans. Instead, it's meticulously outlining the protocols for managing their inherited assets. This immediately elevates their status from objects of pity to beneficiaries of a sacred trust. Their money isn't a handout; it's their rightful inheritance, and society's obligation is to protect and grow it with the utmost diligence, as if it were the most precious resource imaginable. This perspective demands a far higher standard than mere goodwill; it requires systemic responsibility and ethical fiduciary duty. The text doesn't just say, "be nice to orphans"; it says, "build robust financial and legal safeguards around their future."

Risk management isn't a modern invention.

Forget the idea that sophisticated financial strategies and risk assessment are products of Wall Street. This ancient text demonstrates an incredibly nuanced understanding of market dynamics, investment principles, and the inherent dangers of speculation. Maimonides outlines a system that prioritizes security and stability over risky, high-reward ventures. The search for an investor with "high-quality property" (נכסים שיש להם אחריות ויהיו עידית), meaning stable, expropriatable land, isn't just about finding someone wealthy. As Steinsaltz clarifies, it's about finding someone whose "economic situation is stable and the investment with him is without great risk." This text is, in essence, a foundational treatise on conservative, ethical investment, demonstrating that safeguarding principal and ensuring consistent, low-risk growth has always been a hallmark of responsible stewardship. It anticipates financial pitfalls and proactively constructs safeguards, proving that the principles of prudent financial management are timeless.

The Law as a living, breathing protector.

Often, legal texts feel rigid and unyielding. But here, the detailed rules aren't arbitrary; they are the embodiment of a deep, living empathy. They anticipate human fallibility—the temptation to steal, to speculate, to shirk responsibility. They foresee market volatility—the beer that might sour or get lost. Each seemingly minute detail, from the type of collateral accepted (gold bars, not identifiable jewelry) to the specific prohibitions on certain types of sales (fields for servants, poor fields for good fields), is a protective layer. The law itself becomes a guardian, a bulwark against individual negligence or avarice, ensuring that the orphans' future is not left to chance or the whims of a single individual. It’s a profound testament to how ethical principles can be enshrined in practical legal structures, making the abstract concept of "justice" concrete and actionable.

Let's address that initial, slightly counter-intuitive line: "Money belonging to orphans that was left to them by their father does not require a guardian." This might seem to contradict the entire premise, given that the chapter then goes on to detail the role of investors and guardians (apotropoi). The key here, as the Steinsaltz commentary on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:1 clarifies, is that this refers to money before a formal guardian is appointed, or under specific conditions where the court itself directly manages the funds. "Not requiring a guardian" doesn't mean it's left unprotected; it means that unlike other assets, the court itself takes immediate, direct responsibility for safeguarding and investing it, before or instead of appointing a human apotropos. It highlights the court's paramount and immediate role in ensuring the safety of liquid assets, underscoring that the system is always on guard, even if a dedicated individual hasn't yet been assigned. This nuanced opening immediately sets the stage for a text that prioritizes robust, institutional protection over leaving things to chance.

Text Snapshot

Here's a glimpse into the heart of the matter:

"Money belonging to orphans that was left to them by their father does not require a guardian. What, instead, is done with it? We search for a person who owns property that can be expropriated by a creditor and that is of high quality. This person should be trustworthy, one who heeds the laws of the Torah, and who was never placed under a ban of ostracism. He is given the money in the presence of the court to invest in a manner that will most likely lead to a profit and will not likely lead to loss."

New Angle

Alright, deep breath. Let’s unspool this ancient thread and see how it weaves directly into the complex tapestry of your adult life. Forget "orphans" for a moment and think "vulnerable assets," "sacred trusts," and "long-term well-being." This isn't just about financial literacy; it's about ethical living in a world brimming with responsibility.

Insight 1: The Fiduciary as a Moral Imperative – Beyond Self-Interest

The Mishneh Torah's meticulous instructions for selecting an investor and guardian for orphans’ funds are far more than mere financial vetting; they constitute a profound blueprint for ethical leadership and accountability in any sphere where one is entrusted with the well-being of others. The text demands a person who is not only financially stable ("owns property that can be expropriated by a creditor and that is of high quality") but also morally impeccable ("trustworthy, one who heeds the laws of the Torah, and who was never placed under a ban of ostracism"). This isn't just about avoiding fraud; it’s about embodying a deep, intrinsic commitment to integrity.

This matters because in our adult lives, we are constantly taking on fiduciary roles, often without even recognizing them as such. You might not manage an orphan’s inheritance, but consider:

The Fiduciary in Your Professional Life:

In your career, you are frequently entrusted with "assets" that are not your own: your company’s reputation, your team’s morale, a client’s vision, a project’s budget, or a student’s education. The Mishneh Torah asks, are you "trustworthy, one who heeds the laws of the Torah" (or your own equivalent moral code), and "never placed under a ban of ostracism" (meaning, you have a reputation for integrity and ethical conduct)? When you manage a team, for instance, you are a guardian of their careers, their professional development, and their sense of purpose. Are you investing their time and energy "in a manner that will most likely lead to a profit and will not likely lead to loss" – not just for the company, but for them? This isn't about profit at all costs; it's about sustainable, ethical growth that benefits all stakeholders, especially the vulnerable "assets" (your team members) who depend on your good judgment.

Think about the leader who, like the guardian dressing well for the orphans' benefit, strategically leverages their presence and reputation not for personal vanity, but to open doors, secure resources, or inspire confidence for their team or organization. The text notes that a guardian "may dress and garb himself in a distinguished manner using the fund belonging to the orphans, so that he will be esteemed and his words will be heeded, provided that the orphans will benefit from the fact that he is esteemed and his words are heeded." This is a sophisticated understanding of influence and representation. It’s not about ego; it’s about instrumentalizing one’s status for the greater good of those one serves. In your own professional ascent, are you considering how your growing influence can be wielded to uplift your colleagues, protect your organization's mission, or champion ethical practices, rather than simply accumulating personal power? This insight challenges us to view our professional advancement not as a purely individual pursuit, but as an opportunity to become more effective fiduciaries for the various trusts we hold.

Furthermore, the text offers crucial guidance against reckless action. The guardian "may not sell fields to purchase servants, nor sell servants to purchase fields, for perhaps he will not be successful." The emphasis on "perhaps he will not be successful" is critical. It’s a stark warning against speculative ventures or risky pivots that could jeopardize the principal. In the corporate world, this translates to avoiding impulsive decisions, untested strategies, or "moonshot" projects that, while potentially high-reward, carry an unacceptably high risk of "loss" for the organization, its employees, or its long-term viability. It’s about understanding the difference between calculated risk within a robust framework and irresponsible gambling with others’ futures. This principle calls for a deep sense of prudence, a willingness to forgo potentially higher gains if it means exposing the "orphans' assets" (be it a company's stability or a team's morale) to undue peril.

The Meta-Accountability: "The Father of Orphans"

Perhaps the most profound aspect of this insight is the ultimate accountability. The text concludes by reminding the guardian that even though they don't have to provide a detailed accounting to the orphans when they come of age (if court-appointed), they "must keep a personal account, being extremely precise, so as not to incur the wrath of the Father of these orphans, He who rides upon the heavens, as Psalms 68:5-6 states: 'Make a path for He who rides upon the heavens... the Father of orphans.'" This is a staggering concept of meta-accountability. Even when no human oversight exists, even when the immediate beneficiaries cannot scrutinize your actions, there is a higher, divine ledger. This isn't about fear; it's about integrity. It’s about cultivating an internal compass that guides your actions towards the highest ethical standard, knowing that your decisions have cosmic implications.

This matters in adult life because it speaks to the moments when you are alone with a decision, when no one is watching, when you could cut a corner, fudge a number, or take advantage of a loophole. This ancient wisdom reminds us that true integrity is forged in those solitary moments. It's about building an inner "personal account" that is "extremely precise," driven by an unwavering commitment to the ultimate "Father of orphans"—whatever your personal understanding of that higher authority may be. This profound idea transforms every act of stewardship into a sacred trust, elevating our mundane decisions to a plane of ultimate significance. It re-enchants the everyday act of responsibility by imbuing it with a sense of cosmic purpose and unwavering moral obligation.

Insight 2: Cultivating Prudence and Resilience in an Uncertain World – The Art of Ethical Risk

The Mishneh Torah isn't just about choosing the right person; it's about defining the right approach to managing assets in a world full of uncertainty. The core directive to invest "in a manner that will most likely lead to a profit and will not likely lead to loss" is not a simple platitude. It’s a sophisticated economic principle, made even more radical by the Steinsaltz commentary on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:4, which clarifies that the agreement is "that if there is profit in the money, the orphans will receive it, and if there is a loss, [the investor] will pay them from his own pocket." This means the investor is effectively guaranteeing the principal, absorbing any potential losses. This extraordinary level of protection for the vulnerable is a masterclass in ethical risk management, offering profound lessons for navigating the complexities of adult life.

This matters because we live in an inherently uncertain world, where every choice involves weighing risks and rewards, often with consequences for those we love and lead.

Prudence in Parenting and Family Life:

As parents, we are guardians of our children’s most precious "assets": their time, their emotional well-being, their education, their sense of security. How do we, with the mindset of "most likely to profit and not likely to loss," invest in their development? This means cultivating an environment that offers stability and growth, avoiding decisions that, while seemingly exciting, might expose them to undue emotional or developmental "loss." It's about providing for their needs "according to their financial capacity and their social standing," neither being "overly generous" nor "overly parsimonious." This isn't about stifling ambition or avoiding all challenges; it's about ensuring that the risks we allow them to take are developmentally appropriate and cushioned by our unwavering support, much like the investor who absorbs the loss.

Consider the "beer" analogy from the text: "If he leaves it in its place until it is sold it might sour, and if he brings it to the marketplace it might become lost because of factors beyond his control. Our Sages ruled that he should do as he would do with his own beer." This is a brilliant encapsulation of a common adult dilemma: the "quandary" of competing risks. Do you hold onto something valuable, risking stagnation or decay, or do you expose it to the market, risking loss? The instruction, "do as he would do with his own beer," is a profound call to self-trust, practical wisdom, and ethical alignment. When faced with a difficult parenting decision—say, deciding how much independence to grant a teenager—the principle guides us: how would you make this decision if your future, your deepest hopes, were on the line? It demands a level of care and discernment that transcends abstract rules and taps into our most fundamental instincts for self-preservation, then applies it to others.

Personal Finance and Legacy Planning:

The text's meticulousness in managing orphans' money extends to the specific types of security accepted. "Why does he not give golden utensils or golden jewelry as security? For perhaps these articles belong to another person." The fear is that identifiable, sentimental items could be claimed by others upon the investor's death, jeopardizing the orphans' principal. Instead, "bars of gold that do not have any identifying marks" are preferred. This is a powerful metaphor for managing our own assets and planning our legacies. Are we holding onto "golden utensils" – sentimental attachments, illiquid assets, or poorly documented arrangements – that might create future disputes or "loss" for our own beneficiaries? Or are we prioritizing "gold bars" – clear, fungible, legally sound assets that ensure a smooth transition and protection of our legacy? This principle encourages us to think beyond immediate convenience and consider the long-term clarity and security for those we leave behind.

It also speaks to the broader concept of responsible wealth management. The guardian "may not sell these assets and hoard the money." This isn't just about financial activity; it's about the purpose of wealth. Wealth for orphans is for their sustenance and growth, not for static accumulation. In our own lives, are we hoarding resources – be it money, knowledge, or opportunities – or are we actively investing them for meaningful "profit" (growth, impact, well-being) for ourselves and those around us? This challenges a purely individualistic approach to wealth and encourages a mindset of active, purposeful stewardship.

Community Engagement and Sustainable Giving:

The text outlines specific mitzvot (commandments) that guardians must ensure for orphans (e.g., lulav, sukkah, tzitzit, Torah scroll) as part of their education, yet explicitly states, "We do not, however, levy charitable assessments against their property, even for the sake of the redemption of captives. The rationale is that such mitzvot have no limit to them." This is a crucial distinction. Fixed, educational mitzvot are essential investments in the orphans' spiritual and cultural "assets." But open-ended charitable assessments, even for something as vital as redeeming captives, are prohibited. This is not because charity is bad, but because the orphans' existing principal must be protected from potentially limitless demands. This demonstrates a sophisticated understanding of sustainable giving and resource allocation.

This matters greatly for adult engagement in community and philanthropy. It challenges the impulse for boundless, emotional giving that might deplete resources without creating sustainable impact. It suggests that true ethical engagement requires discerning between fixed, necessary investments (like education or core infrastructure) and open-ended charitable demands. For organizations and individuals alike, this means asking: Are we investing in long-term, sustainable growth and foundational needs, or are we allowing open-ended demands to deplete our principal without strategic impact? It's a call to disciplined, thoughtful philanthropy that protects the "principal" of community resources even while addressing urgent needs. This ancient text offers a powerful framework for cultivating both prudence and resilience, reminding us that ethical risk management is not about avoiding all risk, but about taking responsible risks that prioritize long-term well-being and protect the vulnerable, even—especially—when the path forward is unclear.

Low-Lift Ritual

The Fiduciary Pause

This ritual is designed to embed the principles of ethical stewardship and responsible risk management into your daily decision-making, taking no more than two minutes.

Description: Before making a decision that impacts others (family, colleagues, community) or a significant personal investment (time, money, reputation, emotional energy), pause for 1-2 minutes. This isn't about stopping everything, but creating a brief, intentional mental space to check your internal compass against the wisdom of the Mishneh Torah.

How to Practice This Week:

1. Identify a Decision Point: Choose one or two recurring decision points in your week where others are impacted. This could be anything from how you delegate a task at work, how you respond to a family request, or even how you allocate a significant chunk of your personal time.
2. The Pause: Just before you act or commit, take a single minute. Close your eyes briefly, or simply shift your gaze to a neutral point. Take a deep breath.
3. Ask Three Guiding Questions: In that minute, ask yourself:
   • "Am I acting with the diligence and trustworthiness expected of a guardian of a sacred trust?" (This echoes the character assessment of the investor/guardian: "trustworthy, one who heeds the laws of the Torah, and who was never placed under a ban of ostracism." It prompts you to consider your integrity, your reputation, and your foundational ethical commitment in this specific action.)
   • "Am I prioritizing 'most likely to profit and not likely to loss' for the ultimate beneficiaries (even if metaphorical)?" (This taps into the core risk management principle for the orphans' money. Who are the "beneficiaries" of this decision? What is the "profit" you seek for them? What are the potential "losses" to avoid? It's about focusing on long-term, stable, and secure well-being over short-term gains or risky gambles.)
   • "How would I act if an ultimate, unseen 'Father of orphans' were watching this specific decision?" (This invokes the concept of meta-accountability. Even if no human will ever know, how does this decision align with your deepest sense of moral responsibility and your ultimate values? It's an internal calibration for integrity when no one is watching.)
4. Proceed or Adjust: After these questions, proceed with your decision or make a slight adjustment based on your reflections. The goal isn't to paralyze you with doubt, but to infuse your actions with greater intentionality and ethical awareness.

Variations for Different Contexts:

• For a Work Email/Communication: Before hitting send on a significant email or delivering feedback, take 30 seconds. "Is this communication clear, honest, and truly beneficial to the project/team, or am I being ambiguous or self-serving? Am I ensuring 'profit' (clarity, progress) and avoiding 'loss' (misunderstanding, resentment)?"
• For a Family Discussion/Parenting Choice: Before reacting impulsively in a tense family moment or making a big parenting decision, take a minute. "Am I acting as a trustworthy guardian of my family’s emotional well-being? Is this choice 'most likely to profit' their long-term development and emotional security, and 'not likely to lead to loss' of trust or connection? How would I want my actions to be seen by the 'Father of orphans' who cares deeply for my family?"
• For a Personal Spending/Investment Choice: Before a significant purchase or financial decision, take a minute. "Am I managing my resources (and by extension, the resources that support my family/future) with the prudence of a guardian? Is this an investment 'most likely to profit' my long-term goals and well-being, or a 'risky venture' that could lead to loss? Am I hoarding or investing strategically?"
• For a Community Commitment: Before volunteering for a new role or allocating resources to a cause, take a minute. "Am I a trustworthy steward of my time/resources for this community? Is this commitment 'most likely to profit' the community's sustainable growth, or am I overextending myself in a way that could lead to 'loss' (burnout, unfulfilled promises)? How would this commitment be viewed in the grand scheme of my ultimate responsibilities?"

Deeper Meaning:

This "Fiduciary Pause" transforms mundane decisions into moments of ethical reflection. It’s not about achieving perfection, but about cultivating a habit of intentionality and responsibility. It re-enchants your everyday actions by connecting them to an ancient, profound ethical framework. By consistently asking these questions, you train your mind to automatically consider the broader implications of your choices, fostering a deeper sense of integrity and purpose. You move from simply doing things to consciously stewarding the various trusts you hold in life. This ritual helps you internalize the ancient wisdom that true success isn't just about personal gain, but about the diligent and ethical care of all that is entrusted to you. It's a quiet revolution in your decision-making process, making you a more thoughtful, more responsible, and ultimately, more fulfilled adult.

Troubleshooting Common Hesitations:

• "I'm too busy for 2 minutes." Reframe: This isn't an added burden; it's a preventative measure. How much time and energy do you lose fixing mistakes, repairing relationships, or dealing with the fallout of impulsive decisions? Two minutes of intentional reflection can save hours of regret. Think of it as a strategic investment in efficiency and peace of mind.
• "This doesn't apply to my life; I'm not a CEO or a parent." Reframe: Every adult manages "assets" and impacts "beneficiaries," even if metaphorically. Your reputation, your health, your personal finances, your friendships – these are all trusts that require diligent stewardship. Every interaction with another human being carries the weight of potential "profit" or "loss" to their well-being. This ritual broadens your definition of responsibility.
• "It feels performative or too spiritual for me." Reframe: This is an entirely internal practice. There’s no audience, no judgment except your own. The "Father of orphans" is a powerful metaphor for your highest ethical self, your deepest sense of accountability, whatever your personal beliefs. It's about aligning your actions with your truest values, not putting on a show. It's an internal calibration, a quiet act of self-leadership.

Chevruta Mini

Grab a friend, a partner, or just your journal, and explore these questions:

1. Where in your life do you feel like you are (or should be) a "guardian of sacred trust," managing assets (tangible or intangible) for others' well-being? What makes this role particularly challenging, and what specific qualities from the text (trustworthiness, stable character, prudence) resonate most with you in that context?
2. Think about a recent "quandary" (like the beer example – hold it and risk it souring, or take it to market and risk it getting lost) where you had to weigh competing risks, with no clear "right" answer. How did you decide, and how might the ancient principle of "do as he would do with his own" apply differently in hindsight to that situation?

Takeaway + Citations

The journey back to these ancient texts, especially those we might have "bounced off" in our youth, isn't just an exercise in intellectual archaeology. It's a profound invitation to re-enchant our understanding of the world and our place within it. What might have seemed like dry legal minutiae about orphans' money reveals itself as a deeply sophisticated, ethically charged blueprint for responsible stewardship, risk-averse innovation, and ultimate accountability in every facet of our adult lives.

This ancient wisdom isn't dusty; it's a living, breathing guide to navigating the complexities of modern existence. It reminds us that every decision, every resource managed, every relationship fostered, carries the weight of a sacred trust. By embracing the mindset of the discerning guardian, we learn to prioritize long-term well-being over fleeting gain, to act with integrity even when no one is watching, and to cultivate a prudence that fosters resilience in an uncertain world. This text isn't just about protecting orphans; it's about re-enchanting our own everyday decisions with sacred purpose, transforming the mundane into moments of profound ethical engagement.

Citations

• Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:1. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.1?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:2. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.2?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:3. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.3?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:4. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.4?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:5. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.5?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:10. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.10?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:11. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.11?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Steinsaltz on Mishneh Torah, Inheritances 11:1:12. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Inheritances.11.1.12?lang=he&with=Steinsaltz&lang2=en
• Psalms 68:5-6. Sefaria.org. https://www.sefaria.org/Psalms.68.5-6