Ἐὰν δὲ γένηται ἡ ἄφεσις τῶν υἱῶν Ισραηλ καὶ προστεθήσεται ἡ κληρονομία αὐτῶν ἐπὶ τὴν κληρονομίαν τῆς φυλῆς οἷς ἂν γένωνται γυναῖκες καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς κληρονομίας φυλῆς πατριᾶς ἡμῶν ἀφαιρεθήσεται ἡ κληρονομία αὐτῶν (Numbers 36:4 LXX)
This verse from Numbers 36:4 LXX presents a layered legal contingency structured around conditionality, inheritance law, and the syntactic use of the Greek subjunctive. The grammar revolves around a protasis-apodosis condition introduced by ἐὰν δὲ γένηται, a classic first-class condition that speculates about a possible release or “remission” (ἄφεσις) within the tribal inheritance structure of the sons of Israel. The verb γένηται is aorist middle subjunctive, functioning as the pivot of a legal scenario—the hypothetical release of tribal holdings.
This is followed by the apodosis προστεθήσεται, a future passive indicative, suggesting that if such a release occurs, the property “will be added” to the inheritance of another tribe. The phrase οἷς ἂν γένωνται γυναῖκες employs the subjunctive again (γένωνται) with the modal particle ἂν, forming a relative conditional clause that binds the transfer of inheritance to whom these women might become wives. This illustrates the syntactic delicacy of tribal intermarriage and the resulting reallocation of land.
Finally, the clause ἀπὸ τῆς κληρονομίας φυλῆς πατριᾶς ἡμῶν ἀφαιρεθήσεται uses a future passive verb ἀφαιρεθήσεται to describe the removal of inheritance. This sequence of subjunctives and passives underscores the sense of passive loss—inheritance moves, not by agency, but by necessity. The Greek articulates legal outcomes through grammatical force: the subjunctive marks potential disruption; the future passive marks irrevocable consequences. The entire verse acts as a juridical flowchart encoded in grammar.
Exploring the Verse as a Living Lesson
Let us enter the classroom. A student raises her hand and asks: “Why does the inheritance move in Greek but not in Hebrew?” The question is deeper than syntax. The Greek construction γένηται (aorist subjunctive) signals an event not yet realized but legally possible. This opens the door for discussion: in Hellenistic Greek legal discourse, subjunctives often control outcomes in conditions. Here, the release of land is not declared but anticipated. The next student points to προστεθήσεται—“shall be added”—and asks why a passive verb carries such weight. The answer is hidden in the verb itself: no tribe gives away its inheritance; rather, it is added to another. The passive protects the original owners from blame but declares the inevitable shift.
Another student notices οἷς ἂν γένωνται γυναῖκες and asks why it’s subjunctive. Now the lesson turns pastoral. These are daughters of inheritance. Their marriages are not just romantic—they’re geopolitical. The subjunctive mood captures the uncertain future of marital bonds and tribal borders. It tells us the law must accommodate love—but not without consequence. The phrase ἀφαιρεθήσεται ἡ κληρονομία closes the syntax with chilling formality: the property will be removed. Greek doesn’t soften the blow. Through verbs alone, we feel the weight of tribal fear—that what is ours may walk away on the feet of our daughters.
Where Syntax Meets Revelation
At first glance, this verse appears legalistic—an arcane clause in the Mosaic inheritance code. But grammar reveals deeper tensions. The juxtaposition of subjunctive and future passive verbs gives us more than legal possibility—it gives us emotional vulnerability. The tribes of Israel stand on the edge of losing not just land, but identity. The syntax lays out a map of theological anxiety: what if daughters marry into another tribe? What if the land YHWH gave us becomes someone else’s by law?
The Greek subjunctive γένηται frames the divine gift of land as something that could be lost—not through sin, but through marriage. This is no small matter. The middle voice signals that such events are not externally imposed but arise within the community itself. Meanwhile, the passive ἀφαιρεθήσεται (shall be removed) reflects divine permission for human choices to shape tribal destiny. The Greek syntax tells a theological truth: divine gifts are conditional upon human stewardship. The land was given, but it could walk away—not by theft, but by love.
Form and Function Table
| Greek Word | Root | Form | Lexical Meaning | Grammatical Role | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| γένηται | γίγνομαι | Aorist middle subjunctive, 3rd singular | might happen, come about | Main verb of conditional protasis | Subjunctive of potential legal event |
| ἄφεσις | ἀφίημι | Noun, feminine singular | release, remission | Subject of γένηται | Legal term implying transfer of rights |
| προστεθήσεται | προστίθημι | Future passive indicative, 3rd singular | shall be added | Main verb of the apodosis | Passive agent-less consequence |
| γένωνται | γίγνομαι | Aorist middle subjunctive, 3rd plural | might become | Subjunctive of relative clause | Governs tribal reassignment via marriage |
| ἀφαιρεθήσεται | ἀφαιρέω | Future passive indicative, 3rd singular | shall be removed | Main verb of final clause | Expresses legal loss through passive consequence |
A Sacred Inflection
What appears at first as dry legal language becomes, under grammatical scrutiny, a revelation about divine gift and human agency. The Greek subjunctive in this verse captures more than contingency—it holds the pulse of tribal memory, the heartbeat of identity and territory. When land can be lost through love, the syntax must carry both legal clarity and theological weight. The conditional ἐὰν γένηται reverberates with a holy if, and the passive ἀφαιρεθήσεται reminds us that not all removals are unjust—some are simply outcomes of chosen faithfulness within lawful structures.
These are not just words of law; they are inflections of inheritance, clauses of covenantal fragility. Greek grammar, at its finest, reveals the beauty and burden of order—how law protects, and how love complicates. The Spirit speaks here not in thunder, but in morphology.
So let us read carefully, even the legal texts, for they too are sacred. Subjunctive verbs carry divine conditions. Passive verbs hold the echo of judgment. And behind it all, the syntax of Scripture sings a soft but sacred warning: keep what was given, but remember, it can walk.
