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My wife and I recently enjoyed a trip to the Middle East. In Jordan, we had the unique privilege of dining in the home of a local family. The homemade food was delicious and unforgettable.
Another memorable part of the evening for me was a conversation about money. As a financial planner, I couldn’t resist steering the dinner talk toward finances. Specifically, I asked our host how inheritance works in Jordan. His answer was straightforward and, to him, unremarkable: under Islamic inheritance law, a wife typically receives one-eighth of her husband’s estate. The remaining seven-eighths goes to the children, with sons receiving twice as much as daughters.
One-eighth? My brain screeched to a halt. I missed the next few minutes of conversation as I mentally tallied up how that could possibly work. Finally, I asked the wife how she could manage on such a small share. She smiled, completely unfazed, and explained, “My children will take care of me.” Then, with a laugh, she added, “It’s very important for women to take good care of their husbands so they don’t die—or divorce them too soon!”
Her lightheartedness floored me. Here I was, still spinning over the math, and she seemed perfectly at peace with it all. It wasn’t until I learned more about the broader framework of Islamic inheritance that things started to make sense. The one-eighth isn’t meant to be her sole financial lifeline. Islamic law provides other safeguards: widows receive financial support during the mourning period, any unpaid dowry becomes a debt on the estate, and male relatives, such as sons or brothers, are obligated to step in if needed. (Obviously, this is only a brief general overview that does not touch on the specifics and complexities of estate planning that would apply for different families in various countries.)
Overall, it is a system deeply rooted in familial interdependence. The responsibility for widows rests squarely with family members, reflecting a culture where support networks are built on kinship rather than institutional safety nets.
During this same trip, in Egypt, I had an enlightening conversation on this same topic with a father. He explained that many young women are pursuing higher education, often in Europe or the U.S., to safeguard their futures. “My sons will be fine, even if they become janitors. They’re men. But my daughters need education to survive,” he said. His own daughters were studying medicine and law, careers that promised financial independence. It was clear that while tradition still governed the system, modern realities were prompting women to create their own safety nets.
In the U.S., as in other Western societies, we have worked for decades toward gender equality in finances. Despite legal protections like joint property laws and pension rights, women in the U.S. still face some systemic hurdles, which are minor in comparison to many of their Islamic sisters. Yet what struck me most about the women I met in Jordan and Egypt was not resignation—it was resilience. They weren’t waiting for the system to change; they were finding ways to adapt within it.
I may never fully grasp how a one-eighth share inheritance can feel like “enough,” but I left that dinner table with a deeper appreciation for how cultures prioritize family and interdependence. Maybe the strongest lesson is not the advice of our Jordanian hostess to “Take care of your husbands,” but a broader one to “Take care of your family, your spouse, and yourself.” It was a reminder that financial security, no matter where you are, is about more than numbers. It’s about supportive relationships and finding creative ways to thrive, even within imperfect systems.
Related: Should You Die Broke? Rethinking Wealth and Retirement