Parasha Balak - 5772, Claudia Valas
Parasha Balak
July 7, 2012 / 17 Tamuz 5772
Claudia Valas
Shabbat Shalom
Balak, is a rich and sometimes amusing parasha that raises many questions, among them: Was Balaam a prophet? Why did a non-Jew seek God’s approval for his venture? Why did God give it and then get angry at Balaam for continuing to do what God seemed to condone? Why is a non-Jew engaging in what is strictly God’s domain—the giving of blessings and curses; and what’s with the talking ass? But the most fundamental question, I think, is why read this story at all.
After all, it is in the middle of our great foundational narrative, where we have the stories of our ancestors, our covenant with God, the giving of the Torah, and the explication of its laws. And then we have this strange little story about a non-Jewish sorcerer, Balaam. Even Rashi seems to find this parasha at odds with the Torah and notes, that “ every other parasha in Chumash is connected in some way to Moshe”—either through mitzvot or the narrative (tanach.org). And there is a Talmudic opinion that says that Balak was actually a separate book altogether, making it one of 7, instead of 5, Books of Moses, with Numbers split into 3 books: chapters 1 thru 21:1 as one, then the story Balak, and then the remainder of what is now Numbers 25:19- 36. (B.B. 14b-15a)
There seems to be some consensus among commentators that one of the purposes of this parasha was simply to discredit sorcery. After All, the Jews had spent 400 years in Egypt, where sorcery and divination were prominent; and of course, many of Moshe’s deeds—the ten plagues and the splitting of the Red Sea, could have been interpreted as magic. Thus, having the greatest sorcerer of all supplanted by God, and forced to do God’s bidding by blessing those that he is employed to curse, would leave little doubt as to who was really in charge.
But before we get to the blessings, how can I resist the story of the talking ass? This is probably the most humorous scene, perhaps the only one, in the Torah. Some commentators have suggested that the story’s intent is to simply mock Balaam and further discredit him. Of course, living in earthquake country, it doesn’t seem that far-fetched that animals can sense events before humans can. Or perhaps, like me, you live with an animal that is way smarter than many humans. But the most intriguing thing I learned about the talking ass is this: Pirkei Avot 5:6 includes Balaam’s talking ass on a list of ten things that were created at twilight on the eve of the first Shabbat. The others are:
- the mouth of the earth [that swallowed Korach];
- the mouth of [Miriam's] well;
- the rainbow;
- manna;
- [Moses'] staff;
- the shamir; which apparently is some strange stone eating worm,
- and the writing,
- and the inscription,
- of the tablets [of the Ten Commandments].
This seems like a pretty elevated list on which to include a talking ass! But If you look at this list, what we see is a series of events that defy a rational, scientific view of how the world operates, and can only be described as God’s miracles, in contrast to Balaam’s sorcery. And the fact that they were created just before the beginning of the first Shabbat, at that moment that separates the holy from the everyday -- bein kodesh lachol -- suggests perhaps that there is something magical, if you will, about liminal times--those times of transition, often terrifying and yet, times of opportunity, when the impossible becomes possible. So perhaps part of what this parasha is about is living in the world of possibility. Now as children, we fully embrace this idea--we believe in what the grown-ups might think are fantasies and we think that anything is possible. If you ask a child what she wants to be when she grows up, she might say something like, a veterinarian, a firefighter, a gymnast, AND a mother of 12 children. All while exploring far-away countries. As a teenager, she might have narrowed the possibilities a bit, but I know 20-somethings who have announced that, although they are currently pursuing a graduate degree in literature, they are investigating pre-med programs. But at some point, we narrow our definition of ourselves and limit our world view. But I think we are living in a time where we need to take another look at what it means to live with possibility. Medical advancements and technological achievements are undoubtedly altering everything from the quality of our physical beings to the quality of our interactions. Some of you might have seen the recent New York Times magazine that talked about some of the life changing innovations on the horizon. Adaptive cruise control for cars, which could significantly reduce traffic jams, robotic shopping carts that will steer you away from foods that violate dietary restrictions--a must for every kosher shopper, and bugs that can devour pollution and generate food and energy. My favorite, though, was the analytical underwear that will nag you to work-out. But what about divine possibilities--miracles. Now, we might think of miracles as a relic of our ancestors or we might think they are narrative devices to add some interest to the Torah. But we need look no further than the birth of a baby, a glorious sunrise, or the marvel of finding love in these complicated times, to feel that miracles abound.
Let’s look a little Balaam’s blessings. Balaam repeatedly ells Balak to build seven altars, prepare seven bulls and seven rams, bring one of each up to the altar and and then to stand by the burnt offering while Balaam goes to wait for Hashem. Each time, Balaam attempts to do Balak’s bidding--when he fails to utter a curse, he tries a different location, but much like the cell service in my home—when it doesn’t work in one room and I try another ,this strategy doesn’t seem to improve the chances of success. Each time, Balaam t. Nehama Lebowitz analyzes the sequence of blessings, both in terms of Balaam’s evolving view of the power of God, and in the chronological progression, saying that “ the first [blessing] refers to the immediate present, to the generation of the wilderness facing him, the second to the immediate future, to the generation which would conquer the land, whilst the third concerns the distant future, to an era when wars and conquests will be no more and when the lion will down to rest…the ideal picture of Jewish life in the Promised Land. “ The possibility in the impossible. What I found really striking about the blessings, however, was the formulaic and repetitive pairing of the names, Ya’acov and Yisrael, when referring to the Israelites. Ever since the beginning of the book of Shemot and straight through the parasha previous to Balak, Chukat, we have read of B’nai Yisrael, the Children of Israel, sometimes referred to collectively as just Israel, but never as B’nei Ya’acov. Balaam repeats the refrain of Ya’acov and Yisrael 8 times; one of these instances becomes the only piece of liturgy, written by a non-Jew that we recite:
- Ma tovu ohalekha Ya'akov, mishk'notekha Yisra'el.
- How goodly are your tents, Ya'akov, your dwelling places, Yisra'el
It was surprising to me that I could find so little commentary on the repetitive pairing of Ya’acov and Yisrael, since they seem so glaringly incongruous with other references of our people in the Torah. Rashi said simply , “He [Balak] instructed him [Balaam] to curse them with both names, in case one of them was not the principal one.” And the Ba’al Shem Tov, gives the following explanation:of the last usage: “‘Your tents’--your external appearance must be that of Ya’acov, a lower level, while ‘your dwelling places’--your interior--must be of the level of Yisrael .”
Neither response seems very satisfying. But I think we can gain some insight into this if we look back a bit into our larger narrative. In general, Ya’acov is the imperfect man who lives in the material world and fails in most of his relationships—he deceives his father, steals his brother’s birthright, and because he fears retribution, flees his homeland, causing, what we can only imagine is great anguish for his mother, who never sees him again. He deceives his father-in-law, and again, steals away from him, and then shows favoritism amongst his wives and children, causing a cascading parade of jealousies. But when he encounters God, he becomes Yisrael, the one who wrestled with God, the one who receives the covenant, and becomes the patriarch of the community of which we are the inheritors.
Our parasha is bookended by calamity--after 38 years of kvetching their way across the desert, the Israelites engage in 3 wars, and while victorious, one can still imagine the toll of any war. And at the end of the parasha, moral depravity results in an epidemic claiming 24,000 lives until Pinchas intervenes. Like our ancestors, we, too may sometimes feel overwhelmed by calamity--beset by medical problems, financial woes, challenging relationships, and impending worldwide environmental, economic and political disasters. Living a life filled with the possible may be the only antidote to the despair to which we might otherwise succumb.
We live with the duality of being both B’nei Ya’acov and B’nai Yisrael. We, like Ya’acov, are imperfect beings, living in an imperfect world, and although I think we can strive to do better than Ya’acov, we may not always achieve perfection. But we have the opportunity, like Yisrael, to struggle with the divine, to see the possible in the impossible, and perhaps to behold a miracle every now and then.
Shabbat Shalom