Parshat Balak and the Power of Unexpected Blessing

On Tuesday morning, I made a special effort to watch the live coverage of NASA’s release of the first set of images from the James Webb telescope. The event was delightful for two reasons. The first, had to do with the palpable excitement from all of the scientists and technicians who worked on the project. Their tireless work paid off, and now they were sharing that work with the world. Hearing them describe their work with such awe, listening to them explain the significance of each of these spectacular images– I felt like I could share in their success, that their triumph was also mine.

And the second thing that made this coverage so wonderful and so unbelievable had to do with the images themselves. Galaxies, planets, newly discovered stars, colors, textures, and shapes floating across my screen, painting a picture and telling a story about the universe as it has been for thousands of years. One image in particular, an image of the Cosmic Cliffs of the Carina Nebula, a gaseous, craggy mountain range just a mere 8,500 light years away, has buried itself in my mind. Set against a brilliant blue moonlit sky– turquoise, cobalt, cerulean. Bright, glimmering stars that seem to jump out in 3D, an almost unreal, orange mountain range emerges. With peaks and valleys, and shadows of dark reds and browns, wild orange space dust somehow alive and moving across this still image on my screen. An image that is humbling, overpowering, and gorgeous all at once. All of the images that the James Webb telescope has captured, in their diversity and depth, remind me of just how ancient our universe is, and just how vast.

But lately, I have been feeling quite overwhelmed by this feeling that the world is so big. Overwhelmed by what feels like the constant inundation of bad news coming at us from all corners. The overturning of Roe, unchecked gun violence, threats to democracy, the climate crisis, the continuation of the pandemic, to name just a few. But perhaps I feel even more overwhelmed by the sense that there is so much work to be done.

At this particular point in our Torah reading cycle, we encounter the Israelites at what is perhaps their lowest collective moment. They have been wandering for nearly 40 years, with the unfulfilled promise of the Land of Israel propelling them forward. But despite the promise of permanence, the Israelites’ condition deteriorates even as each step forward brings them closer and closer to their sacred destination. They are rightfully exhausted, rightfully fearful, rightfully overwhelmed. And so far, we have seen mass rebellion; the deaths of prominent and beloved leaders, Aaron and Miriam; continued complaint and ingratitude, and widespread idolatry.

But then something miraculous happens, something that would change the Isrealites and perhaps their outlook, forever. At the beginning of this week’s portion, Balak, King Balak of Moav, hires Bilaam to curse the Israelites. Bilaam, who is initially reluctant to accept this assignment, for fear of upsetting G-d, ultimately decides to go forth. So the next morning, Bilaam wakes, saddles his donkey– who the rabbis teach was created at twilight on the sixth day of creation– and ventures forward to curse the Jews. After much back and forth with Balak, and a few encounters with an angel sent to block Bilaam’s progress forward, the prophet is ultimately unsuccessful in his attempt to curse the Israelites, and instead issues forth a beautiful blessing– which begins with Mah Tovu, a text that shares its important first line with the Mah Tovu prayer that we find in our morning service.

מַה־טֹּ֥בוּ אֹהָלֶ֖יךָ יַעֲקֹ֑ב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶ֖יךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

How fair are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel!

Bilaam’s blessing, his bracha for the Israelites, begins with the very notion of home, of rootedness. How fair are your tents– the Rabbis teach this is a reference to the houses of Torah study that we will go on to build. How fair are your dwellings– a reference to synagogues– our miniature mishkan, our tiny replica of the Divine dwelling place.

This ode, this bracha, goes on to describe G-d’s might and majesty, and how the Israelites themselves will be transformed into a nation of great glory and strength.

But the most important thing about Bilaam’s blessing, is that it is unexpected. It is a blessing that is at once surprising and so necessary. Think about the Israelites hearing that they have been blessed, at this low point in their journey– I can almost hear them asking, Really? Is this bracha really meant for us? We deserve this, now?

I like to imagine that this unexpected blessing turned things around for the Israelites, and helped them understand where they were headed, and what was possible and necessary to do in the meantime. Maybe this blessing gave the Israelites the renewed energy that they needed for this final, and most important stretch of their journey. A renewed energy that can come only with the ability to make every place your home, to make every place a tent, a dwelling.

There are so many unexpected blessings in our lives. It can be hard to see them, sometimes even impossible to know that they are there, but when we pay close enough attention, those brachot can transform our attitudes, and help us do the work necessary to change the world, and the little slice of it that we are so lucky to have.

This evening, we will begin observance of fast of the 17th of Tammuz, the fast day that begins the three-week period of collective mourning that culminates in Tisha B’Av. And during these three weeks, we reflect on our losses both communal and individual. Both historic and imagined. Beginning tonight, we will reckon with the dance our people do between permanence and impermanence. Between rootedness and transience. We think about all the ways in which curse prevailed, blessing hiding beneath the earth, unwilling, and unable to emerge. But our duty, our sacred task at this time, is to remember that blessings are indeed abundant in our world, even if they are not immediately apparent. That the world that we deserve to live in, that we deserve to give to our children, is waiting for us, just as long as we are willing to mine it for all of the blessings it has to give. 

Yes, the images of the farthest reaches of the solar system remind us of the impossible expansiveness of the universe. And the wilderness must have reminded the Israelites of the same. But our work is here, on earth. And in these challenging times, we must hold on to those unexpected, most unseen, blessings. We must hold on and never let go, because it is those blessings that make the vastness bearable. It is those blessings that make the whole universe feel like home.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Abramowitz