Balak [part 1]
Balak was a king of Moab described in the Book of Numbers in the Hebrew Bible, where his dealings with the prophet Balaam are the main topic.
Religion: Chemosh
Born: Moab
Died: Moab
Parents: Zippor
Partner: Amina
Family: Zippor (father)
Grandchildren: Ruth, Orpah
Children: Eglon
Title: King of Moab
Nationality: Moab
Sometimes the darkest moments bring out the light, and opportunities arise for adversaries to become advocates. This week, in Parashat Balak, we learn about King Balak, who fears the Israelites and decides to have them cursed. Balak was a king of Moab described in the Book of Numbers in the Hebrew Bible.
This week, we will learn more about Reform Judaism as we study a little about the Torah portion of the week in about 10 minutes or less. This week, the subject is Parashat Balak, and the question asked is what can
transformation look like—everything from curses to blessings.
This week, we focus our attention on Parashat Balak from the Book of Numbers. It is a remarkable series of interactions. We have the king, Balak, who is, frankly, the king of one of ancient Israel's enemies. Furthermore, he looks out at the Israelites camped out, ready to come into the land. Furthermore, he is petrified. He is afraid of us. Imagine that. Here this group of former slaves wandering through the desert are formidable. They are intimidating. So Balak, in a desperate move, hires an idolatrous soothsayer named Balaam to curse the Israelites. Moreover, as much as Balaam tries, and he tries to go and curse them, it does not turn out. And then finally, in the third revelation, in chapter 24 of Numbers, we have the very famous Mah Tovu. The prayer that now is recited upon entering synagogues is a verse from chapter 24 of Numbers, verse 5, where it says, "How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel." Mah tovu ohalekha Ya'akov, mishkenotekha Yisrael. I hope you got that.
And so here is Balaam trying to utter a curse. Moreover, he has a moment where the spirit, the Ruach Elohim, the spirit of God, enters him. Moreover, instead of cursing the Israelites, this very prayer, this blessing. Moreover, amazingly, this is how we start every day in the synagogue. This is the prayer said when we enter a synagogue for morning prayer.
Furthermore, in our new Mishkan T'filah edited by Rabbi Elyse Frishman, we have a fabulous quotation from a traditional prayer manual called Mikdash Me. Moreover, in the notes below, we have Mah Tovu. Moreover, it describes what you are supposed to do. So it says, "When you see the synagogue from a distance, say, how goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel. Upon arriving at the synagogue door, stop momentarily to arrange your clothes properly. Make sure you have put it together." And say the next verse, that is a quotation from Psalms, which you have gathered together to form this prayer. "I, through your abundant love, enter your house." Then the guide tells us, "Then enter with dignity and awe, bowing slightly toward the holy ark. Moreover, say, I bow down in awe at your holy temple. I love your temple abode, the dwelling place of your glory." It then says, "Then walk in a bit. Moreover, bowing again, say, I will humbly bow down before Adonai, my Maker." Then give a little tzedakah, a little charity for the poor, "as much as you can afford.
Moreover, concentrating within yourself, say, here I stand ready and willing to perform the commandment, love your neighbor as yourself. Then you may offer the prayers of the morning—what a beautiful practice upon entering a prayer space. Then you may pursue the love of God."
Rabbi Larry Hoffman, in his fantastic series "My People and the Siddur," reminds us that in ancient prayer, the Mah Tovu and all the pre blessings of
the morning were said by individuals. They were not said by the organized group already gathered for prayer. Moreover, what is impressive to me is that this is a daily reminder that our spiritual job as Jews, as people of faith, is transformation. Not simply obedience. They are not simply doing a series of correct moral and ritual acts. Nevertheless, our job is to transform ourselves and our world.
If you think about this guy Balak, a king who is an archenemy, hiring someone to curse us. Who ends up, according to the Babylonian Talmud, in Tractate Sanhedrin, in 105b, we are told that Balak is the ancestor of Ruth the Moabite, Ruth, the one who chooses Judaism and becomes the great-grandmother of King David. So Balak is the one from whom all these fantastic leaders come forth. What a great spiritual opportunity each day. Furthermore, it reminds us every day to say the words of the one who came to curse us that came out a blessing. How do we turn curses into blessings?
Just a couple more images also; If youve ever been to a morning prayer service in non-Orthodox or any setting, very often people are putting on their *tallitot.
* A tallit, talleisim, tallismin, tallism, tallitot-is a fringed garment (Hebrew and Yiddish) worn as a prayer shawl by religious Jews and Samaritans. A tallit has special twined and knotted fringes known as tzitzit attached to its four corners. The cloth part is known as the "beged" (lit. garment) and is usually made from wool or cotton, although silk is sometimes used for a tallit gadol.
And many of the tallitot are white large kind of garments. And there's a moment when people are in a sense wrapping themselves in their tallitot. Moreover, one image you have of this prayer is your tents, O Jacob. And there's a beautiful teaching by Karen Kushner recited by her husband, Rabbi Larry Kushner, in this same volume from Rabbi Larry Hoffman. Moreover, she says, going into the morning prayer and looking at this room filled with these flowing tallitot is to be reminded of the ancient tents of our people on their journey. And those tents are also thought of as the precursor to the synagogues, and the many different places in which we pray today. If you actually think for a moment, if I just could quote a little bit of the section that follows right after the Mah Tovu in the Book of Numbers from verses 5 and following, it's a beautiful phrase. And this is different than the prayer that we say each morning, because there they took just the first line and added psalms, versus from the Psalms. But the actual verses from the Torah go like this.
"How fair are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel. Like palm groves that stretch out. Like gardens beside a river, like aloes planted by the eternal, like cedars beside the water, their bows drip with moisture. Their roots have abundant water. Their king shall rise above Agag. Their kingdom shall be exalted. God who freed them from Egypt is for them like the horns of the wild ox. They shall devour enemy nations, crush their bones, and smash their arrows."
It kind of sounds a bit brutal, but again the language of transformation. The language of a people wandering to a people settled, from a people who are afraid to people who are feared. I want to, just if I could, move to a contemporary example. By the way, just hold the image. In the Book of Zechariah we're told that the messiah will appear on a donkey. In Zechariah 9:9 you have, "Behold, your king is coming to you. He is just and having salvation, lowly and riding on a donkey". So there's something about a donkey, which of course Balaam is riding. And his donkey talks to him. Not every donkey can do that. But there are a lot of images tucked into this little section. But I want to jump to a modern-day way that we might think of transformation from Balak, to Ruth, to David, to us. And this is to think of something from very recent past.
This past May in Washington, DC, the Reform Movement, the Religious Action Center-- which is an amazing part of our Reform Movement and our URJ-- hosted something called the Consultation on Conscience. And it was a chance for us to gather over 1,000 of us to raise our voices on the most essential moral questions facing particularly our nation, the United States. We of course are Canadian and American. But in our consultation, a majority of our efforts were directed towards American policymakers. And in the course of our gathering, we had invited Reverend Al Sharpton to speak. Reverend Sharpton has been in the last few years a wonderful ally. And he had invited Rabbi Pesner, and April Baskin, and others from our movement, Rabbi Steve Fox, to be part of his 1,000 Ministers March, to show solidarity in the case of hatred, and bigotry, and antisemitism. To show how the African-American community, the Muslim community, the Jewish community can stand together against hatred and bigotry. And he has been a wonderful ally to us. We also were well aware that back in the early '90s, when Reverend Sharpton was in an earlier stage of his career, he was an agitator. And he had been involved in ways that he was not proud of in terms of the community in Crown Heights around a very tense period around the Crown Heights riots.
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So one of the questions-- and there's been some push back from some. We feel very confident that people change, countries change, and organizations change. That's part of the world. And that our job as Jews is to help that transformation. So are we to hold Reverend Sharpton responsible for hateful statements that he might have made earlier in his career? Or do we embrace an ally who stands with us and raises his voice in a very, very respectful and moral way? Our commitment was, we stand with our allies. And we don't erase that which happened in the past, but we also don't want to hold our ally to being locked in that. And I think of this transformation. And can we allow people to change? Can we allow leaders to move from being antagonist to being allies?
That's a big question for us. It's a question for us as individuals. And not to say that he's met all the halachic requirements of t'shuvah, the way in which we repair relationships or heal things that we have done in our past. But when he spoke to us at the consultation, he acknowledged particularly when Coretta Scott King called him out and really challenged him. And said to him, Reverend Sharpton, if you're going to be someone who tries to carry the mantle of my husband, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., then you have to really improve and heal your leadership so you can be a worthy disciple.
It was a pretty powerful thing for him to quote the teacher that called him out, the amazing Coretta Scott King. And he gave a talk-- if you haven't heard the talk, you can get the link. We'll provide it. It's available to you on our Religious Action, our RAC.org website. Give it a listen. And listen to the teaching, listen to the clarity, and listen to the partnership that he articulated. So in thinking about this prayer, Mah Tovu, this parashah, Balak, here it is, a portion named after a hater of Israel. Imagine that. A Torah portion, Balak, named for someone who was famous for how much he hated us and tried to curse us. But in the end, it turned to blessing. And I think for all of us-- I don't care where you live or all the challenges that you face every day, what if when we go in to synagogues and we say the Mah Tovu as we walk in, what if we're reminding ourselves, be a transformer. Be a person who can move individuals, can move organizations, can move communities, can even move nations towards blessing. That feels to me like an urgent and very essential task of what it means to be Jewish.
And the last thought I have is that this prayer Mah Tovu ends with a beautiful, beautiful verse from the Psalms. Actually, Psalm 69 verse 14, where it says, "As for me, may my prayer come to you at a favorable time. Oh God, in your abundant faithfulness, answer me with your deliverance." Literally, [SPEAKING HEBREW], "I am a prayer to you." So how do we make our lives a prayer? Not in our lives saying prayers, but how do we in our lives become prayers? By embodying the very best, the most nobility, the most godliness. I think that's the teaching of Balak and Balaam. It's the teaching of Balak to the Biblical Ruth, to the King David, the author of so many of our psalms. It is the example of how we can walk that path of prayer, that path of blessing. And in the course of today, you may have the opportunity to turn someone's hate into a blessing, someone's curse into a prayer. It's not an easy thing to do, I'll be the first one to say that. But how powerful that everyday we're reminded, that's the work. Mah tovu ohalekha Ya'akov, mishkenotekha Yisrael, How goodly are your tents, Jacob, and your dwelling places, oh Israel. Places where we focus on and commit ourselves to transforming the world-- as it is filled with flaws, and misdeeds, and even hatred-- to a place filled with hope, and of kindness, and of goodness. Maybe that's why Balaam rides the donkey. He's not the messiah. But a messiah will bring a teaching that will help us to truly enact the blessing that we need to be. So say this prayer. But even more powerfully, let each of us be this prayer going forward.
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Balak was a king of Moab who appears in the Old Testament in Numbers 22—24. His story is in the context of the time of the Israelites' journey to the Promised Land. Moab, the land that Balak ruled, lay on the east side of the Dead Sea.
As the Israelites traveled to Canaan, their reputation preceded them, and the Moabites were well aware of the miracles that had accompanied Israel's exodus from Egypt. The inhabitants of the cities in Israel's path knew God was on the Israelites' side.
King Balak had witnessed the Israelites' destruction of the Amorites, and the entire region of Moab grew afraid as the Israelites approached (Numbers 22:2–3). When the Israelites encamped in territory that had once been Moab's, the king decided it was time to act. Balak and the elders of Moab colluded with the neighboring Midianites to summon a prophet named Balaam to put a curse on God's people (verse 6). Ironically, Balaam went to God and asked Him for guidance before he would agree to Balak's plan.
God's answer to Balaam was, of course, a resounding "no" (verse 12). Following God's command, Balaam refused Balak's offer. But Balak would not be put off—he sent even more powerful men and sweetened the deal to tempt Balaam into agreeing to the plan (verse 15).
Balaam eventually set out to meet Balak, and during his journey the famous incident of the talking donkey occurred—God's message to Balaam that he should not curse the Israelites (Numbers 22:21–35).
When Balaam stood before Balak, the king likely believed he had won and that the Israelites would soon be cursed. But instead of cursing the Israelites, Balaam blessed them three times. Balak's "anger burned against Balaam" (Numbers 24:10), and he sent Balaam away without a reward.
Balak's plot to curse Israel through a hired prophet failed, but that was not the end of Moabite opposition. Later, the men of Israel were judged by God for idolatry and committing fornication with Moabite women (Numbers 25:1–9). As it turned out, this was the result of a plot from Balaam and Balak to corrupt Israel from within (see Revelation 2:14).
What can we learn from Balak's story? First of all, it is important to recognize Israel's place as God's chosen people. He has promised to bless those who bless them and curse those who curse them (Genesis 12:3). King Balak of Moab chose to curse Israel, but the curses were thwarted and turned into a blessing in Balaam's mouth. God's ultimate plan is to bring the remnant of Israel to Himself during the future seven-year tribulation (see Romans 11:26; Jeremiah 33:8).
Second, Balak's story is a wonderful proof of God's sovereignty over all. No plans made by men—even the most powerful and influential men—will prosper without the Lord's permission. "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails" (Proverbs 19:21).
Commentary on Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2 - 25:9
This week's Torah portion is mostly the story of Balak, the king of the nation Moab. He hires the prophet Balaam to curse the Israelites, whom he perceives as a threat. Balaam then discovers that the power of blessing and cursing is God's alone. On his way to curse Israel, his donkey stops, for an angel blocks the way, but Balaam can't perceive what his animal is doing. Finally, Balaam blesses Israel with a famous blessing that is now part of the daily morning service. At the end of the portion, the Israelites get in trouble by worshipping a foreign deity.
In Focus
"Balaam said to the angel of the Lord, 'I have sinned. I did not realize you were standing in the road to oppose me. Now if you are displeased, I will go back'" (Numbers 22:34).
Text
Balak really wants Balaam to curse the Israelites, but Balaam senses that this is not what God wants him to do. After Balak's men pressure and cajole him, God tells Balaam he can go to meet Balak, but he must only do what God tells him. Still, God seems to be angry that Balaam has chosen this path, and sends an angel with a drawn sword to block his way. The donkey sees the angel, and refuses to proceed, but Balaam thinks the donkey is disobeying him. Finally, God allows Balaam to perceive the angel, and then Balaam pleads ignorance–he wouldn't have tried to move on if he had known there was an angel blocking his way!
Commentary
A Hasidic commentator points out that if Balaam really didn't know about the angel, how could he have "sinned" in trying to move along?
"I have sinned. . ." This is surprising! If he didn't know, what was the sin? The answer is that there are times when not knowing is itself the sin. For example, if a child strikes a parent, he can't justify it by saying he didn't know it was forbidden to strike one's parents. A captain of the guard of the king cannot say that he didn't know who the king was!
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This is the case of a prophet and an angel — if the prophet says that he didn't know that the angel was stationed before him, that's the sin. This is what Balaam said: "I sinned, because I didn't know–as a prophet, I should have known that the angel stood before me–not knowing was the sin itself." (From Itturei Torah, translation mine.)
We could further point out that Balaam went with God's apparent permission, even though he knew that Balak's goals were destructive. He chose to go anyway — that's what having free moral choice means. Even though Balaam knew it wasn't a good thing, God let him go, with the warning to make the right choices in the end. So then we get back to our original question: what was the sin, if he really didn't know the angel was there?
I think this midrash implies that Balaam really did know, on some semiconscious level, that it was not good to head out to meet Balak. Balaam did a very common thing: he overruled his own conscience, and chose not to see, not to understand, the problematic nature of his chosen path. It's literally a path in the story, but I think the road or path here symbolizes the set of decisions he's making. He didn't want to see the angel, so he didn't.
The idea that not knowing can itself be a chet, or falling short of the mark, is a powerful challenge. What are we not seeing that we choose not to see? Do we use Balaam's excuse — "I didn't know" — when our friends and family need our help and support? Do we say, "I didn't see" when we step over the homeless on our way to work, or when we encounter the effects of any other problem in our community? Choosing not to see is something we all do at times–even a prophet can sometimes fail to see the angel in front of him. The good news is that we are created with a spark of the Divine within, and we can have our eyes opened at any time.
Commentary on Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2 - 25:9
According to the Rabbis of the Talmud, Balaam was one of seven non-Israelite prophets. (One list also includes Balaam's father, as well as Job and the four friends who came to "comfort" him. Another list includes Adam and Noah.) God does not speak only to Israel, but the Rabbis detect important differences in the way God speaks to Israelite prophets. Rabbi Hama, the son of Rabbi Hanina said, "To the prophets of the world, the Holy One appears with half-speech only; but to the prophets of Israel, with complete speech, clear speech, affectionate speech."
We should like the prophecy of Balaam, as related in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Balak, because there is no reproof in it, only praise of Israel. How rarely do we find that in the words of Israelite prophets! And indeed, Balaam's words are the first to be recited when we enter a synagogue: "How fair are your tents, O Jacob,/Your dwellings, O Israel!" (Numbers 24:5) But something is missing.
If you look in a Torah scroll, you will see many breaks in the text, some at the end of a line (p'tuhah) and some in the middle of a line (s'tumah). There is a long tradition preserving these spaces, and Torah scribes follow this tradition carefully. Just as the silence of rests is an important part of music, so, too, breaks in the Torah text (the absence of words) can be important clues to its interpretation. But Balaam's prophecy contains no such spaces.
The Hafetz Hayyim (Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan, 1838-1933) asks why there are no breaks in this Torah portion as it is written in the Torah scroll. From Balak's initial alarm and commissioning of Balaam to curse Israel to the very end of Balaam's prophecy (Numbers 22:2-24:25), there is only solid text.
True, Balaam was a prophet, and his prophecy was inspired from above: "I can utter only the word that God puts into my mouth." (Numbers 22:38) But why should this section look so different from others in the Torah? The Hafetz Hayyim answers his own question, based on several midrashic sources, in the following way: The various breaks in Moses' prophecy (i.e., the rest of the Torah) are indications that God gives Moses (and other Israelite prophets) breathing room to process what they are receiving. They are not to act simply as mouthpieces, as empty vessels through which divine speech flows. Rather, the prophet must understand the prophecy and be changed by it.
Moses and the other prophets of Israel participate in prophecy: Their words of God are refracted through human thought and experience. Moses at times even argues with God, following the precedent set by Abraham and establishing a pattern that will be followed later by Habakkuk and others. We can view breaks in the text as opportunities for reflection–both theirs and ours.
But Balaam is allowed no breaks for reflection, nor is he changed by his words. How much broader is the vision of the prophets of Israel! What many of us would consider their core message is articulated by Micah in this week's haftarah (supplemental reading from the Prophets): "It has been told to you, O man, what is good, And what Adonai requires of you: Only to do justice, and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8)
According to the Rabbis, the era of prophecy ended long ago. (The last prophet was Malachi, after the return of the exiles from Babylonia.) But the effect of prophecy continues whenever we encounter the text anew and whenever we engage it and are changed by it.
In the portion of Balak, the prophet Balaam, hired by King Balak of Moab, sets out to curse the children of Israel, only to find himself proclaiming four blessings instead. Each blessing builds on the one before it, becoming more sophisticated and exalted.
Balaam begins with introducing his theme and mission in the first, replies to Balak's anger at not cursing the people as he promised in the second, and by the third launches into a praise song of Israel that is considered "neither vindication nor denunciation but pure prophecy (Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bamidbar)." Here the language itself becomes declamatory and filled with more symbolism; specifically more imagery taken from the natural world. In the first prophecy, only hills and rocks are mentioned, in the second, an ox and a lion, but in the third, both plants and animals are used to great effect. Let us examine one of the verses here.
The third blessing begins with Balaam's most famous statement (Numbers 24:5), "How goodly are your tents O Jacob, and your tabernacles, O Israel." The verse following this is less well known: "Like the winding brooks, like gardens by the river's side, like aloes which the Lord has planted, and cedar trees beside the waters."
Conventions of Biblical Poetry
At first glance, this is a further description of the physical camp of Israel, and we can see it in our mind's eye, stretching into the distance in long rows like streams or tents standing on the flat ground, like tall cedars jutting into the sky.
However, if we look closer at the imagery in the verse, it does not seem to follow any of the patterns used in biblical poetry–for example A-B-A-C (staircase parallelism) or A-B-B-A (chiastic structure)–or even the style of the previous verse, where the first part of the verse is parallel in theme to the second. In our verse we have one body of water (winding brooks) followed by a list of three types of flora (gardens, aloes, cedars), one a desert plant (aloes) and two of which 'happen' to be next to water (gardens by the river's side, cedar trees beside the water). None of the usual structure patterns as mentioned above seem to fit.
Various commentators offer different explanations. Ibn Ezra sees trees implied in the first image of the river, as trees usually do grow next to winding rivers or brooks. The Da'at Mikra commentary takes this one stage further: the word 'nahal' most often refers to a riverbed–as opposed to an actual flowing river–usually within an arid or desert ecosystem.
Such riverbeds are sandy and dry, there is no surface water for most of the year, but they can be seen from afar, since greenery and even large trees grow next to them, marking them clearly within the vast expanse of arid land. In southern Africa it is these slivers of green that elephants head for in the dry season, and here they dig down into the desiccated sand with their front legs until brackish water oozes out from the depths and they can drink.
If we look then at the general ecosystems in which these plants or rivers are found, rather than the plants themselves, we find the verse in fact has an A-B-A-B structure:
A–nahal–riverbed in a desert environment
B–nahar–greenery next to a broad river
A–ahalim—aloes; plants that usually live in semi-arid or arid areas
B–arazim alei mayim–cedars that stand next to water
Desert Regions & Temperate Zones
So this verse contains a repeated image of two kinds of biomes or ecozones: desert with aloes and a river that flows only rarely, and a more temperate zone with a perennial river and cedar trees.
This arrangement follows a typical stylistic device in biblical poetry which, in Balaam's time, the people of Israel would have picked up almost instinctively. They knew the desert environment intimately, as well as the power of the Nile River to create 'gardens' on its banks. Later generations lived in Israel where both biomes were well-represented. But for us today, it's not so easy.
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In Bilaam's prophecies, as with most others throughout the Bible, nature is used constantly in metaphor and symbolism. Its audience would understand it, needing no help to pick up the ideas the prophet was proclaiming. The people lived a life which was so bound up in nature, with such a strong connection to their natural environment, that the necessary connections might even have been made subconsciously. Nature's beauty and teachings would have permeated their beings.
Today, we need to look beyond the specific meaning of the verse if we are to learn from the use of nature imagery in the Bible in general. We need to ask ourselves: To what extent is nature a part of our consciousness? The answer for many of us is: not much.
Before the Industrial Revolution, the majority of humans lived an agrarian lifestyle, dependent upon, or close to the land. Even in 16th century urban London, Shakespeare's nature imagery would have been understood by his audience. But, in the 21st century, with half the world's population living in cities, it seems that we need botanists or ecologists to help us understand our Bible.
We need to consider our exposure to nature: When last did I actually see a river or hear the rustle of trees on its banks? Walk on grass and smell a wild growing flower? Our language and metaphors reflect the reality we experience, consisting of the whirr of machinery and hum of computers, not the animals and plants that live with us on Earth. "Little we see in nature that is ours"–Wordsworth saw this separation already in the 19th century; how much more so today.
But the Torah is relevant for all time and every place, and thus the nature imagery in it becomes a cry to us to reconnect with the world in which God placed us. On both a poetic and philosophical level, the Torah teaches us to appreciate nature–and to react with praise of its Creator.
God did not create such a spectacular world merely to provide food and industry. If one truly sees all Nature in its complexity, beauty, and harmony, one's reaction should be the same spontaneous outburst of the Psalmist (Psalms 104:24): "How diverse are Your works, O Lord! You make them all with wisdom, the world is full of Your possessions."
Suggestion Action Items:
1) Take a walk in a park, or instead of taking time out of your routine, take the scenic route home once a week–past a pretty garden or tall, venerable tree. Visit a National Park or Reserve – even today most towns have a nature reserve within 2 or 3 hours' drive.
2) If you have a small patch of land, plant vegetables or herbs; eating something you have watched grow from a seed can reconnect you to the land (this is especially amazing to do with children). Enjoy the rain, remembering that while you may not grow from it, the flowers and grasses will.
3) Learn the blessings to say after thunder and lightning, and those to say on all natural phenomena.
Seeing Their Faces But Not Their Doors
The Israelites' dwellings in the wilderness provide us with a model for ensuring the existence and dignity of housing for all members of society.
Not Seeing Is The Sin
What is a good place to live?
"Mah tovu ohalecha Ya'acov, mishkenotecha Yisrael — how good are your tents, Jacob, your dwelling places, Israel." This famous line from Parashat Balak, spoken by a non-Jewish prophet about Israel, seems simple enough. The great medieval commentator Rashi, however, sees another level of meaning in it. He tells us that Balaam spoke these words because the entrances to the homes of the people were not aligned with one another.
It seems odd that of all the things that a prophet could praise about Israel, especially since he is praising them against his will, Balaam decided to praise the fact that they cannot see into each other's homes. But perhaps it is not so strange that what makes a dwelling place "good" is the ability to have privacy within it.
Indeed, this idea is so important to Rashi that it appears twice in his commentary on this portion: Just a few lines earlier, in chapter 24, verse 2, Rashi explains that the words, "Balaam raised his eyes and saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes," actually mean that he saw that their entrances were not aligned with one another, so that one could not peek into the tent of his friend.
We know that conditions in the desert must have been very difficult. Nevertheless, Israel was able to ensure that every family had a space of their own, a place that was theirs.
It is enlightening to contrast this with modern conditions of poverty in the United States. The U.S. government, claiming to respond to the demands of the people, has made it more and more difficult for the poor to have a decent place to live.
Former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani once provided us with an excellent example of how this sort of policy works: If a person refuses to go to a homeless shelter, they can be sent to jail. If a person does go to a shelter for the homeless when sent there by police, but once he or she is there refuses to do anything asked by the shelter, he or she can be thrown back onto the street — where, presumably, the problem will be taken care of by an arrest shortly afterwards.
It is curious that a modern city, with an enormous amount of resources — certainly far more than a tribal people wandering through the desert — is nevertheless far less able to provide a decent place to live to all its community. Oddly enough, it is not even a matter of money: Case after case has shown that with programs that encourage ownership of housing, the conditions of people's lives materially increase — along with the safety of their neighborhood — and for far less money than running a sting operation against homelessness. (Habitat for Humanity is only one example of how successful a program like that can be.)
Yet, instead of attempting to provide decent housing for the poor, the little money that is spent is directed toward creating homeless shelters, which are, in addition to physically dangerous places at times, extremely demoralizing to individuals, and often inhumane to families trying to stay together.
Why is this? It seems that we need to punish people for being poor. The ideology behind such laws understands poverty as the obvious result of slothfulness and greed. It insists that no one could be poor by accident, that those who are poor are of color, are "welfare queens" or perhaps are one of the "crazy" people who got dumped during the deinstitutionalization of mental hospitals.
Even this last notion is somewhat of a concession for one who holds this ideology, who often believes that these are people who probably prefer to live on the street anyway, and besides, what we really need to do, for their own good, is to lock them up, where we can't see them.
Even when people are provided with homes to live in that are not shelters, modern welfare housing is a disgrace. Private companies fail to do repairs on their properties to create a space that is even minimally livable: plumbing ceases to work, vermin move in, walls and doors sometimes have gaping holes. It is small surprise that the people who live in these places despair of a better life.
Rashi's comment strikes so deeply to the heart of what it means to have "a good place to live." The people Israel were moving forward toward their own land, and though not yet there, they made, as a community, homes that created an atmosphere of respect for one another.
Just as in every other community, there were undoubtedly those who were richer, and those who were poorer; yet every family in Israel had a space in which to live, a place that was respectable, and respected. From these homes, they were able to envision a brighter future, one in their own land, which they could work to build with their own hands, and to improve both it and themselves. The decency of their homes was the base from which they built our future.
