Parshat Balak 5785
My Senior Rabbi, Carie and I have very different Dvar Torah writing processes, and hearing about mine stresses her out. I write mine, 90% of the time, on Friday mornings. This is not because I am a slacker, or because I don’t take the task seriously. Quite the contrary. This used to cause me incredible tzuris week after week during my internships in Rabbinical school. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I would be anxiously pacing in front of my computer, several holy books open on the table, with absolutely nothing to say about the coming Shabbat’s parsha. But, on Friday morning, after spending days wringing my hands, it would flow effortlessly, and I would have to discard multiple documents that I had started, the final product titled, for example, “Copy of Balak Dvar Torah 4.”
In my experience, there is a tangible wall blocking my creative juices from flowing until there is enough time pressure to force them to flow. I felt comforted when I learned in Pirkei Avot that God, too, works best under pressure:
עֲשָׂרָה דְבָרִים נִבְרְאוּ בְּעֶרֶב שַׁבָּת בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן
Ten things were created on the eve of the Sabbath at twilight, and these are they: [1] the mouth of the earth, [2] the mouth of the well, [3] the mouth of the donkey, [4] the rainbow, [5] the manna, [6] the staff [of Moses], [7] the shamir, [8] the letters, [9] the writing, [10] and the tablets. And some say: also the demons, the grave of Moses, and the ram of Abraham, our father. And some say: and also tongs, made with tongs.
Right before Shabbat, just as many of us do, God is rushing around to create some pretty wild things–some of God’s best work. We could talk for hours about why each of these things belong or don’t belong on this list, but what is it about twilight that created the right conditions for God to create these particular things, and specific to our parsha this week–the third item: the mouth of Bilaam’s donkey?
Balak, the king of Moav, hears that the Israelites are coming and is terrified. In an effort to protect himself and his people, he summons one of the chief Diviners, Balaam, to put a curse on the people. Before he is to set off on his journey to curse the Israelites, Balaam receives a direct message from the Divine, who tells him:
לֹ֤א תָאֹר֙ אֶת־הָעָ֔ם כִּ֥י בָר֖וּךְ הֽוּא׃
You must not curse that people, for they are blessed.
Balak, presumably enraged, forces Balaam to go on this mission to curse the Israelites. He saddled his donkey–the famous donkey from Pirkei Avot–and went on his way. The donkey, first swerving out of the way of an angel blocking the path, then laying down in the middle of the road, is beaten by Balaam. She cries out, “What have I done to you that you have beaten me these three times?”
What is it about twilight that made for the right conditions for the mouth of this magical, God fearing donkey to come into existence? Twilight, in Hebrew, is beyn hashmashot, between the suns, the in between day and night time that embodies liminality.
When walking recently in the park at twilight, I saw something else–like the mouth of our talking donkey– that only emerges during this magical in between time of day-night: fireflies. In the tall grasses of the park and in the tunnels up by Grand Army, you can see them lighting up almost rhythmically by the dozens. Why only at twilight? Any earlier, and the mates they are trying to attract won't see them. Any later, and predators will see them. This magical in-between time allows for the safest conditions for them to shine their light.
One of the terms for our people is Hebrews, or Ivrim. Literally, this means the people who pass over, who wander, who move through. It is connected to the word Erev, evening, among many others. We are a twilight people. As Jewish people, we know liminality and wandering like the back of our hand, as well as the power and beauty of the in between, the magic that can only be birthed in the twilight. It is one of our primary and primal strengths as a people, so much so that it actually gives us a name. Like fireflies, liminality provides the right conditions for us to shine our light.
This week, as we enter a time in the calendar known as beyn hametzarim, between the narrows, may we remember our people’s comfort with navigating the in betweens. We learn that this time of contraction allows for the birth of Messianic times. In that vein, may the pressure of the narrowness be the right conditions to birth something unexpected, beautiful and real in our world. Perhaps something as small as a Dvar Torah or large as a speaking, God fearing donkey, but likely something in between.
And, in a time in our country and the world where people are getting more and more polarized, how might we use this ancient ancestral skill of ours to shine our light in the world, guiding others who are less versed in the in-between twilight times, helping them to not be afraid of the unknown, to face it one step at a time.
Shabbat Shalom.
