This week Jews the world over are reading one of the strangest portions of the Torah.
From the Book of Numbers, it is known as Balak, although the principal character has the name of Balaam.
Embedded in this odd and winding tale -- of a man on his talking donkey and an angel bearing a sword -- comes one of the most arresting prayers in the Jewish liturgy. Balaam was sent by King Balak to curse the Israelites. Instead, he is struck upon gazing down at their tents, and utters the following words from Numbers Chapter 24: verses 5-7:
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 Lord,
Like cedars beside the water;
Their boughs drip with moisture,
Their roots have abundant water.
The first two lines of that utterance are used as the first prayer Jews sing when we gather in the morning. Beautiful melodies have been fit to the Hebrew, including a round in a minor mode and a soaring and sweet melody.
What did Balaam see when he gazed down upon the tents?
“He saw each tribe dwelling by itself, not intermingling [with other tribes], and he saw that the openings of their tents did not face each other, so that they should not peer into each other’s tents” This quotation comes from an ancient book of Midrash, or stories that fill the gaps in biblical stories.
In other words, he saw evidence of the dignity afforded by privacy. In today’s era of electronic spying and intrusions, that concept could be fodder for another piece.
The early biblical commentator Rashi wrote, “It entered his mind not to curse them.”
The importance of this turning point is stressed in this Shabbat's Haftarah, or reading from the Book of Prophets, which makes direct reference to it:
“Remember what Balak king of Moab planned, and how Balaam son of Be’or answered him,” reads Micah Chapter 6: verse 5.
Is there a modern equivalent to Balaam's experience, who blesses when he intends to curse?
I have known a group of people for more than 20 years. When I first got to know this group, I tended to judge some of them.
In an unpredictable trajectory, the longer I’ve known the group, the better I’ve liked each individual. To use the language of this Torah portion, those whom I once thought deserving of curse, I now bless – or at least appreciate.
I’ve found that the turning point often entails humor or kindness. And that moment is often accompanied by a sinking feeling of regret as I remember some unforgiving statements I’ve made.
This brings me to the futility of lashon harah (literally “the evil tongue” or back stabbing) – and how damaging it can be. Like judges who quiz potential jurors about whether they’ve expressed an opinion about a case, I’ve found that saying something mean-spirited tends to solidify my opinion.
One day, perhaps I’ll be as lucky as Balaam – to have the words of G-d flow from my lips unbidden – and to have them be a blessing of appreciation rather than a curse.
Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, that collection of pithy quotations in its own book of the Talmud, sounds this theme many times:
Joshua ben Perabyah says, “When you assess people, tip the balance in their favor."
“Ben Zoma taught. ... Who is honored? One who honors his fellows."
Still another, “Ben Azzai taught: Do not disdain any person.”
Was Balaam changed by having his curses changed to blessings? I can’t know.
I can only wonder how differently I will think and behave if I look for ways of giving others (and myself) the benefit of the doubt.
Jane Kaufman writes editorials for The Republican and MassLive.com. She contributed to and edited the book, "Our Stories: The Jews of Western Massachusetts." It is available in local bookstores.