Small Voices, Hukkat, & Balak

All week, I’ve been thinking about magic.

Especially because so much of it shows up in the Torah readings.

There’s the famous ritual of the red heifer, whose ashes magically cleanse the priest after coming in contact with the dead.

Immediately following is the magic of water coming from a rock after Moses strikes it with his staff—enough for thousands of people to drink.

There’s a winged snake that is sent by God as a punishment for all the Israelites’ complaining.

The serpent bites, and many die.

As an antidote, Moses is told to make a copper serpent and mount it on his staff.

When people who are bitten look at it, they recover. That’s magic, don’t you think?

In the Parsha called Balak, there is a talking donkey who sees an angel blocking his path and protests at being beaten by his master.

Balaam, the master, can not see the angel.

These characters are wrapped up in tales of curses and blessings.

Wouldn’t these be considered magic, too?

And who said Judaism doesn’t believe in magic?

Notice that I said “Judaism,” not Jews.

Jews used to believe in magic, for sure.

There are lots of incantations in ancient Jewish books, and plenty of evidence that Jews had incantation bowls made for them—not necessarily by Jewish magicians. (I heard a whole podcast about this which you can listen to here if you’re interested. It’s Episode 7 of Season 4.)

So, where am I going with all this?

We Jews take blessing very seriously.

We do a lot of it.

We believe that it means something to give someone a blessing.

Tradition tells us we are to make a hundred blessings a day. Or something.

Jews are enjoined to bless constantly.

We don’t only bless wine and bread.

We bless hand washing, and rainbows, and old friends.

We bless the moon and the stars, the sky and the lights in it, the morning and the evening.

We bless flowers and trees, our bodies and souls.

We bless beginnings and endings.

We bless the Mystery of Life for making it all happen.

In the same way, we think of speaking badly of someone as if it were the same as sending a curse out into the world.

Isn’t that magical?

Yet we’re often told, in a derisive manner, that “magical thinking” is something we shouldn’t engage in.

It’s like hoping for the impossible.

But what if the impossible were possible?

I could list a thousand things right now that I am hoping and wishing for. (I’m sure. you can, too.)

And others that I hope and wish will never happen.

What if magic happened all the time and we don’t recognize it as such?

I will be going to a conference of Jewish Renewal next week (don’t expect a blog from me!).

I’m hoping something magical happens there. (I’ll let you know when I come back!)

In the meantime, I’ve been doing some deep inner work as I figure out my path as a rabbi.

What am I being called to do?

What am I being called to see?

What is the small, still voice that I am to hear?

And what is it saying?

Can you hear it, too?

Shabbat Shalom.