Great Story (Maybe Not True?): Balak

I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, and I learned of Alex Elle, whose friend told her a few years ago that she should start sharing her story on Instagram—that it was a story people needed to hear and it could have a great impact.

Elle believed there was no way anyone would want to hear her story. But her friend said, even if it made a difference to one person, it would matter.

Elle went ahead and did it. Now she has over a million followers! (Great story and true.)

For eight years, I believed that I was meant to end up as a rabbi at the synagogue where I interned a couple of years ago. I had this whole fantasy around it, that I would become a rabbi, and one day be up there at the pulpit in my favorite place—because I belonged there. It was a secret I kept from most people because I was embarrassed; who was I to think that I could end up in such a position at such a renowned synagogue?

I also believed that if I didn’t end up being a rabbi there, it meant that somehow I was flawed, not worthy, lacking.

Great stories. Both not true; the door kept slamming in my face to prove it.

The figurative door slamming in my face was something like being Bilam in the Torah this week, sitting on a she-ass, with his leg being slammed and crushed against the wall.

You see, Bilam can’t see the angel, sent by God, standing with a sword in outstretched arm blocking the way. The angel, or “satan" (pronounced “sah-tahn”—yes, the very word Christianity appropriated and whose meaning it changed) is an adversary, there to redirect Bilam from where he thinks he needs to be going.

This angel, or adversary, has been sent to stop Bilam from going to meet Balak, who wants him to curse the Israelites for him.

Balak believes that the Israelites are too many, too strong, so numerous they are like cows who will lick all the grass in the fields clean, leaving nothing for his own people (love the imagery, right?), so numerous you can not see the earth beneath their feet.

Great story. Not true. (It reminds me of male white supremacists that believe they’re being ignored and losing their power because women, people of color, and Jews, of course—Jews are always part of the story—are taking over—okay, maybe not such a great story).

Bilam can’t see the angel blocking the way, but the donkey can! That’s why the donkey careens, pushes against the wall to avoid this scary-looking angel, and collapses under Bilam like a child who goes limp to get its parent to stop.

Bilam, in his frustration, starts beating the animal, whom God finally gives speech to. The animal talks to Bilam and says, “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you? Haven’t I always obeyed your commands? Haven’t I been a good ass?” (Basically, “Maybe you’re being the ass here.”)

Great story. True? And is Bilam being an ass?

Well, God reveals the angel/messenger/adversary, and Bilam has to admit that he is indeed being an ass.

The way the story goes from here is that Bilam can only speak God’s truth now, and will not curse the Jewish people because God literally won’t let the words come out of his mouth. Balak becomes more and more incensed; though offering great compensation in exchange for the curses, and setting up sacrifices on three occasions, his plan is frustrated.

That means that both Balak and Bilam don’t see what they need to see. They both act in ways that show how asinine they are; they are both being blocked in what they believe to be true and right, and they act shamefully.

Even God acts shamefully. First, he tells Bilam he may go meet Balak to talk about Balak’s request, though God’s word would hold true, and then God flies into a rage when Bilam actually gets on a donkey to go. This is when God throws the angel, the “Satan,” in front of Bilam.

Remember what I said last week about humans being made in the image of God? Does our rage reflect the The Better Angels of our Nature, or another part of humanity we’re not so proud of?

Are there adversaries standing in our way, trying so hard to get our attention so we can see and change course?

How do we recognize them? How many times do we have to have a door slam in our face? How many times do we need to beat our poor, innocent donkey (or a dead horse)? How painful does our leg have to get, smooshed against a wall, before we decide it’s time to listen to our bodies? At what point do we stop to think, maybe this thing/animal/being is God trying to communicate something and I’m not listening or I’m unable to see?

A friend of mine told a great and true story this week at the morning chanting/prayer service I lead on Mondays (you can come if you want—it’s on Zoom): yesterday, she was swimming in a lake. She turned over and was floating on her back. She didn’t realize she had left her glasses on top of her head, and they fell off, of course. They looked for hours, unable to retrieve the glasses. So she’s wearing cheap pharmacy glasses for the moment.

My friend was thinking about what happened. She had decided there must be a message in it for her, and our discussion on Balak and Bilam helped her find it; perhaps she needs to see things differently.

It took me a long time to realize that the door slamming in my face was a good thing: an angel/adversary—my own personal “satan” with a drawn sword, showing two edges: a blessing on one side; a curse on the other. But I couldn’t see it. I’m grateful now for the doors slamming in my face.

May we see the adversaries placed before us as blessings rather than curses. May the Better Angels of Our Nature win out for the sake of blessings rather than curses—and may they multiply from one to millions.