Dear TBZ Community,
This week we read two Torah portions, Chukat and Balak, as we continue to accompany the Israelites on their long journey through the wilderness, making their way toward the Promised Land.
In Parshat Chukat we encounter one of the most difficult moments in Moses’ life: the story of Moses hitting the rock with his staff. The people are desperate for water. God instructs Moses to speak to the rock so that water will flow, but Moses, overwhelmed by frustration and grief, strikes the rock instead. Water does come out, but this moment becomes the reason Moses is told that he will not enter the Land of Israel with the people he has guided for forty years.
In Parshat Balak we encounter another unusual story: the prophet Bilaam (sometimes known as Balaam), hired by King Balak of Moab to curse the Israelites, discovers that the words coming out of his mouth are not curses at all, but blessings.
I want to read these two stories together this week because, in many ways, they are stories about fear, anger, and the possibility of transformation.
The Hitting of the Rock
Before the story of the rock, the Torah tells us about the death of Miriam, Moses’ older sister and a prophet in her own right. Immediately afterward, the Israelites find themselves without water and begin to complain.
The Torah describes the people saying:
וְלָמָה הֶעֱלִיתֻנוּ מִמִּצְרַיִם לְהָבִיא אֹתָנוּ אֶל־הַמָּקוֹם הָרָע הַזֶּה לֹא מְקוֹם זֶרַע וּתְאֵנָה וְגֶפֶן וְרִמּוֹן וּמַיִם אַיִן לִשְׁתּוֹת
“Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place, a place with no grain or figs or vines or pomegranates? There is not even water to drink! (Numbers 20:5)!”
The Rabbis noticed the connection between these two events. They taught that Miriam’s presence was connected to water, and that during the Israelites’ journey through the wilderness they were sustained by Miriam’s well. When Miriam died, the well disappeared, and the people were left thirsty and afraid.
מֵתָה מִרְיָם — נִסְתַּלֵּק הַבְּאֵר, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַתָּמָת שָׁם מִרְיָם, וּכְתִיב בָּתְרֵיהּ: וְלֹא הָיָה מַיִם לָעֵדָה
When Miriam died the well disappeared, as it is stated: “And Miriam died there” (Numbers 20:1), and it says thereafter: “And there was no water for the congregation” (Numbers 20:2) (Babylonian Talmud, Ta’anit 9a).
Perhaps the complaint about water is not only about physical thirst, but about loss. The people have lost someone who had carried them, who had watched over them, who had been with them from the very beginning.
And most importantly, Moses has lost his sister.
God then speaks to Moses:
קַח אֶת־הַמַּטֶּה וְהַקְהֵל אֶת־הָעֵדָה אַתָּה וְאַהֲרֹן אָחִיךָ וְדִבַּרְתֶּם אֶל־הַסֶּלַע לְעֵינֵיהֶם וְנָתַן מֵימָיו וְהוֹצֵאתָ לָהֶם מַיִם מִן־הַסֶּלַע וְהִשְׁקִיתָ אֶת־הָעֵדָה וְאֶת־בְּעִירָם
“You and your brother Aaron take the rod and assemble the community, and before their very eyes order the rock to yield its water… and provide drink for the congregation and their livestock. (Numbers 20:8)”
But instead of speaking to the rock, Moses strikes it. He says to the people:
שִׁמְעוּ־נָא הַמֹּרִים הֲמִן־הַסֶּלַע הַזֶּה נוֹצִיא לָכֶם מָיִם
“Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock? (Numbers 20:10)”
Water flows. The people drink. The immediate crisis is resolved. And yet this moment becomes the reason Moses is told that he will not enter the Land of Israel with the people he has led for forty years.
Our tradition has always struggled with this moment. How could Moses – Moshe Rabbeinu (“Moses our Teacher”), our greatest teacher, leader, and prophet – not be allowed to enter the Land after everything he has done? After carrying the burdens of his people through slavery, liberation, and forty years in the wilderness, did he not deserve to see the destination of the journey?
It feels harsh and painful. But perhaps when we remember what happened just before, we can see Moses with more compassion.
Miriam has just died. Miriam, who stood at the riverbank and made sure Moses would be brought back to his mother. Miriam, who later stood with the women of Israel at the sea and led them in song. Miriam, who was not only Moses’ sister, but his partner in the redemption of the people.
Moses loses his sister, and the people lose their source of water.
The Israelites are thirsty because Miriam is gone. And perhaps Moses’ patience, his ability to hold the people’s pain, is also diminished because Miriam is gone.
Moses loses his temper, but underneath the anger is grief.
The Torah does not excuse Moses’ response. But perhaps it invites us to understand him. It reminds us that even our greatest leaders are human. Even those who carry others through difficult journeys have moments when their own pain overwhelms them.
Bilaam’s Donkey
Balak, the king of Moab, sees the Israelites approaching and feels threatened. He has heard about their miracles, their power, and their journey through the wilderness. The Torah tells us that Balak says:
עַתָּה יְלַחֲכוּ הַקָּהָל אֶת־כׇּל־סְבִיבֹתֵינוּ כִּלְחֹךְ הַשּׁוֹר אֵת יֶרֶק הַשָּׂדֶה
“Now this horde will lick clean all that is around us, as an ox licks up the grass of the field. (Numbers 22:4)”
Instead of seeking understanding or relationship, Balak chooses fear. He decides to fight what he does not know by attempting to curse it. He hires Bilaam, a powerful prophet, to curse the Israelites.
The story includes the famous, strange, and in some ways even humorous moment of Bilaam and his talking donkey, who sees what Bilaam cannot see and warns him. As Bilaam finally arrives and sees the Israelites camped below, he is ready to curse them.
But instead, blessings emerge. Standing above the Israelite camp, Bilaam says:
מַה־טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל
Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov, mishkenotecha Yisrael.
How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel (Numbers 24:5)!
Even after Balak moves him from place to place, asking him to see the Israelites from another angle and try again, Bilaam cannot produce the curse Balak desires.
Something changes.
What was meant to become destruction becomes blessing. God transforms Bilaam’s words.
Both of these stories are about fear and how fear shapes our responses.
Moses is grieving, overwhelmed, and afraid. The people are thirsty and anxious. He responds from that place of pain and frustration and strikes the rock.
Balak is afraid of the Israelites. He responds from that fear by seeking to destroy what he does not understand.
Fear can become anger. Anger can become hatred. And hatred can become violence – physical or verbal.
As Yoda famously says in Star Wars, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”
Perhaps this is why these stories feel so relevant today.
We live in a time when so much of our public conversation is shaped by anger. When disagreement quickly becomes judgment. When we assume we already know the intentions and motivations of those who see the world differently from us.
We see it in politics. We see it online. We see it in the ways people speak to one another, often with certainty and arrogance rather than curiosity and humility.
Perhaps in this moment we are all a little bit like Moses and the people of Israel. We are thirsty. We are tired. We are carrying grief and uncertainty. We are afraid of what comes next.
And perhaps we are also like Balak, wanting to confront what frightens us, sometimes without having the tools to truly encounter it.
When fear overwhelms us, we too can find ourselves striking the rock, raising our voices, or cursing what we do not understand.
But Parshat Balak offers us another possibility.
Bilaam came intending to curse, but blessings came from his mouth. What was meant to become destruction became blessing. God transformed Bilaam’s words.
Can we transform ours? Can we transform our reactions?
Not because our fears are imaginary. Not because our concerns are not real. Not because the world does not contain genuine pain and danger. But because fear does not have to have the final word.
Can we show our children another way? Can we teach them to respond with curiosity rather than anger, with openness rather than attack? Can we allow our fear and our vulnerability to create an opening for compassion rather than a wall of certainty?
Can we become people who, even in moments of fear, remain open to the possibility that blessing is waiting to emerge?
May we learn from Moses’ vulnerability, from Bilaam’s transformation, and from the possibility that even words intended as curses can become blessings. May we find ways to speak to the rocks instead of striking them.
May we choose words that create community.
May we transform fear into compassion, anger into understanding, and disagreement into the possibility of blessing.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia
P.S: As Summer has begun, I am going to take a break from writing weekly messages for Shabbat N’kabla. Shabbat N’kabla Torah messages will resume on July 30th, Parshat Ekev. May you have a wonderful summer.