Parshat Balak

July 12, 2025

This is a drasha I delivered to my synagogue community.

The last time I led services was in May, and I have to be honest: it didn't start well.

First, I had a busy day at work and was late leaving the house. On the way to Shul I had to pick up my son and he didn't want to leave his afterschool and wasn't very happy to see me because he was too busy making a—in his words—perfect Father's Day present.

When we finally got on the tram, I noticed there was gum stuck to the front of my pants. It wouldn't come off without leaving a big white mark. Then someone I didn't know told me I was wearing the wrong shoes. I was hot, sweaty, flustered. Just having an all-around difficult time.

Right before the service, I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and said to myself:

'I will not hold Shabbat. Shabbat will hold me.'

That's when I exhaled. That's when I relaxed and remembered: everything is okay, Matti, because it's Shabbat. And if you mess up, you have your community to help you.

I had to change my perspective.

This week's Parsha is also about perspective. About what we choose to see, and how we choose to see it. Especially when things feel hard.

In Parshat Balak, we encounter a prophet, a king, and a donkey. And we're asked, again and again, to consider not just what we're looking at, but from where.

Balak, the king of Moab, sees the Israelites approaching and panics. From his vantage point, they look like a threat. A swarm. A force to be neutralized. So he hires Balaam, a prophet known for the power of his words, to curse them.

But as Balaam climbs the mountains to view the Israelite camp—not once, but three times—something changes. He opens his mouth to curse, but blessings emerge instead. What he sees shifts. The same people Balak feared, the same camp Balaam came to destroy, now appear in beauty and order.

And from Balaam's lips come the words we still recite today:

"Ma tovu ohalecha Yaakov…"

"How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel."

What changed? Not the Israelites. Balaam's perspective changed.

And this theme goes deeper.

On his way to curse Israel, Balaam is riding his donkey when she suddenly refuses to move forward. Unknown to Balaam, the donkey sees an angel blocking the path—an angel the prophet cannot see. He strikes her in frustration. And only then does his own vision open. He sees what she saw. The donkey, the humble, overlooked creature, had clearer spiritual vision than the man meant to deliver prophecy.

This parsha whispers a quiet truth:

Perspective is not always given to the powerful. Sometimes the clearest insight comes from those we overlook.

It's also a parsha about control. Balak believes he can manipulate reality through curses. Balaam thinks he can outmaneuver God. But both of them learn: there is a wider view, a deeper wisdom, and it cannot be coerced.

And maybe the most important message is this:

The world doesn't always change. Sometimes situations are ridiculously stubborn. But we can.

If we shift our angle, our understanding might open. What we thought was a threat might turn out to be a blessing. What we dismissed as insignificant—like a donkey—might carry truth. What we meant to curse might become a source of praise.

So we can ask ourselves:

Where am I stuck in one view?

What would happen if I changed my perspective?

Sometimes, like Balaam, we only find blessing when we learn to see differently.

This week, the writer Miranda July said something on her Substack that reminded me of this. She wrote:

"Everything you want to do, romance it. Don't go at it too hard—just be there for it, like a reliable lover."

If you're trying to get up off the couch to go to the kitchen, don't force it. Just say: I'm here for you, kitchen. I'm coming for you.

Same with doing the dishes. I'm here for you, plates and silverware.

She says this is the opposite of how she used to live. Her past approach—an approach I relate to—was just to robot through it.

It's all about perspective.

So this Shabbat, let's try shifting our angle. Let's try romanticizing, if we can, what we do. Let's choose to see differently. And let's remember:

If it's hard to hold Shabbat, let Shabbat hold you.

Shabbat Shalom.