Parshas Balak: Notes from a Talking Donkey
Each morning, just after we affirm our love for every fellow Jew, we begin Shachris with:
מה טובו אהליך יעקב, משכנותיך ישראל - “How goodly are your tents, Yaakov; your dwelling places, Yisrael.”
It’s not a verse from a tzaddik. It came from Bilaam, a man hired to curse us.
A man who saw everything wrong before he finally saw something right.
A man whose donkey had clearer vision than he did.
And yet, it was his words that stuck.
Not his curses. Not his ego. His moment of clarity.
Some people speak. Some people sing.
For now, I write.
Not because I always get it right.
But when I stay with it long enough, truth starts to come through.
Not the kind I expected. A kind that feels like it was always there, just waiting for me to get quiet enough to notice.
Writing is the only way I know how to pray.
It’s how I wrestle with what it means to grow up frum.
To carry faith and doubt in the same heart.
To make peace with a body that once learned holiness and hiding in the same breath.
To forgive, without pretending it didn’t hurt.
I used to picture Bilaam as a villain. Now I wonder how often I’ve been him.
Bilaam tried to be the prophet. But the donkey, she saw the angel.
That’s how it feels when I write. Like my mind is full of plans and noise… and something softer inside me just stops. Refuses to move. Until I look. And when I finally look, the words that rise up, they bless.
Not just others. Me too.
So I write. I want to see what’s really there. I want to carry something honest.
And deep down, I know how to notice.
And maybe we should all try to be the donkey sometimes.
The one who pauses. The one who refuses to keep walking toward danger just because that’s what she was told to do. The one who holds truth, even when no one’s ready to hear it.
Bilaam’s donkey saw what the prophet couldn’t.
The donkey of Moshiach will carry redemption on its back.
And somewhere in between, here we are. And somewhere in between, here I am.
Still trotting along. Honest. Humble. No saddle. Just the road, and the stubborn grace to keep walking with it. Because the donkey inside me still remembers. Not just to stop and notice. But to carry redemption. To bring the donkey of Moshiach.
Good Shabbos
Berke