Parashat Balak: What Does Bilam Teach Us About the Eternal Sanctity of the Communities of Israel?

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Parashat Balak
What Does Bilam Teach Us About the Eternal Sanctity of the Communities of Israel?

What is the Advantage of Jewish Communities in Israel over the Shtetl?

Having grown up in the Western world and been spoon-fed the importance of individual success – proving oneself better, smarter, and more accomplished than others – it took me time to internalize the Torah’s value of tzibbur, the sacred power of the Jewish community.  It was the vibrant Torah community of the Old City and Mount Tzion that drew me in. As a newly religious single woman, I began volunteering – babysitting, helping families prepare for Shabbat – and, in turn, was welcomed into their homes. Around one of those Shabbat tables, I met the love of my life – my future husband.

Among my students today, I recognize that the concept of prioritizing the needs of the community over personal preferences can feel foreign at first. That’s why we emphasize acts of chesed and participation in community events, not only in the Midrasha community, where we celebrate the holidays together, but also in the greater Bat Ayin community.

While Jewish communities existed in exile – in the shtetl and elsewhere – they were often formed out of external necessity, as the gentile society forced our ancestors into shtetls by not permitting Jews to mingle with their society.  In contrast, here in Eretz Yisrael, we have the opportunity to build intentional, enduring communities where every Jew can contribute their own unique color and voice. Bat Ayin itself, lovingly called ‘Chabakook,’ is a mosaic of Chabad, Breslov, and followers of Rav Kook – living together, rooted in the holiness of the Land.

In Which Way Did Bilam Attempt to Bring About the Downfall of Israel?

The story of Bilam, the gentile prophet hired to curse the Israelites, is one of the most mystifying and ironic episodes in the Torah. Although gifted with prophetic insight, Bilam chooses to use his power against the Jewish people and their future rectified communities in the Land of Israel. Again and again, he tried to curse, but from his mouth emerged only blessings. Standing on the mountain overlooking the Israelite camp, he was forced to proclaim:

ספר במדבר פרק כד פסוק ה מַה טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל:

“How goodly are your tents, O Ya’acov, your dwelling places, O Israel” (Bamidbar 24:5).

This verse, which opens the daily morning prayers, is an eternal testament to the spiritual beauty and destiny of the Jewish people – particularly in their connection to the Land of Israel.

The Talmud asks: What was it that Bilam saw that so inspired him? He saw that the entrances of their tents were not aligned with each other, ensuring that each family enjoyed a measure of privacy. And he said: If this is the case, these people are worthy of having the Divine Presence rest upon them (Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 60a).

Bilam saw from above more than physical encampments; he beheld a people with inner order, sanctity, and purpose. But despite this vision of holiness and Hashem’s evident protection, Bilam persisted in seeking their downfall. Why, even after witnessing Divine protection and inner holiness, did he still seek their downfall? The reason is that he understood that the root of Israel’s strength lay not just in their G-d, but in their potential to become a sanctified and unified nation in their Land. Preventing this actualization was his true aim.

How Did Bilam’s Curse Target Our Connection to the Land of Israel?

Bilam’s curses were not random expressions of hatred. According to Rabbeinu Bechaya (Bamidbar 24:5), when Bilam saw the tribes of Israel encamped in orderly formation, he was struck by the vision of their future settlement in the Land. It was specifically Israel’s rootedness in Eretz Yisrael that brought forth his blessing. What Bilam saw was not just a people encamped by tribe, but a vision of Israel’s spiritual destiny unfolding within the Land itself. His words, “מַה טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב – How goodly are your tents, O Ya’acov,” became an unwitting prophecy – a vision of Israel dwelling peacefully and righteously in their homeland. The arrangement of tents represented not chaos but sacred order – revealing a higher unity that could only be actualized in the Land. Though Bilam came to curse, he ended up revealing the beauty and holiness of the Jewish people living in Eretz Yisrael.

The Tzafnat Paneach offers a complementary insight: Bilam’s intent was far more destructive; he sought to fracture the inherent unity of Israel at its root. Bilam’s underlying goal in cursing Israel was perpetuating disunity to prevent the formation of a true tzibbur – a unified spiritual community – which can only fully exist in the Land of Israel. Outside the Land, the Jewish people remain fragmented – individuals or separate tribal groupings. This is hinted in the opening verse of Bilam’s prophecy:

ספר במדבר פרק כד פסוק ב וַיִּשָּׂא בִלְעָם אֶת עֵינָיו וַיַּרְא אֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל שֹׁכֵן לִשְׁבָטָיו וַתְּהִי עָלָיו רוּחַ אֱלֹהִים:

“Bilam raised his eyes and saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes, and the spirit of God rested upon him” (Bamidbar 24:2)

The deeper meaning of Bilam’s words, “according to their tribes,” was the division when in exile. Yet the Land of Israel creates the condition for deeper integration and collective sanctity. Even the batei knesset (synagogues) and batei midrash (study halls) are affected by the sanctity of Israel, as the Tzafnat Paneach notes. Therefore, Bilam’s curse could not touch them since they are the places where the sanctity of the Land – and the unity it enables – endures eternally.

Moreover, when Moshe gazed upon the Land, the air itself became sanctified through his vision – and this sanctified air continues to grant spiritual clarity and wisdom to this day. That sanctity stands untouched – the very atmosphere of Eretz Yisrael preserves blessings and enables ongoing closeness with Hashem.

How Can Parashat Balak Help Us Overcome Confusion, Disunity, and Fear?

The Land of Israel is not only a place but a spiritual catalyst. It unifies what is divided, elevates what is mundane, and sustains what is eternal. Through this lens, we begin to grasp the spiritual stakes of Bilam’s mission and the enduring power of Israel’s connection to the Land – a connection built through unity, sanctity, and the invisible yet potent emunah that draws Hashem’s presence into every breath of its sacred air.

Balak, the Moabite king, had witnessed what happened to the other nations that stood in Israel’s way. He understood that this was not a military problem but a spiritual one. The Jewish people, with their covenant and prophetic mission, were preparing to enter a land infused with holiness – a land that could not tolerate moral corruption.

The nations feared not only the people of Israel, but the spiritual light that would be released through their settlement in the Land. The Sitra Achra (the Other Side) cannot bear the illumination that emerges when the Jewish people are in their rightful place. The Land of Israel serves as a Divine amplifier: everything planted here – physically or spiritually – grows with intensified force. Holiness takes root quickly, and so does desecration. This dual potential is what frightened Bilam and Balak most.

Bilam came to divide and darken – but instead revealed light and unity, precisely because he stood before the power of Eretz Yisrael. In our times – as we face confusion, disunity, and fear – this parasha reminds us that the Land itself holds the potential to transform us. It invites us to become not scattered individuals, but a true holy people, united under Hashem’s vision, rooted in the sacred soil that sustains prophecy, wisdom, and enduring blessing.

Parashat Chukat: Why Didn’t Moshe Enter the Land – and What Does That Teach Us About Ourselves?

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Parashat Chukat
Why Didn’t Moshe Enter the Land – and What Does That Teach Us About Ourselves?

Why Does Living in the Land of Israel Require More Emunah than Any Other Land?

Israel is a Land that demands a very high level of emunah (faith) – especially during the trying yet spiritually significant times we are privileged to live through. When my husband and I first settled in the Land as full-time students at Diaspora Yeshiva, I attempted to make a budget to see how we might make ends meet. I placed all our potential income on one page. I would tutor one student, and my husband would try to see a patient now and then. Afterward, I listed our expenses – house rent, electricity, and basic food – on another page. The numbers simply didn’t match up. The gap was so immense that I gave up trying to budget. Crumpling the papers into the garbage, I decided we would just live on emunah. And that worked.People would ask, “So, how do you support yourselves?” And I would answer by pointing to Heaven and saying, “Hashem!” Most people didn’t really buy that, but we truly lived that way – and experienced Hashem’s immense, individual providence beyond nature. As I later learned, the Land of Israel is “The Land that Hashem seeks out constantly; the eyes of Hashem your G-d are upon it” (Devarim 11:12). This teaches us that in the Land of Israel, the Divine supervision (hashgachah) is not like in other lands. Rather, it is special and individual Divine supervision,  beyond the bounds of nature. Netivot Shalom describes our experience so eloquently: “Through emunah, a person cleaves to the inner Divine vitality that flows in the Land of Israel – and thus draws upon himself the miraculous hashgachah (Divine supervision) that governs the Land. But when a person lacks emunah – Heaven forbid – the land ‘spits him out,’ because the holiness and providence of the Land are only drawn down through the channel of emunah” (Netivot Shalom, Bamidbar, Shelach, pp. 76-7).

I truly believe that our experience of living on emunah – without anything close to a fixed income for seven full years when we first settled in the Land – laid the foundation for our spiritual resilience. It helped us maintain our emunah through the sirens and the challenging war situation in which we recently found ourselves.

How Could Moshe, the Greatest of Prophets, Falter in Emunah?

It is hard to imagine that Moshe – the greatest of all prophets – could be lacking in emunah. He fearlessly confronted Pharaoh, led the Israelites out of Egypt with miraculous signs and wonders, and followed Hashem’s command through the Cloud of Glory and Pillar of Fire in the snake-infested wilderness. This is the same Moshe in whose merit the heavenly sustenance descended from above to the people for forty years in the desert. How could he be faith-deficient?

Yet in Parashat Chukat, at Mei Merivah – the Waters of Strife – we encounter one of the most heart-wrenching moments in the Torah. After decades of tireless leadership and unwavering devotion, Moshe is told that he will not bring the people into the Promised Land. The reason? A lack of emunah:

ספר במדבר פרק כ פסוק יב וַיֹּאמֶר הַשֵׁם אֶל משֶׁה וְאֶל אַהֲרֹן יַעַן לֹא הֶאֱמַנְתֶּם בִּי לְהַקְדִּישֵׁנִי לְעֵינֵי בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לָכֵן לֹא תָבִיאוּ אֶת הַקָּהָל הַזֶּה אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נָתַתִּי לָהֶם:

“Because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them.” (Bamidbar 20:12).

Rashi explains that Moshe’s sin was striking the rock instead of speaking to it. Had he followed Hashem’s command precisely, the people would have witnessed a profound demonstration of emunah: “If a rock, which neither speaks nor hears nor requires sustenance, obeys the word of G-d – how much more so should we.” Rashi emphasizes that Moshe’s error lay in missing the opportunity to sanctify Hashem through speech. Hashem wanted the rock to respond to words – to highlight the power of Torah and emunah, rather than force.

Is there a Connection Between Moshe’s Striking the Rock and His Egyptian Upbringing?

Moshe’s striking of the rock symbolized a holdover from Egypt and the wilderness – a mode of leadership through coercion. But the Land of Israel operates on a different frequency: it is entered through sacred sound – like the walls of Jericho that tumbled through the sound of the shofar. On the threshold of entering the Holy Land, the mode of service must evolve into a place of voice and presence.

According to Ramban, Moshe and Aharon’s error lay in their words: “Shall we draw water for you from this rock?” (Bamidbar 20:10). Their phrasing implied that they, rather than Hashem, were the source of the miracle (Ramban, Bamidbar 20:8).

Water is the ultimate symbol of our dependence on Hashem and the necessity of emunah. As Rashi comments on Bereishit 2:5, Hashem did not cause vegetation to grow until Adam was created to recognize the need for rain and to pray for it. Only then did the earth yield its produce. Rain cannot be manufactured – it must be drawn down through prayer and trust in Hashem.

Through prayer and emunah in Hashem, the sustaining waters will rise by themselves as they did for Avraham, our Father, and Rivkah, our Mother, without physical effort on their behalf. Could it be that this lesson, so intrinsic to our relationship with Hashem, may not have fully integrated into Moshe’s leadership approach, since he had grown up in Pharaoh’s palace, where the Nile was falsely worshipped as the source of life?

Why Did Moshe Have to Suffer Such a Painful Consequence for a Subtle Mistake?

Moshe struck the rock rather than speaking to it, as Hashem had commanded. The water flowed nonetheless, quenching the people’s thirst – but the act cost Moshe the very goal he had yearned for over forty years. For this one deviation, he would see the Land only from afar.

This punishment seems disproportionately harsh. Had Moshe not suffered enough through the people’s constant complaints, their rebellions, and their repeated lapses in faith? Why would such a seemingly minor misstep deny him the privilege of entering the Land?

Moshe’s action at Mei Merivah reflected more than a missed opportunity. It marked a shift in spiritual orientation, necessary at the verge of entering the Holy Land. In Eretz Yisrael, speech is the tool of transformation. It is the land of prophecy, of prayer, of spiritual dialogue.

Thus, Moshe’s hitting the rock expressed a deeper spiritual tension – not simply a failure, but a mismatch between the kind of leadership needed in the wilderness and that required for the Land of Israel. In the desert, Divine miracles were often drawn down through force – as in striking the rock at Chorev early in the journey (Shemot 17:6), or in raising the staff to split the sea. That generation required external signs and dramatic transformation of nature to foster faith.

But Eretz Yisrael is different. It is a land where holiness is revealed not by forcefully overriding nature but by attuning to its inherent holiness through prayer. Its spiritual energy flows through emunah and song, not power or intervention. The Land demands a leadership that is attuned to subtle sanctity – drawing blessing through prayer, presence, and harmony with Divine will.

The next phase of the journey required a new kind of avodah – and a new kind of leader. In this light, Moshe’s action was not merely a personal failing but a Divine sign that a new mode of quieter, and deeper holiness was now to be revealed through Yehoshua’s leadership – the kind necessary for the next stage of the journey.

How Can We Rectify Our Own Mei Merivah Through Emunah?

In a deeper sense, each generation – and each of us individually – stands at our own Mei Merivah. We are all striving to enter the inner sanctity of the Land, whether physically or spiritually. And we, too, are tested: do we trust enough to speak gently, to sanctify Hashem in public through faith, or do we resort to control, impatience, or despair?

Moshe’s story is not only a tragedy; it is a mirror. It calls us to examine how we approach our own spiritual inheritance. Are we sufficiently aligned with Hashem’s will to merit the depth of connection the Land offers?

Even now, as we face the challenges of war, national pain, and uncertainty, we are invited to respond not with despair or anger, but with renewed faith. The Land is still calling us – not to strike, but to speak: to pray, to bless, to affirm our emunah out loud.

Moshe didn’t enter the Land, but he brought us to its border. It is up to us to cross it by transforming our inner from force or faith, from reaction to sacred response.