The commandment to destroy Median was not one of revenge. It was to mete out justice for the evil that Median had meant to commit against the Torah and the Jewish people. That is why it was so harsh.

Now for a Quick Devar Torah.

One of the most difficult and controversial sections of this week’s parashah is the war against Midian. At first glance, it is deeply troubling. The Torah commands a harsh campaign against the Midianites, and after the battle Moses even rebukes the officers because the Midianite women had been spared. Modern readers naturally ask: How can this be the Torah? What is going on here?

To understand this passage, we first have to recognize that the Torah does not present this as a war of revenge. It is a war of justice.

A question immediately arises: if the sin at Baal Peor involved both Moab and Midian, why was Midian singled out?

The Sages point out an important distinction. Israel was about to pass through Moabite territory. The Moabites therefore had reason to fear the approaching Israelites, even if their response was wrong. Midian, however, had no such justification. The Israelites were not planning to enter Midianite territory. Midian chose to participate willingly in a campaign to corrupt and destroy Israel spiritually.

This also explains Moses’ anger after the battle. The Midianite women were not innocent bystanders. They had been active participants in the plot that led Israel into idolatry and immorality. Kozbi herself was a Midianite princess who willingly took part in that effort. The issue was not simply military victory—it was bringing justice to those who had deliberately sought Israel’s spiritual destruction.

History offers parallels. When the Magyar raiders swept into Europe during the ninth and tenth centuries, they lived by pillaging, looting, and terrorizing their neighbors. Their way of life came to an abrupt end after their crushing defeat at the Battle of Lechfeld in 955. Their military power was broken, and they abandoned a life of conquest to establish the settled Kingdom of Hungary. Sometimes history teaches that there are actions which simply cannot be tolerated indefinitely.

The Torah is teaching a similar lesson. Some forms of evil are so destructive that society must draw a firm line and say, “No further.”

But the parashah is also teaching the Jewish people something about themselves.

The greatest danger is not only the enemy on the outside. It is moral weakness on the inside. If a nation loses confidence in its purpose, if it begins to question whether its mission is worth defending, it becomes vulnerable to those who seek its destruction.

History repeatedly illustrates this principle. Before Germany invaded France in 1940, France possessed one of the largest and best-equipped armies in Europe. Yet military strength alone was not enough. A nation that loses confidence in itself becomes far easier to defeat than one that remains united around its purpose.

The same is true spiritually.

The Jewish people have a mission from God. We may disagree about politics, policies, or countless details of Jewish life, but we cannot lose sight of the fact that there is a mission. That shared purpose is what binds us together.

That was the real danger posed by Midian. Their goal was not merely to defeat Israel physically, but to undermine Israel’s moral and spiritual identity from within. Once a people loses its sense of purpose, everything else becomes vulnerable.

That is why the Torah presents the judgment against Midian with such severity. It is not celebrating violence. It is emphasizing the seriousness of a deliberate attempt to destroy a nation’s soul.

Something to think about.

The Torah places a lot of importance on keeping your word. The reason is that society is based on our word. We have to trust one another in business, in law, in all forms of dealings with each other. Without this society would break down.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah begins with what seems like a very mundane legal topic: vows. How do you make a vow, and if necessary, how can it be released? At first glance, it doesn’t seem very inspiring. After all, a vow is only words. It’s not something you can touch or hold.

But the Torah doesn’t see it that way.

The Torah teaches that words matter. Your word has to mean something. If people cannot rely on what others say, society itself begins to break down.

The economist Friedrich Hayek, although he described himself as an agnostic, made an interesting observation. He argued that a free economy works best when it is supported by a religious or moral culture. Why? Because every business transaction ultimately depends on trust. When two people make an agreement, each must believe that the other intends to keep it. Without trust, commerce—and society—cannot function.

That is exactly what the Torah is teaching. Your word should be your bond.

Yesterday we celebrated the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The closing paragraph contains a remarkable pledge. The signers committed to one another “our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

They knew exactly what they were doing. By signing that document, they were committing treason against Britain. As Benjamin Franklin famously said, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Many of the signers paid a terrible price. Their homes were destroyed. Their property was confiscated. Some were hunted by the British. One signer had two sons captured and brutally mistreated. He was offered a terrible bargain: renounce your signature on the Declaration, and your sons would be released. He refused because he had given his word. His sons later said they never blamed him. They understood that a man’s honor and his word were worth preserving, even at great personal cost.

That is why Jews are often careful to add the words bli neder—”without making a vow”—when we say we intend to do something. I might say, “I’ll visit Martin later today, bli neder,” because unforeseen circumstances may prevent me from going. We don’t want an ordinary intention to become a binding vow.

But bli neder is not an excuse to be careless with our promises. Quite the opposite. The Torah teaches that when we give our word, we should do everything in our power to keep it.

There are still places today, such as New York’s Diamond District, where business deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars are sometimes sealed with nothing more than a handshake. Why? Because people trust one another. Their word is enough.

The Torah understood thousands of years ago what every healthy society depends upon: when our word can be trusted, communities flourish. When words lose their value, society itself begins to unravel.

Something to think about.

When we look at the foundation of the USA we cannot help but see the Biblical influences. Also, we Jews are grateful that the USA was the first country that would treat Jews as equal citizens.

A Quick Devar Torah: Freedom, Responsibility, and July 4th

This week’s parashah reviews the Jewish festivals. We begin with Passover, continue through Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and conclude with Shemini Atzeret. If you look carefully, there is a progression.

Passover is the festival of freedom. God took us out of Egypt and ended our slavery. But the Torah makes it clear that freedom was never meant to be an end in itself. We were not freed simply so that we could do whatever we wanted.

The next stop is Shavuot, when we stood at Mount Sinai and received the Torah. Freedom without law eventually becomes chaos. The Torah teaches that true freedom means living according to a moral code and accepting responsibility.

That leads naturally to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. A free people must also be a responsible people. Every year we stop and take an accounting of our lives. How have we used the freedom God has given us? Have we lived according to His standards? We are judged not only on what we believe but on how we have acted.

Then comes Sukkot. We remember our years in the wilderness while celebrating God’s protection and the blessings He has given us. Having gained freedom and accepted the Torah, we rejoice in the privilege of living as God’s people.

This year, that message has special meaning because tomorrow is July 4th.

One of the remarkable things about the American Revolution is that independence was followed by constitutional government. The American Founders understood that liberty must be joined with law. Unlike revolutions that descended into violence and instability, the American experiment sought to build lasting institutions governed by a written Constitution.

As someone once observed, with the Declaration of Independence Americans ceased being subjects of a king and became citizens of a republic. A subject obeys because the king commands. A citizen has responsibilities as well as rights. Citizenship demands moral character and personal accountability.

Many historians have noted that the Founding generation drew not only on Greek and Roman political thought but also on the Hebrew Bible. Deuteronomy, with its teachings on limited government, justice, leadership, and the rule of law, was among the biblical books that profoundly influenced the political thinking of many early Americans.

There is another reason American Jews have always had cause for gratitude. In Touro Synagogue, George Washington assured the Jewish community that the United States would give “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.” Jews were not merely tolerated; they were to enjoy the same rights and responsibilities as every other citizen. That was a remarkable statement in its time and helped set the tone for religious liberty in the United States.

As we celebrate both the festivals described in this week’s parashah and America’s Independence Day, we are reminded that freedom is never simply the absence of oppression. Freedom reaches its highest purpose when it is joined with responsibility, guided by moral law, and used to build a just and compassionate society.

Shabbat Shalom, and happy Independence Day.

The 17th of Tamuz is the beginning of the three weeks that we mourn the loss of the Temples in Jerusalem. The rabbis point out that both the first and second Temples were destroyed because people did not treat each other with respect.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

Today is the Seventeenth of Tammuz, the beginning of the Three Weeks, the period of mourning that culminates with Tisha B’Av and the destruction of the Temple.

One of the important things to remember is that, according to the rabbis, the Temple was not destroyed because the Jewish people failed in their religious observance. The service in the Temple was carried out properly. The priests performed their duties, the sacrifices were offered, and the rituals were observed with great care.

The problem was not inside the Temple—it was outside the Temple. It was the society that surrounded it.

The Torah teaches that being religious is much more than saying the right prayers in synagogue, wearing tefillin correctly, or observing every ritual meticulously. Those things matter, but they are only part of what God expects. We are also expected to build a just and compassionate society. We are commanded to care for the poor, help those in need, and, above all, treat one another with dignity and respect.

The rabbis tell us that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam—baseless hatred. The classic illustration is the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.

A wealthy man planned a great banquet. He intended to invite his friend Kamtza, but because of a servant’s mistake, the invitation went to Bar Kamtza, a man the host deeply disliked. Thinking this was an attempt at reconciliation, Bar Kamtza happily attended.

When the host saw him, he demanded that he leave immediately.

Bar Kamtza pleaded, “Please don’t embarrass me. Let me stay and I’ll pay for half the banquet.”

The answer was no.

“I’ll pay for the entire banquet.”

Still no.

He was publicly humiliated and thrown out.

What hurt him even more was that many of the leading rabbis and respected members of the community were present. They witnessed the humiliation, yet no one stood up to stop it.

Bar Kamtza left angry and eventually informed the Romans how they could provoke a rebellion that led to the destruction of Jerusalem.

The rabbis’ point is striking. The Temple was not destroyed because the priests failed in their service. It was destroyed because people stood silently while another Jew was publicly humiliated.

That doesn’t mean wrongdoing should never be confronted. Evil must be opposed, and justice must be upheld. But there is a world of difference between standing against wrongdoing and humiliating another person over trivial matters—how they dress, whether they pronounce every word correctly, or whether they need help financially.

A holy society is measured not only by how it worships God, but by how it treats God’s children.

As we begin the Three Weeks, perhaps that’s the message we should carry with us. If we want to remember why the Temple was lost, we should remember that holiness is not confined to the synagogue or the Temple. It is found in the way we treat one another every single day.

One of the major lessons of this week’s Torah Portion is that leaders come and go but it is through our ritual that we remain true to our mission.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah is something of a guidepost. To understand it, we have to remember where we are in the Book of Bamidbar. Moses is preparing the Jewish people for the greatest transition in their history. They are moving from life in the wilderness, where God provided their every need, to life in the Land of Israel, where they will have to farm, build communities, establish courts, defend themselves, and earn a living. The obvious miracles are about to end. God will still be with them, but His presence will be seen more through everyday life than through open miracles.

In a sense, they’re about to enter the “real world.”

That explains why this parashah contains such a wide variety of topics.

It begins with Pinchas receiving God’s covenant of peace. It continues with Moses being told to appoint his successor. Moses’ own sons are passed over because leadership is not inherited automatically. Joshua has earned the position through years of faithful service, study, and dedication. The Torah reminds us that true leadership is based on merit and commitment, not family connections.

Then comes the case of the daughters of Zelophehad. They present a situation no one had faced before. Moses doesn’t pretend to know the answer. Instead, he turns to God for guidance. That’s another lesson in leadership: a good leader must be willing to confront new challenges with humility and seek the right answer rather than simply giving an opinion.

But right in the middle of all this, the Torah suddenly lists the daily offerings, the Shabbat offerings, and then the offerings for Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. At first glance, it seems out of place.

It isn’t.

The Torah is teaching that while leaders come and go, the mission continues. Moses will leave. Aaron has already died, and Eleazar has become the High Priest. Joshua will replace Moses. Generations will change, but the service of God remains constant. The rhythm of Jewish life—the daily offerings, Shabbat, and the festivals—will continue long after any individual leader is gone.

Traditions are what hold a nation together. Anyone who has children knows that they may not yet understand all the theology of Rosh Hashanah or Pesach, but they remember the traditions. Those experiences become the foundation of Jewish identity.

And one final point. God doesn’t need our sacrifices. News flash: God doesn’t eat. The offerings were never for His benefit; they were for ours. They trained us in gratitude, discipline, commitment, and holiness. Everything God commands us is ultimately meant to make us into better people.

That’s the message of this section of the parashah. Leaders change. Circumstances change. We move from the wilderness into the real world. But God’s mission, God’s values, and the covenant endure. Our responsibility is to carry them forward from one generation to the next.

Something to think about.

The daughters of Zelophahad knew that there was problem, but instead of yelling and causing a ruckus, they approached Moses with respect. That way they could speak with him and achieve their goal.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

One of the most remarkable episodes in this week’s parashah is the story of the daughters of Zelophehad. Their father died leaving five daughters but no sons. According to the laws of inheritance as they then stood, land passed to sons. Normally this was not a problem, because daughters would marry and become part of another household. But here there were no sons, and the family faced losing its inheritance just as the Jewish people were preparing to enter the Land of Israel.

This comes at a pivotal moment in Jewish history. The forty years in the wilderness are ending. The greatest yeshivah in history is coming to a close. Moshe Rabbeinu is the Rosh Yeshivah, with Aharon and Miriam leading the people. But now the nation is transitioning from a life sustained by miracles to one of farms, homes, and property in the Land of Israel. Questions of ownership and inheritance suddenly become very real.

The daughters of Zelophehad understood this. They believed there was an injustice, but notice how they handled it. They did not organize a rebellion. They did not shout or accuse Moshe of unfairness. They approached him respectfully and presented their case. They were prepared to accept his decision.

Moshe himself did not know the answer. Rather than guessing, he brought the question before God. God’s response was extraordinary: “The daughters of Zelophehad speak correctly.” Their claim was just, and the Torah’s laws were expanded because of them. Later, an additional requirement was added that they marry within their tribe so that the tribal inheritance would remain intact. The Torah addressed the practical realities while preserving the integrity of the system.

There is a powerful lesson here. There are different ways to approach a problem. One way is to shout, yell, and demand. That usually produces the opposite of what you want. The other way is to respectfully present your case to those responsible for making the decision.

We see a similar lesson in the Book of Esther. Esther understood that storming into the Persian king’s presence with accusations would accomplish nothing—in fact, it could cost her life. She knew how the royal court worked, and she approached the king wisely and respectfully. Through her courage and understanding, God brought about the salvation of the Jewish people.

The daughters of Zelophehad did the same. They sought justice, but they pursued it with dignity and respect. Their example teaches us that respect is not weakness. Sometimes it is the most effective way to bring about lasting change.

The rabbis teach us to show respect to our teachers and leaders. Respect does not mean we never ask difficult questions. It means we ask them the right way. The daughters of Zelophehad proved that you can question, you can seek justice, and you can even change the law—but you do it with humility, dignity, and respect.

And one final thought: God always hears our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no. But we should always approach Him—and one another—with the same respect shown by the daughters of Zelophehad.

Something to think about.

God commands Moses that he choose Joshua as the next leader. Moses never brings up the fact that he has two sons. Moses knows that, while his sons were good men, they were not leadership material. Joshua was.

Now for a brief devarTorah.

One of the most important events in this week’s parashah is that Joshua is chosen to become the next leader of the Jewish people. God tells Moses that he will not enter the Land of Israel and that it is time to appoint a successor.

One thing stands out immediately. Moses never suggests his own sons. He had two sons, Gershom and Eliezer, yet he does not argue that leadership should stay within his family. I’m sure they were fine and righteous men, but after they’re introduced in the Torah, we hear very little about them.

Joshua, on the other hand, had spent decades preparing for leadership. He was Moses’ closest disciple. He accompanied him throughout the wilderness, remained faithful after the sin of the spies, and devoted himself to learning not only the Torah but also what it meant to lead a nation. Leadership was something he had earned through dedication and service.

Moses accepts God’s decision without complaint. That teaches one of the Torah’s great lessons about leadership. No leader remains forever. A true leader doesn’t simply think about today’s challenges; he thinks about tomorrow. Who will continue the mission after I’m gone? Who has the ability, the character, and the commitment to lead?

The Torah rejects the idea that leadership automatically passes from father to son. Sometimes it does, but only if that person is the right choice. The responsibility is to choose the best leader, not simply the closest relative.

I remember learning this lesson years ago while doing reserve duty in Israel. One of the other soldiers and I were responsible for assigning guard duty—including our own. It happened to be election season, and we actually arranged our schedules so we wouldn’t miss the televised campaign broadcasts. They were fascinating.

The soldier I worked with came from a longtime Labor family. During one of the broadcasts, two young Likud politicians appeared: Benjamin Netanyahu and Benny Begin, the son of Menachem Begin. After watching them, my friend turned to me and said, “Labor is in trouble.”

I asked why.

He said, “Look at these young, energetic leaders coming up. Who do we have to match them?”

Whether or not one agreed with Menachem Begin’s politics, he understood something essential about leadership: no leader lasts forever. A movement, an organization, or a nation must constantly develop the next generation of capable leaders. Interestingly, Begin’s own son did not inherit leadership simply because he was his son. Leadership had to be earned.

That is exactly the lesson Moses teaches us. He loved his sons, but he recognized that Joshua was the person best prepared to lead the Jewish people.

Every leader—whether in a family, a business, a congregation, or a nation—should ask one question:

Who am I preparing to take my place?

Because the greatest leaders are remembered not only for what they accomplished, but for the leaders they left behind.

Something to think about.

Pinchas took drastic action in killing Zimri and Cozby. He knew that they presented a clear and present danger to the Jewish people. That is why God gave him the blessing of peace. To show all that his action was necessary and proper.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Pinchas, begins with God giving Pinchas a remarkable reward: “My covenant of peace”—a brit shalom. At first glance, that seems strange. Last week’s parashah ended with Pinchas killing Zimri, the leader of the tribe of Shimon, and Kozbi, the Midianite princess. Why would someone who acted so forcefully receive a blessing of peace?

Think about the situation. Zimri and Kozbi weren’t committing their sin in private. They did it publicly, right in front of the Mishkan, openly challenging the authority of the Torah. The entire nation was stunned. Even Moshe hesitated because this was an unprecedented moment. Pinchas realized that allowing such an open act of defiance to stand would endanger the spiritual future of the Jewish people. He acted, and the plague stopped.

Later, some criticized him. They argued there should have been a trial or that he should have waited. But God makes it clear that Pinchas acted correctly. This was an extraordinary circumstance, not a new rule for everyday life. Zealotry is never presented as the normal way to solve problems. It was a one-time response to a unique crisis.

History gives us examples of moments like this. Glenn Richter, one of the founders of the Student Struggle for Soviet Jewry, was told by much of the Jewish establishment to avoid public demonstrations. They insisted that quiet diplomacy would work. Richter’s answer was simple: “You’ve had decades. It isn’t working.” The demonstrations forced the issue into the public eye and eventually helped change the conversation about Soviet Jewry.

American history offers another example. In 1832, during the Nullification Crisis, South Carolina declared that it could ignore federal law. President Andrew Jackson responded with unmistakable resolve, making it clear that he would preserve the Union by force if necessary. His determination ended the immediate crisis because everyone knew he meant what he said.

The lesson of Pinchas is not that we should become zealots. Quite the opposite. Judaism normally insists on patience, due process, and peace. But there are rare moments when leadership requires decisive action. A leader must recognize when a clear and present danger cannot simply be ignored.

That is why Pinchas receives God’s covenant of peace. God knew that even a justified act of violence leaves a mark on the soul. The blessing was both God’s approval of what Pinchas had done and God’s assurance that his ultimate identity would not be that of a warrior, but of a man of peace.

Sometimes the hardest decisions a leader makes are the ones taken to preserve peace—not because they love conflict, but because they know what is at stake if no one acts.

Pinchas realizes that the actions of Zimri present a clear and present danger. He knows that he has to do something to stop Zimri. Instead of waiting for the courts to take action, he does. Sometimes we have to take action to stop evil.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s double portion ends with a tragedy. As I mentioned earlier, the parashah is called Balak, even though Balaam is the central figure. The reason is that Balak is the instigator. He realizes he cannot defeat the Jewish people militarily, so he seeks to attack them spiritually. He hires Balaam, the famous non-Jewish prophet, to curse Israel.

But every attempt fails. Each curse is transformed by God into a blessing.

One of Balaam’s greatest compliments is, “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob.” Our Sages explain that the entrances of the Israelite tents did not face one another. Families respected one another’s privacy. There was dignity, modesty, and mutual respect within the camp.

Balak learns an important lesson. As long as the Jewish people remain spiritually and morally strong, they cannot be defeated from the outside. If they are to be defeated, it must come from within.

So he changes tactics. Instead of curses, he attacks their morality. The women of Moab and Midian entice the Israelites into immorality and idolatry. Tragically, one of Israel’s own leaders, Zimri, publicly commits this sin in open defiance.

The situation is so shocking that Moses and the leaders are momentarily stunned. Then Pinchas realizes that this is a clear and present danger. If it is not stopped immediately, it will spread throughout the camp. He acts decisively, ending the plague that has already claimed thousands of lives.

The Torah makes clear that this was an extraordinary moment. God later affirms that Pinchas acted correctly, but only because this was an exceptional crisis. Judaism does not encourage people to take the law into their own hands. Normally, justice belongs in the hands of the courts. Pinchas represents the rare exception, not the rule.

History sometimes presents similar moments. In New York during the late 1930s, before America entered World War II, the German American Bund held pro-Nazi rallies. There were times when the law had little power to stop them. Some Jewish leaders quietly enlisted Jewish gangsters to disrupt these meetings. Their instructions were simple: break up the rallies, but do not kill anyone. Eventually, the demonstrations largely disappeared because the organizers realized they would face immediate resistance. Whether one agrees with those tactics or not, they reflected the difficult choices people sometimes face when confronting immediate threats.

The Haftorah from the prophet Micah provides the balance. After recalling Balak and Balaam, Micah asks, “What does the Lord require of you?” His answer is timeless: “To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

That is the enduring lesson. There may be rare moments that demand extraordinary courage, but our daily mission is much simpler: live moral lives, act justly, show kindness, and faithfully observe God’s commandments. That is the strongest defense any people can possess.

Balaam is hired to curse the Jews. On his way we have the famous story of his talking donkey. What is interesting is that Balaam was so concerned with cursing the Jews that he did not notice that his donkey was talking to him. We sometimes miss the obvious.

And now for a quick devar Torah.

This week we read a double portion, and the second is Parashat Balak. One question immediately comes to mind. Why is the parashah named after Balak? The most famous character is not Balak at all—it’s Balaam. Balaam occupies most of the story. He speaks the blessings, he argues with his donkey, and he becomes one of the most memorable figures in the entire Torah. Yet the parashah is named after Balak.

The answer may be that Balak is the one who sets everything in motion. He sees the Israelites approaching and decides this is not simply a military struggle but a spiritual one. He hires Balaam, believing that if he cannot defeat Israel with swords, perhaps he can defeat them with curses. Balak begins the plot, but once he does, God takes over. Balak starts the story; God determines how it ends. It reminds us that people may begin events, but ultimately God guides history.

Then there is Balaam himself. He is so focused on his mission that he completely misses what is happening right in front of him. His donkey sees the angel with the drawn sword blocking the road, but Balaam sees nothing. The donkey refuses to move, Balaam beats it, and then the donkey begins to speak. Only then does Balaam realize something extraordinary is happening.

It’s almost humorous. The donkey could speak, yet Balaam wasn’t surprised. He was so obsessed with reaching his destination that he overlooked the obvious miracle standing right before him.

Psychologists call this inattentional blindness. A famous experiment asked people to watch two basketball teams passing a ball and count the passes. While they were concentrating, a person in a gorilla suit walked across the court, stopped, waved at the audience, and walked off. Remarkably, many viewers never saw the gorilla because they were so focused on counting passes.

Balaam made the same mistake. His focus blinded him to reality.

Perhaps we do the same thing.

What’s fascinating is that throughout Parashat Balak, the Jewish people are almost passive. They have no idea that a foreign king is trying to destroy them spiritually. They are busy worrying about their own daily concerns, while behind the scenes God is protecting them from a danger they never even knew existed. The curses that were meant to destroy them become some of the greatest blessings ever spoken.

There is an important lesson here. We all become consumed by our own problems—our work, our families, our worries, our frustrations. Sometimes we become so focused on what’s directly in front of us that we fail to see the larger picture. We forget that God may be working behind the scenes in ways we cannot yet understand.

At the same time, the parashah reminds us that we must remain aware of the world around us. Not everyone who approaches us is a friend, and not every threat is obvious. We should deal honestly with our internal disagreements, but never become so divided by them that we lose sight of those who seek to harm us from the outside.

Balak teaches us to keep our eyes open—to notice what we might otherwise miss, to trust that God is working even when we cannot see it, and to remain united in the face of challenges.

Something to think about.