This week’s Parsha is named for a prince of Midian who was at that time ruling over Midian and Moab. Fearing that Israel intended to conquer Moab, Balak hired the wicked soothsayer Bilaam to curse the Jews. Man plans and God laughs. Although Bilaam was anxious to cooperate, he was limited by what God permitted him to say, making him an example of someone whose learning exceeded his fear of Hashem, as he said cunningly to himself, “I may find a place God won’t hear me and curse the Jews.” Instead of cursing, he ended up blessing Israel three times, the third time in what became some of the most famous lines from our liturgy:
“Mah tovu ohalekha Ya’akov, mishkenotekha Yisrael.” “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!” This line is part of the morning prayers—even the short version that children learn.
When millions of the Israelites set up their tents on the border of Moab, they were set up so that the entrances did not face each other, allowing for individual and family privacy despite the crowded conditions. That’s one interpretation of the blessing inside the “curse.”
The first blessing included the famous both-sides-of-the-mouth phrasing about being a nation that dwells alone. It seems this solitary destiny is in part by choice—keeping distinct customs and laws that separate the Jews from others: such as kashrut, the Sabbath, and much of the 613+7 mitzvoth as delineated by Maimonides and others (613 biblical and 7 rabbinic commandments). Yet so much of these ethics and teachings also have universal application. Nonetheless, Israel often can be said to dwell alone when these teachings and their interpretations are rejected by others, or the Jews themselves are rejected or persecuted despite humanity claiming a common bond based on their teachings. French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy’s recently published “Solitude d’Israel” takes up these themes in the context of the war in Gaza where he visited shortly after October 7 to bear witness. The book is dedicated to the hostages whose are each listed by name. An English translation is expected in the fall to be titled “Israel Alone.”
Written in the tradition of Émile Zola’s celebrated “J’Accuse” open letter in 1898 in defense of Alfred Dreyfus, a French Jew falsely accused and convicted of spying for Germany amid widespread antisemitism, Lévy angrily laments the abandonment of Israel by much of the world. He denounces those who deny or minimize the brutal mass murder, torture and sexual violence of Hamas on October 7 and takes aim at those he accuses of unjustly vilifying the Jewish state and its response. He has plenty of targets…
www.timesofisrael.com/...
Verses from this week’s Parsha are also relied upon for various messianic prophecies: “I see it, but not now; I behold it, but not soon. A star has gone forth from Jacob, and a staff will arise from Israel which will crush the princes of Moab and uproot all the sons of Seth. Edom shall be possessed, and Seir shall become the possession of his enemies, and Israel shall triumph.” This has been said to refer to everyone from King David to Bar Kochba to the presently-awaited redeemer, as well as one’s inner spark to do mitzvoth to help hasten the redemption.
Funny enough, Balak was upset and afraid of the Jews for nothing. They had no plans to conquer their cousins in Moab, descended from Lot, Abraham’s nephew. Indeed, King David himself descends from Moab through his great-grandmother Ruth whose story is recited in the Megillah of that name for the holiday of Shavuot that recently passed. Man plans …
For More details www.chabad.org/...
Belief in the coming of the Messiah is the 12th of the 13 Principles of Faith elucidated by Maimonides: . “12. I believe with complete faith in the coming of Moshiach, and although he may tarry, nevertheless, I wait every day for him to come.”
אֲנִי מַאֲמִין בֶאֱמוּנָה שְלֵמָה בְבִיאַת הַמָשִיחַ, וְאַף עַל פִי שֶיִתְמַהְמֵהַ עִם כָל זֶה אֲחַכֶה לּוֹ בְכָל יוֹם שֶיָבוֹא
One of the most haunting tunes for this lyric was written by Azriel David Fastag, a Modzitzer chassid, when he was on a train being brought to Treblinka. He taught the verse to everyone and promised half of his portion in the world to come to anyone who would bring the tune to the Modzitzer Rebbe. Two young men accepted the offer and jumped off the train. One died in the jump but one made it to the Modzitzer Rebbe. A more detailed retelling can be found here: blogs.timesofisrael.com/… along with a link to a contemporary rendition of the melody.
Here is the Lubavitcher Rebbe and chassidim at farbrengan singing the Modzitzer melody a cappella.
The musical analyst I heard this story from said that the rhythm of the Modzitzer version seems to echo the starting and stopping of the wheels of the train. The above a cappella version highlights this aspect better than the previous link, I think. Perhaps this transliteration with repetitions suggests the effect:
“Ani maamin, ani maamin, a-ani ma’Amin b’Emunah shlayma, bvias haMoshiach b’vias haMoshiach, ani maamin. (Repeat) V’af al pi sh’yishmameya im kol zeh achachelo … achachelo …bchol yom she’yavo, ani ma’amin.” Repeat. Repeat. Repeat!
One of the most prolific modern niggun composers was affiliated with the Modzitz chassidim: Ben Zion Shenker, z’l, the composer of some of our most popular melodies for Aishes Chayil, Psalm 23, Yassis Aleyich, etc. www.npr.org/...
Mordecai Ben David has made this Ani Ma’amin into a jaunty tune with a brass band accompaniment. Copying this Link was problematic but he is easily googled.
Some of the classic melodies have been adapted for orchestras and choirs. A Reform temple choir member in the USA was a survivor of Mengele’s twin experiments. One day the choir started to learn a new song: “Ani ma’amin.” Hearing this song, she suffered a breakdown because she had last heard it from her hospital bed in Auschwitz. (Dr. Mengele had been to her a charming man, she recalled, as she was one of his favorites.) From a nonreligious family, she had not known what it meant but remembered hearing it sung almost every day, and nights too. Not that she was aware of the fact, but the people waiting in line for the “shower” often chose to sing this song al kiddish Hashem (in sanctification of the Name of God).
This jolt to her memory set her on a mission to discover more about why they sang this song. She ended up at Chabad and decided to become orthodox. This path was problematic because she was married to a Catholic man whom she had met in Italy after the war. Certain people in the community suggested she must divorce him. She went to the Rebbe for advice. He said they should live in separate bedrooms for a year, much to her (and others’) consternation. After a year she and her husband were married in the Jewish faith, for he had converted by that point.
Greetings folks! Welcome to A Song of Zion, our weekly check-in and virtual minyan for Jews on Daily Kos. This is an open thread, and we treat it as a safe space for Jewish folks here. Non-Jews are welcome but we ask that they listen more than speak. No squabbling, please: if you want to fight, please step outside. (H/T wasplover)