Balak, King of Moav, is in morbid fear of the Bnei Yisrael. He summons a renowned sorcerer named Bilaam to curse them. First, G-d speaks to Bilaam and forbids him to go. But, because Bilaam is so insistent, G-d appears to him a second time and permits him to go. While en route, a malach (emissary from G-d) blocks Bilaam's donkey's path. Unable to contain his frustration, Bilaam strikes the donkey each time it stops or tries to detour. Miraculously, the donkey speaks, asking Bilaam why he is hitting her. The malach instructs Bilaam regarding what he is permitted to say and what he is forbidden to say about the Jewish People. When Bilaam arrives, King Balak makes elaborate preparations, hoping that Bilaam will succeed in the curse. Three times Bilaam attempts to curse, and three times blessings are issued instead. Balak, seeing that Bilaam has failed, sends him home in disgrace. The Bnei Yisrael begin sinning with the Moabite women and worshipping the Moabite idols, and they are punished with a plague. One of the Jewish leaders brazenly brings a Midianite princess into his tent, in full view of Moshe and the people. Pinchas, a grandson of Aharon, grabs a spear and kills both evildoers. This act brings an end to the plague — but not before 24,000 people died.

PARSHA INSIGHTS

I’m Kadosh

“How good are your tents, O Yaakov, your dwelling places, O Yisrael!” (24:5)

My friend Rabbi Leib Kelemen once described a bus journey with his son from Yerushalyim to Netanya. Nearing the outskirts of Netanya, his nine-year old son, whose name was Kadosh, needed to use the bathroom. Rabbi Kelemen ran up to the bus driver and asked him if he could stop for his son to relieve himself, but the bus driver just shrugged. Going back to his son, Rabbi Kelemen told him he would have to wait.

The minutes passed, and the son was shifting in his seat trying to control his urge as it grew stronger. Finally, they reached the bus station in Netanya, and none too soon! They jumped down from the bus and sprinted to the rest rooms, which were closed for repairs!

They rushed out onto the street and ran. Suddenly, they passed a pub. Rabbi Kelemen looked inside, and so indeed did his son. He said “Okay! Let’s go in here!” Looking through the glass at the denizens of the pub, a motley bunch of boozers, his son said, “But Daddy, what is this place?” “It’s a pub.” “What’s a pub?” his son asked. So, Rabbi Kelemen explained what a pub is. “It’s a Beit Marzeach.” “But Daddy,” said the little boy, “I can’t go in here. I’m Kadosh!”

Nearly forty years ago, I remember walking out of a so-called “art film" feeling that I needed to take a shower. I wasn’t religious at the time, but the pintele yid inside me was revolted by what the secular world trumpets as “significant art.” If we would only realize that our souls are hewn from the holiest place in existence. If we would truly understand that even though our feet are walking on the sidewalk, our souls reach up to the highest places in existence. If we know how noble we are, how royal we are, and how lowly and empty are the baubles of the secular world, we would then surely all turn away and say, “I can’t look at that – I’m Kadosh!”