A Letter from Heaven
Some messages arrive through prophets.
Others arrive through kings.
And then there are those rare moments when Heaven chooses the most unlikely messenger imaginable.
Parashat Balak contains one of the Torah’s great ironies. Balak, king of Moav, summons Bilaam, the most renowned prophet of the nations, to curse Israel. Seven altars are built. Sacrifices are offered. Three times Bilaam ascends the mountain heights overlooking the Israelite camp. Yet each attempt ends the same way. The curses never arrive. Instead, blessing after blessing emerges from his mouth until the prophet who came to condemn Israel becomes the vessel through which Hashem reveals some of the deepest truths about His people.
Read together, these blessings become more than prophetic utterances. They become a letter from Heaven itself.
The opening words establish the foundation upon which everything else rests:
מָה אֶקֹּב לֹא קַבֹּה אֵ־ל וּמָה אֶזְעֹם לֹא זָעַם ה’
“How can I curse whom G-d has not cursed? How can I denounce whom Hashem has not denounced?”
Bamidbar 23:8
Before Israel is reminded of its mission, destiny, or future, it is first reminded that it lives within a covenant. Standing upon the mountain, it becomes clear that no human being possesses the power to overturn what Hashem has blessed.
The Maharal explains that Israel’s existence cannot be understood through history alone because its foundation rests upon a covenant that transcends history itself. Empires rise and disappear. Civilisations that once appeared permanent become little more than distant memories. Yet the descendants of Avraham continue their story because the relationship between Hashem and Israel was never dependent upon power, geography, or circumstance. It rests upon a bond forged beyond time itself.
The first blessing in Heaven’s letter is reassurance. Before Hashem asks anything of His people, He reminds them that they are already held within His promise.
הֶן-עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב
“Behold, a nation that dwells alone, and is not counted among the nations.”
Bamidbar 23:9
Few verses in the Torah have attracted as much discussion as these words. Yet this is not a description of isolation. It is a description of purpose.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that Israel’s uniqueness was never intended to separate it from humanity, but to contribute something meaningful to humanity. The Jewish people were entrusted with the task of carrying an awareness of Hashem into a world that repeatedly forgets Him. Their distinctiveness was not a privilege but a responsibility—a calling to bring awareness of Hashem into the fabric of daily life.
The nations often measure greatness through wealth, influence, conquest, and achievement. The Torah measures greatness through holiness, responsibility, compassion, and the ability to bring Hashem into everyday life. Looking down from the mountain, there is a people whose strength lies not in becoming like everyone else, but in remaining faithful to the purpose for which they were chosen.
Yet such a calling could not endure without compassion.
לֹא הִבִּיט אָוֶן בְּיַעֲקֹב וְלֹא רָאָה עָמָל בְּיִשְׂרָאֵל ה’ אֱלֹהָיו עִמּוֹ
“He has not beheld iniquity in Yaakov, nor seen perverseness in Israel; Hashem his G-d is with him.”
Bamidbar 23:21
This may be the most astonishing blessing in the entire parashah. The Torah itself records failures, rebellions, complaints, and moments of weakness. Yet Chazal teach that Hashem sees beyond the stumble and toward the return.
Human beings often define one another by failures. Hashem sees not only who a person is, but who they are striving to become.
Embedded within this blessing is one of Judaism’s most hopeful teachings: teshuvah precedes creation itself. Failure is never the final chapter because return always remains possible.
The Zohar teaches that the Divine Presence accompanies Israel even in exile, journeying with them through every descent and every ascent. Hashem does not merely wait for His people to return; He walks beside them throughout the journey.
Having revealed the compassion that sustains Israel, the letter turns to the place where these truths are lived each day.
Among all the blessings uttered, one has become part of the daily prayers of the Jewish people.
מַה-טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל
“How goodly are your tents, O Yaakov, your dwelling places, O Israel.”
Bamidbar 24:5
Rashi explains that the entrances of the tents were positioned so that families could not look directly into one another’s homes. In the middle of a wilderness, surrounded by uncertainty and hardship, Israel had built a society founded upon dignity, modesty, and respect.
The Jewish home had become a sanctuary, where sanctity was woven into everyday life. The sages teach that after the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, this light continued to burn within our private spaces. A mezuzah fixed upon a doorway, Shabbat candles illuminating a table, words of Torah shared between generations, and acts of kindness performed quietly behind closed doors became quiet guardians of Jewish continuity.
Empires may build monuments, but Jewish continuity was built around tables.
From there, the vision stretches beyond the wilderness and into the distant future.
דָּרַךְ כּוֹכָב מִיַּעֲקֹב וְקָם שֵׁבֶט מִיִשְׂרָאֵל
“A star shall go forth from Yaakov, and a sceptre shall arise from Israel.”
Bamidbar 24:17
Standing outside the camp, the prophecy suddenly reaches beyond that generation—beyond exile, beyond suffering, and beyond the rise and fall of empires. It reveals a future already planted within creation itself.
The Ramban understands this verse as one of the Torah’s great allusions to Mashiach. The Zohar describes redemption as a hidden light woven into creation from the very beginning, waiting patiently for its appointed time to emerge.
A star begins as a distant point of light against a dark sky. It does not remove the darkness in an instant. Instead, it guides those travelling through it, assuring them that there is still a path ahead.
That image captures the Jewish story itself. Across centuries of exile and uncertainty, the light of redemption has never disappeared. At times it shines brightly. At times it appears distant. Yet it continues to guide the journey forward.
The prophet who arrived intending to curse became the messenger through whom Heaven revealed His affection for Israel.
The letter remains open, its words echoing across the centuries, reminding us that we are held within His promise, entrusted with a unique calling, seen through the eyes of compassion, sustained by holy homes, and guided by redemption.
The mountain has long since fallen silent, but the letter continues to be read. Every generation opens it anew, and every generation finds itself somewhere within its lines. And like the star destined to rise from Yaakov, its light continues to shine across the centuries—guiding us through darkness, and drawing us toward redemption.
The letter is still being written—and we are living within its next chapter.
שבת שלום
שמואל
