No & Maybe
We cannot slip into loopholes and forego responsibility.
This commentary is provided by special arrangement with American Jewish World Service. To learn more, visit www.ajws.org.
In Parashat Balak, a distinguished entourage knocks at the humble door of Balaam, the soothsayer. Balaam's eyes fall on the silk-robed emissaries of King Balak. The King, they say, requires Bilaam's services to curse Israel. Balaam asks them to spend the night while he inquires as to God's direction. God prohibits the mission and Balaam dutifully sends the emissaries home.
When, once again, a knock comes at the door, Balaam finds himself standing before princes more honorable than the first. Gold-encrusted and bejeweled, they promise great wealth from the king if Bilaam takes up the task. Balaam, again, invites them to stay. In the dark of night, God tells Balaam to go with the princes.
A Forbidden Mission?
When Balaam sets out on the journey, a puzzle unfolds before us. First, we are informed that God is angry about Balaam's actions. Then, an invisible angel stands in Balaam's way, sword in hand, and Balaam's donkey (who by miracle, speaks) comes to save his life.
Why does God initially forbid the mission, and afterward permit it? And why does God then push Bilaam within inches of his life for following God's instructions?
As a high-school teacher, I encounter a mindset in many of my teenage students that is reminiscent of Balaam's. It is the mindset I call, "I know you said no, but perhaps you meant maybe?" It emerges when students ask to work alone when the explicit assignment is to work with a partner, when they suggest using Tanach hevruta time as Algebra II study time, when they insist on being allowed to visit a shop while the rest of the class waits for the tour guide. And when I give the answer, "no," they hear, "maybe." Perhaps they cannot imagine that a rational, compassionate adult would say no to their request. Or perhaps they have difficulty seeing the needs of the community beyond their own.
We all struggle with this same challenge. I look at my own life and consider the commitments I have made: to attend rallies, to send letters and sign petitions, to consume responsibly. I say 'no' to sweatshops. I say 'no' to the abuse of economic and gender privilege.
But when I review the facts of my life--what I do with my free time, what I buy day-to-day--I see that during times of busyness and stress, my desire to be socially conscious slips lower and lower on my list of priorities. And replacing consciousness on the list are convenience, profit, and personal preference. The frustration I feel at my students is actually a frustration at the conflict of pressures to which we all succumb.
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