Rabbi Sarah Wolf

June 25, 2010

Making an Ass of Yourself: Parashat Balak 5770

Two Jews are dragged by anti-Semites before a firing squad. The first one cries out, “Stop! Stop! You’re murdering an innocent man.” “Sh,” says the second. “Don’t make trouble.”

While humor is, of course, a universal human trait, there is no denying the link between humor and the Jews. The shelves full of books on Jewish humor and the number of Jewish comedians persuade us that we have some natural affinity for the amusing and the absurd. Freud suggests that it is our ability to be self-critical that allows Jews to be so funny. “I do not know,” he writes, “whether one often finds a people that makes merry so unreservedly over its own shortcomings.” Others have argued that Jewish wit has developed as a coping mechanism, allowing us to survive periods of persecution and tragedy. “It’s better to laugh than to cry,” as the Yiddish proverb goes. We have a long and proud history of turning our tears of sorrow into tears of laughter.

Jewish humor is no modern phenomenon. This week’s Torah portion, Balak, is one example of ancient Jewish comedy. Tonight I’d like to tell you the story. I’ll call it “The Prophet and the Talking Ass.” And no, it has nothing to do with this week’s sudden change in military leadership.

Once upon a time, there was a prophet whose name was Bilam. Bilam was so good at his job that he was famous throughout the land and his services were much sought after. Balak, the king of Moab, sent for Bilam, asking him to curse his enemies the Israelites. Bilam, enticed by the promise of a great reward, saddled his donkey and set out for Moab. God, incensed at Bilam, sent an angel to stand in his way, drawn sword in hand. But the great seer Bilam saw nothing in the road before him. His ass, however, could see perfectly. Frightened, quite understandably, she veered off of the road and into the field. Bilam beat her with his stick to get her to return to the road. But the angel repositioned himself in the lane between two fences, forcing the ass to press herself against one side and crush Bilam’s foot in the process. He beat her again. The angel moved to block the way entirely, and the ass gave up, laying down on the ground in submission. Bilam, finding himself in the ridiculous position atop a prostrate donkey, beat her a third time with his stick. And then, the most wonderful thing happened. “Vayiftach Adonai et pi ha’aton vatomer l’Vil’am. And the Eternal opened the mouth of the ass and she spoke to Bilam.”

“What have I done to you that you have beaten me these three times?” she cried. Bilam, apparently not fazed by his suddenly talking donkey, answered angrily, “You have made a mockery of me! If I had a sword with me, I’d kill you.” The ass answered quite rationally, “Aren’t I the ass you have been riding all along? Have I been in the habit of doing thus to you?” In other words, “You know me. Would I act this way for no reason?” And Bilam, calmed by his donkey’s logic, replied, “No.” Just then, God uncovered Bilam’s eyes and allowed him to see the angel standing in the way, sword in hand. Now it was Bilam’s turn to prostrate himself right down to the ground. The angel said, “Why have you beaten your ass these three times? It is I who came out as an adversary, for the errand is obnoxious to me.” Bilam apologized by way of stating the obvious, saying, “I sinned because I did not know you were standing in the way. If you still disapprove, I will turn back.” A generous offer, especially considering the angel had complete control over the situation and presumably could decide whether Bilam would leave in one piece or not. But the angel of the Eternal said to Bilam, “Go with the men. But you must say nothing except what I tell you.” So Bilam went to Moab with Balak’s men. Fortunately for Bilam, he eventually realizes that he can do nothing but bless the Israelites in spite of Balak’s pleas. Finally, in his oracles, he declares himself “Prostrate, but with eyes unveiled.” He has been humbled, but now sees clearly. And so he blesses Israel with the famous words from our liturgy, “Ma tovu ohalecha Ya’akov, mish’k’notecha Yisrael! “How good are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling-places, O Israel!” Bilam has been taught, in quite a dramatic way, in quite a comical way, that he is not quite as powerful or important as he thought he was.

The story of Bilam’s comeuppance could have been told in any number of ways, but it was told with comic effect. This is significant, not only to entertain and delight us as we read the Torah portion, but also to teach us. In this case, the medium is the message: the story teaches us that humor itself is a valuable moral and spiritual virtue.

Francis Bacon writes, “Imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not; a sense of humor to console him for what he is.” Our story employs both imagination and humor, but it is especially useful for the latter, reminding Bilam and the reader that we are sometimes no better than a talking ass. It must have been a rude awakening to Bilam, as humbling experiences are to all of us, but the ridiculous way that he was taught this lesson may have lessened the pain a bit.

Cultivating a sense of humor is a way to build resilience to adversity. Just as the Jewish people has survived, in part, because of our ability to find the humor in every situation, so too can each of us improve our own mental and emotional resilience when we come up against difficulties in life. We’ve all experienced the power of humor to help us tell or bear the truth. A rebuke is much easier to accept when it is delivered with humor, and a moment of tension can be broken with a well-timed joke. I have many friends who say they only get the news from Jon Stewart on the Daily Show, and I think one of the reasons is because if we must hear bad news, at least it should be delivered in a funny way. Humor gives us a little bit of distance from even the most painful situation, allowing us to better cope and keep perspective but without denying reality. As concentration camp survivor Victor Frankl recalls, “I would never have made it if I could not have laughed. Laughing lifted me momentarily . . . out of this horrible situation, just enough to make it livable . . . survivable.” Abraham Lincoln also knew the power of humor. During the Civil War, he read a funny story to his cabinet. When no one laughed, he said, “Gentlemen, why don’t you laugh? With the fearful strain that is upon me day and night, if I did not laugh I should die, and you need this medicine as much as I do.” Today, laughter is considered by many to be actual medicine, with scientific studies indicating the benefits of laughter and humor in alleviating or preventing all sorts of physical and psychological problems, from heart attacks to anxiety to chronic pain. But even if humor cannot solve our problems, it does help us cope with them by finding a way to reframe and make new meaning of all the tsuris we encounter. We are reminded that while we cannot always control what happens to us, we do have a choice in how we respond.

It can be difficult to find the humor in our flaws, our failures, our pain. But the story of Bilam reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously. Sometimes, often, the world is upside down. The donkey is the one who talks some sense into the prophet. And the prophet, brought to his knees by the realization of his own blindness, faces the truth. He is prostrate, but with eyes unveiled. Bilam’s discovery of his own insignificance was probably very painful. He could very easily have left that experience with a bruised ego and angry, at the ass or the angel or Balak or himself for causing his humiliation. But I hope that instead, Bilam picked himself up, dusted himself off, and went on his way, shaking with laughter and planning how to tell the story when he got home.