From the Ass's Mouth
Ilana Kurshan
God gave me voice. I spoke just once in time
To try to save from harm my awful master,
Bilaam. The clear-eyed one, or so they say.
(If clear-eyed, why’d he walk into disaster?)
Balak the king of Moav summoned him
To curse a nation populous and growing
My master said why not? He’d take the gig.
(Bilaam’s a decent seer. But not all-knowing.)
God warned him it was ill-advised, but heck,
The king had offered ample sums of cash
He took a risk. Together we set out
(I sensed he was impetuous and rash.)
We left home bright and early, made good time.
Until we reached a very narrow path
An angel blocked the way! I swerved thrice sharply
Bilaam was mad. He beat me in his wrath.
Because he could not stop, it seems, for angels,
I kindly stopped for him. How dare I halt?
My master, if he had a sword, would kill me
(I’m just an ass. It’s surely all my fault.)
But I’m not just an ass, for I have spoken.
God furnished me with power to explain.
My words, henceforth, recorded in the Torah!
God gave me voice. Some say ‘twas foreordained.
My master is the prophet, seer, and poet –
But once I spoke. And always I will know it.
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The Talmud teaches that the Torah was given in black fire on white fire (Y. Shekalim 6:1). The black fire is the letters of the Torah scroll, and the white fire is the parchment background. In this column, consisting of a poem on each parashah, I will try to illuminate the white fire of Torah – the midrashim, stories, and interpretations that carve out the negative space of the letters and give them shape.
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