If we were to carefully analyze most human accomplishments we would notice that they are composed of two very important factors. One, the כוונה, or the intention leading to an act, and two, the מעשה, or the act itself. That this dichotomy is valid can be seen from the fact that much of Jewish learning, both הלכה and מוסר, law and ethics, is concerned with this distinction. You feel thirsty and want to quench your thirst. That is the intention. You drink a glass of cold water. That is the act. You want to refresh your spirit and invigorate your soul and fill it with meaning. That is the intention. You come to shul to pray, or you learn a chapter of Mishnayot. That is the act.Not always, however, does the מעשה follow the כוונה closely. There are times when they are in apparent conflict, when the intention is one thing, and the performance something quite different. Balaam, about whom we have read so much in today’s reading of the Torah, was one of those whose practice differed from his purpose. He came to Israel, our Rabbis tell us, intending to curse her, saying: לא יהיו לכם בתי מדרשות ובתי כנסיות, “may you never have any study-halls and synagogues”. His performance, however, was not that of cursing but of blessing, for instead he said: מה טובו אהליך יעקב, משכנותיך ישראל, “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel”. And this, as we all know, refers to the houses of God, the study-halls and the synagogues. Here, the intention and the act not only differed, they were antithetic. The act was diametrically opposed to the intention.Our thought today, then, centers about this problem of the discrepancy between intention and act, between what you want to do and what you actually do. And our main concern is not with those whose כוונה, intention, is evil and whose מעשה, act, is good, but rather with the great majority of people, those who find that their intentions are good but who are troubled by the fact that these good intentions are short-circuit…

The opening verse in the daily order of t’fillah be’tzibbur, public prayer, is the familiar mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov, mishk’nosecha Yisrael, “How good are thy tents, O Jacob, thy dwelling places, O Israel.” It must be quite an important verse to be so strategically and significantly placed as the very first thing we say as we enter the synagogue. And indeed it is just that. For, as the opening chord in the overture to the morning service, mah tovu sets the key for the entire day of prayer, the symphony of the Jew’s mind and heart and soul rising harmoniously with those of all of Israel to our Father in Heaven. Just what does this verse mean? Our Sages interpreted “tent” and “dwelling place” to refer to batei k’neisiyot u’vatei midrashot, to synagogues and religious schools. How good are thy synagogues and thy halls of study, is the meaning of this blessing. May they increase in influence and grow in beauty and splendor. And this blessing, which is found in today’s sidra, comes from a most surprising source. It was first uttered, our Bible tells us, not by a Jew but by a non-Jew; and an enemy of Israel, at that. It was Bilaam ha’rasha, the wicked one, who, upon seeing Israel’s tribes arrayed in the desert about the Tabernacle, exclaimed mah tovu. And there is yet something more surprising in the entire episode, something that makes the choice of this verse for our opening prayer even less understandable. Tradition consistently reports, in all its comments on this episode, that Bilaam fully intended to curse Israel. He had been hired to do so by the Moabite king Balak. Seeing Israel proudly and devoutly arrayed about the Temple, Bilaam arose and wanted to curse Israel, saying, shelo yiheyu lachem batei k’neisiyot u’vatei midrashot, may you not have any synagogues and schools, may they diminish in influence and in scope. But instead of a curse, there issued forth from his mouth, by Divine command, the blessing of mah tovu.Certainly, then, it is difficult to understand…

In the Bible’s description of the seventh of the ten plagues which God brought upon Pharaoh and his Egyptians, the Torah employs a style which is somewhat different from the usual, and which therefore seems to indicate some special intention. The seventh plague, you will recall, was the Barad, the plague of hailstones which fell upon the Egyptians, their servants and their cattle, and killed all life that was unprotected. Now, before Moses stretched forth his rod and caused the hail to fall, he warned the Egyptians of what he was going to do. He warned them to withdraw indoors in order to save their lives. The reaction of the pagan Egyptians was to laugh at Moses, and, though six times previously he had predicted the act of the Lord, they ridiculed him, and most of them – excepting the very few who did believe in God – exposed themselves to the plague.Now here is how the Bible describes the actions of these two classes of Egyptians, those who took Moses seriously and those who did not: Ha-yarei et devar ha-shem, those of Pharaoh's servants who feared the word of God, gathered their slaves and cattle indoors and saved them. Va-asher lo sam libo el devar ha-shem, and he who did not put his heart to the word of God (i.e., he who did not pay attention to God), left his cattle and slaves outdoors to be slain by the hailstones. Notice that the two classes of Egyptians are not described in the same kind of terms. If the first Egyptians are Ha-yarei et de-var ha-shem, God fearing, the second should be described as Lo yarei et ha-shem (not fearing God), or Sonei ha-shem, (God-hating), or Aino Maamin (non-believer) or Chotei (sinner) or something similar. Instead, the Torah describes this second, evil, anti-God class as Lo sam libo, the kind that “doesn’t put his heart to God.” Why this stylistic awkwardness?The answer is that it is by no means awkward. It is people who are awkward, who are being criticized by the Torah. What the Bible means to tell us by this choice of wor…

Most people regard vacation as a time for relaxation, “fun,” and “good times,” but hardly as a matter for profound thought. Yet the fact remains that, as an important aspect of leisure, vacation presents a most pressing problem. A growing literature, both in scholarly periodicals and heavily annotated tomes, testifies to the increasing concern with vacation and leisure. The new scientific, industrial, and economic conditions of our day have made more time available for more people than was ever dreamt of by our parents and grandparents. And even more is expected in the coming years. Predicted for the near future, for instance, is a four-day, twenty-hour week. In addition, early retirement alongside an increasing longevity means the addition of many non-work years to the ordinary lifetime. What shall we do with all this time?Vacation is therefore an important sociological, psychological, and even religious-spiritual problem. Of course the subject is too broad and comprehensive to attempt to exhaust within the confines of one talk. There are basically three attitudes to vacation. The first is held by a respectable minority. This group consists of those who are frightened by leisure, and who are annoyed by anything but long hours of intensive work in which they feel comfortable and secure. They have no patience for relaxation, which they regard as mere idleness. They are happy only when they are occupied in their profession or business or skill.Now, is this an attractive point of view? Of course, anyone prefers a work-horse to a playboy. The late Lord Beaverbrook, in his book Don’t Trust to Luck, very correctly said that “a man will come to less harm by over-work than by over-play.” Yet a Jewish approach is incompatible with this attitude, according to which work tends to become obsessive rather than creative, an end rather than a means, a form of neurotic escape from having to decide what to do with one’s life. If one spends all his time in work it can make of him a…

Three words, three interpretations. The three words are: מה פעל א-ל, "What hath God wrought." They are not, strictly speaking, a question, but a statement; not interrogatory, but exclamatory. They are part of a verse in which Balaam prophesies that Israel will be the subject of great admiration, expressed as the adoration of God (Num. 23:23). The first interpretation of when this sentiment is applicable, is the worship and praise of God as we marvel over the wonders of nature, and consider them a revelation of divine חכמה (wisdom). The glory of the cosmos, the intricacies of natural phenomena, move us to a spirit of wonder, and thereby to worship. Thus, the spirit of מה פעל א-ל as a response to חכמה is evident in the verse we recite every day as part of the blessing over Nature which precedes the Shema: מה רבו מעשיך ה’ כלם בחכמה עשית, "How manifold are Thy works, O Lord, all of them hast Thou made in wisdom." However, this sense of wonder should not be restricted to natural phenomena. Unfortunately, secular man often sees human genius in competition with God's work. According to this conception, religion is meaningful only where science has no answers, as if faith in God is a function of human ignorance. This theory has been bandied about since the great "secular city debate," and still seems to be with us. Thus, science and technology are seen as progressively displacing religion. In a less sophisticated manner, we often hear an echo of this concept when people say, "How can you believe in God, or perform those rituals, in a space age?"The answer, of course, is that there is no contradiction. On the contrary, a truly religious person sees God's wisdom in man's wisdom, for God and man, in Judaism, are recognized as partners in creation. If indeed man is the "image of God," then, to continue the metaphor, man's achievements (whether in science or the arts) are a reflection of divine wisdom. It is no wonder that when we behold a particularly wise man, whether Jewish …

If we were to search Scripture for an appropriate expression of our relief, joy, and thanksgiving at the heroic and brilliant rescue by Israel of the over 100 Jewish hostages kept by Arab and German terrorists in the Entebbe Airport in Uganda, one important verse would come to mind: כעת ייאמר ליעקב ולישראל מה פעל א-ל, “Now it shall be said concerning Jacob and Israel, what hath God wrought?” What indeed hath God wrought! How great and miraculous was the deliverance, how wondrous was the rescue! From the depths of despair, we were brought to the heights of joy and gratitude – but we are mindful of the loss of three lives, and the disappearance of one of the hostages. Indeed, for the last several days our national mood has been reminiscent of the heady days following the Six-Day War. And yet, this very association with the Six-Day War raises problems that were debated then too. Amongst these is should we really be thanking God for this victory, or congratulating the Israelis who risked so much and achieved so mightily? Should we be reciting this verse, “What hath God wrought?” or the verse immediately following it: הן עם כלביא יקום, וכארי יתנשא, “Behold a nation arises as a lioness, and lifts up its head as a lion.” Should we be proclaiming, “What hath God wrought,” or “(Israel is) a nation that arises like a lioness and lifts up his head like a lion?” After all, it is these courageous young men who risked their lives – and the prestige of Israel – in a raid concocted so quickly and executed so brilliantly. So, which shall it be: מה פעל א-ל and its religious consequences; or הן עם כלביא יקום and its political-military ramifications? This is no idle speculation. Two attitudes strive for supremacy within each of us, and the two attitudes are present in our community as well. One of them, perhaps the minority, is what might be termed quietistic. It advocates בטחון, complete faith in God, to the exclusion of man’s strength or power. In fact, it is somewhat contemptuous o…