What Balaam saw in the camps of Israel — and what we can see today

Numbers 22:2 – 25:9

It’s easy to find beauty in the natural world. A colorful sunset, an ancient tree or even the vast expanse of a desert can inspire awe. In contrast, human-made structures are often designed for function, not for wonder. So why is it that in this week’s Torah portion, the blessing we receive is not over a natural marvel, but over something built by human hands?

Parshat Balak tells the story of a hired prophet, Balaam, summoned to curse the people of Israel. With the help of both God and an unlikely guide — a talking donkey — Balaam’s mission is thwarted, and instead, he offers words of blessing. He first speaks to the size and strength of the people and of their distinctive relationship with God. In his final declaration, he offers the words: “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel!” This blessing has become a cornerstone of Jewish liturgy, recited each morning as part of our prayers.

During my years working at Jewish summer camp, my favorite job was monitoring the climbing tower. Campers would challenge themselves, summoning courage and strength to scale its 50-foot height. When they reached the top, we’d ask them to pause, look out over the camp and recite those ancient words: Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov. They gazed out at the tents and cabins below and the physical spaces that housed the fun, friendship and even learning that happened at camp. Reciting those words transformed seeing this view into a sacred moment. The beauty of the camp was not just in the landscape, but in the holy community it nurtured.

Rashi, the great medieval commentator, adds a meaningful layer to Balaam’s blessing. He explains that Balaam noticed how the tents were arranged — none of the entrances faced each other. This intentional layout reflected a deep value: modesty and respect for one another’s privacy. The blessing, then, wasn’t merely about architecture, it was about ethics. These tents, these dwellings, embodied the spiritual values of the people who lived in them.

That same spirit carries into our tradition today. There is a custom to recite Balaam’s blessing when approaching a synagogue. As we near the building, we take a moment to physically and spiritually prepare — straightening our clothes, dusting ourselves off, readying ourselves to enter a sacred space. While doing so, we might recite the words of this blessing to connect our preparatory actions with our holy purpose. The synagogue, like the tents of Israel, becomes more than a building; it becomes a space that calls us to live our values with intention.

Our built environments — synagogues, camps, homes, community centers — are more than structures. They are sacred because of what they contain: the relationships we build within them, the values we uphold and the communities we create. Just as Balaam recognized the beauty in the tents of Israel, may we too recognize the holiness in the spaces we shape and the lives we build together. PJC

Rabbi Emily Meyer is an educator and the founder of Doodly Jew. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.