That’s the message of Bilaam’s words: We rest on the heights of the blessings of the Avos

How can I curse what G-d has not cursed?… From their origins, I see them as mountain peaks… (Bamidbar 23:8–9)

Three blessings constitute the bulk of man’s wants and desires: sustenance, long life, and children. Each of the Avos fully achieved one of those blessings. Avraham was zocheh to the blessing of wealth. Yitzchak achieved longevity. Yaakov had the brachah of children, all of whom were loyal to his principles. (Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein, based on Chidushei Rav Yosef Nechemia Kornitzer)

I

wonder what Bilaam would see if he saw Eretz Yisrael today. Would he tell our enemies — and there are so many — that they’re destined to fail in all their objectives: To destroy our economy. To destroy us physically. To destroy our children.

Would Bilaam notice the everyday anecdotes — no, the miracles — that we’re zocheh to see constantly?

Since Simchas Torah 5784, we’ve seen so many people lose their homes, their businesses, their savings. Yet we’ve also seen counteraction. Pop-up business wagons dot local parks and some displaced people run family businesses from their hotel rooms. And people are making sure to patronize these efforts. To buy a bouquet of flowers from a roadside evacuee even if it’s more expensive. To pick fruit alongside farmers who’ve lost their workers. To donate items, food, time, anything to help a fellow Yid fallen on hard times. Our enemies will never destroy our economy.

That’s the message of Bilaam’s words. The origins of our People’s blessings are bedrock like the mountains. And we rest on the heights of the blessings of the Avos.

History bears this out. We’ve endured different strategies as our enemies try to destroy us.

Sometimes, they tried to apply a chokehold to our livelihood, cutting off the most basic needs for sustainment. They hoped with this pressure, the Jews would simply disappear. But the goal was never achieved. A brachah of sustenance had already been vouchsafed to Avraham. The nations will never succeed in starving us out.

They attempted to exterminate us, yet this simple, direct method of annihilation failed to achieve its goal. It took the lives of many, but Hashem didn’t allow them to wipe us out. The brachah of life had already been fixed into the Jewish collective through Yitzchak.

We’ve endured missile attacks from north to south. Just weeks ago, we were holed up in our safe rooms as Iran tried to wreak destruction. Our hearts mourn those whom the missiles found. But statistically, we’ve seen miracles. Not because the missiles were faulty. But because we have the ultimate Iron Hand as our dome.

And the children. They’re in danger on so many fronts. Yet, the first Friday of the Iranian attack, my son asked to go to his yeshivah (which has a safe room). My husband drove him along with many other bochurim to go learn. The future generations are at risk, but Hashem won’t let them disappear.

At some point, they changed tactics, realizing the children were the key to Jewish survival. As long as Jewish children were reared from infancy with strong loyalty to Torah, the nation’s future would be assured. Thus, they found ways to encourage parents to wean their children away from Torah study, flashing the allure of the “real world.”

While many did, and do, buy into that message, the brachah of children, vouchsafed from Yaakov, outlasted the designs of our enemies.

This was the rock-like foundation of Jewish survival that Bilaam saw in the high places; the origins of our relationship with Hashem through the lives of the Avos.

Across the hill from my city stands an Arab village. At the beginning of the war, this close proximity caused a lot of unease. Soldiers patrolled around the clock. One evening, the village locals sounded their call to prayer at ear-splitting decibels, just to provoke us.

Anyone who’s been to Israel knows the sound of the muezzin’s wailing. (When I hear it, I often whisper Tehillim just to combat their “power of tefillah.”) The soldiers had a similar idea. With their loudspeakers, they blasted back another call to prayer in the same singsong tune that our “neighbors” use. But instead of Arabic, this call sounded the words, “Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad.”

The soldiers may have been playing their tune, but our words invoke promises.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 951)