Something perplexing happens in this week’s Parshah. Bilam is on his way, at Balak’s request, to try and curse the Jewish people. He is riding his donkey, accompanied by two attendants and the noblemen of Moav.
Suddenly, his “vehicle” breaks down—three separate times. First, the donkey veers off the path. Then, it presses his leg against a wall. Finally, it just lies down in the middle of the road.
We know why this is happening. The donkey sees the malach—the angel standing in the way—but Bilam doesn’t. So what does Bilam do? He hits the donkey with his stick, trying to get it to move.
Then suddenly, Bilam’s eyes are opened. He sees the malach, and the angel says to him, “Why did you strike your donkey these three times?”
The Kedushas Levi, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, asks the obvious. Why is the malach upset? Bilam didn’t see the angel. From his perspective, the donkey was acting completely irrational when it wandered off, crushed his leg, and lay down in the middle of the road. Of course he hit it. That’s what anyone would do when an animal suddenly becomes uncooperative.
It must have been incredibly embarrassing. Everyone else’s ride was moving along just fine, and there’s Bilam—his donkey sprawled on the ground in front of all the Moabite dignitaries. Naturally, he responded the way people do. It happens every day in horse racing.
So what was the angel even asking?
The Berditchever gives a beautiful answer. The malach wasn’t upset that Bilam hit the donkey. He was upset that Bilam didn’t stop to think.
Hashem had already made His will clear. First He told Bilam, “Don’t go.” Then He allowed him to go, but only on the condition that he say exactly what Hashem tells him. Bilam knew he was walking a very fine line. He had permission, but limited permission.
So when his normally obedient donkey suddenly acts up—not once, not twice, but three times—you would think he’d stop and ask himself, “Maybe Hashem is sending me a message. Maybe I’m not supposed to be going. Maybe this journey isn’t what He wants.”
But Bilam doesn’t pause. He doesn’t reflect. He doesn’t question. He just gets angry—and hits the donkey.
That is why the angel rebukes him. Not because he was cruel, but because he was oblivious. Because he ignored the signs.
I think this is a powerful lesson for all of us.
When we commit to something—a job, a relationship, a move, a major decision—and we keep running into closed doors, delays, and obstacles, we have to stop and ask: Is this what Hashem wants from me? Or is He trying to get my attention?
When the Mir Yeshiva escaped Lithuania during the Holocaust, Rav Leizer Yudel Finkel zt”l was doing everything he could to get visas for the bachurim and to preserve the yeshiva. But things weren’t working. He kept hitting wall after wall. Eventually, he decided to travel with his rebbetzin to Eretz Yisrael, hoping he could help more from there.
They boarded a plane from Riga, Latvia. But the plane developed a mechanical issue and had to turn back. Then, his rebbetzin got sick. Rav Leizer Yudel looked at these events and said, “Hashem is sending me a message. This is not the path I’m supposed to take.”
So he changed course. And baruch Hashem, the Mir Yeshiva was saved in its entirety.
It’s the same idea with Bilam. Hashem sent him signs, but he refused to see them.
The opposite is also true. When we pursue something with sincerity—and the path opens up, doors start unlocking, help shows up unexpectedly—that can also be a sign from Hashem. That He’s guiding us and supporting what we’re trying to do.
The key is to pay attention. To be sensitive to the messages. To recognize when He’s closing a door, and also when He’s opening one.
