The Blessing of Resiliency
07/10/2025 02:17:00 PM
I first served on the faculty at URJ Camp Kalsman in Summer 2021, when Milo and Alice were just two years old. That year, and every year since, they’ve been in “Katan” at camp, which is essentially day care for the little kids of faculty who are too young to be in cabins. That first year, they quickly became familiar with the different spaces of camp, toddling around from place to place. Milo always wanted to be on the basketball court and Alice wanted to be near the big kids. The camp is seemingly huge to a toddler, with trails and wild animals around every corner, but they were surrounded by people who showered them with love, so they were never afraid to explore and try new things (like climbing the tower!). My kids always knew that camp was a safe place.
I write to you now from Camp Kalsman, where I am once again serving on faculty. But this year, my kids are in elementary school and old enough to be with a cabin of kids their age. They crossed a threshold this year, entering the cabins for the first time and getting a bunk of their own. When we arrived, they were nervous (no surprise), but that didn’t last long. Soon enough, they happily joined their cabins, stopping by my table at meals to say hello. By the second day, they couldn’t have cared less that I’m here. They are living fully in camp land - singing, dancing, sharing silly inside jokes with the other kids. They are at home here.
If I’m being honest, their newfound independence makes me a little sad (really, they don’t need me for anything?!), but I know it’s because they feel safe in this camp bubble. It’s not a coincidence. The camp staff put in so much effort to make sure our campers feel this way, and for that, I am grateful.
As much as I appreciate the beauty of this, it’s impossible to do so without also feeling the devastating pain of the families in Texas who consider Camp Mystic their own safe place. My heart hurts for the children who died in the flood, and more still for their parents who are trying to make sense of this horrifying loss.
How can it be that we live in a world where something like this can happen? And while I feel grateful that we are safe here at our camp, why should we be lucky when others are not?
The Torah portion this week, Balak, lives deep in the “blessings and curses” realm of Torah. We read about a people, the Israelites, who are so loved by God that even when the Moabite king sends a sorcerer to curse them, God protects the Israelites, turning the curses into blessings. They are safe.
But wait!
Just one sentence after Balak, the Moabite king, and Balaam, his sorcerer, give up and leave, the Israelites start back up with idol worshiping (big surprise) and God becomes so incensed with them that God brings a plague upon the people that claims 24,000 lives.
Can this really be true, that the Torah reflects a world in which death and destruction are a direct punishment by God to those who deserve it while God offers protection only to those who are worthy?
I imagine that our ancestors were trying to make sense of their lived reality - one that was probably very similar to ours in the sense that both good and bad things happen all the time. Each time something tragic happens in the Torah, there is a lot of finger pointing, which is one way our brains try to make sense of things (“there MUST be a reason”), but that doesn’t ever really help a situation.
Can we learn from tragedy? Absolutely. Sometimes there are people who legitimately need to be held accountable for disasters occurring, but it infuriates me to read about people reacting to the news of our day with harsh judgment instead of compassion for the families directly impacted.
On his way to curse the Israelites, God appears to Balaam via a messenger who speaks through his donkey (wild, I know) and warns Balaam that if he tries to spew curses at the Israelites, he will not be successful. Indeed, Balaam stands in three different places attempting to curse the Israelites, but each time, his words come out as blessings. Balaam’s third and final attempt includes these words:
Like palm-groves that stretch out…
Like aloes planted by Adonai,
Like cedars beside the water…
Their roots have abundant water.
I read this not as a blessing to eternally escape pain but as a blessing of resiliency. Tragedy has and will continue to befall the Israelites, but because they are a people deeply rooted and well nourished, they will have the strength to get through the hard times together.
Instead of pointing fingers and highlighting differences in an attempt to explain a tragedy, what if we all imagine God appearing to us in those moments, reminding us that it’s far better to bless than to curse? On this Shabbat, may we all remember that we have the power to transform curses into blessings and turn hateful language into messages of love and praise.
Even from far away, I offer this blessing to all the girls and women who consider Camp Mystic their safe place:
May you build together a shelter of peace, stretching out like the palm trees and lending support to one another.
May you be like aloes planted by Adonai,
offering healing and comfort to those experiencing the most loss and pain.
And may you be like the cedar trees along the river banks,
rooting deeply to each other for support.
