S.A.L.T. PARASHAT BALAK

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

In his first blessing to Benei Yisrael, Bilam proclaims, “Tamot nafshi mot yesharim” – “May my soul die the death of the righteous” (23:10).  Contemplating Benei Yisrael’s virtues and worthiness, Bilam expresses his desire to resemble them even in death.  The Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (25a) comments that Bilam actually refers here to the patriarchs – Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov.  They are the ones of whom Bilam enviously speaks and describes with the term “yesharim.”

The Netziv famously discusses the term “yashar,” and its use in reference to the avot, in the introduction to his Ha’amek Davar commentary to Sefer Bereishit.  He asserts that “yashar” denotes not “piety,” but basic characteristics of integrity and sensitivity.  The avot are described as “yesharim” because they were not just great people, but also good people.  They were caring, courteous and honest in their dealings with all people, including their staunchest ideological opponents.  The Netziv contrasts the avot with the Jews of the end of the Second Temple era.  According to the Netziv’s description, the people at that time were “righteous, pious and engrossed in Torah,” but not “yesharim.”  The different ideological factions fiercely battled against one another, to the point of violence and bloodshed.  They were “righteous,” but they were not “yesharim.”  They lost sight of the fact that spiritual greatness begins with basic decency and ethical behavior.

When Bilam expresses his admiration for the “yesharim,” the Netziv explains, he laments not his failure in meeting the avot’s extraordinary standards of piety, but rather his falling short of their example of “yashrut,” of basic character and integrity.

Indeed, the term “yashar,” as understood by the Netziv, is well-suited for the contrast that Bilam observes between himself and Am Yisrael.  As the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a, noted, Bilam excelled in the area of discipline and obedience.  When lines were drawn, he consistently ensured not to cross them.  Numerous times throughout the narrative in Parashat Balak, Bilam firmly reaffirms his commitment to abide by whichever restrictions God imposes.  He went to the furthest permissible limits in attempting to annihilate Benei Yisrael – but never any further.  As such, he was technically law-abiding, but very far from the model of “yashar.”  Bilam faithfully abided by God’s restrictions, but lacked any semblance of decency.  He obeyed God’s laws, but hoped to annihilate His beloved people.  He was committed to the letter of the law, but embodied the polar opposite of every value that this law is meant to foster.

This might be the meaning behind the incident of the angel that obstructed Bilam’s path as he rode toward Moav to curse Benei Yisrael, but which Bilam was unable to see.  Just as our sinful inclinations are often described as “evil angels” that seek to deter us from the path of proper conduct, the “angel of the Lord” (“mal’akh Hashem” – 22:22) was perhaps sent to Bilam as a symbol of the “good angels” that try to obstruct our path to sinful conduct.  There are certain “paths” from which we intuitively recoil, behaviors which we immediately and instinctively recognize as inappropriate and corrupt.  Decent people see “angels” that block their path to routes that they ought not travel; they have an intuitive sense of improper behaviors from which they must keep a safe distance.  But Bilam, who prided himself on his ability to “behold the vision of Sha-dai” (24:4), did not see “the angel of the Lord.”  He pursued spiritual greatness without bothering to try to achieve basic morality and decency.  He thought he could continue beholding prophetic visions without ever looking out for the “angels” that block decent people from indecent behavior.

The story of Bilam thus reminds us to strive for both greatness and goodness, to commit ourselves to both the strict letter of the law, and the spirit of the law, to behold ambitious “visions” of spiritual excellence while always seeing the ever-present “angels” that steer us toward basic propriety and ethical conduct.

Sunday

            In his third prophetic blessing to Benei Yisrael, Bilam compares the Israelite camp to “cedars near water” (“ka-arazim alei mayim” – 24:6).  The cedar tree is often used in Tanakh as a symbol of strength and dominion, and the image of a cedar near water refers to Benei Yisrael’s security and protection that is comparable to a tree planted near a river which provides a reliable source of water.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Ta’anit (20a) comments regarding Bilam’s blessing, “The curse with which Achiya the Shilonite cursed Israel is preferable to the blessing with which the wicked Bilam blessed them.” In his blessing, Bilam wished Benei Yisrael that they should resemble a cedar, whereas Achiya, in foreseeing the downfall of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, likened the nation to a reed: “The Lord shall strike Israel like a reed sways in the water” (Melakhim I 14:15).  At first glance, we might prefer the comparison to a strong, sturdy cedar over the comparison to a flimsy reed, but the Gemara notes that the precise opposite is true: “This reed stands in place of water, its stump grows new shoots and it has abundant roots.  Even if all the winds in the world come and blow against it, they cannot move it from its place, and it rather comes and goes with them.  Once the winds calm, the reed is in its place.”  A cedar, by contrast, “does not stand in a place of water, its stump does not grow new shoots, and it does not have abundant roots.  Even if all the winds in the world blow against it, they cannot move it from its place, but once a southern wind blows against it, it uproots it and overturns it.”  Moreover, the Gemara adds, “the reed had the privilege of having a pen taken from it for writing books of Torah, the Nevi’im and the Ketuvim.”  Thus, Achiya’s curse, in a sense, was more favorable for Benei Yisrael than Bilam’s blessing, as Achiya’s warning contains an implicit guarantee of the nation’s ability to withstand the powerful forces that God would unleash against it.

            What point does the Gemara seek to convey through this contrast between the reed and the cedar?  Why does it matter that Achiya’s curse was, in a sense, preferable to Bilam’s blessing?

            Possibly, the Gemara here distinguishes between two different kinds of Torah commitment.  The image of the reed perhaps refers to a simple, “no frills” commitment that is firmly rooted in genuine faith and yir’at Shamayim.  The observant Jew allegorized by the reed is not necessarily an accomplished scholar, and has not embraced all the stringent measures found in halakhic works or accepted upon himself special measures of piety, but he has “abundant roots.”  His commitment to Torah is firmly grounded; he is sincerely devoted to God with unshakable faith and fealty to the authority and binding nature of the Torah.  The “cedar,” by contrast, is grand and impressive, but without sufficient roots.  This is the person who does great things but without genuine commitment.  His achievements are impressive, but they are not rooted in sincere love of God and a heartfelt desire to study and observe the Torah.  This person’s strengths and achievements are all above the surface, in the outward manifestation of religious commitment, but not in the sincere, internal devotion to the Almighty.  Commitment of this sort can withstand a good deal of pressure – “even if all the winds in the world blow against it, they cannot move it from its place” – but, ultimately, “once a southern wind blows against it, it uproots it and overturns it.”  Inevitably, challenges will arise that will “uproot” the superficial commitment.  Torah observance characterized by artificial externalities can pass many tests of commitment, but not all.

            “The curse with which Achiya the Shilonite cursed Israel is preferable to the blessing with which the wicked Bilam blessed them.”  Chazal stood firmly on the side of simplicity rooted in sincere religious commitment, as opposed to grand, impressive, external religious expression with shallow roots.  And so, “the reed had the privilege of having a pen taken from it for writing books of Torah.”  It is specifically the “reed,” the symbol of simple, genuine devotion, with which we “write the Torah,” which ensures the permanence and stability of our tradition and faith, and guarantees its ability to withstand all the fierce “winds” of opposition and temptation that threaten us.

Monday

            Bilam begins his first blessing to Benei Yisrael by describing the mission for which he summoned – to curse the Israelite nation – and then exclaims, “Ma ekob lo kabo Kel,” which literally means, “How can I curse he whom the Almighty does not curse!” (23:8).  He draws Balak’s attention to the fact that witchcraft is powerless against Benei Yisrael, as curses are only as effective as God allows them to be.  And since God does not wish to have a curse placed upon Am Yisrael, efforts to achieve that goal are destined for failure.

            The Keli Yakar offers an insightful homiletic reading of Bilam’s declaration in this verse.  He writes that “lo kabo Kel” means not that God does not wish for Benei Yisrael to be cursed, but rather than Benei Yisrael do not curse “Kel.”  The divine Name of “Kel,” the Keli Yakar writes, refers specifically to the harsh manifestation of divine power.  Even when Benei Yisrael endure the effects of “Kel,” of God’s strict justice, they accept His decrees unquestioningly and without resentment.  The Keli Yakar writes:

The [pagan] nations – when calamity befalls them, they curse their king and their god.  But this is not the case regarding Yisrael.  Rather, even if the Almighty descends upon them with strength and force, like the implication of the Name Kel, they nevertheless do not blaspheme or curse, but rather bless even over the calamity.  Therefore, even the Almighty will not curse them even at the time of their failure.

            Bilam here proclaims that Am Yisrael’s devotion to God is not self-serving, but sincere.  They do not commit themselves to His commands simply to win His favor and thereby earn success, health and prosperity.  Their commitment stems from genuine, unconditional faith in Torah as the ultimate good, and it therefore endures even during periods of hardship.  And thus although they make their share of mistakes, and, as we know from the previous parashiyot, their record was not quite perfect, they were nevertheless deserving of God’s forgiveness because of their unquestioning and unwavering faith in God’s goodness.

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda (Denver, 1934), cites in this context the Gemara’s comment in Masekhet Berakhot (20) that God “favors” Am Yisrael (“nosei panim le-Yisrael”) because they recite birkat ha-mazon after eating as little as a ke-zayit of bread.  Whereas the Torah requires reciting birkat ha-mazon only after eating to satiation (“ve-akhalta ve-savata u-veirakhta” – Devarim 8:10), we observe the Sages’ enactment to recite the blessing even after eating just as ke-zayit.  We earn God’s favor when we learn how to “bless” Him, how to thank, praise and remain committed to Him, even when we do not feel “satiated,” even when we have unfulfilled aspirations.

Our religious devotion must never turn into an instrument whereby we try to force God’s hand, as it were, to give us what we want and what we feel we need.  It must rather follow the model of “lo kabo Kel,” of unconditional commitment even in life’s darker moments, even when we lack “satiation.”  This is the unique quality of Am Yisrael which led Bilam to describe us as “a nation that dwells in isolation,” a nation like no other, which remains faithfully and consistently devoted to God at all times and under all circumstances.

Tuesday

            In his second blessing to Benei Yisrael, Bilam likens the nation to a lion: “ke-lavi yakum ve-kha’ari yitnasa” – “It arises like a lion, and raises itself like a lion” (23:24).

            The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 20) presents the following explanation of these words of praise for Am Yisrael:

There is no nation in the world like them.  They sleep from Torah and mitzvot, and then arise from their sleep like lions, “grab” the recitation of shema and proclaim the Almighty’s kingship.  And they become like lions and set sail for work and business.

According to the Midrash, Bilam here lauds Benei Yisrael for their tireless energy and vigor.  They retire at night after intensive involvement in Torah in mitzvot, and then jump out of bed in the morning to pray and proceed to their jobs and businesses.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, notes that the Midrash affords religious value to exerting oneself diligently in the pursuit of a livelihood.  The Midrash interprets the phrase “ve-kha’ari yitnasa” (“and raises itself like a lion”) as referring to the way Benei Yisrael “set sail for work and business.”  Working hard to achieve professional success is considered an important value.  Bilam admires Benei Yisrael not only for their diligence in “grabbing” the daily mitzvot, but also for the effort and hard work they invest in their “work and business.”

            The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (32b) comments: “Four things require chizuk [reinforcement]: Torah [learning], good deeds, prayer, and derekh eretz.”  Rashi, explaining the term “derekh eretz,” writes: “…if he is an artisan, then with respect to his art; if he is a merchant, then with respect to his merchandise; if he is a warrior, then with respect to his war.”  Rav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/bereishit/07-59vayetz.doc) noted that Chazal here admonish us to pursue the highest standards of excellence in everything we do, in any activity we involve ourselves in.  We need “chizuk” not only in our Torah study, prayer and mitzva performance, but also (le-havdil) in derekh eretz – our worldly pursuits.  Rav Lichtenstein made these remarks in the context of Yaakov Avinu’s testimony of his devoted service to Lavan: “Thus I was: in the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by night; and my sleep departed from my eyes...” (Bereshit 31:40).  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Sekhirut (13:7), points to Yaakov’s example as the paradigm that every employee must follow in his service to his employer: “And he is obligated to work with all his strength, as Yaakov Ha-Tzaddik declared [to Rachel and Leah]: ‘With all my strength I served your father.’”  Rav Lichtenstein commented (as summarized by a student):

It is important to realize that this applies to every area of our lives.  No matter what it is that one is engaged in - be it studying, working or serving in the army - one is obligated as a “ben Yisrael” to behave in the same way as Yaakov Avinu: Whatever one does should be done in the quantity required of him and should also be of the quality required of him.

            We become deserving of Bilam’s blessings when we exert ourselves to our fullest in all areas of life, in every activity with which we engage, both sacred and mundane.  We are to “pounce like a lion” to achieve success and excellence in everything we do, without ever settling for anything less.

Wednesday

            Undoubtedly, the most famous of Bilam’s blessings to Benei Yisrael is the verse with which many people begin the prayer service: “Ma tovu ohalekha Yaakov mishkenotekha Yisrael” – “How good are your tents, Yaakov – your dwelling places, Yisrael!” (24:5).  Rashi famously cites the Gemara’s interpretation of this blessing (Bava Batra 60a) as referring to the positioning of the people’s  tents: “He saw that the entranceways to their tents were not facing one another.”  Bilam was impressed by the privacy that Benei Yisrael afforded each other, to the extent that when they pitched their tents, they ensured that the doorways of different families would not face one another.  He was thus inspired to declare, “How good are your tents, Yaakov – your dwelling places, Yisrael!”

            In the very next verse, immediately after observing Benei Yisrael’s respect for each other’s privacy, Bilam proceeds to compare the nation to flowing waters and various forms of vegetation: “They stretch like streams, like gardens by the river, like spices planted by the Lord, like cedars upon the water.”  The common denominator shared by these three analogies is that all involve phenomena that affect people at a distance.  Running streams bring water many miles beyond their source, fragrant spices can be smelled from afar, and tall, majestic cedars are visible from a vast distance.  In this verse, it appears, Bilam marvels at Benei Yisrael’s widespread impact.  Their strict standards of conduct serves as a source of spiritual nourishment to the world like flowing rivers, and their fragrance and beauty inspire people far and wide like aromatic spices and towering cedars.

            It is perhaps significant that this description comes on the heels of Bilam’s praise of Benei Yisrael’s quality of privacy.  Although the people’s attention is directed inward, toward their own homes, rather than peering into the lives and affairs of other people, they nevertheless succeed in having an impact that extends far beyond their families.  They do not have to constantly look “outside their tents” to impact upon the world; this impact results naturally from their efforts to build themselves, their homes and their communities.

            Rav Yaakov Neuberger insightfully notes the contemporary relevance of Bilam’s message:

The length and strength of the river flow will heavily depend on the strength of its water source without threatening the source’s ability to bring ever fresh water.  The cedar will impress itself upon viewers far beyond its immediate environs, without in any way being diminished; the spices will, if the source is potent and pleasant, be enjoyed by many without taking any scent away from any other.  In this lies one of the great secrets of the home and the community.  Our ability to impact on others will be far more dependant on the vibrancy of the core than on the calculated design of its reach…

We who are forever juggling our concern for the growth of the members of our own community with the concern for outreach can appreciate what intrigued Bilaam.  Families, who are always balancing the energies we place into our own children as we extend ourselves beyond as well, understand that indeed Bilaam noted a magical event.  He saw families so focused and so successful in creating an intensely fragrant lifestyle that it attracted effortlessly, from afar; shuls that stood so tall and strong with integrity and nobility that they readily impressed far beyond their immediate surroundings.

Bilam reminds us that our ability to impact and inspire depends upon the strength of our core.  The process of outreach must begin with inreach, with bolstering and fortifying our values and strict adherence to them.  Am Yisrael is capable of “stretching like streams” only if we first arrange our tents such that the entrances do not face each other, if he give our own homes and communities the focus and attention they need to grow and flourish.

Thursday

            Among the analogies employed by Bilam in describing the virtues of Benei Yisrael is the comparison to a lion (23:24).  Rashi, based on the Midrash Tanchuma, explains this analogy as referring to the nation’s diligent performance of the daily mitzvot each morning: “When they arise in the morning from their sleep, they strengthen themselves like a lion to ‘grab’ mitzvot – to wear tzitzit, read shema, and wear tefillin.”

            Rav Eliyahu Yehuda Rosenthal, in his Imrei Dei’a (Jerusalem, 5761), notes that the sequence in which Rashi lists these mitzvot might perhaps be significant.  Normally, of course, we put on tefillin before reciting the shema, yet Rashi here lists the shema reading before the mitzva of tefillin.  One might infer from Rashi that this sequence of performance is acceptable, even if normally we ensure to recite shema only after we have donned our tefillin.

            Of course, as Rav Rosenthal proceeds to discuss, this conclusion must take into account the well-known halakha established in Masekhet Berakhot (14b) that “one who reads the shema reading without tefillin is as though he testifies falsely about himself.”  The Gemara requires reading the daily shema specifically while wearing tefillin, because the text of shema includes the verses that introduce the obligation of tefillin, and it would be inappropriate to read about this requirement without observing it.  If we interpret Rashi’s comments as allowing the recitation of shema before donning tefillin, we must reconcile his position with the Gemara’s explicit ruling forbidding reading shema without tefillin.

            One possible solution, Rav Rosenthal notes, emerges from the view among the Rishonim that the Torah obligation of shema includes only the recitation of the first verse (an issue discussed at length by the Sha’agat Aryeh, in siman 2).  It stands to reason that the prohibition against reading shema without tefillin applies only to reading the verses that speak of the tefillin obligation, such that one “testifies falsely about himself” by reading about a mitzva that he fails to perform.  Indeed, the Magen Avraham (38:7) writes explicitly that in situations where one is required to read only the first verse of shema, he may do so even without tefillin.  The Magen Avraham advances this theory to explain the halakha exempting shoshbinin (friends of the groom who run the wedding celebration) from the obligation of tefillin, despite the fact that they must read the first verse of shema.  (This halakha does not apply nowadays, for reasons that lie beyond the scope of our discussion.).  They do not violate the prohibition of “false testimony,” the Magen Avraham explains, because they read only the first verse of shema, which makes no mention of the tefillin obligation.  Thus, it is possible that Rashi speaks on the level of Torah obligation, which requires (according to some views) reading only the first verse of shema, and thus this mitzva may be performed before one dons tefillin.

            However, Rav Rosenthal infers from the Rambam’s codification of this halakha that it applies even to the reading of the first verse of shema.  The Rambam writes regarding tefillin (Hilkhot Tefillin 4:26): “Even though their mitzva is to be worn the entire day, during prayer [this is] more important than all [other times].  The Sages teach, ‘Anyone who reads the shema reading without tefillin is as though he testifies falsely about himself…’”  Significantly, the Rambam here emphasizes the importance of wearing tefillin not just for shema, but throughout the prayer service.  He apparently understood the Sages’ admonition as referring not to the recitation of the verses that discuss the mitzva of tefillin, but rather more generally, to the prayer service.  Prayer should be recited with tefillin, which serve as the symbol of our subjugation to the divine will.  As we express our submission to God’s authority, we must wear tefillin, which symbolize this submission.  According to the Rambam, it would seem, one must put on tefillin before shema even in situations where he recites only the first verse.

Friday

            The Torah in Parashat Balak tells the famous story of Bilam’s donkey, which, while riding toward Moav, saw an angel blocking its path on three occasions.  The donkey, seeing the obstruction, veered to the side or, the third time, crouched in place.  On each occasion, Bilam beat the donkey, and when God finally enabled Bilam to see the angel, the angel berated Bilam for acting violently toward his animal (22:32).

            The Rambam, in his Guide for the Perplexed (3:17), points to this verse as the Biblical origin of the prohibition of tza’ar ba’alei chayim – unnecessarily causing pain to animals: “There is a rule laid down by our Sages that it is directly prohibited by the Law to cause pain to an animal, and is based on the words: ‘Wherefore hast though smitten thine donkey?’”  Although the Guide is intended as a philosophical – as opposed to halakhic – work, it appears that the Rambam regarded tza’ar ba’alei chayim as a Torah prohibition.  The Sefer Ha-chasidim (666) similarly cites this verse as the source of this prohibition, and writes explicitly that tza’ar ba’alei chayim applies on the level of Torah law.

            The issue of the origin of this prohibition is subject to a debate among the Tanna’im, as the Gemara discusses in Masekhet Bava Metzia (32b).  One view maintained that this prohibition was enacted by the Sages, and does not constitute a Torah law.  The Gemara addresses this question with regard to the parameters of the Torah obligation to assist one’s fellow in unloading his cargo from his animal.  If tza’ar ba’al chayim is a Biblical prohibition, then one would be required on the level of Torah obligation to assist in unloading cargo even from an animal belonging to a gentile.  If the prohibition was enacted by the Sages, then the Torah does not, strictly speaking, require unloading cargo from a non-Jew’s animal, though this would nevertheless be required “mishum eiva” – to avoid ill-will on the part of one’s gentile neighbors.

            In any event, the Rambam in the Guide, and the Sefer Ha-chasidim, clearly classify tza’ar ba’alei chayim as a Torah prohibition, which we infer from the incident of Bilam’s donkey.

            The question, however, arises as to why Bilam – a non-Jew – would be bound by this prohibition.  Even assuming that it applies on the level of Torah law, there seems to be no reason to extend this law to gentiles.  Tza’ar ba’alei chayim is not included under the seven mitzvot benei Noach, the laws that apply to all humanity, and the question thus arises as to why, according to the Rambam and the Sefer Ha-chasidim, Bilam was guilty of violating this prohibition.

Several Acharonim answer, quite simply, that both Jews and gentiles are bound by laws borne out of an intuitive sense of propriety.  Tza’ar ba’alei chayim does not have to be explicitly included among the formal Noachide laws because human beings are created with an innate understanding that cruelty is wrong, even to animals.  Thus, Bilam was indeed bound by this intuitive prohibition not to beat a harmless animal.

            However, as noted by Rav Chayim Dov Eisentein in his Peninim Mi-bei Midresha, the assumption that tza’ar ba’alei chayim is an intuitive, self-understood law of basic morality seems questionable in light of the Talmudic discussion mentioned above.  As we saw, the Tanna’im debate the question of whether tza’ar ba’alei chayim constitutes a Torah prohibition, and one view maintains that it was enacted by the Sages.  Seemingly, an issue that was debated among the towering Sages of the Talmud can hardly be regarded as an innate, intuitive matter of elementary morality that is binding upon all humanity.

            The likely answer, as Rav Eisenstein explains, lies in a well-established distinction between two different forms of tza’ar ba’alei chayim – active and passive.  The debate in the Talmud involves the origin of the obligation to alleviate an animal’s discomfort, whether the Torah specifically prohibits one from sitting by idly while an animal suffers.  We have no reason to extend this debate to the question as to the origin of the prohibition against actively causing unnecessary harm to an animal.  Regarding this issue, we may indeed assume that Chazal unanimously regarded such behavior as prohibited by force of Torah law, perhaps even for gentiles by virtue of its intuitive reprehensibility.  Indeed, several Acharonim (Or Samei’ach – Hilkhot Shabbat 25:26, and Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky – Emet Le-Yaakov, Parashat Balak) draw this distinction to reconcile otherwise conflicting statements of the Rambam.  Whereas in the Guide, as we saw, the Rambam explicitly classifies tza’ar ba’alei chayim as a Torah prohibition, in Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Rotzei’ach 13:9), he rules that one is not, strictly speaking, required to unload a non-Jew’s cargo from his animal – reflecting the view that tza’ar ba’alei chayim is not a Torah prohibition.  Apparently, the Rambam distinguished between active cruelty to animals, which, as inferred from the incident with Bilam, is forbidden on the level of Torah law, and the obligation to intervene to alleviate an animal’s suffering, which is required only by force of rabbinic enactment.

            There is, however, one question which remains concerning the comments of the Rambam and the Sefer Ha-chasidim.  The Rama (E.H. 5:14) rules explicitly that one may cause pain to an animal when this is necessary for his purposes.  The prohibition of tza’ar ba’alei chayim forbids inflicting pain unnecessarily, but does not limit our rights to use the animal kingdom for our needs to uses that do not cause discomfort.  Bilam, as described in the Torah, did not beat his donkey in a wanton, uncontrolled fit of rage, but rather to steer it in the proper direction (“le-hatotah ha-darekh” – 22:23).  Seemingly, this would not violate the prohibition of tza’ar ba’alei chayim, as it was done for the purposes of transportation, and not just for the sake of violence.  (Rav Eisenstein raises this question and leaves it unanswered.)          

One possibility, perhaps, is that Bilam was guilty of tza’ar ba’alei chayim only for the third time he beat the donkey, regarding which the Torah writes, “Bilam was enraged, and he beat the donkey with the stick” (22:27).  In this instance, his response was not purely functional, but also emotional, to release his anger.  Venting one’s frustration on an animal would, indeed, qualify as tza’ar ba’alei chayim as it does not serve a practical function, and perhaps for this reason the aforementioned Rishonim inferred this prohibition from Bilam’s treatment of his animal.