Every morning we begin our prayers by reciting the words above, which actually come from this week’s Torah portion.

The parashah begins with Balak, king of Moab, afraid of the Israelites. So he commissions the great Canaanite prophet Balaam to curse the Hebrew people in order to protect his own lands.

Before agreeing to engage in the task, Balaam checks in with God, who tells the prophet that he will only be able to say that which God wants him to say. And so when the time comes for Balaam to curse the Israelites, only words of blessings manage to leave his lips, which is when he uttered the words Ma tovu,  “How goodly”.

According to our sages, this blessing is said in response to Balaam seeing how the Israelites arranged their camp; with the tents set up in such a way so that no two entrances faced one another, thereby ensuring some level of privacy for everyone.

But what I find most fascinating about these words is that despite the fact they came from a non-Jewish prophet, they’ve found their way into our daily prayers. This is especially confusing in light of the fact that the Torah very clearly states “You shall not walk in the ways of the Gentiles” (Leviticus 18:3). This conundrum is further exacerbated by the fact that we often sing this prayer — as well as many other prayers — to melodies that were originally written by non-Jews.

However, according to the great halachic authority, the Bach (Rabbi Joel Sirkis, died 1640), it is only problematic to use non-Jewish melodies when they were originally composed for church worship. But if the music is simply in the style of gentile music, there should not be a problem with us using it.

This opinion is supported by Rav Ovadia Yosef, the late chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel, who said “many great Mizrachi rabbis use Arab melodies when composing music and this is even suggested in Psalms (137:2): ‘We hung our harps upon Aravim (understood here as Arabs, instead of the more literal willows)’” (Yechaveh Da’at 2:5). Even the medieval Rabbi Menachem of Lozano claimed to write most of his compositions using Arab melodies, “since they make their songs more pleasing than anyone else” (Shtei Yadot 132a).

So it would appear that finding inspiration in the art of the non-Jewish world around us not only makes sense — as no culture can live in a vacuum — but that such endeavours have been embraced and celebrated by some of the greatest rabbis throughout history.

Of course, none of this should really be surprising, because just as much as we can find beauty and inspiration in the work of other nations, so too can they find much to praise in that which we do, even if it’s something as simple as the way in which we arrange our tents.