The gentile prophet Bil’am presents a great problem for many Jewish thinkers and commentators. Not because he is not Jewish and God still talks to him; there are many such individuals in the Bible. The real problem is that he is both a serious prophet as well as a villain. For many Jewish thinkers, this is inconceivable.61In the case of Lavan, another acknowledged villain, one could call the Divine communication he received a very limited intervention (as it is with Avimelech, whose status as a villain is disputed).
To relieve the dissonance created by the Torah’s rendering of Bil’am, the most obvious choices are to deny either that he was a prophet or that he was a villain. Since God commands Moshe to take revenge against Midian partly on account of Bil’am (Bemidbar 31:16),62 See also Ramban, Bemidbar 25:18, who partly bases his comments on Sanhedrin 106a. The notion that Bil’am was behind the plot to corrupt the Jews via the Midianite and Moabite women is shared by many and is commonly accepted as correct. (In an earlier comment, however [25:1], Ramban suggests that a more straightforward reading does not directly implicate Bil’am in this plot.) and because his death comes at the hands of the Jews specifically as a result of this divinely commanded war against Midian, it is clear that he is no hero. His apparent willingness to curse the Jews does not win him points either. Hence, given Bil’am’s at best mediocre moral character, the main strategy employed by commentators is to strip him of his prophecy. The foremost example of this is Rambam, who writes that Bil’am’s communication with God was actually sub-prophetic, and even that was only sporadic.63Guide for the Perplexed 2:45. Although the rabbis of the Talmud say many things about Bil’am, at least one of their statements (Avoda Zara 4b) also dovetails just such a position.
Of course, to say this is to deny the simple reading of the biblical text which shows Bil’am involved in extended and profound communication with God. But agenda-driven reinterpretations that deviate from the simple meaning of the text are not a problem in and of themselves. Almost all commentators offer such reinterpretations when the simple reading goes against what we believe to be an obvious truth or a fundamental belief. For example, when we read about God’s outstretched arm in Egypt,64Shemot 5:15; Devarim 26:8. it is nearly universally understood to be metaphoric. And in the context of Rambam’s understanding of prophecy, for a villain to be a prophet makes as much sense as for God to have a hand.
Yet Rambam and all who follow his reading of the text here might have chosen to ignore something quite important. The narrative of Bil’am is radically different from what comes before or after it in the book of Bemidbar. The way we generally approach the rest of the book – really, the rest of the Torah – may not be appropriate with Bil’am. In terms of the current discussion, our traditional beliefs regarding how prophecy works may need to be suspended, forcing us to actually contend with a “villainous prophet.”
Specifically here, the Torah deals with a particularly complex character in highly unusual ways. It does so in order to teach things that seem not to be conveyable in “standard mode.” Our strategy here will be to address the story of Bil’am according to the simple reading of the text, without superimposing many of the usual assumptions we make about how to understand the Torah.
The Book within a Book
We have already mentioned that the book of Bemidbar is unique in that it can really be split into two books: the ideal version consisting of the preparations for settling the Land of Israel and the real version which deals with all the trials and tribulations of the Jewish people’s desert journey. But this is not the only division that the rabbis allude to in looking at the book. The Talmud (Baba Batra 14b–15a) also suggests that it contains a complete and autonomous narrative that really doesn’t belong in it – the story of Bil’am.65 Rashi sharpens the point here by suggesting that the Bil’am narrative is not really needed by the Torah at all. Chronologically, of course, it takes place during the time period covered by Bemidbar, and that is ostensibly why it appears there. But in terms of almost every other factor that goes into the makeup of this story, it seems to be divorced from the rest of the book.
Besides the distinct content of what the Talmud calls “the parasha of Bil’am,” its separateness from what comes before and after it is quite evident. While it is part of the general chain of events regarding the Jews’ preparations to engage with Moav, which occurs immediately after the Bil’am narrative, the story itself is nevertheless quite independent and self-contained, starting with its own proper introduction giving us the information needed to understand the rest of the story, and concluding with a classic ending in which all the protagonists return home. Also, for the first and only time in the Torah, the scene diverges from the Israelite camp or from their ancestors’ domiciles. We see instead the inner workings of an enemy encampment and the antagonists’ rather unusual strategy to confound the approaching march of the Jews. We have no similar descriptions of Pharaoh’s palace or the events going on in the Amalekite or Edomite encampment.
To lend further credence to the rabbis’ view that the Bil’am narrative stands apart, the whole protracted story appears as one paragraph (parasha) according to the masoretic text. Though it is not completely unprecedented for such a large section of narrative to be presented as one paragraph, whenever it does happen, it is an obvious sign of inner coherence on the one hand, as well as separation from what precedes and follows it on the other.
There is one more thing that separates this story from the rest of the Torah – Bil’am’s oracles. The Torah does occasionally go into a lyrical mode, but does so sparingly. And of the few lyrical sections that we do find, none have quite the same tone and content as the ones we find in what we could now entitle “The book of Bil’am.” Truly, his oracles seem to gush forth from a semi-magical, inspired trance, which we see more commonly in pagan documents of the time. Granted, these types of visions are not so different from some of the later prophecies that appear in the Bible, but the particular flavor of Bil’am’s oracles as well as their placement specifically in the Torah as opposed to the later books set them apart.
If it is now clear that this section of Bemidbar stands alone, we must now ask what it is about this story that creates the need to treat it in such an unusual way. More than anything else, Bil’am’s is the story of an apparently powerful, yet comic gentile prophet who tries to find a way to curse the Jews, even though he knows that God is against it. His laughable antics notwithstanding, the Torah seems particularly interested in him, giving full coverage of both his story and his rather lengthy prophecies. By doing so, the Torah showers him with more attention than any other gentile prophet ever, with the exception of the early central figures in the book of Bereshit who predate Judaism.
The rabbis (Bemidbar Rabba 14:20) go even further, claiming that Bil’am was a prophet equivalent to none other than Moshe himself.66 See also Sifre, Devarim 34:10. Of course, the rabbis are also heavily critical of Bil’am as well. And it should be noted that although whenever there are disparate statements among the rabbis, it is possible that we are witnessing conflicting points of view, this need not be the case in this instance such that the seemingly disparate rabbinic statements may be reconcilable. They make this observation as an interpretation of Devarim 34:10, a verse proclaiming Moshe’s lack of equals among Jewish prophets. The fact that the rabbis interpret a verse that speaks so highly of Moshe as the basis of comparison with none other than Bil’am underscores their surprisingly lofty evaluation of him, and makes it clear that Bil’am’s comparison with Moshe is not just to a generic, interchangeable Jewish prophet but rather to the unequaled master of all Jewish prophets. Presumably not meant to be a complete evaluation of the consummate gentile prophet, the rabbis’ assessment of Bil’am nevertheless reminds us to study his role much more seriously than we might have otherwise.
In light of the above, we can conclude that Bil’am is a force we need to reckon with. Otherwise, Rashi’s opinion that the Bil’am story has no obvious place in the Torah becomes a very strong question indeed: if it has no integral place in the Torah, why is it there? Divine or otherwise, every book requires a certain editorial integrity; what belongs in the story is included and what does not is not. True, the Torah has to do more than tell a story. It must provide the Jewish people with all the basic information regarding understanding their mission and how to put it into action. Everywhere else, the Torah manages to do this within the narrative and on its own terms. For the Torah to alter its editorial policy only in this case means that there is something of great significance here, something intrinsically tied to the Torah’s purpose. We must now try to discover what that is.
The Comic, Serious Contender
We have no choice but to conclude that there was something about Bil’am’s allure that the Torah felt it needed to address. But it is not only the prophet’s appeal – sinister or otherwise – that creates a need to tell his story. Bil’am’s character is nuanced, neither purely evil nor purely good, and thus the Torah can’t treat it with simple teachings that need only to be reinforced by related laws. Deconstructing Bil’am requires the educational narrative that is his story, in order for us to understand and internalize the shortcomings of his approach.67Indeed, the Chassidic masters rediscovered what the rabbis of yore had already known: a story is likely to have much more educational power than a treatise or law book. And the progenitor of this method is the Torah, which reserved Bil’am’s story for particularly subtle and profound teachings.
Other biblical narratives concerning the more blatantly flawed spirituality embodied by idol worship were written primarily for historical reasons, because Jews succumbed to such beliefs and practices. Even then, most treatments of paganism in the Bible, whether practiced by gentiles or by Jews, are more parody than anything else. The tirades with which the prophet Eliyahu lambasts his pagan foes summarize the Bible’s general attitude.68For other examples, see Yeshayahu 44:10–20; Yirmeyahu 2:27–8; Tehillim 115:4–8. When he asks the pagan priests whether their deities are taking a nap or are on a journey (I Melachim 18:27),69 Rashi suggests that the words derekh lo said by Eliyahu imply that the deity has gone to use the restroom. he is mocking those that put their trust in unreliable spirits with whom they have no real communication. The Bible feels that such people and their priests are not worth taking seriously. And although Jews may have succumbed to polytheistic paganism and the worship of idols for all sorts of sociological reasons, their education in monotheism prevented the deeply serious Jew from being led astray.
The attraction of Bil’am, however, is different. It seems that the Torah was concerned that his approach to religion could in fact lead even serious Jews astray. Given Bil’am’s claim to true prophecy – a prophecy that was sometimes even more powerful than Moshe’s70Sifre, Devarim 34:10; Bemidbar Rabba 14:20. – the Jews needed to know why they should follow their true prophet and not his rival. Their messages were different, and it was imperative that the Torah of Moshe not be confused with the “Torah of Bil’am.” Yet, as we will discuss, there were enough similarities between the two prophets that the Torah could not write off such confusion as only a marginal threat.
Bil’am’s speeches show that he, like the Jews, accepts the supreme place of the universal God. This doesn’t necessarily mean that he denies other spiritual powers,71See Redeeming Relevance in Exodus, 92, n. 33, for similar observations about Yitro. but it does mean that he appreciates that it is the Torah’s God Who is at the center of the universe and its workings. This is a far cry from the typically polytheistic paganism represented by Pharaoh’s famous cri de coeur, (Shemot 5:2) “Who is God that I should listen to His voice?” Pharaoh wasn’t denying that the Jews came with their own God, he was denying His universality and superiority, effectively saying, “I have my own god, thank you!” This notion of national gods, lacking any absolute hierarchy, is satirized by the famous midrash (Bereshit Rabba 38:13) that has Avraham telling his father that one idol destroyed another during a fight. In any case, for Bil’am to recognize the power of God and to be able to approach Him in such a way as to reveal His will through prophecy must have come from great ability and sensitivity. It must have also reflected deep, spiritual insight.72While Bil’am’s problematic character, about which we will soon elaborate, makes it difficult to attribute positive traits to him, the depth of his prophecies as well as the indications that they are not isolated incidents makes it even more difficult to understand the biblical text as indicating anything but very refined spiritual characteristics.
Even the differences that do exist between Bil’am and a prophet such as Moshe are more subtle than we might initially think. In fact, a superficial reading of the Bil’am narrative would likely reveal more similarities than differences. Like Moshe, Bil’am understands that God is in charge and that it is pointless to make any move without Divine approval. Like Moshe, he sings the praises of the Jewish people and their ultimate triumph. And again like Moshe, Bil’am doesn’t always take God’s word as final, understanding that He allows for some human input into His plans.
But a careful reading shows that these similarities are grounded in radically different attitudes toward God. To understand this, we will now move beyond the superficial comparisons with which we started and turn our attention to the details of this self-contained saga.
Talking Donkey and Schizophrenic Angel
The story of Bil’am begins with various delegations inviting him to Moav to bring a curse upon the approaching Jewish nation. Here we will note only Bil’am’s persistence in trying to figure out a way to go to Moav, even while his chances for success on this mission appear to be close to zero. As we delve further into his personality, a better understanding of this strange behavior will emerge.
Most revealing in Bil’am’s story is the next part, wherein he embarks upon the trip to Moav riding his donkey. After Bil’am hits his donkey for refusing to march forward, the donkey suddenly talks back to him (Bemidbar 22:28). This rather strange event has caused much commotion among readers of the biblical text. Many commentators have been perplexed – perhaps even vexed – by the conversation Bil’am has with his newly talking donkey.73See, for example, the various commentators cited by Ibn Ezra on Bemidbar 22:28.
On some level, it is peculiar that commentators who are not bothered by much greater biblical miracles such as the splitting of the Sea of Reeds or the sun’s standing still are bothered by the veracity of the talking donkey story. Yet, there is something fairy-tale-like about such a lowly creature speaking like a human being. This surrealistic encounter was certainly meant to disturb the reader, if not necessarily to make him question whether it truly occurred. After all, we don’t read about talking animals anywhere else in the Bible (with the exception of the primordial serpent which one is hard-pressed to really see as an animal).74See Seforno and Torat Moshe (Alshich) on Bereshit 3:1. It feels as if this miracle is coming from another tradition outside of the Bible. (However, given that this is a self-contained narrative, we should not be so surprised that it includes exotic elements such as this.)
It seems as if the Torah wants us to react with a certain amount of disbelief; not in the sense that this miracle is so difficult, but rather in the sense that the reader is befuddled that the narrative would interject something so fantastic in the middle of an ultimately mundane story, the likes of which are so common in the Bible. But that is precisely one of the major points here: Bil’am completely misses recognizing the abnormal nature of the occurrence, continuing with what had been a regular flow of events. In spite of the miraculous and utterly bizarre event to which he is privy, he continues riding as he engages the donkey in conversation. His insouciance, however, only underscores the power of this unusual narrative.
It is plain that the Torah is describing this turn of events in a way that will give the reader pause. But why is Bil’am so blind to his donkey’s unnatural verbal ability that he is comfortable speaking with it, and conversely, why is he so blind to the larger context of the story, i.e., God’s displeasure with his mission?75The word “blind” here is a general metaphor for the lack of recognition of external stimuli. However, the rabbis understood that Bil’am was actually also blind in one eye. See Sanhedrin 105a.
Bil’am’s (usually metaphorical) vision is a recurring theme in his own prophetic utterances. He refers to himself as the one “whose eye is opened” (Bemidbar 24:3, 15) and “[who] sees the visions of God” (Bemidbar 24:4, 16) – and yet, he doesn’t “see” what is going on when his own donkey opens its mouth. And as a pattern within a pattern, neither does he see the mystical vision of the angel blocking his path (which his donkey ironically does see, and is the reason that he refuses to march forward). For a prophet, who really does “see,” to be able to miss so much is at the very least a paradox.76See Sanhedrin 105b. Then again, so is Bil’am’s spirituality, but more about that later.
In brief, what we see here is that although Bil’am might have had crystal-clear vision when it came to what he thought was important, his vision could also be heavily obstructed by extraneous, personal considerations. In this narrative, his desperate and single-minded determination to fulfill an ill-fated mission blocks his ability to even notice what should have been an extremely strange and disturbing incident. He didn’t lack the ability to see everything, he simply didn’t use it because of self-imposed limitations.
Yet Bil’am doesn’t block out everything standing in the way of his goal. He saw that God didn’t want him going to Moav to curse the Jews, and he saw that God did want him to bless them. But if we pay closer attention to what draws his attention and what doesn’t, it appears that something more complex is at play. When God originally told Bil’am not to go to Moav and not to curse the Jewish people, this was fully expected. As a result, Bil’am “heard” it. What was not expected, however, was that after God finally sanctions his mission an angel would block that path for him.77Rashi and other commentators try to explain this as well, but the issue of God “changing his mind” here remains difficult. Even though God “changed His mind,” as it were, about letting Bil’am go, this too was part of a familiar pattern. Appeasing God was among a prophet’s major tasks, and once achieved, God would bestow His clemency. But God’s sending a messenger to obstruct Bil’am’s path did not have a place in his view of how things were supposed to work.
From the above, we can reasonably determine that Bil’am was uncomfortable with anything that defied his expectations. Of course, this is a very human trait – it is quite common to deny something that is out of line with what we have come to expect. But by not allowing God to surprise him, Bil’am becomes a foil for one of the Torah’s most central doctrines, the notion of chiddush (novelty). So although Bil’am possesses a spirituality that includes awe of God and the ability to see the beauty of His works, he lacks the ability to learn from that which falls out of the expected patterns.
Not surprisingly, this is very much in line with the religious culture of Bil’am’s time. The paganism that had all but carried the day was a doctrine that followed certain patterns. Pagans worshiped spiritual forces, both out of awe as well as out of self-interest. On the face of it, the new religion of the children of Israel did not appear to be so different.78Indeed, for Rambam, much of the Torah has to do with weaning the Jews from ingrained modes of spirituality such as sacrifices. See his Guide 3:32. Yet, there was a crucial difference between the two, and that was that the Jews were expected to learn new things that they didn’t anticipate, and to radically change in response. This idea is already brought to the fore by Avraham when he uproots himself from Ur Casdim and follows the highly unconventional path that God dictates to him. At the time of the Exodus from Egypt, when the Jews encounter the miraculous events there and in the desert, they too learn (though not always successfully) to respond to the new conditions God presents them with. Hence, the idea was precisely not to approach monotheism as a “business as usual” type of religion. And critical to this was a willingness to be confronted with and adjust to the new and the unexpected.
If all this is true, however, then why is Bil’am so willing to hear his donkey talk? Wasn’t this also beyond his expectations, or is it merely a question of his incredibly strong focus on the task at hand? It may well be that the latter is the case, but there might be another reason for his obliviousness to this bizarre occurrence. As noted, the donkey’s speech is unique in the Bible. However, in pagan mythology, talking animals are not at all uncommon. While Bil’am became a great prophet of God, his roots were in the pagan world of magic and sorcery.79See Abarbanel, beginning of parashat Balak, who describes such a trajectory. The Bible even tells us on more than one occasion that Bil’am himself had been involved in sorcery80See Yehoshua 13:22. This is also what is implied in Bemidbar 22:7 when the messengers are sent to Bil’am with “magic” in their hands. (nor is it obvious that he had completely given it up). As an erstwhile practitioner of strange pagan magic, then, it would not have surprised him to hear his donkey speak.
In any case, Bil’am’s inability to “see” the unexpected is just one weakness in the “Torah of Bil’am.” And although it might not be the only one, it may still end up being at the root of everything else; one can grow only to the extent that he can learn, and one can learn only to the extent that he is open to novelty. The narrow parameters of Bil’am’s comfort level stunted further growth and ultimately prevented him from equaling his rival, Moshe.
The Donkey Redux
If, as previously mentioned, the rabbis find hints in the Torah of Bil’am’s greatness, it does not prevent them from noting his all too human weaknesses as well. In this regard, we need to look more closely at Bil’am’s donkey. We have already explored one aspect of its central place in our story, but there is another, somewhat more hidden aspect of the donkey episode to which we will now turn our attention.
In the Bible, men generally ride male donkeys (chamorim).81The one exception to this is from a lyrical verse (Shoftim 5:10) speaking about nobles riding on special white, female donkeys (see Yehuda Elitzur, Da’at Mikra ad loc.). Bil’am serves as the only clear exception to this by riding a female donkey. That this is not simply a coincidence is made quite clear via the Torah’s constant repetition of the word for a female donkey (aton) throughout the story. The rabbis (Avoda Zara 4b) suggest that, together with another hint that they find in the text, the Torah is telling us that Bil’am would actually cohabit with his donkey.
If the rabbinic interpretation above seems outlandish, there is a reason that other biblical men ride male donkeys. No matter how base, it is likely that sharing the journey with a female animal would provide sexual temptation for many pagan men on long journeys. Moreover, even if a man were not tempted, he would likely be under a presumption of guilt by others. And at the very least, the mere general assumption of temptation toward such an act, even without its consummation, would be a discredit to a man of God. The rabbis cannot accept that someone of Bil’am’s stature would not have been aware of this, and thus need to explain his unusual choice of a female donkey.
Some have suggested that bestiality was part of ancient pagan practice. Were that to be the case, it could provide a reasonable explanation for the strange sexual behavior that the rabbis ascribe to Bil’am and to which the Torah may be alluding. Certainly, many pagan cults included performing ritual sexual acts, but if bestiality was among them, it is not well documented. Moreover, it was clearly not a universal rite, so that it becomes somewhat speculative to suggest that Bil’am’s ostensible cohabitation with his donkey was due to some pagan ritual. Thus the rabbinic claim is likely more a castigation of Bil’am himself and not of his vestigial association with paganism.
Yet the rabbis may just be using a dramatic way to illustrate the impropriety of traveling with a female donkey. A man of God, even if completely virtuous, who is not concerned about his reputation, is ultimately not concerned about God’s. The notion of chilul Hashem, the desecration of God’s Name by the crimes and misdemeanors of those associated with Him, is a well-developed rabbinic theme. In fact, chilul Hashem is sometimes described as the worst of all sins.82See Yoma 86a. Bil’am’s lack of sensitivity to this aspect of Divine service is an indicator of so great a flaw that it needs to be described in the most extreme of terms.
Alternatively, as suggested above, Bil’am’s remaining connection with the pagan world may be the main target of the rabbinic critique here. The talking donkey is used as a broader symbol of pagan culture. For its part, sexual relations represent the most intimate connection that one can have with someone (or something) else. Indeed, it can symbolize all sorts of connection, but the main point is clear: even as Bil’am is a Divine prophet by the light of day, he is still intimately connected to paganism under the cover of darkness.
Such a connection is entirely consonant with what we now know historically. Ancient documentary fragments unearthed in Jordan in 1967 mention someone called Bil’am ben Be’or, a seer who had great powers. It is highly unlikely that this is not the very same Bil’am that we know from the Torah. But the Bil’am in these fragments speaks about, and to, many gods.83See B.A. Levine, “The Deir ’Alla Plaster Inscriptions,” in W.W. Hallo (ed.), Context of Scripture, vol. 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 140–145. None of this need be surprising, since the fragments could be speaking either about an earlier period in Bil’am’s life, or, if he didn’t leave paganism completely, even about the period mentioned in the Torah’s narrative.
As with Avraham, there is no reason to believe that Bil’am was born or raised as a monotheist. The question is where his road toward some version of monotheism took him. To answer this, all we have to go on are the hints given in the Torah. The references to magic and the manipulative ways he relates to God certainly make us believe that even if he were to have moved away from the theology of idols and paganism, he did not completely move away from its approach. Accordingly, although Bil’am is generally not given any description beyond being the son of Be’or, in the book of Yehoshua we read that the Jews killed “Bil’am the son of Be’or, the sorcerer (Yehoshua 13:22)” – a severe final condemnation.
In brief, whether the Torah is taking aim at its bizarre magical rites, its lowly sexual practices, or its trustees’ lack of sensibilities, the hybrid model of monotheism and paganism that Bil’am represents is certainly the target of the Torah’s criticism. On one level or another, Bil’am had not completely extracted himself from the world of paganism. Anticipating Eliyahu’s famous words at Mount Carmel (I Melachim 18:21), the Torah is telling us that when it comes to paganism, a choice must be made. To cling to any part of pagan thinking or practice is incompatible with serious devotion to God.
Avraham and Bil’am: The Message and the Messenger
Earlier we wrote about the positive similarities between Bil’am and Moshe. But Moshe is not the only biblical figure the rabbis consider when looking at Bil’am. In Pirkei Avot 5:19, the rabbis speak about Bil’am and Avraham, this time focusing on the differences rather than on the similarities. There is at least one strong reason to consider the two men together: both of them emerged from the world of paganism to recognition and worship of the universal God. But to what degree were these men able to perform the almost miraculous feat of leaving their pagan surroundings behind? A total split from their backgrounds would have been quite difficult; questioning the central values and practices of society is generally not a way to make friends! Yet it appears that this is exactly the path that Avraham takes, from the first lech lecha (“go forth”) away from his home and culture (Bereshit 12:2) to the last lech lecha to sacrifice his son (Bereshit 22:2) and make himself look crazy, even in the eyes of those whose respect he had won.
Bil’am is also commanded by God to lech to a different land (Bemidbar 22:20), but only on his own initiative and only after God already denied his first request (Bemidbar 22:12). More important still is that as opposed to Avraham, Bil’am doesn’t walk away from idolaters but toward them. Hence, the effect generated by each character’s respective walk is diametrically opposed to the other’s.
The difference between the two prophets’ walks is ironically highlighted by more similarities. The Torah makes a point of telling us that Bil’am walked with “shtei na’arav,” his two lads (Bemidbar 22:22), echoing the story of Avraham’s journey to sacrifice his son (Bereshit 22:3): both figures are men of stature who do not travel alone or even with only one companion. Moreover, the rabbis (Midrash Tanchuma, Balak 8) note that they both saddle their own donkeys, an action which seems to be below their station and thus can only be attributed to enthusiasm. But here too the comparison brings us to diametrically different conclusions about the two men. Avraham’s enthusiasm is to go on a mission from which he ostensibly has little to gain and everything to lose. But since this mission is God’s will, he understands that there is no greater good than doing it, all the more so when it is against his own desires.
Bil’am’s alacrity signals the exact opposite. He is seeking to do what he alone desires even though God, as it were, has placed His own will to the side. True to form, Bil’am shows that he has not completely extricated himself from his roots; after all, paganism was a way to get the gods to do man’s will. One of the radical teachings of biblical monotheism is that true communion with a true God requires the opposite, which is most dramatically expressed in Avraham’s excruciating test with Yitzchak. By “pushing” God into going against His will, Bil’am shows that he doesn’t fully understand the ramifications of his own words about doing “everything that God says" (Bemidbar 23:26).
If Bil’am doesn’t completely understand God’s ultimate expectations for man, his biography is not without its inspiring lessons. Certainly, one could draw an encouraging message for the individual from his saga. The individual is told that he doesn’t have to reach the heights of Avraham or Moshe to attain a deep understanding of God and a close relationship with Him. Bil’am shows that God doesn’t expect perfection or even near-perfection in order to make Himself available to man. Certainly, this doesn’t mean that creating a relationship with God is easy and open to anyone who simply wills it. What it does mean is that true spirituality is more accessible than we might think.
Nonetheless, the message for society is quite sobering. The story of Bil’am shows us that we need to be aware that a true spiritual master can possess serious personal flaws. If so, we cannot let down our guard in front of just anyone who carries such a distinction. In other words, since not everyone who has been able to get significant insight into spirituality can be trusted unilaterally, a community must exhibit great care in choosing its religious leaders and teachers. The Torah doesn’t just leave it at this, but gives us practical guidelines as to how to find our way in this. The bottom line of these guidelines is to be wary of spiritual leaders who bear traits similar to those of Bil’am.
In our study, we have noted several imperfections in Bil’am’s character as revealed by his actions. Were he to be a storekeeper, these imperfections could be overlooked. But given his prophetic powers, the rabbis put him in the league of men like Avraham and Moshe. In this company, the loftiness of its members’ vocation requires that they be more upstanding than shopkeepers. Since they represent God and translate His word, they need to be people whose lives are fully in line with God’s will. For them to be otherwise leads to mistakes on their part and disillusionment on the part of their followers. The rabbis (Chagiga 15b), in fact, distill this admonition into a more poetic recipe that faithfully reflects it. It is reported that Rav Yochanan told his students that one should learn Torah only from someone who resembles the ministering angels.84 This teaching is qualified by being limited to those who are not able to discern between a problematic guide’s correct teachings and teachings that should be rejected. And on that score, the likes of Bil’am are clearly excluded.
By now it is clear that Bil’am’s disqualification as a true leader is primarily based on his actions. That being the case, we can understand that the Torah would want to hit hard at his behavior, even while remaining honest about his accomplishments and powers. Perhaps the strongest way in which the Torah does this is via our talking donkey. Returning one last time to this famous biblical passage, the fact that God makes a dumb animal speak is an obvious swipe at Bil’am, who, as many commentators pick up, is actually being compared here to a donkey. “God opened the donkey’s mouth” (Bemidbar 22:28) is not fundamentally different from “God placed words into Bil’am’s mouth" (Bemidbar 23:5). The opening of a prophet’s mouth – meaning the very act of prophecy – is as dependent on Divine intervention as is the opening of a donkey’s mouth. This could be said about any prophet, but it is not, and that is the vital difference.
Via prophecy man can, and often does, reach the heights of spirituality and ethics. Yet even prophecy is not a sure conduit. The main point of the donkey’s speaking is that we shouldn’t let Bil’am’s truly great prophecies distract us. Instead, we should notice that in many ways Bil’am is no different from an animal. And lest we think that since he’s chosen by God we must ignore his shortcomings, the story shows that even a four-legged animal can be “chosen” by God.
The proof of a spiritual leader’s integrity is not in this superficial chosenness but rather in the extent that this chosenness has transformed him. This is what ultimately made Avraham and Moshe our teachers and guides, not just because they were privy to God’s word. When a man fails in his spiritual mission, his similarity to an animal becomes highlighted. Thus not only is prophecy not a sure vessel to elevated human refinement, when it is not used to fulfill a person’s maximum potential, it can even turn into an obstacle allowing him to more easily attain his animal desires and thereby wallow in them.
Just like Korach’s charisma discussed in the previous chapter, Bil’am’s prophetic knowledge can also easily be used for personal advantage. In Bil’am’s case, his knowledge of, as well as his ability to impact on the future could fetch a high price, which is of course made clear from the promise of great riches that Balak repeatedly holds under Bil’am’s nose. And again just as with charisma, the self-control needed not to misuse the gift of prophecy for personal advantage must certainly be very great indeed. The problem is that once misused, prophecy becomes commercialized and sullied, something the prophet tries to manipulate in order to please his customer. Perverting the gift of publicizing God’s word and will doesn’t raise the renegade prophet but rather brings him down even further.
The Anti-Bible’s Place in the Bible
The strange, pagan-like elements in the Bil’am narrative create the indelible impression that the story doesn’t belong in the Torah. (This echoes the earlier rabbinic observation that it is a “book” in its own right.) Indeed, for all intents and purposes, it is a pagan mini-document in the middle of one of the most anti-pagan documents known to man. While the main protagonist appears to be some type of monotheistic prophet, his values, customs, and behavior come right out of the pagan world. But Bil’am is only a proto-monotheist, a half-baked version of Avraham and Moshe. Moreover, the Torah purposely uses classic pagan behaviors to describe Bil’am’s life and personality, since it is imperative that we see his religiosity for what it is – an immature form of monotheism, easily exchanged for a bribe and often perverted by lack of true commitment. While adhering to monotheism is itself a step in the right direction, it is far less than what God wants from the Jews.
Since Bemidbar is a book of preparation for living in an actual country surrounded – and sometimes even permeated – by paganism, it must inform the Jews of what to expect. In the Land of Israel they would meet compromisers, both Jewish and gentile, who would seek to moderate the monotheistic revolution by incorporating “inoffensive” pagan elements into it. As we will discuss further in Chapter Six, identity is almost never pristine. Foreign elements inevitably seep in from a given culture’s contact with others. One need only compare synagogue architecture with that of churches and mosques from the same time and place to see that this is the case. This is not a condemnation, as not all gentile religious forms need to be avoided.85See Rema on Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 178:1, who presents the commonly accepted limitations on borrowing gentile practices. See also Igrot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 4, 12:2, specifically on the question of building synagogues that resemble churches. However, in the case of pagan culture, religion had become so debased as to require very radical surgery – if anything could be salvaged at all. In such a context, the Jews would need to be highly vigilant about the integration of any elements of pagan culture that might come their way.
If we think deeper about the place of Bil’am’s story in the Torah, we can see that it closely resembles an inoculation. As with a vaccine, a small dose of the illness is released into a healthy body in order for the body to recognize it and build up defenses against it, should the body ever cross paths with it again. In terms of the biblical Jewish nation’s encountering compromises engendered by their proximity to paganism, this was far from theoretical. The Jews would repeatedly come across this dangerous threat through the many false prophets who would condone the worship of God via intermediaries and idols, and through priests and kings who would seek salvation in foreign religious practices.
Inoculated though they might have been, however, the Jews would not always succeed in fending off these threats. An educational inoculation does not always work. Since there is much more of a human element at play, the Torah can only bring us to water but it can’t make us drink. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, the Torah did its job. Through its teachings, it gave the Jews the means to contend with the Bil’am-style threats that they would encounter later on. Whether they would use them or not would be their own choice.
Remembering Bil’am
The children of Israel first encounter Bil’am in the famous Torah narrative discussed above. (Later in the book of Bemidbar, they encounter him again at the war against Midian.) They hear of a strange and powerful man who rivaled Moshe, but since they had no direct dealings with him, he was never seen as true rival of Moshe’s. Instead, he became the symbol of many potential religious rivals and alternatives that the Jews would face once they settled in the Land of Israel. Thus the story of Bil’am provided the Jews with a yardstick against which to measure all of their prophets, teachers and sages, as well as with an event by which to remember that the basis of a teacher’s standing lay not in their knowledge and power, but in their behavior and ethical conduct.
It goes without saying that a teacher must have something to teach us, but unless a religious leader is also a holy man, he is intrinsically flawed. At best, his doctrines can be studied from the side and at worst he is to be pitied as we would pity a simple animal.
◆ ◆ ◆
At the beginning of this chapter, we mentioned how the story of Bil’am defies many of the Torah’s usual conventions, which alerts us that it would contain unusually significant teachings. One central teaching is that even proper desires which aim to bring us closer to God can mislead us. This is what is meant by the phrase “subtlety and subterfuge” in the chapter’s subtitle.
When we get to this stage of the book of Bemidbar, we enter a gray, rather shadowy world. Gone is the clear light of Moshe’s Torah pushing away the darkness of evil and ignorance. In contrast, the “Torah of Bil’am” is a mixture of light and dark – a spiritual tohu vavohu (chaos) that we must enter long enough to understand its complex and confusing allure as well as its seductive danger.
Our responses to the confusion created by Bil’am can be varied, however, and even what begins with light can end up in darkness. Whether it is following Bil’am as a model or wanting to study his “Torah,” or even going in the opposite direction and ignoring his existence, it can all come from very good intentions and end up leading us down the garden path. Any mistake we could make in any direction is subtle, and for that reason, all the more dangerous. Yet, precisely because it is murky, we must be more deliberate in coming to terms with the lessons from this story.
In our study we saw that Bil’am refused to open his eyes to new patterns and messages. We also contended that this is far from limited to Bil’am. It is truly quite common, and likely something that we can recognize in ourselves. On a religious plane, resistance to the new is sometimes even made into a virtue. After all, religions are grounded in tradition, and a major role of tradition is giving value to the following of pre-existing patterns and behaviors. But that doesn’t mean that tradition is meant to smother all innovation.86See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 222, where he writes that traditions transcend “through criticism and invention the limitations of what had hitherto been reasoned in that tradition.” In the Bil’am story, we see that God can also be the source of innovation, which means that if a true religious tradition does not make room for innovation, it will shut itself off to part of the Divine. Likewise, a sincerely religious person can ill afford to shut his ears to what he might not expect or what he might not be used to.
One could argue that this lesson is not transposable to subsequent generations, as Bil’am was not yet aware of God’s new Torah; today we have known it for thousands of years. Thus, there is nothing new to learn about man or God. One could argue further that even if there have been new lessons learned after the Torah was given, since we no longer have prophecy there is no longer anything new to which we have to pay attention.87Indeed, this seems to be the argument of R. Chaim of Volozhin (Nefesh HaChaim 1:22), in what may well be a polemic against the innovation of his Chassidic rivals.
This would be true only if God’s teaching, once already given, was static. It doesn’t take much to realize the fallacy of this position. If for no other reason, new circumstances create new situations to which the Torah must be applied and which automatically cause us to understand it in new ways. But it is more than new situations that bring about the expansion and development of Torah. As mentioned above, the notion of chiddush, novelty, is part and parcel of the Jewish religious experience, both during and after the prophetic period. Throughout history, countless Jewish saints, prophets, and sages have enriched Judaism with their novel understandings and observations. On the most basic level, to ignore such innovations and to say that nothing has changed is to invoke Bil’am’s ultimately tragic mode of behavior.
In the Modern period, receptivity to change within Judaism has become more complicated. In light of Reform Judaism’s use of changing social, economic, technological, and historical conditions as a premise for changing just about everything within Judaism, many Orthodox leaders responded by becoming much more hesitant about modifying anything at all. Yet, this should not be confused with a fundamental position about the workings of Judaism.
Whether as individuals or as a community, thinking that what we did yesterday should repeat itself exactly today stunts us. It is like learning the same thing over and over again. At a certain point, it becomes rote – and at that point there is no more growth. It goes without saying that this hinders or even prevents our goal of religious development. This is what prevented Bil’am from growing, and if we aren’t careful it can easily prevent us from growing as well.
But receptivity to unexpected novelty is not the only subtle lesson we learn from the Bil’am narrative. When we consider certain rabbinic scandals that have occurred in recent years, we are embarrassed to discover that like Bil’am,88See Pirkei Avot 5:19. some of the rabbis involved in them were highly knowledgeable and accomplished men. The cognitive dissonance in such situations is great. It’s hard for us to understand how someone so infused with Torah knowledge can also be involved in such base immorality. Yet, the story of Bil’am teaches us that it is quite possible. In fact, the straight, simple reading of the Torah we have taken in this chapter indicates that Bil’am had a stronger connection with God than any contemporary rabbi. Accordingly, Bil’am’s failure tells us that no one is immune from baser instincts, and no one is immune to stumbling in them if they do not work on themselves.
The biggest problem in this regard is that we tend to associate Bil’am exclusively with the gentile world. We expect our rabbis to be not among the “students of Bil’am,” but of the “students of Avraham,” and to follow exclusively the ways of the latter.
If Bil’am teaches us the dangers of an imperfect spiritual guide, it is the sages who give us guidance concerning what we need to do in order to prevent stumbling in this area. While the first step is simply to be aware that the “Bil’am syndrome” can be present even among the Jewish people, still more important is to make sure that our appropriate thirst for Torah doesn’t allow us to forget our story’s central lesson: Someone who doesn’t live an exemplary life in line with the expectations of God is almost certainly not able to fully grasp His will as laid out in the Torah. If one nevertheless feels the need to study Torah from a “Bil’am,” it should be done with great care and caution. It requires awareness that these teachings need to be held in suspicion until we are sure that they were not tainted by their transmitters.
The final lesson to take from our analysis is to note that the Torah took risks in presenting a pagan story right in the middle of one of its five books. It risked giving legitimacy to Bil’am’s pagan ways. After all, he is presented as someone who does get real prophecy and who is highly regarded by several nations. One might expect that the Torah would have denied Bil’am a platform and sought to belittle and qualify his prophecy – as we noted that many later Jewish commentators did. But the Torah is not afraid of the truths that rival claims possess; it would rather give us limited exposure to these claims so that we can better defend ourselves against them. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is not an effective strategy in the long term.
As per our analogy of a vaccine, we see that the Torah took calculated risks. But lest we think that our application of this analogy is obvious and straightforward, we should not forget that vaccines are also dangerous. Too large a dose may be as bad as the illness itself. Too little a dose may not be effective. In the same way, exposure to competitive claims must be handled with great care, especially when we teach them to our children. Yet, not teaching about competing ideologies at all is to leave the next generation unprepared. The Torah teaches us how to steer the course between foolish overexposure that results in too little educational gain on the one hand, and a sheltering that cannot be sustained on the other.89See Francis Nataf, “Teaching the Palestinian Narrative in Diaspora Jewish Schools,” Jewish Educational Leadership, Fall 2008.
There are many who, out of religious zeal, would ignore anything positive to be found in the gentile world. Acknowledging the positive can be dangerous, prompting some to check out the competition, which may truly sometimes lead to attrition. But as Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe once recounted about the shock one yeshiva student experienced when he met some monks and found out that they were fine people, after being told otherwise for so long, too much sheltering or deliberate misleading can also have disastrous consequences. In terms of the Bil’am narrative, the Torah seems to say that there is certainly what to lose by concealing that there is good in the gentile world. If we are convinced of the truth of the Torah, we should not need to present every competitor as a straw man. Rather, being unafraid to compare our teachings to those of others means to present their strengths as well as their weaknesses.
The children of Israel needed preparation for the “real world” they would encounter once they crossed the Jordan. We too have “real worlds” for which we need to prepare. Whether it is participation in academia, or in the workplace, or just exposure to what is transmitted though even the most careful of media, the Torah’s way is not to avoid all exposure and thereby to take no chances. For if victory in the short run comes at the expense of victory in the long run, it is a very illusory gain indeed.