Bilaam, a real Hakuna Matata kind of guy
You don’t need intros. You need to be reading TGH. Check out all our old posts here — more than six months and 2.5 books-worth of Hollywood-Torah gooey goodness.
And in the meantime get ready for some equine adventures with layered literary lessons. Like anything else you’re doing this weekend is more fun.
Let’s saddle up!
--
Architectural structures have layers. This week’s portion of Balak — with its story of donkeys and curses and preemptive military strikes and prophets for hire — puts them all to shame.
Yes, my good people of TGH-land, we have come to the story of Bilaam The Cursey Mercenary — or, as his heart really doesn't seem much in it, the Cursory Cursey Mercenary. And it is a classic.
Many, many commentaries have been written about the tale of this nationless prophet, called upon by Balak the king of Moab to curse the Israelites, and the bingeworthy Netflix series that happens from there. And there is indeed lots to chew on (donkey puns, why not).
I wanted to home in on a hidden parallel at the center of the narrative. Because I think it sheds light on the human message underlying this story — the message that can get a little lost in all the fairy-tale-ishness of talking animals and magical curses.
A little recap: The curse-minded King Balak has sent his people to retrieve Bilaam for this cursing mission. Bilaam tells them stay the night because I need to check with God, as any good prophet would do. He does, and God tells Bilaam he shouldn't be involved with any of these cursey genocidal maniacs. So Bilaam wakes up in the morning and says to Balak’s people uh-uh, "l'chu el artz'chem," go on now, walk out the door, you're not welcome anymore.
Balak then sends over a new round of heavy hitters — no low-level diplomats, Tony Blinkens only. Bilaam again says it ain't gonna happen, and heads to sleep, saying he’ll check with God one more time.
That night, though, God tells Bilaam indeed to go with Balak’s people, but to bless the Israelites, not curse them. Bilaam, now with new marching orders, wakes up and heads out on his donkey bound for Moab.
If you're keeping score, it's two attempts rebuffed, and a third reluctant acquiescence.
That’s the first set of events. The one that follows:
On the road, Bilaam gets enmeshed in a Dr. Dolittle-ian story that’s a tad unexpected right in the middle of this nation-minded Numbers narrative. Bilaam’s donkey sees an angel of God in front of him and veers off the road to get around him. Bilaam, though, doesn't see the angel, so he starts smacking his donkey — a chmalyah, as the Yiddish speakers might say. The angel steps in front again, and the donkey again veers to squeeze by, prompting Bilaam to start whacking him again. And then the angel stands in front of the donkey once more, this time completely filling his path. The donkey stops completely. Bilaam hits him again.
And then the donkey speaks and says some of the most poignant words in all the Bible. Just in English: “Why are you hitting me? Aren’t I the donkey you have ridden since time immemorial? Would I really try to put you in danger?” (Lot of parable-ish interpretations here, like the idea that the Israelites are also lashing out against God in the desert and God is saying ‘after all I’ve done for you do you really think I’d put you in danger?’ But that’s another Substack.) Bilaam, finally, says ‘you’re right.’
This pattern seems a little familiar. Because what do we have here with the angel/donkey and Bilaam? That’s right, two rebuffs, and then a reluctant acquiescence.
I don’t think this is an accident. I think it’s a parallel, meant to teach us something.
What happens when Balak’s emissaries come to retrieve Bilaam? He says, basically, “let me check with God.” Seems upstanding, right? And then God tells him go and bless. And he goes. And what’s God’s response (Exodus 22:22)? “Vayichar af elohim ki holech hu,” He became enraged that Bilaam went. Huh? He just told him to go!
Some commentators try to explain this by saying that God knew what was in Bilaam’s heart and that he really wanted to go and curse. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. I think what’s happening here is that God doesn’t want Bilaam to go at all. He wants Bilaam to read between the lines of His directive and push back. He wants independent analysis, and autonomous action. Not blind devotion.
And how does the text indicate that to us? In the anecdote that follows. By crafting such a similar story of two attempts and a reluctant acceptance, it is underscoring to us that this is similar to the first instance, and that Bilaam is making the same mistake — a mistake of skipping the independent analysis and autonomous action.
That’s what the donkey is saying to him. “Do you not understand what’s happening here? Can you not have the context to realize I must be stopping for a reason? Are you so bereft of analytical abilities and so blindly subject to the most base reaction that you just start hitting me?” The donkey is conveying the message that God left unsaid in the first part of this twofer -- “Do you not understand that you’re supposed to read between the lines and conclude you’re not supposed to go on this murderous mission? Do you not understand that this simpleton’s “whatever-I’m-told” reaction is wrong? Do you not understand that there could be more going on here, and that you have the power to do something about it?” It’s an intensely humanist message, delivered by an animal.
We have a lot of Hollywood characters to choose from when we’re talking about this week’s portion – movie studios after all do love a good talking animal. But one that’s always resonated with me is Rafiki in “The Lion King.”
Simba, as you know from childhood or the branded reboot that Disney is legally obligated to attempt every 3.5 months, is bereft in exile after being misled by Scar that he was responsible for his father Mufasa’s death. He has little desire to return to the Pride Lands, and in fact storms away when partner Nala suggests he should. Simba’s reacting pretty reflexively, without much consideration of what’s really going on here — of how Scar might have had other motives, of what Mufasa would want, of the picture beneath the picture.
But then the kingdom’s advisor Rafiki, a mandrill (well it can’t literally be a donkey), steps up to urge Simba to take a closer view at what’s happening. At who might be really behind this; at what Mufasa would have wanted, and still wants. “Look harder,” Rafiki encourages Simba.
And then of course Simba does just that and sees a vision of his late-father Mufasa, and everything connects. He takes the right autonomous action, returning to the Pride Lands. All works out hunky-dorily.
Rafiki’s message is the lesson of Bilaam’s donkey. “You’ve got to learn the context and react accordingly. Grok the information and make an independent decision. Act on the basis of what that close scrutiny tells you, not what the world seems to be pushing you to do.”
In short, “Don’t outsource your brain — use it and act accordingly. Even if it means pushing back a little against what God is telling you.”
The Israeli-American Bible scholar Simi Peters has a great riff on this week’s portion. She asks why Bilaam was wrong to follow God’s directive. And she makes a brilliant comparison to Moses, who did push back when told at the Burning Bush that he was chosen for a Godly mission. That seems…not so good. But look at the stead in which that stood him later. Many times God wanted to destroy the Israelites. Moses could have just accepted that. But he didn’t. “Moses’ willingness to defy God will be used to serve God; he challenges God fearlessly in defense of Israel,” Peters writes in the journal Tradition. He thought critically, and acted autonomously, and argued back to God that the Israelites should be saved.
Can you imagine what would have happened had Bilaam been leading the Jews and was informed of God’s intent? He would have been like, cool, destroy them, it is Your will. (Bilaam “has entry to the King’s palace, but he would rather be the King’s butcher than His trusted minister,” is how Peters assesses his character.)
In fact, you could even argue that the whole point of this portion’s story being told here, right after Moses is condemned for the rock incident (and not long after the people wish repeatedly that he wasn’t their leader), is to convey this idea: look at Moses’ full body of work, at how great he is, at how he pushed back against God heroically time and again to save his people. Because, dude, if you had Bilaam in that position, he would have done what he does here: nothing. And then where would you be?
The idea of rebuffing someone multiple times on a request that they go somewhere of course appears in another prominent spot in the Bible: Ruth. Naomi tells Ruth repeatedly to go. The easy reaction for Ruth would be just to lazily abide. But we’re meant to push back — to see where the directive really comes from and act accordingly and maybe not to go to the place we’re told, as Ruth doesn’t. (Btw and perhaps not for nothing: That place is also Moab.)
There’s a tradition within Judaism that a convert is turned away three times before they are finally accepted, and it’s cool to think about that in the context of all of this — that to be a moral being, that the very litmus test for a convert, is to be able to scrutinize the instruction someone appears to be conveying to you so you can make your own decision, based on your own sense of what’s right. Even if that someone is God. And, especially, if it’s Scar.
Thank you for reading.