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Balaam Decided God Had Blind Spots. He Built His Entire Plan on This.

God asked Balaam who the men in his house were. Balaam took the question as proof God had blind spots. He built his entire plan on that mistake.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Question That Sounded Like an Opportunity
  2. The Calculation That Followed
  3. The Irony the Tradition Cannot Let Go
  4. The Sin of Adam as the Template

The Question That Sounded Like an Opportunity

God appeared to Balaam at night and asked a question: what men are these with you?

The question had the cadence of someone who had just arrived and missed the earlier part of the conversation. A neighbor asking through a door. A late arrival to a gathering, getting caught up. It was the kind of question that implies incomplete information, that signals a gap in the questioner's awareness. Who are these people? I don't know who they are. Can you tell me?

Balaam heard it that way.

The Calculation That Followed

His reasoning ran like this: God does not know who these men are. If God does not know who these men are, then there are things happening on earth that fall outside God's awareness. If there are things outside God's awareness, then there are moments when actions taken on earth can proceed without divine observation. And if there are such moments, then during one of those moments, I can operate against the stated prohibition. I can curse Israel when God is not watching. I can find the gap in divine attention and act through it.

The tradition identifies this internal reasoning as the decision that sealed Balaam's fate. Not the eventual cursing attempts, not the persistence after multiple refusals, not the seven hilltops and the seven altars and the seven sets of burnt offerings. This thought, held privately in the night when God's question was still warm in the air: God has blind spots. I can use them.

The Irony the Tradition Cannot Let Go

A man whose entire career rested on receiving divine communication had just decided that the God communicating with him had gaps in his knowledge. A prophet whose gift was precisely the ability to access divine intelligence had concluded, from a divine question, that divine intelligence was incomplete. The man who had built his reputation on hearing God more clearly than anyone around him used that hearing to infer that God could not hear everything.

The tradition notes that God's question was not a request for information. It was a test. God knew who the men were. God knew why they had come. God knew everything Balaam was thinking about what to do next. The question was an invitation to honesty, exactly the kind of simple, direct, plain-speaking honesty that would have demonstrated that Balaam understood who he was talking to. Instead, Balaam performed. And then, in the silence after the performance, he built a strategy from the wrong conclusion about what the question had meant.

The Sin of Adam as the Template

The tradition connects Balaam's reasoning to Adam's error in Eden. Adam, too, believed that an action could be taken outside divine knowledge, that the garden had a corner, a moment, a gap in divine attention through which a transgression might slip undetected. Both Adam and Balaam constructed their plans on the premise that divine omniscience had seams. Both discovered the premise was wrong through the mechanism of the consequences that followed the action they took while believing they were unobserved.

The parallel is not incidental. The tradition uses it to make a point about a specific category of sin: the sin committed by a person who has been in direct contact with the divine and has concluded from that contact that the divine has limits. This is worse than the sin of someone who never had contact and simply does not know. Balaam had evidence. He chose to read the evidence the wrong way.


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Legends of the Jews 6:16Legends of the Jews

It turns out, this struggle isn't just a modern dilemma. Ancient Jewish texts confront this very tension: How much control do we really have over our choices, and how much does God allow us to stray?

The story of Balaam is a fascinating example. Balaam, a non-Israelite prophet, is hired by Balak, the king of Moab, to curse the Israelites. It’s a tale rife with intrigue, divine intervention, and a whole lot of stubbornness.

Initially, God tells Balaam point-blank, "Thou shalt not go with them" (Numbers 22:12). But Balaam, oh, he's persistent. He clearly wants to go to Balak, lured by the promise of riches and power. So, what does God do? The text says, "God permits man to go upon the way he chooses to go." The second time God appears to Balaam, He says, "If the men be come to call thee, rise up, go with them; but only the word which I speak unto thee, that shalt thou do" (Numbers 22:20).

Wait, what? A divine U-turn?

The rabbis of the Talmud and Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) have wrestled with this for centuries. Why the apparent change of heart? Was God testing Balaam? Testing Balak? Or is something deeper at play?

One interpretation, found throughout rabbinic literature, is that God allows us to make our own mistakes. It’s a painful, sometimes destructive freedom, but freedom nonetheless. God doesn't always prevent us from stumbling. As the texts emphasize, sometimes, we're given enough rope to… well, you know.

The idea that "audacity prevails even before God" is a powerful one. Balaam's relentless insistence, according to the tradition, essentially wrested consent from God. But this wasn't a blessing, it was a warning. God essentially says, "I take no pleasure in the destruction of sinners, but if thou are bound to go to thy destruction, do so! Whosoever leads righteous men astray upon an evil way, will fall into the ditch of his own digging!"

Ouch. Talk about foreshadowing.

The story takes a darker turn, exploring how Balaam’s own arrogance blinded him. Midrash Rabbah suggests that when God first asked Balaam, "What men are these with thee?" (Numbers 22:9), Balaam, in his hubris, thought, "God know them not. It seems clear that there are times when He is not aware of what goes on, and I shall now be able to do with His children as I wish."

Can you imagine? The audacity!

According to Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, Balaam was also misled by God because he had previously used his words to seduce people who had lived in purity. This detail adds another layer of complexity, suggesting that Balaam's past actions influenced God's interaction with him.

The apparent shift in God's instructions, first prohibiting, then permitting, completely confused Balaam. He thought, "God at first said to me, 'Go thou not with them,' but the second time He said, 'Go with them.' So too will He change His words, 'Curse them not,' into 'Curse them.'"

This confusion wasn't limited to Balaam. The magicians sent by Balak were equally bewildered. Initially, their magic indicated Balaam would accept the invitation, but God made him decline. Then, their magic predicted he wouldn't accept, and God made him obey the summons! It's a chaotic dance of free will, divine intervention, and misinterpretation.

So, what are we to make of this confusing and somewhat unsettling story? Is it about the limits of free will? The dangers of unchecked ambition? Or perhaps it's a cautionary tale about the importance of listening, really listening, to the divine voice within, rather than projecting our own desires onto the universe.

Maybe the most profound lesson is that God allows us to choose, even when those choices lead us down a dangerous path. The consequences, however, are still our own. And sometimes, the ditch we dig is the one we ultimately fall into.

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Shemot Rabbah 38:2Shemot Rabbah

Our tradition grapples with it head-on.

Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, offers a fascinating take on this very issue, drawing us back to Adam and the fateful Tree of Knowledge.

" But what is the matter? The text cleverly links it to a verse from Habakkuk (1:12): "Are You not from ancient times, Lord my God, my Holy One? We will not die." Before Adam ate from the Tree, the implication is, death wasn't necessarily a given. The text suggests that had Adam simply refrained from eating, he – and perhaps we – would have been immortal. "Let him not eat from the tree and he will not die," it states. A tantalizing possibility, isn’t it?

Of course, he did eat. And that changed everything.

Because he violated God's command, death entered the picture. As the text says, "You brought death upon him to smite people." Or, as some suggest the text should read, to admonish. Either way, the consequence was profound. The verse from Habakkuk continues, "Lord, You set them for judgment." This implies death became a form of divine judgment.

So, where does that leave us?

The passage then presents a kind of argument with the Divine. "Master of the universe, if you want us to be sacred, rid us of death," the text pleads, again quoting Habakkuk: "Are You not from ancient times, Lord my God, my Holy One? We will not die."

It’s a powerful request, a yearning for that lost immortality, for that untainted connection with the Divine. The desire to be truly kadosh, holy, and free from the shadow of mortality.

But the response? A firm, unyielding "It is impossible." Death, it seems, is a decree, a judgment that cannot be revoked. "Lord, You set them for judgment."

It's a tough pill to swallow.

So, what are we left with? Is this just a bleak acceptance of mortality? Perhaps not. Maybe it’s an invitation to consider what it means to live a sacred life within the confines of our mortality. If death is inevitable, then how do we make our lives, our actions, truly meaningful? How do we sanctify our time here, knowing it's finite? Perhaps the answer lies not in avoiding death, but in how we choose to live before it arrives. Food for thought, isn't it?

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