He was a non-Israelite diviner, a kind of prophet, hired to curse the Israelites as they approached Moab. But the story takes a twist, doesn't it?

Let's look at the moment when God first interacts with Bilam. Numbers 22:20 tells us, "God came to Bilam at night, and He said to him: If the people came to summon you, rise, go with them; however, only the matter that I will speak to you, shall you do.” But why did God appear to someone seemingly so opposed to His people? That's the question Bamidbar Rabbah 20 (Numbers Rabbah) seeks to unpack.

The Midrash, that rich tapestry of Jewish biblical interpretation, draws a parallel to the Book of Job. "In a dream, in a night vision, when deep sleep falls upon men…Then He uncovers the ears of men…to turn a person away from an action and suppress pride in man" (Job 33:15–17). What's the connection? The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, provides a clue. It suggests that God often communicates with people, even the not-so-righteous, through dreams and visions, offering them a chance to reconsider their actions.

But there's a crucial difference here. Bamidbar Rabbah points out that God, in this instance, concealed from Bilam the ultimate consequences of his actions. He didn't explicitly reveal that going to curse Israel would lead Bilam down a path of self-destruction, ultimately leading him to the "pit of perdition." This is contrasted with the compassion shown in other cases, as described in Job 33:30: "To restore his soul from perdition, to be enlightened with the light of life."

Why the seeming discrepancy? Why this obscuring of the truth? The Midrash explains it through a powerful, albeit unsettling, analogy. When someone is about to commit a sin, the Satan – the accuser, the tempter – "dances for him." Everything seems alluring, enticing. Only after the transgression is complete does the person realize the gravity of their actions.

Think about it like this: "He follows her unconsciously, like an ox comes to the slaughter…until an arrow splits his liver, like the hastening of a bird to the snare, [not knowing that it is at the cost of his life]" (Proverbs 7:22–23). The pleasure of the moment blinds us to the long-term consequences, doesn't it?

Bamidbar Rabbah emphasizes that God obscured from the wicked Bilam the sinful nature of his desire to curse Israel until he was fully committed to his course. This is not necessarily a vindictive act, but perhaps a reflection of how human nature often operates. We tend to rationalize our desires, pushing aside our conscience until we’re too far down the road to turn back easily.

And what's Bilam's reaction when he finally understands the situation? He pleads, "Let my soul die the death of the upright" (Numbers 23:10). It's a desperate cry, a lament for what could have been. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, even in his moment of supposed triumph, Bilam's prophecy was twisted by God into a blessing for Israel.

So, what can we glean from this story? Perhaps it's a reminder that even when we're on a destructive path, there's always a chance for course correction. The light of truth, however dim, is always available. And maybe, just maybe, even in our darkest moments, divine intervention can work in mysterious ways to redirect us, even if we don't fully understand it until later. It's a complex, layered story, and one that continues to challenge and inspire reflection.