It's one of those biblical tales that's just packed with odd details, and the Rabbis of the Midrash had a field day unpacking it all. We find a fascinating take in Bamidbar Rabbah, specifically section 20, which really digs into the motivations and hidden meanings behind the encounter between the Moabite king and the would-be prophet.

The story starts with Balak, king of Moab, terrified of the Israelites and their growing power. So, he hires Bilam, a non-Jewish prophet, to curse them. Seems straightforward, right? Well, right away, Bamidbar Rabbah throws a curveball: "Balak was a sorcerer and a diviner greater than Bilam, who was following him like a blind man." Wait, what? The text implies that Balak, not Bilam, was the real mastermind! It's like the old joke about the guy with the knife who doesn't know where to cut, and the guy who knows the joints but lacks the knife – each needs the other. Balak knew where Israel was vulnerable, and Bilam had the…prophetic power?

Balak, according to this Midrash, knew that Israel was vulnerable at Baal Peor (Numbers 22:41), a place associated with idol worship and, ultimately, Israel's downfall. So, he hauls Bilam up to the "heights of Baal" – a symbolic gesture, to say the least!

Then comes the altar-building scene. "Bilam said to Balak: Build for me here seven altars" (Numbers 23:1). Why seven? Bamidbar Rabbah connects these altars to the seven righteous men from Adam to Moses who built altars that were accepted by God. Bilam's playing a dangerous game here. He seems to be saying, "Hey, God, you accepted offerings from these guys. Why not accept offerings from all seventy nations of the world?"

But God isn't buying it. The Divine Spirit responds, essentially saying that a simple offering made with love is better than a grand sacrifice offered with ulterior motives. "Dry [ḥareva] bread is better than a house full of offerings of strife" (Proverbs 17:1). This is a powerful message about intention versus show. It's not about the quantity or extravagance, but the heart behind the action.

The narrative continues with Bilam's solo attempt to get a divine message. "Balak did as Bilam had spoken… He went alone [shefi]" (Numbers 23:3). But Bamidbar Rabbah interprets "shefi" not just as "alone," but as a turning point: until then, Bilam was calm [shafui]; after that moment, he was troubled, unable to act as he intended. He's losing control, and the story's tension ratchets up.

Then comes the encounter with God. "God happened upon Bilam" (Numbers 23:4). Notice the language: "happened upon." It wasn't a planned meeting like with Moses, who was called before being spoken to; it was… unexpected. Bamidbar Rabbah uses an analogy of a crooked merchant trying to bribe the market supervisor. Bilam brags about the seven altars, but God isn't impressed. "A meal of greens, [and love there], is better [than a fattened ox, and hatred with it]" (Proverbs 15:17). The simple Passover meal in Egypt, eaten with humility, is worth more than all of Bilam's sacrifices.

Finally, God forces Bilam to speak blessings instead of curses. "The Lord placed speech in Bilam's mouth" (Numbers 23:5). Bamidbar Rabbah describes this as a forceful act, like hammering a nail into a board. Rabbi Elazar even suggests that an angel was speaking through Bilam, the angel's voice simply coming out of Bilam's mouth. Imagine the irony: a prophet paid to curse, forced to bless!

And so, Bilam returns to Balak, who's waiting anxiously with his princes. "He returned to him, and, behold, he was standing with his burnt offering, he, and all the princes of Moav" (Numbers 23:6). They were standing and awaiting when he would come. The stage is set for the ultimate reversal, where curses turn into blessings.

What does it all mean? The story of Balak and Bilam, as interpreted by Bamidbar Rabbah, isn't just a historical account. It's a lesson about the power of intention, the futility of empty rituals, and the ultimate triumph of good over evil – even when the messenger is reluctant, and maybe even a little bit crooked. It reminds us that even in the darkest of times, blessings can emerge from unexpected places. And sometimes, the best offerings are the simplest ones, given with a pure heart.