Our story today takes us into the realm of magic, betrayal, and a desperate attempt to outrun destiny. It’s a wild ride, so buckle up.
We're talking about Balaam, the infamous prophet-for-hire. We know him from the Torah, where he’s hired by Balak, king of Moab, to curse the Israelites. But, as Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews, Balaam's story doesn't end with his failed attempts to curse Israel. Oh no, it gets much more dramatic.
Imagine this: Balaam, caught red-handed, tries to escape the wrath of Phinehas, a zealous priest and leader of the Israelite army. How does he do it? He takes to the skies! Yes, you read that right. Balaam uses his mastery of sorcery, aided by his equally wizardly sons, Jannes and Jambres (names that echo through magical lore), to literally fly away.
Picture the scene: Phinehas and his army watching in disbelief as Balaam ascends. Phinehas, never one to back down from a challenge, shouts, "Is there any one among us who is able to fly after this villain?"
Enter Zaliah, a Danite and, according to the tale, a "past master in the art of sorcery." He answers the call and gives chase, soaring into the air after Balaam. It’s like a wizarding duel, but with higher stakes.
But Balaam is slippery. He’s not just flying; he's weaving through different "layers of air," whatever that means! He manages to lose Zaliah, vanishing from sight. Poor Zaliah is left stranded, unsure of what to do next.
That's when Phinehas steps in, using his own magical abilities. He dispels the clouds concealing Balaam, revealing him to Zaliah. Now exposed, Balaam is forced to descend and face Phinehas.
Balaam, desperate, pleads for his life, promising never to curse Israel again. But Phinehas isn’t buying it. He launches into a scathing indictment of Balaam's past transgressions. "Art not thou the Aramean Laban who tried to destroy our father Jacob?" Phinehas asks, reminding him of his long history of animosity toward the Israelites. He recounts Balaam's involvement with Amalek and his disastrous advice to Balak, which led to the sin with the daughters of Moab and the death of twenty-four thousand Israelites. According to this account, Balaam's wickedness stretched far and wide.
Phinehas condemns him: "In vain therefore dost thou plead that thy life be spared."
He orders Zaliah to execute Balaam, but with a crucial caveat: "be sure not to kill him through the holy name of God, as it does not befit so great a sinner to meet his death in such a way." Even in meting out justice, there's a concern for the sacred.
But it's not so simple. Balaam's magic protects him from ordinary weapons. Zaliah's initial attempts to kill him fail. He’s seemingly invincible.
Finally, Phinehas provides the solution: a sword engraved with a serpent on both sides, accompanied by the cryptic words, "Kill him with that to which he belongs—through this he will die." This, my friends, is poetic justice at its finest. Balaam, the master of dark arts, will be defeated by a weapon imbued with the very symbolism of his wickedness. And with this sword, Zaliah finally ends Balaam's life.
What are we to make of this fantastical tale? It’s more than just a story of good versus evil. It's a reminder that actions have consequences and that even the most powerful magic cannot ultimately shield someone from the repercussions of their choices. Balaam's story, as retold in Legends of the Jews, becomes a potent symbol of the futility of trying to escape accountability, no matter how high you fly.