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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT BALAK

By Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Balak tells the story of Bilam, the gentile seer commissioned by Balak, king of Moav, to place a curse on Benei Yisrael. This narrative contains one of the most peculiar accounts in the entire Tanakh – the "conversation" that takes places between Bilam and the donkey upon which he rides as he makes his way towards Moav (22:28-30). Ibn Ezra cites Rav Sa'adya Gaon as claiming that the donkey did not actually speak, though he does not elaborate on Sa'adya's precise approach in explaining this narrative. According to Ibn Ezra, scholars he describes as "rationalists" ("anshei shikul ha-da'at") found it necessary to dismiss the straightforward reading of the verses, which suggests that the donkey indeed spoke, because in their view, God performs miracles only for purposes of authenticating prophets. Supernatural occurrences are brought about only when God must verify the stature of a prophet, and not for any other reason. Since no such motive applies in this instance, these thinkers denied that the donkey actually spoke. Ibn Ezra rejects this assumption by noting the famous miracle that occurred to Chananya, Mishael and Azarya, who miraculously emerged unscathed from the Babylonian furnace to which they were cast, as recounted in Sefer Daniel.

The theory that Bilam's donkey did not actually speak is most famously associated with the Rambam, who addresses this episode in one very brief remark in his Moreh Nevukhim (2:42): "That which happened to Bilam on the way, and the speaking of the donkey, took place in a prophetic vision, since further on, in the same account, an angel of God is introduced as speaking to Bilam." It must be noted that the Rambam adopts this theory for a much different reason than that which Ibn Ezra ascribes to the "rationalists." The Rambam in this chapter establishes that no real-life encounter with angels is possible; any reference to an experience involving an angel, he asserts, must have occurred in a prophetic vision. Therefore, since the episode of Bilam and his donkey involved the activity of an angel, which in fact spoke with Bilam after his conversation with the animal (see 22:32-35), the Rambam had no choice but to relegate this narrative to the realm of prophecy.

The Maharam Alashkar, in one of his responsa (117, available online at www.daat.ac.il/daat/mahshevt/pilosof/sefer3-2.htm), raises two compelling difficulties against the Rambam's position. Firstly, the Mishna in Masekhet Avot (5:6) lists the pi ha-aton – "mouth of the donkey" – among the ten things which God created "on Friday, at twilight," meaning, just prior to the culmination of the process of creation on the sixth day. Before setting the natural order into motion, God implanted within it certain exceptions, which manifested themselves in the form of miraculous occurrences at various points in history. By including the pi ha-aton in this list, the Mishna clearly indicates that the donkey actually spoke. If Bilam simply imagined this episode, then there was no "donkey's mouth" that spoke to Bilam, and it thus should not have been included in this Mishna.

The second difficulty involves the Rambam's own comments earlier in Moreh Nevukhim (2:6), where he discusses the nature of angels. Amidst that discussion, he makes the point that angels are sometimes dispatched to affect the conduct of animals, and cites as examples the angel that closed the mouths of the lions to which the prophet Daniel was cast, and Bilam's donkey, whose conduct was affected by angelic involvement. However we explain this passage, by drawing conclusions regarding the conduct of angels from the episode of Bilam and his donkey, the Rambam appears to have understood this narrative as an actual event, not a prophetic vision. Seemingly, if this event never actually occurred, it can hardly provide any insight or information concerning the nature and function of angels.

The Maharam Alashkar does not provide any solution to these difficulties against the Rambam's position; readers are invited to respond with their suggestions or findings relevant to this issue.

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Yesterday, we discussed the bizarre incident recorded in Parashat Balak of the conversation that takes place between Bilam, the gentile prophet, and his donkey. We saw that the Rambam, among others, claims that this incident never really occurred, and it was rather shown to Bilam as a prophetic vision. Most commentators, however, including Ibn Ezra, the Ramban, the Rashbam and Abarbanel, accept the straightforward reading of this narrative, which suggests that Bilam's donkey miraculously spoke.

Many different approaches have been taken to explain the purpose served by this miracle. After all, God overturns the laws of nature only when circumstances demand doing so. What prompted the Almighty to enable Bilam's donkey to engage its owner in conversation?

Rav Meir Simcha Ha-kohen, in his Meshekh Chokhma, explains by addressing a more basic question concerning the entire Bilam narrative. Why was it necessary for God to turn his curses into blessings? Would his curses have had any effect on Benei Yisrael? Would their campaign to capture Canaan, upon which they would embark a year later, have been undermined by Bilam's prediction of doom?

The Meshekh Chokhma suggests that God's intervention served an important psychological purpose. Upon seeing that Bilam, the most respected man of spirit in the pagan world, was powerless to wish evil upon the Israelite nation, and in fact spoke of them glowingly and foresaw their unparalleled power and dominion, the Canaanites would be disheartened. God's intent was to discourage Benei Yisrael's enemies and thereby prevent fierce resistance as they embark to conquer the Land.

If so, the Meshekh Chokhma contends, we can perhaps understand the purpose served by the episode of the donkey. Benei Yisrael's enemies might have accused them of bribing Bilam to pronounce his blessings as an intimidation tactic. They might have charged that Bilam's unsuccessful attempt to curse the nation was staged, as Bilam was paid an exorbitant sum to proclaim Benei Yisrael's greatness and superiority. God therefore precluded this accusation through the miracle of the talking donkey, which occurred in the presence of Bilam's entourage, which of course included the Moavite dignitaries who came to bring him to Moav. This miracle proved beyond doubt that Bilam indeed spoke through divine inspiration, that just as God put words into the donkey's mouth, so was Bilam's blessing to Benei Yisrael divinely ordained. This episode was thus an indispensable component of God's overall plan in this entire narrative, as proving to the Canaanite peoples Benei Yisrael's destiny and future as a successful, sovereign nation in the land of their patriarchs.

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The final section of Parashat Balak (25:1-9) tells of the disturbing episode of chet ba'al Pe'or, Benei Yisrael's sexual and religious involvement with women from the neighboring country of Moav. In addition, an Israelite man, later identified as the leader of the tribe of Shimon (25:14), committed a public act of violation with a Midyanite princess. Pinchas, a grandson of Aharon, avenges God's honor by publicly slaying the Israelite and Midyanite offenders. Pinchas' zealotry is a manifestation of the unusual halakha of ha-bo'el aramit – kana'in pog'in bo" – in instances of a public violation of this sort, those overcome by zealous rage for God's honor have license to murder the violator. Generally speaking, corporal punishment is mandated only within the narrow context of Beit-Din (the rabbinical court), and only when many, very specific conditions are met. As a rule, the Torah abhors impulsive violence, even when supposedly driven by sincere, religious motives. In extreme cases, however, such as a situation of a public display of promiscuity involving a Jew and gentile, kana'in – those overcome by zealous rage – may step forward to violently avenge God's honor.

Rashi, commenting on this episode (25:6), writes (based on Masekhet Sanhedrin 82a) that Moshe himself did not act to avenge God's honor because "nit'alema mimenu halakha" – the halakha "escaped him." He simply forget this provision granting license to kana'in to slay violators under these circumstances. Commenting on the following verse, Rashi tells that Pinchas consulted with Moshe on the matter, reminding him of this halakha. Moshe replied, "He who reads the letter should himself be the messenger" – meaning, Pinchas, the one who advocated this extreme response, should be the one to personally execute it.

This sequence of events, as described by Rashi, raises several questions, most importantly, how it was possible that Moshe simply forgot an explicit halakha. Why would his memory suddenly fail him? Secondly, why did he insist that only Pinchas should proceed with the killing?

Rav Aryeh Leib Baron (of Montreal, Canada), in his Netzach Yaakov, suggests a novel reading of this account, based on a closer reading of the Talmudic passage from where Rashi drew his comments. The Gemara tells that Zimri, the leader of Shimon, took the Midyanite princess to Moshe and asked whether he may marry her. Without even waiting for Moshe's response, Zimri added, "And if you say she is forbidden – who permitted you to marry the daughter of Yitro!" In other words, Zimri approached Moshe with ammunition in hand, prepared to accuse him of hypocrisy should he forbid marrying a Midyanite after he had himself married a woman from Midyan. (Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, was the priest of Midyan.) Immediately following this account, the Gemara comments that Moshe "forgot" the halakha sanctioning vigilantism under such circumstances. This presentation implies that Moshe's forgetfulness somehow resulted from the challenge posed by Zimri. Why would Zimri's charge have caused Moshe to overlook a Torah law?

Rav Baron therefore suggests that Moshe did not actually "forget" the provision of kana'in pog'in bo. Rather, the Gemara meant that Moshe sensed that his sincerity and impartiality with regard to this issue had been undermined. Zimri's challenge introduced a personal element into this entire affair, such that any action undertaken by Moshe would involve the defense of not only God's honor, but his own honor, as well. Now that his own dignity was at stake, Moshe's hands were tied. Kana'in pog'in bo relates strictly to those who are genuinely driven by pure devotion to God and seek nothing more than the restoration of divine authority. Moshe, however, at least at this point, would now be driven by an additional motive – the need to defend himself against Zimri's accusations.

Therefore, Moshe instructed Pinchas to put this halakha in practice. Since there was no personal element involved in Pinchas' zealotry, as he was driven by purely sincere and genuine love of God, he was indeed entitled to take the drastic measure of slaying the two offenders.

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Parashat Balak tells of the failed attempts of Bilam, the internationally renowned gentile seer, to place a curse on Benei Yisrael, as the Moavite king Balak had commissioned him to do. We read that in preparation for the first attempt to place the curse, Balak took Bilam to a place from where he could see "ketzeh ha-am" – literally, "the edge of the nation" (22:41), presumably referring to the outlying sections of the Israelite camp. The Or Ha-chayim poses a fairly simple question regarding Bilam's ability to look upon even part of Benei Yisrael. After all, Chazal describe the ananei ha-kavod – "clouds of glory" – that encircled the nation as they traveled through the wilderness, which included a layer of clouds hovering above them. The Gemara in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (3), as noted by the Or Ha-chayim, tells of the brief disappearance of the ananei ha-kavod after Aharon's death; however, the miraculous cloud cover soon returned in the merit of Moshe. The question thus arises as to how Bilam could be described as looking upon Benei Yisrael if they were concealed by God's protective cloud clover.

The Or Ha-chayim suggests, quite simply, that Bilam was indeed endowed with powers of kishuf – magic and witchcraft, which enabled his vision to penetrate the ananei ha-kavod and look upon the people.

However, this question is obviated by the comments of Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel to this verse, according to which Bilam saw specifically the tribe of Dan, which traveled last (see Bamidbar 10:25). Targum Yonatan, likely anticipating the Or Ha-chayim's question, writes explicitly that the tribe of Dan had committed idolatry and was therefore expelled from the confines of the ananei ha-kavod. The Meshekh Chokhma follows this approach and suggests that it might shed light on Bilam's remarks in this opening prophecy: "From the top of cliffs I see them, and from the hills I gaze upon them… " (23:9). Rashi, based on the Midrash, explains that Bilam here refers to zekhut avot – the merits of Benei Yisrael's patriarchs and matriarchs that accompany them continuously and protect them. These merits form the giant "cliffs" and "hills" upon which Benei Yisrael stand with pride and confidence. This reference, the Meshekh Chokhma explains, is necessary specifically because Bilam looked upon the most troubled segment of the nation, the tribe that had betrayed the covenant with God and was expelled. Even they, Bilam exclaims, stand firm on the bedrock of their ancestral merits.

This answer, however, might not be sufficient. For one thing, the Da'at Zekeinim Mi-Ba'alei Ha-Tosefot explain this verse differently, claiming that ketzeh ha-am in fact refers to the entire nation, and not merely the periphery. Clearly, then, the Da'at Zekeinim could not accept Targum Yonatan's approach. Moreover, later, before Bilam's third and final attempt at a curse, we are told that Bilam "saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes" (24:2). This certainly leaves us with the impression that Bilam looked upon the entire nation, and not merely the tribe of Dan.

Though admittedly I have yet to find a source to this effect, it may be worth considering a different approach. Logically, one might speculate as to whether the ananei ha-kavod remained with Benei Yisrael even at this point, in their final months before crossing into Eretz Yisrael. After all, the nation now lived in the territory they had recently captured from the Emorite kingdom. They no longer resided in a barren wilderness, having instead conquered and taken over a fully developed country. Conceivably, they now began to gradually move towards a more natural existence. While the manna undoubtedly continued to fall each morning (it was discontinued only with Moshe's death), the ananei ha-kavod, which afforded the nation supernatural protection from the harsh natural elements in the wilderness, may have perhaps dissipated with the conquest of the Emorite territory. Since Benei Yisrael now began the process of growing accustomed to a more self-sufficient, natural mode of existence, perhaps they no longer had any need for the divine clouds of glory, and thus Bilam could easily look upon them as he unsuccessfully sought to place his curse.

It should be emphasized again, however, that I have yet to find a source indicating that the ananei ha-kavod disappeared after Benei Yisrael's conquest of the Emorite lands.

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Rashi, in his comments to the third verse of Parashat Balak (22:4), cites from the Midrash an explanation as to the underlying logic behind the strategy adopted by Moav, to summon Bilam to place a curse on Benei Yisrael. Balak, the Moavite king, consulted with the elders of Midyan, who noted that the secret behind the power of the Israelite leader – Moshe – lies in his mouth. Therefore, they concluded, any attempt to defeat Benei Yisrael must involve the power of the mouth. The Midyanite elders thus recommended hiring the services of Bilam, who had earned a widespread reputation for proclaiming accurate and dependable blessings and curses.

Seemingly, the reference to Moshe's "mouth" as the source of his success involves his power of prayer. But if this is the case, then one wonders why Midyan felt that Bilam's maledictions could overpower Moshe's prayer. If Moshe's success stems from his effective prayer, presumably this is due to his beloved stature in God's eyes. Why, then, would Midyan think that Bilam's utterances could render Moshe's prayers meaningless? Why would God reject Moshe's prayer by force of Bilam's curse?

Therefore, the Rosh, as cited by Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala, suggests a different reading of this Midrashic passage. Namely, the Midyanites wrongly attributed Moshe's success to the magical powers of his mouth. They referred not to prayer, but rather to what they perceived as Moshe's skills in witchcraft. Naturally, then, they suggested fighting Benei Yisrael with the same "ammunition," by commissioning the most prominent and acclaimed sorcerer of the time to neutralize the effects of Moshe's alleged magical incantations.

The Rosh added that this distorted perception of Benei Yisrael's power characterized Moav's overall approach to their current situation. The parasha's second verse tells that Moav feared Benei Yisrael "ki rav hu" – because of their large numbers. Balak did not for a moment acknowledge the supreme power of the Almighty as the source for Benei Yisrael's power. Significantly, we read in the Az Yashir song sung by Benei Yisrael after the splitting of the sea, that the "mighty ones of Moav" were "seized with terror" upon hearing of that momentous miracle (Shemot 15:15). And yet, by the time Benei Yisrael reached Moav's doorstep forty years later, Moav had denied God's power and attributed the nation's prowess instead to other factors, such as their numbers or witchcraft.

Apparently, Balak refused to accept a theological approach that de facto restricts man's independent power and sufficiency. By nature, the human being is attracted to ideas and beliefs that afford mankind a considerable degree of control over their future and well being. The Jewish concept of an omnipotent God who rises above and governs the natural order necessarily entails man's complete dependence on God. The alternative is to deny the existence of a supreme Being, and attribute all world events to a fixed, unalterable, predetermined system – call it nature or witchcraft – which is not subject to any overarching force. Balak, in order to maintain a comforting sense of control over his nation's future, insisted on attributing Benei Yisrael's success to "natural" factors, rather than conceding the unsurpassed power of the Almighty.

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A famous Talmudic passage in Masekhet Berakhot (7a) explains the system Bilam sought to employ in attempting to curse Benei Yisrael. Commenting on the gentile seer's reference to himself as "yodei'a da'at elyon" – "who knows the mind of the Supreme [Being]" (24:16), the Gemara explains that Bilam had the ability to determine the moment when divine anger is aroused. As the Gemara establishes, there is a brief moment each day when God becomes angry; Bilam, through his misused prophetic powers, was capable of identifying that moment and uttering his malediction at the precise instant of divine wrath. Thus accounts for his success in this "field," as Balak testifies, "For I know that he whom you bless is blessed, and he whom you curse is cursed" (22:6). The Gemara adds that God therefore refrained from growing angry throughout this period of Bilam's attempts to curse Benei Yisrael, thereby foiling his plan. In his vein, the Gemara explains the verse from Sefer Mikha (6:5; from the haftara for Shabbat Parashat Balak), which reminds Benei Yisrael of God's kindness in thwarting Bilam's efforts. The prophet here refers to the fact that God restrained His fury, such that Bilam was unable to place the desired curse upon His people.

This Gemara raises numerous questions, including the precise meaning of the concept of God's daily moment of anger. Seemingly, God should be angry whenever mankind gives His cause to be angry; divine wrath should not work according to a fixed schedule. Secondly, why would Bilam's curses be successful simply because he found the "magical" moment of anger? Would the Almighty suddenly listen to him simply because he appealed for the subject's downfall at the right moment?

A novel reading of this Gemara was suggested by Rav Elyakim Shlessinger, in his work, Beit Av (as cited by Rav Yissachar Frand – www.torah.org/learning/ravfrand/5764/balak.html). As Rashi brings in his commentary to the very first verse in the Torah, God created the world through a combination of midat ha-din – the divine attribute of justice – and midat ha-rachamim – the divine attribute of compassion. He understood that the earth could not be sustained if man were to be judged according to the strict standard of midat ha-din; God therefore introduced into the world order the quality of midat ha-rachamim, whereby man has the ability to gain favor and grace beyond what he strictly deserves.

This, the Beit Av suggests, is to what the Gemara refers when it speaks of God growing angry for a brief moment each day. Within the Almighty's system of rule, there exists an element of strict midat ha-din. By this standard, He indeed has cause to become angry each and every day as a result of mankind's mistakes and unworthiness. It is only the assuaging effects of midat ha-rachamim through which the world continues to exist despite its inhabitants' moral failings.

The Mishna in Pirkei Avot (5:19) attributes to Bilam the quality of ayin ra'a – "evil eye." Bilam's tendency was to identify people's faults and shortcomings and wish them evil. (Indeed, Seforno – 22:6 – claims that Bilam had the ability only to place curses, and not to extend blessings, despite the verse's implication to the contrary.) In this sense, he had the capacity to determine God's "moment of wrath." Meaning, he could invoke the divine attribute of strict justice by bringing to mind his subject's failings and unworthiness, and in this manner he could successfully curse. It might be useful to draw a contrast in this regard between Bilam and Moshe. In several instances when God sought to punish Benei Yisrael, Moshe came forward to plead their case and appeal for compassion on their behalf. Although they had deserved annihilation, Moshe invoked the divine attribute of compassion and secured divine mercy. Bilam worked in the precise opposite manner. He would focus on the individual or nation's shortcomings and appeal to God's midat ha-din to respond accordingly. Indeed, Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel (24:1) writes that Bilam sought to curse Benei Yisrael by making mention of the sin of the golden calf.

Of course, we are bidden to follow the example of Moshe, rather than that of Bilam. Our job is to look upon others favorably, and focus our attention on their positive qualities and admirable attributes, rather than dwelling on their shortcomings.

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We read in Parashat Balak of the bizarre conversation that transpires between Bilam and the donkey upon which he rides as he makes his way to Moav, from where he was to place a curse on Benei Yisrael. The donkey scolds Bilam for repeatedly beating it for steering off the road. Ultimately, the angel that had barred the donkey's path made itself visible to Bilam, and confirmed that he had wrongly mistreated his donkey: "For what reason have you beaten your donkey, three times now?" (22:32).

The Rambam, in his Moreh Nevukhim (end of 3:17), amidst his discussion of the concept of divine providence as it relates to animals, cites this verse as proof of the Torah prohibition of tza'ar ba'alei chayim – mistreating animals: "There is a rule laid down by our Sages that it is directly prohibited in the Law to cause pain to an animal, and is based on the words, 'For what reason have you beaten… '" He proceeds to explain that this prohibition is intended to "make us perfect; that we should not assume cruel habits."

The issue as to whether tza'ar ba'alei chayim constitutes a Torah prohibition or is forbidden mi-de-rabbanan (through rabbinic enactment) is the subject of a complex Talmudic discussion in Masekhet Bava Metzia (32b). The Mishna and Gemara address the obligation of perika u-te'ina, to help one's fellow in loading or unloading cargo from his animal (see Shemot 23:5). Under certain circumstances, even if the technical obligation to help one's fellow unload the cargo does not apply, the concept of tza'ar ba'alei chayim would require doing so in any event. In this context, the Gemara discusses the origins of this prohibition.

There is some confusion as to the position taken by the Rambam in Mishneh Torah. The Minchat Chinukh (80) attributes to the Rambam the view that tza'ar ba'alei chayim is forbidden mi-de-rabbanan. He notes the Rambam's ruling (Hilkhot Rotzei'ach 13:1), in accordance with the majority view in the Mishna, applying the obligation to help unload the cargo even when the animal's owner had overloaded the animal. As opposed to Rabbi Yossi, who absolves one from the obligation in such a case, since the owner bears responsibility for the difficult situation, the majority view, which the Rambam follows, requires one to help even in such a case. However, the Rambam writes in this context, "this constitutes a positive commandment," suggesting that even in such a case, it is the Torah obligation of perika that requires offering assistance, and not the issue of tza'ar ba'alei chayim. As the Minchat Chinukh demonstrates from the Gemara, this understanding of the majority view works on the assumption that tza'ar ba'alei chayim is prohibited only by force of rabbinic enactment. The Kesef Mishneh, by contrast (Hilkhot Rotzei'ach 13:9), disagrees, claiming that in truth the Rambam saw tza'ar ba'alei chayim as a Torah prohibition.

If we accept the Minchat Chinukh's reading, whereby the Rambam in Mishneh Torah relegates this prohibition to rabbinic enactment, can we resolve this stance with his comments in Moreh Nevukhim, explicitly pointing to the Bilam story as the source of tza'ar ba'alei chayim? Some have suggested that the Rambam distinguished in this regard between active mistreatment of animals and passive disregard for their suffering. In Moreh Nevukhim, the Rambam speaks of beating an animal, such as in the case of Bilam, and asserts that such conduct is Biblically forbidden. In the context of perika, however, the issue involves going out of one's way to relieve an animal's discomfort. This level of concern, perhaps, is not required by Torah law, but was legislated by Chazal.