Balak & Bil'am: Hope Beyond Anti-Semitism

By Halima Krausen
Germany

Why did the portion of “Balak” strike my attention? After all, I’ve known the story since my childhood. It has even made its way into al-Tabari's famous book, “History of the Prophets and Kings.” Perhaps my interest stems from our current preoccupation with an uncomfortable debate on anti-Semitism in general and Muslim anti-Semitism in particular.

In the narrative in the book of Numbers, Balak, a local king, decides to go to war against the Children of Israel who are camped in the nearby desert. This decision, at least from our modern perspective, is seemingly arbitrary, completely lacking reason. Balak is “alarmed because the people (the Children of Israel) were so numerous” and resolves to “drive them out of the land.” Apparently, he does not ask himself whether the danger of which he is afraid is real or imagined – after all, the twelve tribes are really only passing through on their way to the Promised Land.

In order to make the campaign easier for himself, Balak employs Bil’am to curse them for him. It is interesting that although Balak, acknowledging Bil’am’s competence in these matters, says, “I know that who you bless is blessed and whom you curse is cursed,” he only contracts Bil’am for the purpose of cursing the Children of Israel, without giving consideration to the possibly more constructive attempt of obtaining a blessing for his own people.

When reading biblical texts, I try am especially interested in depictions of non-Jewish servants of the One God; while I appreciate the focus on the Children of Israel throughout the generations and centuries, I like to think of the Bible as not ethnocentric. Therefore, I found the story of Bil’am to be quite intriguing. Bil’am is a prophet who can communicate directly with God – yet how strange does his reaction to Balak’s request seem! Nothing in the narrative indicates that Bil’am has any knowledge of the encamped people or its objectives; nor does he make any inquiries into the matter to determine whether the king’s concern is justified. Furthermore, although he tells the king’s messengers that he will reply to them “as the Lord may instruct me,” Bil’am does not seek out the Lord’s instruction. He waits until God Himself takes the initiative to talk to him, whereupon he is informed, “You must not curse them for they are blessed.” Even stranger, instead of taking that instruction to heart and sending the king’s messengers away, Bil’am interprets God's warning as permission to go – as if He had changed His mind – and sets off to curse the Children of Israel.

A web of contradictions, to be sure; but something sounds familiar. In analyzing patterns of anti-Semitic thought (and of prejudice and demonization in general) one encounters an interesting phenomenon; some individuals experience something that is not outright hatred but suspicion – somehow, a person, or a group of people, or a neighbor, or guest, appears as a danger to them. Instead of clarifying the matter by communicating directly with the object(s) of their fear or even by seeking reliable information from an informed party, these individuals demonize that person or group and take action against them. Unfortunately, it is just as common for someone to act on mere hearsay or the fear of what is expected of him, engaging in the act of demonization without questioning, without thinking of the consequences of his actions, without realizing the context of the information and the situation, and closing his eyes to the obvious – closing his ears to what his conscience has to say. It doesn't take the "classic" pattern of an elaborate, rationalized “feindbild,” with dehumanizing allusions to the Other's alleged insidiousness and cruelty in war or the Other’s sexual abnormality and seemingly unlimited and wrongfully acquired financial resources, to get a man who is otherwise at speaking distance with God to be at the service of a paranoid king. It doesn't even take the threats of a tyrant. It only takes a few words: "They are there. Come and curse them."

It is down this road that Bil’am the anti-Semite saddles his donkey and sets off with his eyes mostly shut, blind to facts that even his donkey can see and angry at being confronted with the donkey's reasonable reactions. Bil’am appears to be stupider than even a donkey; a donkey would accept another donkey for what he is – a fellow donkey. A human being would be expected to see more than that, to see God's presence in a fellow human being. He or she would at the very least be expected to check information.

A verse from the Qur'an comes to my mind: "And do not follow that of which you have no knowledge, for the eye, the ear and the heart, they will be taken to account." The passage, significantly in Surah Bani Isra'îl, resembles the Biblical "Ten Commandments.” When it comes to assumptions, suspicion and prejudices one must either ignore them or exert himself to get the true facts but we mustn’t follow them blindly. We must all mind that we are held responsible for the way we treat our fellow human beings. Truly, a reasonable commandment. Imagine how many conflicts could be avoided, de-escalated or solved if we stopped acting on rumours, incitement and delusions, and started using our eyes, ears and hearts.

The characters in our story disregard all reasonable considerations and continue down their road of magical thinking. Let us set aside Balak for now; perhaps he is only a distraught ruler afraid of the possible loss his power. But Bil'am – surely he should have known better. He was not only aware of God’s presence and reality, but was expressly told not to harass the Children of Israel, the Other! Nevertheless we find Bil’am subsequently undertaking a lengthy process on behalf of Balak and his people, sacrificing valuable time and resources and twisting religion to fit their destructive purposes.

The Children of Israel are passive participants in this series of events. As Balak peers down at their camps from an overhanging cliff, he seems to posses no knowledge of them beyond that “they have come out of Egypt.” But the children of Israel are on their own journey on which their current resting point is only temporary. They possess their own visions, their own troubles – they are human beings with their own qualities and shortcomings. They go about their everyday camp life, waiting to continue their journey. It is as this point that the “magic” gives way to reality: when Bil'am is finally prepared to begin his attack on the Children of Israel, his intended curse is turned into a blessing. The reality he sees is "a people that dwells apart", that goes about its own business.

The tone of the language does not seem to reflect the surprise and embarrassment that one would imagine a person would experience in Bal’am’s position. We can only speculate as to what happened. Perhaps the blessing came completely "unexpected"; we know not what discomfort he tries to hide or what negative consequences he tries to avert by disclaiming, "I can only repeat faithfully what the Lord puts in my mouth." The actual encounter has exposed the absurdity of his prejudice – but what does he learn from that?

In fact it requires two more similar encounters for him to finally understand that "the Lord their God is with them," and to perceive, with his own eyes, the beauty of people living in full awareness of God's special care. The curse is transformed into a blessing, turning against its own initiators.

Miracle stories are parables. They can be frustrating because miracles never seem to happen the way the stories are told and what remains is a world of violence, hostility and spite, of prejudice, contempt and delusions. A world poisoned with anti-Semitism, racism, sexism, Islamophobia, extremism and an abundance of disinformation. These miraculous parables tempt one to incline towards nostalgia and longing for the distant past, a dream age when miraculous changes still seemed to be possible.

Somewhat frustrated by my encounter with the biblical Bil’am, I turn the pages to the weekly Haphtarah portion, taken from the books of the Prophets, which is read in synagogues. The passage begins like many other Prophetic texts, with a warning and a promise of hope, with quite familiar images. At first, even the image of the lawsuit "against Israel" doesn't especially strike me. But then the challenge hits me. Haven't I myself experienced liberation from many a "tight place" and guidance through many a wilderness? Haven't I seen modern-day Balaks and Bal'ams plotting against others, with or without rationalized patterns of demonization, often being caught up in delusions that corrupted their own spiritual identity? Can I deny the experience of people's eyes being opened in an actual encounter with the "other"? Thirty years of interfaith dialogue rush through my mind, memories of frustration with those who never seem to learn along with moments of amazement when someone’s eyes were unexpectedly opened to the human qualities of the Other. I recall my despair at seeing the popular work of the mass media, which too often spreads dehumanizing stereotypes, when faced with the potential number of possibilities to inform, to clarify, and to protest these stereotypes. Yet I also remember my overwhelming gratitude upon discovering how a personal encounter can break through the walls of those very stereotypes. Moments of the Bendorf conference where Jews, Christans and Muslims were together in discussions and projects, discovering surprising similarities and differences, shouting at each other and hugging each other, laughing, crying and praying together and finally leaving after having passed through a new stage of transformation along with contacts that develop into lasting friendship. Haven't I myself been enormously transformed by these experiences?

Haven't I too been exposed to intended "curses" often enough, confronted with challenging questions, insinuations and accusations, a screen for projection of images of people's hatred and fear that left me with a feeling of helplessness. And wasn't there nearly always those unexpectedly opened gateways of insight, liberating someone so that he or she may see beyond those images and communicate with "others"? And haven't these experiences deepened my understanding of doing justice, loving goodness and walking modestly with my God?"

The narrative of "Balak" can bee seen as a parable. The miracles that happen in real life seem different - we might even forget them or not be aware of them to begin with if we are preoccupied with our own anger, sadness and frustration. We need to open our eyes to the good that we experience ourselves as well as for the reality of "the other."

With a surge of hope and confidence I put the book back in its place on the shelf. We have been told what is good - so let’s go ahead and do it.     MJJ

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