Chazal in Bava Batra tells us that Moses wrote his book, the book of Job and “Parshat Bilaam.” That Moshe wrote (down) the Torah is stated explicitly in the Torah. Writing the Book of Job, while seemingly offhand and odd-sounding, does make sense in the context of Moses’ career of struggle with himself, his people (including his family, both the nuclear and the clan/tribe) and indeed with the Almighty Himself.

But what is Parshat Bilaam? Forgive me, I always thought it was a part of the Torah, bursting with symbolic irony, even comedic to a degree, which we “lein” breezily in shul during the summer months (Tachazor Atarah le-Yoshna!) prior to the Three Weeks.

The story of Bilaam is one of the most enigmatic in the Torah, and why, to compound the perplexity, are we encumbered with the Talmudic statement that it is somehow part of the Torah, yet not part of the Torah?

Consider that we have Bilaam a (not false!) prophet from the East, hired to curse, but compelled (?) to bless, who, despite the desire of the rabbis to attack and speak ill of him, retains a certain equanimity, a dignity, even an ethical character. He is not an idolator (as far as we can tell), he honors God, he can also speak the truth as he recognizes the hand of God in his own visions and pronouncements. Some profess to see that God “happens upon him,” rather than addresses him, and make a gratuitous leap to supposed wayward sexual proclivities. Of course they forget that the first word of Leviticus (“Vayikra” actually is “va-yikar)” also has God “happening” upon Moses.

Bilaam retains a magisterial air because of the eloquence, the passion and the vitality of the words he utters. And many would say that one who delivers words of eloquence, high praise and esteem cannot do so without himself feeling the passion behind the words

I was long puzzled over this maamar Chazal, about the in-or-out nature of this whole part of the Torah. Is it in or is it out? What is its purpose? Why here? And what does it have to do with Moshe Rabbeinu specifically? Many of the interpretations offered to explain this passage seem less than satisfying. But trying to see verses in context and exploring correspondences might support a better understanding.

There is a certain commonality between Moshe and Bilaam. Both are outsiders; one comes from the West, one comes from the East. They are met on a formidable intersection of the settled land and the wasteland. Neither one wanted the job they were assigned. Each was a reluctant messenger. Each one sought to know God ultimately and was rebuffed. Each can only act truthfully despite the connivings of men. Each is “blind,” in that neither can “see” God’s face.

The difference in their relative experiences (said advisedly of Bilaam) is staggering! Moses has nothing but “blood, toil, tears and sweat” from his people. Bilaam has none of that. Bilaam appears unburdened. Think of Moshe as a great actor who never gets to say the best, most memorable lines. Bilaam gets the top billing in this show and has the lines we all know and love.

These were the words (Ma tovu, etc., etc., not necessarily descriptive but perhaps futuristic) that Moses wanted to say about Bnei Yisrael but could not. This is the “book” he wanted to write but didn’t get the chance.

I have tried imagining how Moshe got Bilaam’s text. I can imagine that every word of Bilaam’s was taken down in real time by a battery of scribes, and that after the war with Midian, when Bilaam’s body was found, the camp was searched and the scrolls of Bilaam’s words were found and incorporated into the Torah.

Consider also Parshat Bilaam in relation to another event that highlights the convergence and contrast of Moshe and Bilaam.

Moses creates a “nachash hanechoshet,” a copper snake to fend off the plague, engendered by the hunger of the people. The operative word is “nachash,” snake. Moshe doubles down with a rhyming creation, nachash hanechoshet. This is magic, pure and simple. No wonder the rabbis in Tractate Pesachim praise King Hezekiah for crushing this ancient relic of magical religion during the purificatory reforms of his reign. Contrast that with Bilaam who is said to have avoided (at a certain point in the proceedings) resorting to the magic of “nechashim,” the word here meaning divination. But the sound of the word almost exactly resonates with the word “snake” of Moses. The melody is inescapable. Moses went toward the magical religion, indeed upon God’s command, (that only Hezekiah could correct), but Bilaam actually went the other way.

Could this give us a clue as to why Moses is punished for hitting instead of speaking to the rock, making a “chilul Hashem” in the process? This is one of the great truly unanswered/able questions as pointed out by 16th-century Rav Yitzchak Arama. But consider what happened: Moses hit the rock; he did not pray to it. Hitting the rock to get the water out was magic; praying is a human act—it’s what people do in times of trouble. It is not magical. Did Moses revert, to his everlasting chagrin, to the religion of magic? Did he loosen the bonds of prayer, thus giving Pinchas the vital example of direct action as a solution rather than prayerful action? Psalms 106, 30 says that Pinchas did indeed pray at that moment rather than kill (according to Brachot).

The struggle continues to clothe ourselves in true, not magical, religion, informed by mind and energized by passion.

The author strives to see the unity of all things in the Maimonidean sense of “leyachado.”