The Gift and the Choice

What happens when two souls are granted extraordinary gifts, yet walk toward completely different destinies?

That question stands at the heart of Parashat Balak through two towering figures who were granted similar capacities, yet arrived at opposite ends of the spiritual spectrum: Moshe Rabbeinu and Bilaam.

Chazal teach that Bilaam was granted prophetic access comparable to Moshe—not equal in holiness, but comparable in revelation itself. Both men stood within reach of extraordinary spiritual heights. Both were entrusted with abilities that could influence nations and shape the course of history.

Yet their paths could not have diverged more completely.

The Torah frames their lives through striking parallels. Moshe rises early to saddle his donkey in obedience to Hashem’s command; Bilaam rises early to saddle his donkey in pursuit of honour and reward.

Moshe ascends Har Sinai to bring down the stone tablets of the law; Bilaam ascends the heights of Moav to look upon the camp of Israel and proclaim blessings he never intended to give.

One brings Heaven’s words down to earth. The other speaks Heaven’s words, yet remains unchanged by them.

Rabbi Abraham Twerski often observed that a person’s greatness is measured not by talent, intelligence, or innate ability, but by what they choose to do with what they have been given. Potential, by itself, proves very little. The real question is whether those unique attributes become tools for serving something greater than oneself.

Moshe and Bilaam become far more than two ancient prophetic figures. They become two distinct responses to the same challenge.

The Torah never praises Moshe for his prophetic clarity; it praises him for his humility. The gift came from Hashem, but the greatness came from how Moshe chose to direct it. Bilaam’s failure was the precise opposite. He possessed extraordinary vision, yet remained entirely trapped within his own ambitions. The prophetic power was real, but the vessel receiving it was profoundly flawed.

Their stories do not end with them. They continue through two tribes.

Near the end of his life, Yaakov Avinu rebukes his sons Shimon and Levi together:

אָרוּר אַפָּם כִּי עָז
“Cursed be their anger, for it is fierce.”
(Bereishit 49:7)

At first glance, the brothers appear inseparable. They stood together at Shechem. They are rebuked together by Yaakov. They are scattered together throughout Israel. Yet history would reveal that the same trait can be directed toward completely opposite ends.

At the sin of the Golden Calf, when the nation falters beneath Har Sinai, Moshe calls out:

“Whoever is for Hashem, come to me.”

The tribe of Levi answers.

Years later, at Baal Peor, Israel faces spiritual collapse. This time it is Zimri, a prince of Shimon, who publicly leads the nation into immorality and idolatry. In that moment of crisis, a descendant of Levi rises to defend the covenant. Pinchas steps forward and brings the devastating plague to an end.

The same Yaakov who rebuked Shimon and Levi together would ultimately see their paths diverge. One tribe became entrusted with the sacred service of the Mishkan, while the other became associated with one of the darkest failures of the wilderness generation.

The Rambam teaches that character traits are neither holy nor unholy—they are simply raw forces entrusted to us by Hashem. Levi did not become holy by extinguishing its fire; it became holy by elevating it.

This is the deepest current flowing beneath the entire parashah: holiness is not the destruction of passion, but its sanctification.

The same fire that once erupted destructively at Shechem would eventually stand beside Moshe at Sinai and rise again through Pinchas at Baal Peor. What was once volatile became devoted to Hashem. The fire remained, but the purpose changed.

As the Sfat Emet notes, raw potential is never enough.

Moshe and Bilaam were both granted extraordinary revelation.

Levi and Shimon were both granted extraordinary passion.

Yet neither revelation nor passion determines a person’s life.

Choice does.

Through their lives and through their tribes, the Torah leaves every generation with the same enduring question:

What will we do with the raw materials Heaven has placed in our hands?

For holiness is not measured by what we have been given.

It is measured by what we choose to become.

The gift comes from Heaven—the choice belongs to us.

שבת שלום
שמואל