Parshat Balak opens with Balak’s fear of the Jewish people and his recruitment of the sorcerer Bila’am to curse them. Already in their first interaction, Hashem sets the stage for a deeper lesson about human perception and the spiritual tests we all face.
“Who Are These People?”
When Bila’am invites the messengers of Balak to stay overnight so he can hear Hashem’s response, Hashem appears to him in a dream and asks, “Who are these people with you?” (Bamidbar 22:9). The question is striking. Doesn’t Hashem already know?
Rashi explains that Hashem was luring Bila’am into error—creating an opening for Bila’am to think that not everything is visible to Hashem at all times. Bila’am takes the bait. He thinks: if Hashem asks questions, maybe there are moments when He’s unaware. And if Hashem isn’t watching constantly, perhaps there are gaps—windows where curses can slip through undetected.
This perceived lapse leads Bila’am to believe that he might succeed in cursing the Jewish people. But even more significantly, it leads him to feel that he is not important in Hashem’s eyes.
“I May Not Be Important to You…”
In the very next verse (22:10), Bila’am responds to Hashem’s question by declaring that Balak, king of Moav, has sent for him. Rashi comments: Bila’am is saying, “Even if I am not significant in Your eyes, I am important in the eyes of kings.” But where did this come from? Hashem never said Bila’am wasn’t important. Why would Bila’am assume this?
This is a classic psychological mechanism. When a person feels overlooked or unacknowledged, even if it’s just their own perception, they often become defensive or lash out. Just like in modern-day tensions between different sectors of society—where one group might say “You think we’re not important” when no such accusation was made—Bila’am projects his own insecurity.
Why? Because he interpreted Hashem’s question as a sign of distance. If Hashem didn’t know who was with Bila’am—or pretended not to know—it must mean Hashem didn’t really care. And if Hashem doesn’t care, then Bila’am concludes that he is insignificant. That sense of insignificance triggers Bila’am’s need to assert his worth: “Kings think I’m important.”
The Smash of the Keter
Rebbe Nachman, in Likutey Moharan Lesson 24, explains a powerful concept that sheds light on Bila’am’s test. Every person on their spiritual journey faces a barrier called the Keter, the crown. The Keter represents the highest level of Divine light—so high, in fact, that it cannot be grasped directly. It pushes a person back before allowing access. The Zohar refers to this as a betisha, a smashing setback.
This pushback is not a rejection—it’s a test. It’s designed to see how we respond when we feel distant from Hashem. Will we keep yearning, trusting, and moving forward? Or will we lash out, fall into despair, or conclude—as Bila’am did—that Hashem doesn’t care?
The illusion that Hashem is absent is itself the test of the Keter. Those who pass it are those who remain strong in their emunah, who don’t let the silence shake them. But those who interpret silence as abandonment fall into bitterness and spiritual collapse
Tragically, Bila’am chose ego and resentment over humility and faith
The Test of Setback and the Inner Cry
Rebbe Nachman teaches that setbacks in life—moments where it feels like Hashem is distant or inattentive—are not punishments. They are spiritual tests designed to draw out a person’s deepest longing for closeness to Hashem. This is the essence of the Keter test: the pushback, the silence, the confusion—these are all invitations to respond not with despair, but with yearning.
In Bila’am’s case, Hashem deliberately created a scenario of uncertainty. When He asked Bila’am, “Who are these men with you?” it was a test—lehat’oto, to mislead him. Bila’am failed. Instead of saying, “Hashem must be testing me—He knows all, of course,” Bila’am took the bait. He assumed Hashem didn’t know, didn’t care, and therefore concluded he was unimportant. His response, “I may not be important in Your eyes, but I’m important in the eyes of kings,” shows his inner collapse.
What Bila’am Should Have Said
Had Bila’am passed the test, he would have responded differently: “Even if I feel distanced, I know You are still watching over me. Even if I don’t see the closeness, I choose to believe in it.” This is what Rebbe Nachman calls the proper response to the smash-back: not anger or abandonment, but the activation of ratzon—a deep desire and cry for closeness to Hashem.
The person under trial doesn’t say, “Hashem doesn’t want me.” Instead, he cries out, “All I want is to come close to You, Hashem! Even though I feel pushed away, I won’t leave. I still want You.” That cry—pure, broken, honest—is what the Keter test is designed to reveal.
Bila’am didn’t cry out. He didn’t plead for connection. He concluded he was unworthy, and turned to seek significance elsewhere.
The Test of Every Jew
This wasn’t just Bila’am’s test. It’s every Jew’s test.
In moments of darkness—emotional, spiritual, or circumstantial—it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking, “Hashem must not care. He must not be watching. Otherwise, why would He let this happen?” But this thought is the test itself.
Rebbe Nachman teaches that if you can hold firm and believe that Hashem is present even in the silence, then the setback itself becomes the vessel for infinite light. The Keter, which first appears as a wall, transforms into a channel of hope, clarity, and renewal.
The Illusion of Distance
Hashem allowed Bila’am to experience the illusion of distance so that his true inner stance would emerge. Tragically, Bila’am chose ego and resentment over humility and faith. He interpreted the silence as abandonment, rather than as a test of longing. The same opportunity that could have brought him redemption instead sealed his downfall.
We, too, are constantly confronted by this choice. Will we interpret life’s difficulties as rejection—or as Hashem drawing out our inner cry?
May we be zokheh to see through the illusion, to choose longing over despair, and to respond to every pushback with emunah, yearning, and joy. Then the wall of Keter becomes a gate to Hashem’s infinite compassion.
Shabbat Shalom.
Meir Elkabas
