Deuteronomy 2

I don't play that many video games--maybe partly because I have poor hand-eye coordination--but in my youth, I did spend time watching my brothers play. The Metal Gear Solid series (known for having convoluted, batty story lines that only the Japanese would allow in a major, high-budget video game) are ostensibly shooters, but they eschew the blunt "shoot everything you see" format, instead allowing you to sneak by enemies or use non-lethal force to neutralize them. (You can shoot everything you see if you want, but that usually causes the game to throw more enemies at you. Amusingly, if you do kill a lot of enemies, your character will start to periodically have "guilt visions" and vomit.) Needless to say, this sneaking requires patience that I'm guessing your average adolescent boy gamer doesn't necessarily have.

Moses and the Israelites didn't necessarily have to "sneak" past the Moabites (verse 9) and Ammonites (verse 18)--you try leading two million-odd people past a country without attracting notice. However, God does say not to "harass them of provoke them to war" (verse 18) because the Moabites are the descendants of Esau and the Ammonites are the descendants of Lot--making them blood relations to the Israelites.

However, when the Israelites pass by Sihon, king of Heshbon, God basically says, "Have at it," allowing them to completely destroy the denizens of Heshbon--except for the livestock. Bessie and Billy get off scot-free, though that's probably small solace to them. Because it probably won't be long until their throats are slit so they can serve as either a sacrificial offering or delicious provender.

The "Moses nugget" that stands out to me in this chapter is in verse 7--midway through his story about the Moabites, Moses interrupts himself to remind the Israelites that through the past 40+ years, God has provided for them--they "have not lacked anything." Yes, He punished them for their truculence by making them wander about until the original generation died off, but God still kept the Israelite race alive, allowing them to reach the land He had promised to their forebears. Similarly, I have to remember all the ways that God has provided for me. After I graduated from college, looking for a job, everyone told me, "It's who you know"--and I didn't know anybody who was in a position to give me a job. But right when I needed it, God gave me jobs out of nowhere and in roles I would have never anticipated for myself. And just like the Israelites, I don't always listen to God--but His grace flows over me just the same.

Deuteronomy 1

What do you think when you hear the word "Deuteronomy"? If you're of a certain inclination, you'll immediately conjure in your mind the character from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Cats, portrayed in the original Broadway run by none other than The Nightmare Before Christmas's Oogie Boogie, Ken Page. It amuses me, an English major, that this alternately fawned-over and derided musical derives from poems by a fellow, one T. S. Eliot, who also wrote one of the most impenetrable poems of all time, "The Waste Land." In fact, Eliot's own footnotes for the poem are almost as long as the poem itself! (Eliot also wrote "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" if you're wondering where you've seen his name before.)

Anyway, despite seeing the VHS recording of Cats numerous times during my childhood (at my younger brother's behest), I don't remember too much of the plot (though apparently there wasn't too much of a plot anyway). All I remember of the Deuteronomy character was that he was a portly chap who served as some sort of wise man. And the Biblical book of Deuteronomy does indeed relate the wisdom of Moses, God's chosen representative.

Much of chapter 1 (and Deuteronomy) consists of events we've already read about before, but what adds spice is a more personal element: Moses's own feelings--some of them surprisingly candid--about what he and his fellow Israelites have gone through.

Two Moses nuggets stand out to me here. The first is in verse 23, in which Moses recalls his response to the idea of sending out spies to explore the Promised Land: "The idea seemed good to me." (Or, to quote the more literal NASB translation, "The thing pleased me.") What a thoroughly human phrase, rife with implied meaning. You can almost hear an unspoken tag: "The idea seemed good to me--at the time." Moses embraced the idea, but little did he know that it would lead to 40 years of loafing about in a, well, waste land.

This leads directly to the second intriguing nugget: After God condemns the Israelites to 40 years of wandering, Moses says in verse 37, "Because of you the LORD became angry with me also and said, 'You shall not enter [the Promised Land] either.'" Moses's transference of blame from himself to the Israelites shows that he's still bitter about not being able to enter the Promised Land he's been leading his people to for most of his adult life. Which makes sense--after all, he was handpicked by God Himself to deliver His people from the yoke of Egypt. And yet, after all these trials and constant attempts to keep the childish, recalcitrant Israelites in line, he doesn't even get to set foot in the Promised Land? But Moses is only human, so I suppose it's refreshing to see that he has flaws and frustrations. It's just a shame that he had to go and abuse that rock.

Numbers 36 and Book Conclusion

Chapter 36

Nowadays, most people marry each other because they love each other for who they are, regardless of race or social status. (I know that sounds vague, but generalizations usually are.) Far fewer of us are forced into marriages arranged solely for political or economic reasons. The annals of literature, media, and history itself burst to the gills with such stories.

One extreme example is Japan's Lady Sen (Senhime), who lived during the 1600s. At the age of six or seven, she was married off to Toyotomi Hideyori, son of the famed Toyotomi Hideyoshi (who united Japan). Being married off at such a young age obviously sucks, and of course a TV adaptation of the story in 2011 had to make it even more poignant by casting Mana Ashida (Pacific Rim), the mistress of heartstring-tugging, as young Lady Sen. That's a long-winded way to say that I'm glad most people don't have to do this any more. I know I could have just said that right out without all this random babble, but what fun would there be in that?

Zelophehad's daughters, whom you might remember from way back in Numbers 27, now come across another wrinkle in the inheritance laws, one whose solution requires limitations on whom they marry. To prevent husbands from other tribes usurping their inheritance, God tells Zelophehad's daughters to marry within their clan (that of Manasseh, son of Joseph) so that they don't lose their inheritance. Although their "potential husband pool" was restricted, it's not like they were limited to only a handful of men. According to 26:34, they had about 52,700 men to choose from, so they were bound to find a Mr. Right (or at least a Mr. Right-ish) in there somewhere among the multitudes.

However, if there had been a Romeo and Juliet type of situation with a daughter falling in love with a man from the tribe of, say, Benjamin or Dan (which I'm using as examples because they're not funny sounding names--just kidding), then that would have caused some consternation. Again, I'm glad that, for the most part, we aren't restricted by similar conditions when we choose a spouse to spend the rest of our lives with.

Book Conclusion

Bram Stoker's Dracula is famous because of, well, the character of Dracula (duh), but it's also written in an intriguing format. Basically an epistolary novel, it consists of not only letters, but also diary entries, newspaper clippings, and even dictations of wax phonograph cylinder recordings to tell one overarching story. Numbers has a similar feel, using conventional stories, a smattering of poetry, boring historically significant census records, legal regulations, and instructions for holy procedures--all to tell the story of how one generation of Israelites basically blew it. Sure, Exodus had both stories and regulations as well, but the book split neatly and almost exactly into two halves: first came the stories followed by the laws and instructions for the tabernacle. Numbers strews everything about, stories often interrupted by censuses and reminders of rules.

Although I'm sure God has a reason for this seemingly haphazard approach, perhaps it reflects the Israelites' state of mind at the time--inconsistent and desultory. (Of course, I have to keep in mind that just because I don't see a pattern doesn't mean that there isn't one.) The book also ends quite abruptly, which drives me just a bit nutso because some of my students inveterately end their essays this way every single time--as if they, on the verge of finishing their essays, suddenly realize that they need to beat their high score on Tsum Tsum right now. But never fear; Deuteronomy will bring the Pentateuch to a fitting conclusion, reviewing most of what's come before while also hinting at new material. (Which, to drive the point home, is what concluding paragraphs in essays should do, right?)

Numbers 35

I wasn't a really big fan of P.E. (physical education, not potential energy), but one of the few activities I enjoyed--besides the parachute, which everyone likes--was a game called Rocks. It was basically a modified version of Capture the Flag, except that each side had several "flags" called "rocks." The field was divided in half, one half per team (which, for all you math prodigies out there, adds up to two teams total) with a "base" at each end of the field where the rocks were. If you were in the "base," you were safe, but if you were tagged on any other part of the other team's territory, you had to go to jail (and return any of the rocks you may have been carrying). I think I enjoyed the game because I was a pretty fast runner and never got caught. Anyway, this idea of a "base" is what came to mind when I read about Israel's cities of refuge.

I don't know about your experiences, but out of the many games I played in P.E., no one ever killed anyone else, so maybe my comparison is a little off. However, the cities did provide justice for anyone who killed someone accidentally, keeping them safe until they could go on trial. And this was vital, because God did condone an avenger (not the Marvel ones, though I guess the Punisher might fit the bill here) killing the accused if they left the city of refuge.

This sense of semi-vigilante justice also applied to people who did kill with "malice aforethought" (verse 20). No trial, no jury, just death at the hands of the "avenger of blood" (verse 21). Of course, this idea is completely unacceptable today, but ancient Israelite society, in case you were wondering, is much different from modern society.

The most bizarre part of stipulation, though, is the one that states: "The accused must stay in the city of refuge until the death of the high priest; only after the death of the high priest may they return to their own property" (verse 28). Therefore, the accused person's fate was completely dependent on the health and longevity of a completely unrelated person. Woe to the old fellow who accidentally kills someone just as a new, young high priest is ordained. On the other hand, a young person who accidentally kills someone when the high priest is really old doesn't have to worry too much. If nothing else, this does emphasize how important the high priest was--after all, he was the one who most represented God's presence on Earth.

I do wonder, though, whether the cities of refuge became less desirable places to live because they harbored accidental killers. Actually, that's a rather intriguing premise for a fictional story, though I'm sure someone out there has already written a story based on notion. But what about a story about a schoolyard Rocks or Capture the Flag game that turns deadly? I'm sure there's some potential there….

Numbers 33-34

In the summer before I entered 7th grade, I took a trip to Maui with my family. The setting was as idyllic, serene, and Elysian as you would expect it to be, but it wasn't without its quirks. One of my brothers developed a nausea-inducing aversion to Puffins cereal while on the tortuous (and, for him, torturous) drive to Mount Haleakala, my other brother accidentally fell into one of the seven sacred pools of Hana with all his clothes on, and I had to get stitches on my leg because of what my family affectionately called a "shark bite." (It wasn't really a shark, unless you think rocks are sharks.) Given the verbal diarrhea of personal feelings that I spew in these blog posts, it may surprise you to learn that the journal I kept of that trip reads much like the account of Israel's journey in Numbers 33--as dry as the instruction manual for a, well, clothes dryer.

I get that this is supposed to be an objective record and not Moses's personal diary, but that makes what few notations he includes even more fascinating--or puzzling. The notes in 33:14, 33:38, and 33:40 make sense because they mark the locations of momentous events: the Israelites' complaints to Moses about the lack of water, Aaron's death, and the confrontation with the king of Arad. But what's with 33:9? Moses sees it fit mention that Elim has "twelve springs and seventy palm trees." Not just palm trees, but seventy palm trees. Was Moses a closet horticulturist with a penchant for palm trees? Was he just amazed that he found such a lush oasis in the middle of the desert? A rather curious observation to make.

At the end of chapter 33, God gives Moses more specific directives on how to conquer the Canaanites, emphasizing the destructions of the carved images, cast idols, and high places. God knows how wayward people can be and thus gives highest priority to destroying the false gods that detract from the Israelites' devotion to Him. He ends with an ominous--and sadly prescient--warning: If the Israelites don't drive out the Canaanites, God says, "I will do to you what I plan to do to them" (33:56).

Chapter 34 consists of descriptions of the Promised Land's boundaries and a list of leaders from each tribe. I don't have anything really to say about that chapter. If I were forced to, I suspect my commentary would be as dry as my 7th grade Hawaii journal.

Numbers 32

I'm an English major, so allow me to indulge in a little pedantry for just a moment. When an author writes a story or an account, they can choose to use first person (I), second person (you), or third person (they, he, she) narration. You don't see whole tomes written in second person a whole lot except for those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books with multiple endings. ("You are sucked into a black hole and are never heard from again. THE END.")

Third person is not only the most common, but it also branches into other sub-modes. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to simplify them into third person subjective and third person objective. In the subjective mode, the narrator tells us the inner thoughts and musings of the characters. Call this the "mind reader" approach. Conversely, the objective mode is purely external, describing observable actions and dialogue only. Call this the "movie script" approach.

For the most part, the Bible takes the "movie script" approach, not delving much into what the characters are thinking. This sometimes makes me wonder about the intentions of certain characters. For example, Numbers 32 tells about the Reubenites and Gadites wanting to settle in a region across the Jordan River from the Promised Land. In response, Moses gives a 10-verse speech (verses 6-15) chastising them for dragging their feet and once again preventing the Israelites from fulfilling God's will and settling in Canaan. The Reubenites and Gadites respond by saying that they'll help the rest of the Israelites conquer the Promised Land before settling across the river.

I wonder what the Reubenites's and Gadites's initial intention was. Were they really wary about entering the Promised Land, with its supposed Brobdingnagians, thus requiring Moses's censure? Or did they really have noble intentions all along? I guess all that matters is that they agreed to do their part in conquering Canaan. As for Moses, I think that he did the sensible thing (not that he would have needed my approval) by being suspicious of their intentions. Better safe than sorry, especially knowing how dim-witted the Israelites have acted in the past. After all, I'm sure he didn't want the Israelites to screw up the same way they had 40 years earlier, which likely would have earned them another glorious 40 years of wandering in the desert they probably now knew all too well.

Numbers 31

I've never been in active combat myself, but I'm guessing that it's nowhere near as enjoyable (and loopy) as pretending to be a soldier in Halo or Call of Duty. Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan portrays the chaos, confusion, and utter pandemonium of battle in the 1940s while Ridley Scott's Gladiator does much the same for ancient warfare. When God tells Moses to muster a thousand men from each Israelite tribe for battle, it's for a good reason: vengeance on the Midianites who insidiously seduced certain Israelites into spurning God in favor of orgies in "honor" of idols. Yet reading about the "captives, spoils, and plunder" (verse 12) reveals the sad and inevitable brutality that comes with warfare.

But the Bible is stuffed to the seams with battles, so what makes this one different? Well, verse 9 says, "The Israelites captured the Midianite women and children." Fair enough. But then, Moses reprimands the army for taking them captive instead of killing them. He gives a valid justification regarding the women, reminding the soldiers that women had seduced the Israelites in the first place. Women and men can be equally evil, though sometimes in different ways. This reminds me of a nugget from comedian Louis C. K. describing the difference between boys and girls: "Boys f*** things up. Girls are f***ed up."

While obviously a generalization, this little maxim is true to some extent: The more unprincipled men in the Bible have gone about laying waste to cities and ravaging both women and men alike, while the women have been more crafty and subtle in their evildoing--as they proved in this situation. However, what I find more discomfiting is what Moses says about the children: "Now kill all the boys. And kill every woman who has slept with a man, but save for yourselves every girl who has never slept with a man" (verses 17-18). Doesn't this seem a little, well, icky? And dare I say that it resembles Pharaoh's edict to kill all the newborn Israelite boys? In fact, it reminds me of what male lions do when they take over a pride: they kill off all the cubs that haven't sprung from that lion's loins. Makes sense for lions I suppose, but humans aren't lions, no matter what Matthew Broderick, Jeremy Irons, and James Earl Jones want you to think

To be fair, the Bible doesn't specify the ages of those who had to be killed. Maybe "boys and girls" in this case referred to younger men and women. The killing of young children doesn't sit well with me. Yes, God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, but that was just a test. But if the children in this chapter really were grade-school age and below, that makes me profoundly uneasy--which means that this post will have to end on an unresolved note, I'm afraid.

Numbers 30

Most broken promises tend to hurt because promises are built on trust--and when that trust is betrayed, it precipitates feelings even ickier than those caused when you suddenly realize you have a spider crawling up your leg. In the movie Hook, directed by Steven Spielberg, Peter Banning (portrayed by the late, great Robin Williams) starts out as an absent-minded, self-absorbed father. He promises to go to his son's baseball game--"My word is my bond" is the aphorism he uses--but instead of leaving right after work, he loiters with his co-workers, playing puerile games with his flip cell phone (complete with retractable antenna). Of course, he ends up missing the whole game.

Later, while the family is on a plane, Banning repeats his "My word is my bond" chestnut to his son, who replies, "Yeah, junk bonds" and proceeds to slam his baseball into the ceiling of the plane, causing the oxygen masks to descend from out of their comfy little receptacles. This sets Banning off (one can easily forget that Williams, with all his comedic gifts, could also act with startling intensity, as evinced in movies such as Good Will Hunting, One Hour Photo, and Insomnia). Yes, the son is written and portrayed as a petulant brat, but Banning did break his promise to his own child, which leads the kid to fall right into the clutches of the depilated Captain Hook.

Numbers 30 basically reinforces and explicates the concept that you should keep your vows and promises. The wrinkle, though, is that husbands, and fathers have the power to nullify vows. I suppose this is beneficial if the wife or daughter makes "a rash promise" (verse 6), releasing her from the "no take-backs" notion that some of us remember (with varying degrees of fondness) from elementary school. Although the men had more power here (as they did in most other societal aspects of ancient Israelite life), they also had, as Spider-Man fans will know, more responsibility. Verse 15 states that if a husband annuls a vow after the fact, "he must bear the consequences of [his wife's] wrongdoing"--which I guess is only fair. Needless to say, each adult in today's society should be responsible for keeping his or her own vows (or refraining from making any rash ones).

I've mentioned this innumerable times before, but I tend to avoid making promises because I fear the consequences if I'm not able to keep them. All too often, I say something like, "I'll try," which must drive Yoda bonkers. (The snarky, querulous part of me sometimes wants to say to those who parrot Yoda's famed maxim, "Well, I can't tell the future, so how can I know ahead of time if I'll 'do' or 'do not'? Do you want me to lie? Every athlete can say before a game that they'll win it, but no one wins 100% of the time.") Some promises, though, I'm very capable of keeping, and trying to weasel my way out of it can be as bad as breaking a promise. Perhaps the best example is promising to obey God and follow His will for me. As a Christian, I should be able to keep that promise with resolute certainty, but I sometimes fear that I'll lapse or screw up somehow. Perhaps I need to realize that yes, I will make mistakes, but that shouldn't stop me from giving my all to devoting my life to Him.

Numbers 28-29

At the age of five, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote his first musical composition, artist Iris Grace created exquisite paintings that sold for up to £800, and Japanese thespian Mana Ashida proved that she could out-act 99% of the other actors out there. When I was five, my most illustrious accomplishment was being able to run up the slide on the playground without falling down. When I wasn't face-planting in the sandbox or tanbark, my nose was almost always behind a book. One of many favorites was The Eleventh Hour by Graeme Base, a mystery in which every lavish illustration holds multiple puzzles to be solved, secrets to uncover, and codes to break. As a kindergartener, I appreciated the story and pretty pictures but was too dense to figure out the answer to the central mystery. I did end up solving it a few years later, but I cheated and opened the sealed portion in the back to look at how to solve all the side puzzles.

The offerings and ceremonies in Numbers 28 and 29 involve cryptic sets of numbers that make me wonder whether God is using some kind of Eleventh Hour-style code. The vast majority of the offerings require two bulls, one ram, and seven lambs. In turn, each animal requires accompanying offerings of flour and oil: three-tenths of en ephah per bull, two-tenths of an ephah per ram, and one-tenth of an ephah per lamb. At first, I thought the hierarchal order was bulls at the top followed by rams and then lambs, but then why do the sacrifices require two bulls, one ram, and so many lambs?

Complicating matters further, the Festival of Trumpets and Day of Atonement require one ram and seven lambs as before (though the lambs now must be male), but only one bull--and a young bull at that (29:2, 29:8). The Festival of Tabernacles is even more convoluted; for the first seven days, the offering consists of two rams and a whopping fourteen lambs per day. The amount of young bulls required starts at thirteen the first day, and then decreases by one each day until it reaches the ubiquitous number seven on the seventh day. The eight and final day goes back to one bull, one ram, and seven lambs.

Oh, and then there's the male goat for the sin offering.

I could speculate that the Festival of Trumpets and Day of Atonement require fewer bulls because both days take place in the seventh month, as does the eight-day Festival of Tabernacles. Quite a busy month--I suppose the closest American equivalent would be from Thanksgiving to New Year's. I know God specified these specific numbers for a reason, but they seem awfully arbitrary from a mere human perspective. In that sense, God is a grandmaster of puzzles beyond Mr. Base; plenty of people have figured out The Eleventh Hour's riddles without cheating like I did, yet as far as I know, no one's figured out the real significance of the numbers here or in Leviticus.

However, with all those animals needed for sacrifices, the Israelites' camp must have been one noisome place.

Numbers 27

One of the first facts I learned about reproduction--and don't worry; I'm not going to get too lurid here (or at least not more than I've been before)--was that eggs always have an X chromosome. The sperm, which can have either an X or a Y chromosome, determines whether the baby is going to be a boy or a girl--which brings to mind this classic Calvin and Hobbes comic panel:

(Full comic here: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/11/1e/25/111e25fa13d9cef0b4d02aa775c13b5c.jpg)

I've forgotten most of what I learned about statistics, but one expects that if you a have a lot of kids, about half of them are going to be boys and about half are going to be girls. However, this is far from guaranteed. John Lasseter, creative head of Pixar and Walt Disney Animation Studios, has five sons. Humorist James Breakwell (XplodingUnicorn on Twitter) has four daughters who seem to have inherited his biting wit.

Here in Numbers 27, a fellow named Zelophehad (another one of those mellifluously monikered men) has five daughters and no sons. As members of a patriarchal society, they're understandably worried about not receiving any inheritance. However, they don't come across as greedy because of one crucial statement they make: "Our father died in the wilderness. He was not among Korah's followers, who banded together against the LORD, but he died for his own sins and left no sons" (verse 3). Not only do the daughters recognize the folly of Korah's transgression, but they also are cognizant of their father's own shortcomings. They understand why the generation before them died in the wilderness. God being God, He does the right thing, as Spike Lee might put it, but maybe He also recognizes the sincere hearts of the four daughters. I do wonder, though, how progressive this event was for the male-dominated Israelite society.

Although God makes exception to inheritance rules for families without sons, He does not make an exception for Moses' sin. After He tells Moses that he can see the Promised Land but not enter it (talk about a tease), He appoints Joshua as Moses' successor. God says to Moses, "Give him some of your authority so the whole Israelite community will obey him" (verse 20). Moses has performed some awesome wonders before the Israelites, so I could see how they would be wary of any successor. This reminds me of what Benjamin Franklin said regarding George Washington and the presidency: "The first man at the helm will be a good one. Nobody knows what sort may come afterwards." Joshua does end up doing a smashing job, but the Israelites may have had Franklin's mindset--and remember how much they carped about Moses! God thus prudently effects a smooth transition. Though this must be tough for Moses, he still refers to God respectfully as "the God who gives breath to all living things" (verse 16). Moses will change his tone just a bit in Deuteronomy, but he still acknowledges the importance of God's will over his own desires.

Numbers 25-26

I'm sure the city you live in has a lovely name, or at least an innocuous one, but I always find it amusing just how many questionably named places exist on our little planet. Most of the sillier ones are a little too uncouth to list in a post of this nature, but some of the milder ones are the Butt of Lewis in Scotland, Middelfart in Denmark, Scratchy Bottom in England, Boring and Idiotville in Oregon, and Zzyzx in California. After our little Balaam interlude, we rejoin the Israelites who, shockingly, are acting imbecilic again in another contender for snigger-inducing place names: the aptly monikered Shittim.

Some of the Israelites get seduced by some fetching Moabite women, going as far as to worship Baal and other idols. I'm guessing Baal wasn't the main attraction here--after all, he doesn't exist, at least not as a living entity--rather, the men probably just allowed their hormones to run away with them. I get that they were probably feeling doleful after meandering around in the wilderness for 40 years, but that's still no excuse to spurn the God who brought you out of captivity and had already provided several warnings that proved fatal for some of your less fortunate brethren.

Then, while God is in the midst of judging the Israelites, a wretch named Zimri has the gall to take a Midianite woman to do who-knows-what (well, we actually do know what, but I don't think we need to spell it out in vivid detail)--right in front of Moses! Imagine a scene in which the police are trying to quell a riot and then, right in front of the cops, a man pulls an innocent bystander out of the crowd and shoots him in the head. God has more authority and demands more respect than any human, making Zimri's transgression exponentially worse.

Phinehas, one of Aaron's grandsons, takes matters into his own hands with some semi-vigilante justice, stabbing Zimri all the way through so that the spear also penetrates his compatriot, Kozbi (verse 8). This gruesome scene evokes the same sense of dangerously voyeuristic pleasure at seeing justice so violently meted out as there is to some of the later Israelite judges (particularly Ehud and Deborah). God approves of it as well, praising Phinehas for his "zeal" and making a "covenant of peace" with him and his descendants (verses 11-13). Which brings up the age-old question: Do we sometimes need violence to create peace? (I'm not going to go into that here, as that topic would require its own monograph.)

Numbers 25 offers up another scintillating census which, like all genealogical records and lists, I'm sure makes for engrossing reading if you're related to any of the blokes listed. Other than the understandable diminishment of Simeon's clan caused by Zimri's unsavory blunder, the most notable statistic about this census is just how consistent the Israelites' numbers remained despite 40 years of ambling around in the desert. When they set out from Mt. Sinai, they had 603,550 fighting men (1:46). Now, they have 601,730 (26:51). They screwed up so many times that it seemed like God was dishing out plagues, disasters, and general discombobulation as if He were giving away Tootsie Roll Pops, but still He allowed them to be frisky and prolific enough to maintain their, well, numbers.

Numbers 24

Right now, Walt Disney Animation Studios is on a hot streak. Starting with the 2010 release of Tangled, the studio has lavished upon the world films ranging from very good to excellent: Winnie the Pooh, Wreck-It Ralph, Frozen, Big Hero 6, and Zootopia. This impressive roster calls to mind not only Pixar's string of masterworks from 1995 to 2010 (with the exception of the merely OK Cars), but also the Disney Renaissance of the early 1990s that formed the backbone of my own formative years: The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King.

I hope Disney's current roll continues for a long time, but the '90s successes were brought to a screeching halt with the release of Pocahontas in 1995. While the film boasts stunning visuals (led by art director Michael Giaimo, who subsequently served as art director for Frozen) and a lush score by Alan Menken, the story and characters are surprisingly insipid. Nonetheless, the spine of the story--an invader coming to appreciate and even fight for the people he's supposed to be subjugating--is a popular one, serving as the foundation of other popular films such as Kevin Costner's Dances with Wolves and James Cameron's Avatar.

Balaam seems to have a similar change of heart, if only temporarily; before he speaks his third message, verse 1 states, "Now when Balaam saw that it pleased the LORD to bless Israel, he did not resort to divination as at other times, but turned his face toward the wilderness" (where the Israelites were). So convinced is he of God's power that he voluntarily gives up divination--his specialty. (Unless you're a con artist, you shouldn't need God to give up divination or other psychic practices anyway--all you need is common sense and basic reasoning powers.) He even "falls prostrate" before God in submission. Nowadays, people don't bow in utter submission unless they're in North Korea, but still--to think that this soothsayer, of all people, could be brought to his knees before God. Then again, this is God we're talking about here; we shouldn't be surprised at His ability to effect such change.

Balak is so angry with Balaam blessing the Israelites instead of cursing them that he does what any furious person does--he strikes "his hands together" (verse 10). When your husband leaves his underwear on the floor--strike your hands together. When some low-watt bulb makes an illegal maneuver on the highway forcing you to slam on your brakes--strike your hands together. When your kid systematically rips out every page out of every one of your books because he "likes the sound of ripping"--strike your hands together. Yes, Balak ends up stiffing Balaam, but at least he lets him go; perhaps striking his hands together helped him release his anger in a healthy way. How much better would we be at managing our fury if we just struck our hands together?