Bilaam, a prophet of immense spiritual stature whose perception was so acute he was said to know “the mind of the Most High,” sets out on a journey driven by an intoxicating mix of ego, greed, and the pursuit of prestige. Balak, the king of Moab, has offered him immense wealth to do one thing: curse the Israelite people.

 As Bilaam rides his donkey toward the mountain, the Torah describes a physical manifestation of divine intervention blocking his path: “The donkey saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, with his sword drawn in his hand; and the donkey turned aside out of the way, and went into the field; and Bilaam smote the donkey, to turn her into the way.” (Numbers 22:23)

Three times this occurs. The donkey presses against a wall, crushing Bilaam’s foot, and eventually crouches down entirely under him to avoid the drawn sword. Each time, Bilaam responds with escalating, blind fury, lashing out at the loyal animal with his staff.

The irony of the narrative is inescapable. The high-level consultant, the expert brought in at the highest tiers of government, is completely blind to the existential threat standing directly in front of them. Meanwhile, the frontline asset, the beast of burden with its feet on the actual ground, sees the danger with perfect clarity.

The Sages of the Talmud expose the psychological root of this blindness. Noting that Bilaam’s intense passion for wealth and honour distorted his baseline logic. They state: “Love upsets the natural order of conduct, and hatred upsets the natural order of conduct.” (Sanhedrin 105b)

Bilaam was managing toward a single Key Performance Indicator (KPI): get to Balak and collect the payout. When his donkey stopped, it disrupted his timeline and his metrics. His ego could not tolerate a delay, so he mistook a protective pause for insubordination.

This ancient dynamic maps perfectly onto the blindspots of modern organisational leadership. Like Bilaam, today’s executives often suffer from severe tunnel vision. When high-level strategists become obsessed with a singular target, hitting a revenue goal or forcing through a project launch, they become functionally blind to systemic risks.

When the “donkey” of our professional lives, the frontline people, compliance officers, or data analysts, digs in its heels and slows down the timeline because it spots a critical flaw, a toxic leader’s instinct is to “beat the donkey.” They demand immediate compliance, override warnings, and punish the messenger. When the donkey miraculously speaks, it pleads based on its track record of loyalty: “Have I ever been accustomed to do this to you?” (Numbers 22:30). Bilaam is forced to admit the answer is no.

The team is not being rebellious; they have simply seen the “angel with the drawn sword”, a fatal flaw in product design, an ethical breach, or a shifting market reality that the executive suite missed.

When we create cultures where dissenting voices are met with frustration, we destroy the very mechanism designed to keep us alive. True spiritual and professional maturity means having the humility to pause when our plans stall. Instead of picking up the staff of authority to force compliance, a mature leader steps off the saddle and looks in the direction their team is pointing, before they walk straight into a sword.