There is one particular verse about the Jewish people that is quoted more than almost any other when discussing Israel’s place among the nations. It’s treated as a divine explanation for why Jews have faced persecution throughout history, why Israel finds itself surrounded by enemies, and why antisemitism seems to be an eternal constant. The words have become a kind of theological comfort blanket, wrapped around the painful reality of Jewish suffering with the soothing assurance that this isolation is somehow part of God’s plan.
“A people that dwells apart, not reckoned among the nations” (Numbers 23:9). These ancient words have shaped how people have understood Jewish destiny for generations. They’ve been quoted by politicians defending Israel’s right to act unilaterally, by rabbis explaining why Jews remain outsiders in gentile society, and by those seeking to understand why God’s chosen people seem perpetually embattled.
But what if we’ve gotten it completely wrong? What if these words of supposed comfort are actually the source of the very isolation they describe?
The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks had a startling realization that would fundamentally challenge this assumption. In 2001, as he listened to these familiar words being offered as comfort during a particularly dark moment for Jews, he experienced what he described as “an explosion of light in the brain,” a sudden understanding that would change how he viewed Jewish destiny and, by extension, how we might understand the relationship between the Jewish people and the nations of the world.
If the God of Israel desires His chosen people to be a “light unto the nations” (Isaiah 42:6, 49:6) and a source of blessing to “all the families of the earth” (Genesis 12:3), why do so many assume that Jewish isolation is not just inevitable, but divinely intended? Could it be that we’ve misunderstood one of the most quoted verses about Jewish identity, turning a prophetic insight into a self-fulfilling prophecy of loneliness?
The words in question come from one of the most dramatic episodes in biblical history. King Balak of Moab, terrified by the approaching Israelites, hires the renowned prophet Bilaam to curse them. But something extraordinary happens. Every time Bilaam opens his mouth to curse, blessings pour out instead:
For generations, this phrase, “a people that dwells apart,” often translated as “a people that dwells alone,” has been embraced as a badge of honor, a divine endorsement of Jewish separateness. But Rabbi Sacks asked the penetrating question that should make us all pause: “Are you sure this was a blessing, not a curse?”
The Sages themselves warned us that Bilaam was deliberately ambiguous in his language, that his words could be understood as blessings but harbored “another and darker meaning” as well. Indeed, the sages taught that all of Bilaam’s blessings eventually turned into curses, with one notable exception.
Consider how the Torah itself views being alone. The very first time the words “not good” appear in Scripture, they describe solitude: “It is not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). When the Torah describes the fate of a leper, it says he “shall dwell alone, outside the camp” (Leviticus 13:46). When Lamentations mourns the destruction of Jerusalem, it cries: “How alone is the city once filled with people” (Lamentations 1:1).
In biblical Hebrew, being alone (badad) is rarely portrayed as a blessing. It’s a condition of exile, sickness, punishment, or tragedy.
Rabbi Sacks illuminated a crucial distinction that speaks directly to our understanding of divine calling. The Jewish people are indeed called to be kadosh, which means holy or set apart. But there is a profound difference between being apart and being alone.
Leaders are set apart, but they are not alone. Athletes preparing for competition may live apart temporarily, but they are not alone. Their apartness is purposeful, allowing them to focus their energies and refine their skills.
Abraham was certainly different from his neighbors. Yet he fought for them, prayed for them, and received the promise that through him “all the families of the earth will be blessed.” He was apart but decidedly not alone.
Today, as both Israel and Jewish communities worldwide face growing challenges, Rabbi Sacks’ insight becomes urgently relevant. Jews have long been cast in the role of the “Other,” the one who doesn’t fit the dominant paradigm. But this role carries universal significance.
As Rabbi Sacks observed, “When Jews fight for the right to be, whether as a nation in its historic home, or as a religious group in other societies, they fight not for themselves alone but for human freedom as a whole.” The Catholic writer Paul Johnson recognized this, noting that Jews serve as “exemplars and epitomizers of the human condition.”
The story of Abraham begins immediately after the Tower of Babel, where “the whole world had one language and a common speech.” Not diversity, but enforced uniformity that left no room for dialogue, debate, or difference. Abraham’s calling was to be different, yes, but in service of a larger purpose: to be a blessing to all nations.
This is where the partnership between the Jewish people and all who support Israel becomes not just meaningful, but essential. The Jewish community is called to be “set apart”āto maintain their distinctive witness in a world that often pressures conformity. But they are not called to be alone.
Rabbi Sacks’ epiphany offers us a profound choice. We can embrace the self-fulfilling prophecy of isolation, convincing ourselves that misunderstanding and hostility are inevitable. Or we can recognize that being distinctive, countercultural, and faithful to our calling doesn’t require us to be alone.
As we face the challenges of our time, such as rising antisemitism, growing secularization, and cultural pressures that threaten religious freedom, we must remember that the God who scattered the nations at Babel also called Abraham to be a blessing to those very nations. The same God who made Israel a light to the nations also inspired others to carry that light to the ends of the earth.
The question is not whether the Jewish people will be different; their faithfulness demands it. The question is whether they will be alone. And the answer to that question lies not in ancient prophecies about inevitable isolation, but in the willingness to build bridges of understanding, partnership, and mutual blessing.
In a world crying out for moral clarity and divine purpose, the last thing we can afford is to turn Bilaam’s ambiguous words into a self-imposed curse of loneliness. Instead, we must reclaim the original blessing: to be apart for a purpose, distinctive for a reason, and set apart not for isolation, but for the sake of all humanity.
The future depends not on the ability to dwell alone, but on the courage to dwell apartātogether.
