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Yeshivat Har Etzion
PARASHAT NOACH
By Rav David Silverberg
When reading the narrative in Parashat Noach, we find a drastic transformation in Noach’s character. The parasha’s opening verse describes the story’s protagonist as an ish tzadik, a righteous man, who courageously opposed the corrupt values and lifestyle of his contemporaries and charted his own path of piety and morality. He faithfully observes God’s command to construct an ark in preparation for the deluge, a project which, as Chazal describe, subjected Noach to the endless torment and scoffing of his peers. By the time we arrive at the latter part of the parasha, however, something has changed. Noach begins his post-deluge life by planting a vineyard – an endeavor that earned him the criticism of the Midrash, which felt that he should have given priority to other, more pressing, concerns, such as planting grains and building cities. He then indulges in the fruit of his labor to the point of inebriation, under which he exposes and humiliates himself in the presence of his sons. To what may we attribute this sudden – or perhaps not so sudden – change? Why would a man of such piety and spiritual resolve deteriorate so steadily?
The Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein shlit”a (in an address to the yeshiva ten years ago, summarized by Matan Gildai and available at www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/10-sichot/02noach.rtf) suggested that Noach’s transformation perhaps resulted from the sudden absence of opposition. Very often, the assault on a given value or set of values fuels the flames of devotion within those faithful to those values. The presence of opposition, the pressure imposed by external threats, often has the effect of igniting a passionate response to defend that which is attacked. Noach’s devotion to Godliness was perhaps the product of the opposition, his response to an external force that declared war on decency and nobility. After the flood, however, Noach had no one against whom to contend other than himself, his own weaknesses and drives. Although he valiantly resisted the pressures imposed by external threats, he was helpless against his internal spiritual foe, the desires and inclinations that drove him to his downfall.
As HaRav Lichtenstein observed, this phenomenon is not unique to Noach. Many Jews display fervent devotion particularly with respect to issues and values that have become points of contention, that have come under attack, but they exhibit far less passion for other, equally important matters that are less contentious. The tragic story of Noach should remind us to wage our internal spiritual battles with the same force and vigor with which we struggle against external threats to our beliefs and traditions. Resistance must never become our sole spiritual life source; our devotion must be fueled by a genuine commitment to God and His laws, rather than by the flames of emotionally charged conflict and controversy.
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Although the primary story of Noach is told in Parashat Noach, he is introduced already earlier, towards the end of Parashat Bereishit. There we read that upon Noach’s birth, his father, Lemekh, declared, “This one shall bring us solace from our work and hard labor, from the earth that the Lord had cursed” (5:29). As explained in the Midrashim and classic commentaries, in Noach’s lifetime new machinery was developed to ease the agricultural process, thus marking the first stage of improvement since God cursed the ground as punishment for Adam’s sin. According to the Midrash Tanchuma, with Noach’s birth the land itself became friendlier and easier to till.
There is some discussion as to how Lemekh knew all this would occur during his son’s lifetime already at the time of his birth. The Radak cites a Midrashic source claiming that Lemekh was endowed with prophetic powers; according to others, there were certain indications at Noach’s birth that the world was about to enter a kindlier phase. (See Torah Sheleima, chapter 5, note 80.) In any event, Noach clearly represented to his generation the dawn of a new era in human history; he was looked upon as a symbol of hope for a brighter future, for the end of the curse brought upon mankind, and for perhaps some sort of return to the primordial paradise of pre-sin man.
There is, of course, bitter irony in this symbolic role served by young Noach. As an older man, he heralded doom and destruction. While his contemporaries looked to Noach as a symbol of a better world, he turned around and predicted the end of the world. The man who represented hope and prosperity thus became the symbol of destruction and despair. This perspective perhaps sheds some light on the Midrashic descriptions of the mockery and scorn to which Noach was subjected as he proceeded to construct the ark. Noach’s contemporaries perhaps not merely scoffed at Noach, but resented him, as well. They saw his prophecies of doom as a betrayal of everything he had represented and all the hope and promise he brought with him into the world.
A simple but meaningful lesson perhaps emerges from this story of Noach:
the importance of adjusting to sudden changes in direction. Try as we may to chart the precise route
of our lives,
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Amidst the genealogical record of Noach’s descendants in Parashat Noach,
the Torah digresses onto the achievements and personality of Nimrod, a grandson
of Noach’s son Cham, and it names the lands that came under his rule
(10:10). In the next verse, the
Torah writes, “Min ha-aretz ha-hi yatza Ashur” – literally, “Ashur left
from that land.” This verse
continues, “and he built
The problem, however, as noted by several commentators, is that Ashur is mentioned again later, as one of the five sons of Shem (5:22). Why, then, would the Torah speak of him here, among its discussion of the descendants of Cham?
Two general directions have been taken in addressing this question. The Ramban and Targum Yonatan reread
this verse entirely, as if it were written, “Min ha-aretz ha-hi yatza
LE-Ashur” – “He left from that land to Ashur.” According to this reading, the Torah
speaks of here of Nimrod going to the
Others, however, including Rashi and many Midrashic passages, uphold the
straightforward reading of the verse, that it refers to the person Ashur. According to the Midrash, Ashur was
alarmed by the idolatrous beliefs and customs Nimrod imposed upon his kingdom,
particularly the idea to construct the
In any event, according to this reading of the verse, the Torah mentions Ashur in this context, amidst its discussion of Nimrod, to applaud Ashur’s heroism in resisting Nimrod’s idolatrous influence.
We should note a third – albeit somewhat esoteric – approach in
interpreting this verse, one which easily resolves the question of why Ashur is
mentioned among the record of the descendants of Cham. The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (10a) cites
a comment from Rav Yosef that “Ashur” in this verse refers to “Silek,”
presumably the name of a geographic location. However, Rav Menachem Kasher (Torah
Sheleima on this verse, note 37) cites a variant text of this passage,
according to which Rav Yosef identified “Ashur” as Noach. Meaning, this verse tells that Noach,
Nimrod’s great-grandfather, withdrew his support for Nimrod and opposed his plan
to construct the
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We read in Parashat Noach that after Noach’s emergence from the ark, God presents to him a number of laws regarding the world he is to rebuild. Among the topics God addresses is murder, which occupies two verses in this brief section (9:5-6):
But – I will make a reckoning for your lifeblood; I will make reckoning for it from every beast; and from man – from each man to his fellow – I shall make a reckoning of human life.
One who spills the blood of man – by man shall his blood be spilled, for in the image of God did He make man.
The second verse of this pair is clear and straightforward: it establishes court execution as the punishment for intentional murder. The intent of the first verse, however, is far less evident; it warns of divine retribution for murder, but it is unclear why God will make a reckoning “from every beast” and “from each man to his fellow.”
One approach in interpreting this verse is offered by the Rambam, in Hilkhot Rotz’eiach (2:2-3). Presumably based on a passage in Bereishit Rabba (34), the Rambam explained this verse as referring to several cases of murder where God, rather than the court, punishes the perpetrator. The verse’s opening clause, “et dimkhem le-nafshoteikhem edrosh” (“I will make a reckoning for your lifeblood”), refers to a case of suicide. The court obviously cannot punish a person for taking his own life, and the verse therefore establishes that the punishment will be administered by the Almighty. (Interestingly, Chizkuni, in his commentary to this verse, claims that this verse provides proof to the concept of Gehinnom and Gan Eden – punishment and reward for a person’s soul in the afterlife.) The next phrase – “I will make reckoning for it from every beast” – deals with a situation where one binds his victim and places him near a lion, such that he will undoubtedly be killed. The “killer” in this instance is not liable to court execution, since he did not technically commit an act of murder. Instead, he is liable to mita bi-dei Shamayim – death at the hands of the Almighty, who, as the verse here establishes, “makes a reckoning… from every beast” – meaning, in cases of murder by placing the victim in the presence of a deadly animal. Finally, God punishes for instances of “each man to his fellow,” that is, when a person hires an assassin. As the Gemara establishes in Masekhet Kiddushin (43a, according to the majority position), Halakha holds the assassin himself technically liable for murder, and not the person for whom he committed the crime. The Almighty therefore warns that He will exact retribution against the conspirator, since the court is unable to do so.
Several Acharonim noted that the Rambam rules differently with regard to the laws of murder applying to gentiles. In Hilkhot Melakhim (9:4), the Rambam writes that a gentile is liable to court execution if he kills another by placing him near a lion. As we mentioned earlier, the Rambam rules that a Jew who kills in this sort of indirect manner is liable to mita bi-dei Shamayim. Why would the Rambam distinguish between the laws of Jews and gentiles in this regard?
Several approaches have been taken in answering this question. Rav Menachem Kasher (Torah
Sheleima, chapter 9, note 32) observes that in the
Later, Rav Kasher suggests a different answer, noting that many Midrashic passages interpret these verses as establishing Torah law, applicable only to Benei Yisrael, and not to the Noachide laws regarding murder. Despite the fact that God here speaks to Noach, well before the establishment of a special, covenantal nation, these verses were nevertheless understood within the context of Halakha, rather than Noachide law. Of course, it is unclear why this should be the case, but in any event, with this assumption it becomes perfectly clear why the halakha the Rambam extracted from this verse would apply only to the Jewish people, and not to gentiles.
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Parashat Noach tells the famous story of Migdal Bavel, the tower
the people in
The ambiguity in the Torah’s narrative of this incident has resulted in a considerable amount of literature devoted to identifying the precise nature of the sin committed by the builders of the city and tower. A strong Midrashic tradition associates the sin of Migdal Bavel with idolatry, or at least something resembling idolatry. Rashi, for example, cites one view that the people attempted to rise to the heavens and wage war against the Almighty. At first glance, however, the punishment appears a bit mild for a grave transgression such as idolatry. This is particularly so in light of the well-established tradition (Sifrei, Parashat Eikev; Shemot Rabba, 15; and elsewhere) that floods ravaged the earth during the generation of Enosh as punishment for their idolatry. Why was idolatry punished with destruction during the time of Enosh, and with dispersion at the incident of Migdal Bavel?
Rav Yaakov David Willowski, in his Nimukei Ridbaz (
This easily explains the punishment God chose for the builders of the tower. Since they embarked on this campaign through loving kindness, by speaking the language of the prospective participant, by bringing together all people in harmony and friendship, they were punished through the loss of communication and interaction. They deviously used love and brotherhood to promote a sinful agenda, and God therefore caused friction and disunity, dispersing the united participants in this project into many different places and cultures.
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The opening verse of Parashat Noach gives the following assessment of Noach: “ish tzadik tamim haya be-dorotav” – “a righteous man; he was blameless in his generations.” Commenting on this verse, Rashi cites the famous dispute in the Midrash as to whether this clause is intended as a compliment to Noach, or, to the contrary, to underscore his shortcomings. The first view claims that the Torah lauds Noach for his piety despite “his generations” – the depraved society in which he lived. Conversely, the second position contends that the verse qualifies Noach’s virtues, by emphasizing that only “in his generations” could he be considered righteous; in a more upstanding society, his righteousness would be nothing to speak of.
This famous debate has given rise to a vast literature, with writers and darshanim across the spectrum of Jewish scholarship attempting to explain the different sides of the issue and identify the precise point of contention. One rather simple and straightforward explanation is cited in the name of the Chazon Ish (in the work Ta’ama Di-kra ). The Chazon Ish asserted that the two views do not argue in their assessment of Noach; they disagree only in their interpretation of the verse. All agree that Noach’s stature fell far short of that of other towering spiritual figures, such as the patriarchs. However, Noach’s potential was limited in light of the corruption that characterized human civilization during his lifetime (at least before the flood). Considering the nature of the world in which he lived, Noach’s achievements – unexceptional as they may be in comparison to Avraham, for example – are truly remarkable.
The two views cited by Rashi debate the issue of which aspect the opening verse in Parashat Noach seeks to emphasize. The first view claims that the Torah here congratulates Noach for his extraordinary resolve in opposing the worldwide trend in his time, that he remained tamim even “in his generations.” The second opinion, by contrast, while agreeing that Noach indeed deserves praise for this achievement, argues that the Torah underscores the relative nature of Noach’s piety, that he may be described as tamim only in light of the sinful society in which he lived.
The question, of course, remains as to why – according to the second view – the Torah would wish to highlight Noach’s limited piety, rather than lauding his heroic resistance to corruption. Why would the Torah find such emphasis appropriate, let alone necessary?
One answer might emerge from the Mishna’s comments in Masekhet Avot (5:2):
There were ten generations from Adam to Noach, demonstrating how much patience He has, for all the generations continuously angered Him, until He [finally] brought the floodwaters upon them. There were ten generations from Noach to Avraham, demonstrating how much patience He has, for all the generations continuously angered Him, until Avraham Avinu came along and received reward equal to them all.
As Rabbenu Yona explains, the Mishna draws a parallel between the ten generations before Noach and the ten generations before Avraham, but at the same time very clearly distinguishes between them: the first ten generations were destroyed, whereas the next ten generations were spared in the merit of Avraham. Noach’s merits – unlike Avraham’s – sufficed to save himself and his family, but could not save the rest of mankind.
For this reason, perhaps, the Torah – according to one view – found it necessary to emphasize that Noach’s pious stature was only relative to his generation. It had to explain why God sentenced the rest of humanity to death despite the presence of a righteous man. The Torah therefore stressed that this righteous man could be described as such only “in his generations,” meaning, relatively speaking, and he was thus unable to offset the accumulated demerits of mankind, as his descendant Avraham managed to do ten generations later.
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In the latter section of Parashat Noach (chapters 10-11) the Torah
presents a genealogical record of the descendants of Noach’s three sons. We read that Eiver, a great-grandson of
Noach’s son Shem, begot two sons named Peleg and Yoktan (10:25). Peleg, we are told, was so named because
“the land was dispersed” during his lifetime, presumably referring to the
incident of Migdal Bavel (the
Commenting on the following verse, which begins to list the names of Yoktan’s children, Rashi tells us that his name, too, has etymological significance, and originates from the word katan – small. Citing from the Midrash, Rashi writes that Yoktan conducted himself very humbly, and was rewarded for his unassuming character with thirteen sons.
The Targum Rav Yosef (the Aramaic translation of Divrei Hayamim) in Divrei Hayamim I (1:20) gives a different explanation of the word “Yoktan,” namely, that life expectancy began to sharply decline during his time. Indeed, a review of the final section of Parashat Noach (11:10-32) reveals that people began to live considerably shorter lives after Eiver’s death. Eiver lived 464 years (11:16-17), whereas his son, Peleg, lived just 239 years, as did his grandson, Re’u. This progression continued steadily in the next generations (with the exception of Nachor’s relatively short lifespan): Serug – 230; Nachor – 148; Terach – 205; Avraham – 175.
Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi, in his work on Rashi’s commentary, addresses the question of why Rashi felt compelled to suggest an interpretation for Yoktan’s name. Why did he assume that the name “Yoktan” was of any significance? Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi suggests that the connection between the name “Yoktan” and the word katan is clear and evident, and we should therefore assume that Eiver (and perhaps his wife) had this in mind when choosing this name. Indeed, Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi notes, one of Yoktan’s sons was named Chatzarmavet, and the Midrash (briefly paraphrased by Rashi on this verse; see notes in the Torat Chayim Chumash), finds significance in the connection between this name and the word mavet (death). Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi further suggests that Eiver’s having named Peleg for a specific event might have led one to believe that Yoktan was likewise named for a particular event that occurred during his lifetime. Rashi therefore sought to clarify that Yoktan was so named because of his remarkable humility, rather than for some historical event. Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi expresses his strong preference for the first explanation he proposed.
Rav Shlomo Ha-kohen of Vilna, in his work Binyan Shelomo (cited in the compendium Ke-motzei Shalal Rav), claims that Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi’s entire discussion overlooks Rashi’s explicit remarks in his commentary to Sefer Divrei Hayamim I (1:20). Rashi there comments that the names of other people of this time are not subject to etymological analysis because they were not assigned prophetically. Eiver, as the Midrash tells, was a prominent prophet, and his sons’ names thus have deep significance; the same cannot be said of the other people mentioned in this list. For this reason, the Binyan Shelomo contends, Rashi found it necessary to analyze Yoktan’s name because it was given to him by his father, a distinguished prophet.
It should be noted that in Divrei Hayamim Rashi does not actually say that Eiver’s prophetic powers compel us to interpret the name his gave Yoktan; Rashi merely writes that other names do not lend themselves to interpretation because they were not prophetically assigned.
We might suggest a simpler reason why Rashi found it necessary to comment on Yoktan’s name. It is perhaps revealing that Rashi does not comment on the Torah’s initial mention of Yoktan (“and his [Peleg’s] brother’s name was Yoktan” – 10:25); he makes his remarks only on the next verse – “And Yoktan begot Almodad, Shalef, Chatzarmavet…” This might indicate that what motivated Rashi’s analysis of Yoktan’s name was not the name itself, but rather the Torah’s list of his children’s names. As mentioned earlier, Yoktan begot thirteen sons – a much higher number of children than we find among other people mentioned in these genealogical records. Rashi perhaps sought to explain why Yoktan – a man otherwise shrouded in obscurity – was deserving of so many children, and for this reason he interpreted the name “Yoktan” as an allusion to the man’s exceptional virtue of modesty. This also explains why Rashi felt it necessary to conclude his remarks by commenting, “He therefore earned the merit of establishing all these families.” This clearly suggests that Rashi here seeks to explain not the name Yoktan, but rather why he – more than the other personalities listed in this chapter – was blessed with so many children who themselves founded large families.