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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT NOACH

By Rav David Silverberg

            After Noach's emergence from the ark, God speaks to him and presents several laws, including a number of laws relevant to murder, beginning with the warning, "But I will make a reckoning for your lifeblood…" ("Ve-akh et dimkhem le-nafshoteikhem edrosh" – 9:5).   This verse is generally understood as the origin of the prohibition of suicide; God here warns that He will "make a reckoning" for the souls of those who take their own lives.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Bava Kama (91b) searches for a source for the prohibition of chovel be-atzmo, inflicting injury upon oneself, and initially points to this verse as the Biblical source.  The Gemara then dismisses this proof, noting that one could easily distinguish between taking one's own life and injuring oneself, and therefore cites a different source for chovel be-atzmo.

            Rav Shimon Moshe Diskin, in his work Mas'at Ha-melekh (on the Rambam's Hilkhot Rotzei'ach), raises the question of why the Gemara even considered pointing to the prohibition against suicide as the source for the prohibition of chovel be-atzmo.  Murder and bodily harm comprise two separate prohibitions and separate halakhic categories.  Why would the Gemara raise the possibility of merging suicide and self-inflicted injury into the same prohibition?  This question becomes particularly troubling in light of a comment by the Meiri indicating that the Gemara in fact concludes upon this verse as the source for chovel be-atzmo.  The other verse cited by the Gemara serves merely to clarify that we draw no distinction between taking one's own life and causing oneself injury, but the actual source of the prohibition of chovel be-atzmo is this verse in Parashat Noach.  Why would the prohibition of suicide – which is, essentially, murder – also include the prohibition against self-inflicted injury?

            On the basis of this discussion in the Gemara, Rav Diskin establishes that Halakha does not classify suicide under the general category of murder.  The prohibition of retzicha (murder) is defined by Halakha as taking somebody else's life.  When God issued this warning to Noach forbidding suicide, He did not broaden the parameters of retzicha to include taking one's own life; He rather introduced a new prohibition, that stands separate and apart from the prohibition of murder.  The Gemara in Bava Kama thus addresses the parameters of this prohibition, questioning whether it refers specifically to suicide, or even to self-inflicted injury.

            Rav Diskin applies this theory to resolve a difficulty that arises from the famous story told in Masekhet Avoda Zara (18a) of Rabbi Chanina Ben Tradyon, who was captured and executed by the Romans for teaching Torah.  The Gemara tells that the executioner was ordered to set fire to the sage and place moistened tufts of wool near his heart to delay his death and thereby prolong his suffering.  His students, who couldn’t bear to see their revered rabbi suffer any longer, asked him why he does not simply open his mouth near the fire to allow the fire to enter his body and kill him, rather than endure further torture.  He explained that he prefers to allow the Almighty to take his soul, rather than take it himself.  The Yam Shel Shelomo (Bava Kama, 59) explains this to mean that it was halakhically forbidden for Rabbi Chanina to hasten his death by opening his mouth near the fire.  Yet, the Gemara proceeds to tell that Rabbi Chanina allowed the executioner to raise the fire and remove the tufts of wool to hasten his death and end his suffering.  The obvious question arises, if it was forbidden for Rabbi Chanina himself to hasten his death, why was it permissible for the executioner to hasten his death?

            The answer, Rav Diskin explains, flows naturally from the halakhic classification of suicide as an independent prohibition, rather than under the standard category of murder.  Since suicide and murder comprise distinct halakhic categories, they are naturally subject to different rules and guidelines.  It should not surprise us, then, that indirectly accelerating the process of death would be forbidden in the case of one's own death, while this would be permitted (subject, of course, to other factors) when dealing with another person's life.  (Needless to say, the issue of how this would apply to the unfortunate cases of fatally ill patients is a topic that lies well beneath the scope of this discussion, and has been dealt with at great length by leading halakhic authorities.)

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            God's instructions to Noach concerning the construction of the ark include the requirement that it be constructed with kinim (6:14), which is generally translated as "compartments."  Noach was to build separate compartments in the ark for the various species of animals that would live there during the flood.  The Midrash Bereishit Rabba (31), however, offers a homiletic reading of the word kinim, associating it with the Hebrew word ken, which means "bird."  According to the Midrash, God here alludes to the kinim used as part of the purification process of the metzora, informing Noach that just as these kinim help to purify the metzora, so will the ark serve to "purify" Noach.

            Why did Noach require "purification," and in what way did this process resemble that undergone by the metzora?

            Rav Baruch Yitzchak Yissachar Leventhal, in his Birkat Yitzchak (Jerusalem, 1946), suggests that the Midrash associates Noach with the metzora to underscore the contrast between them.  As Rashi cites from the Midrash in his commentary to Sefer Vayikra (14:4), the birds used in the purification process of a metzora symbolize gossip and chatter, the primary sin for which the experience of tzara'at served as punishment.  Noach was guilty of the precise opposite crime: whereas the gossip is guilty of unrestrained chatter, Noach did not speak enough.  He isolated himself from his contemporaries rather than involving himself in an effort to exert a positive influence upon society.  The construction of the ark was to "purify" Noach by causing him to interact with his peers and warn them of the consequences of their conduct.  As Rashi writes (commenting this same verse – 6:14), God chose to have Noach build an ark, a project that took many years, so that his contemporaries would inquire about the project and he could then warn them about the impending disaster.  In this way, the ark served to "purify" Noach, by forcing him to overcome his isolationist tendencies and make an effort to exert some positive influence upon his society.  Whereas the process of tzara'at is intended to silence the metzora, to curb his tendency towards gossip and chatter, the ark was to purge Noach of his isolationism, and lead him towards some degree of involvement with his contemporaries.

            Thus, the Midrash seeks to portray Noach and the metzora as opposite extremes on the spectrum of social engagement.  The metzora is enchanted by the faults and shortcomings of his peers, and indulges in soliciting and disseminating information about the private lives of those around him.  Noach, by contrast, responds to the ills of society by withdrawing from it, by residing in an "ark" of isolation, protecting himself while allowing everyone else to wallow in their corruption and depravity.  The Midrash thereby instructs us to maintain a delicate balance between these two extremes, to involve ourselves in society, to take an interest in other people despite their shortcomings, while at the same time respecting their privacy and refraining from purposeless or harmful gossip and chatter.

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            The Midrash Bereishit Rabba (36:6) notes a contrast between two descriptions of Noach found in the parasha that bears his name.  In the opening verse of this parasha, Noach is described as an ish tzadik – a "righteous man" – whereas later, as the Torah begins the narrative of Noach's intoxication after the deluge, he is called an ish adama – a "man of the field" (9:20).  While according to the straightforward meaning of this second verse the Torah refers here to Noach's occupation as a farmer, the Midrash understands this term as a pejorative allusion to his spiritual deterioration, falling from the status of an ish tzadik to that of an ish adama.

            The Midrash contrasts Noach in this sense with Moshe, who early in life is described as an ish Mitzri ("an Egyptian man" – Shemot 2:19), and later earns the title of ish ha-Elokim ("man of God" – Devarim 33:1).  As opposed to Noach, whose stature declined over time, Moshe ascended in stature over the course of his life.

            The Meshekh Chokhma explains this Midrash as giving a perspective on the spiritual effects of communal involvement.  Instinctively, he writes, one would think that the tzadik who isolates himself from society, who focuses his time and energies on his personal spiritual growth, rather than working with the masses and bearing the burden of communal leadership, has a spiritual advantage over those who work in community service.  Communal work imposes time constraints and presents challenges that would seem to stifle spiritual progress.  According to the Meshekh Chokhma, the Midrash here teaches that the precise opposite is true.  Noach, who interacted little (if at all) with his contemporaries, who lived a life of seclusion where he could focus exclusively on his personal religious development, ultimately descended from the level of ish tzadik to the stature of an ish adama.  Moshe, by contrast, is described early in life – before assuming the mantle and burden of leadership – as an ish Mitzri, and later, after forty years of selfless work teaching, leading, guiding and caring for Am Yisrael, earns the distinction of being called an ish ha-Elokim.  Moshe's job as national leader, far from stifling his religious growth, enabled him to reach far greater heights than he could have otherwise achieved.

            Interestingly, the Chatam Sofer (responsa, introduction to Yoreh Dei'a section) offers a different perspective on the effects of communal leadership.  In his view, the burden of leadership indeed detracts from a person's spiritual development; a religious leader who involves himself with the needs of the people cannot achieve the levels reached by the one who remains within the four cubits of his private religious life.  Nevertheless, the Chatam Sofer writes, capable leaders are required to assume the mantle of leadership and bear the burden of communal involvement despite the consequent stifling of personal growth.  As opposed to the Meshekh Chokhma, who felt that communal involvement has the effect of enhancing, rather than impeding, one's religious development, the Chatam Sofer acknowledged the stifling effects of communal involvement on spiritual growth, but nevertheless demanded that qualified individuals accept this compromise.  Even though a leader – in the Chatam Sofer's view – cannot possibly maximize his full spiritual potential while burdened with the needs of the people, he is enjoined to make this personal sacrifice on behalf of his community and the nation at large.

(Based on a devar Torah by Rav Yitzchak Blau)

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            Upon Noach's emergence from the ark following the flood, God appears to Noach and presents the famous command of peru u-revu, obligating him and his descendants to procreate and fill the earth (8:1,7).

            The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (10a) tells a famous story about the righteous king Chizkiyahu relevant to this mitzva.  In Sefer Melakhim II (chapter 20; this appears as well in Sefer Yeshayahu, chapter 38), we read that Chizkiyahu was stricken with a deadly illness, and the prophet Yeshayahu informed him in God's Name that he would die.  The Gemara elaborates on this meeting between the prophet and king, telling that Chizkiyahu asked the prophet why such a harsh decree was decreed upon him.  Yeshayahu responded by attributing Chizkiyahu's predicted death to his decision not to have children.  The king attempted to defend his decision, claiming that he saw through ru'ach ha-kodesh that he would beget sinners, to which Yeshayahu famously replied, "Be-hadei kavshei de-Rachamana lama lakh" ("Why are you involved in the 'secrets' of the Almighty")?"  He explained to Chizkiyahu that he must obey the Torah's commands, including procreation, and leave the outcome to God.

            Ultimately, Chizkiyahu repents, appeals to God for compassion, and is granted an additional fifteen years of life, during which time his son and successor, the wicked king Menashe, is born.  (See Melakhim II 19:6 and 21:1.)

            The Maharsha, commenting on this passage, asks how Yeshayahu answered Chizkiyahu's initial question as to why he deserved to die.  Nowhere do we find any indication to the effect that the refusal to beget children is punishable by death.  Why, then, did the Almighty threaten to kill Chizkiyahu, an otherwise righteous king who led his kingdom to teshuva, for not marrying and begetting children?

            The Maharsha suggests that Chizkiyahu's question related specifically to the prophet's warning that he was denied a share in the world to come.  Elsewhere Chazal comment that one earns eternal life by leaving behind in this world children who follow his example of religious observance.  Since Chizkiyahu made no effort to beget children to continue his legacy, he forfeited his share in the next world.

            This answer, however, does not address the question of why Chizkiyahu deserved to die for his neglect of the obligation of peru u-revu.

            The work Yitev Leiv (cited in the compendium Likutei Batar Likutei to Masekhet Berakhot) offers a different explanation.  As Rashi cites from the Midrash in his commentary to Parashat Bereishit (1:1), God initially sought to create and govern the world on the basis of midat ha-din, the attribute of strict justice.  He realized, however, that the world could not survive were it to be subject to uncompromising justice, and He therefore added a dimension of midat ha-rachamim, the divine attribute of compassion, which allowed for the possibility of forgiveness for sin.  A person who refuses to procreate expresses a lack of concern for the continuation and ongoing survival of mankind on earth, and hence does not deserve access to midat ha-rachamim, which was introduced solely due to God's concern for mankind's survival.  Such a person is therefore judged based purely on the basis midat ha-din, and hence the slightest infraction is met with harsh and unyielding punishment.

            One might, however, question this approach by arguing that Chizkiyahu did not excuse himself from procreation because of a disregard for the ongoing survival of mankind.  To the contrary, he refused to beget children because of the disastrous consequences he foresaw.  If anything, Chizkiyahu was guilty of assuming too much personal responsibility for the future of mankind, of being overly concerned with what the future might bring, at the expense of his basic obligations as a Jew.

            Finally, Rav Shimon Moshe Diskin, in his work Mas'at Moshe (Parashat Noach), suggests that Chizkiyahu's sentence was not, in fact, due to his neglect of peru u-revu.  Rather, he was threatened with punishment for what the prophet described as "involving" himself in "the secrets of God."  The sin of neglecting peru u-revu did not warrant Chizkiyahu's death, but attempting to "outsmart" the Torah, the assumption that he could excuse himself from a Biblical command based on his intuitive reasoning, indeed rendered him deserving of harsh retribution.  Chizkiyahu ultimately escaped punishment by humbly accepting the prophet's criticism, and agreeing to marry and beget children, to leave the future in God's hands, and focus his attention on his present obligations and responsibilities.

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            Earlier this week, we cited a famous comment in the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 36:6) contrasting Noach with Moshe.  Whereas Noach is initially introduced as a "righteous man" (6:9) and later described somewhat disparagingly as a "man of the field" (9:20), Moshe begins as an "Egyptian man" (Shemot 2:19) and is later referred to as "the man of God" (Devarim 33:1).  As we saw, the Meshekh Chokhma explained the Midrash's comment to mean that Noach, who secluded himself from his contemporaries and never assumed any leadership role, experienced a spiritual decline, whereas Moshe grew over the course of his career in leadership, to the point where he is called "man of God."  This Midrash thus teaches that contrary to what one would instinctively think, communal involvement and leadership enhances, rather than diminishes from, one's religious growth and development.

            Rav Dov Weinberger, in his work Shemen Ha-tov, suggests a slightly different reading of this Midrash, though one that yields a very similar message.  The description of Moshe as "an Egyptian man" alludes to the fact that Moshe did not carry himself with distinction or insist upon displays of honor and prestige.  He was outwardly indistinguishable from the masses, because, despite his stature, he conducted himself as one of them, with a humble, down-to-earth simplicity.  This quality of simplicity is what enabled him to reach the great heights that he achieved as an eved Hashem.  Noach, by contrast, conducted himself as an ish tzadik, a "righteous man," living on his own plane, separate and above his contemporaries.  His lifestyle of isolation had the effect of not only failing to positively impact upon the sinners of the time, who viewed him as aberrant and peculiar, but also stifling his own religious growth.  Therefore, Moshe, the ish Mitzri, the man who worked and interacted with the people, ultimately grew to become an ish Elokim, whereas Noach, who conducted himself as an ish tzadik, distant and disengaged from the people, declined to the lowly level of an ish ha-adama.

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            Towards the end of Parashat Noach, the Torah tells the famous story of Migdal Bavel.  We read that the people of the time traveled east and "found a valley in the land of Shinar, and they dwelled there" (11:2).  Rashi, citing Bereishit Rabba, explains that they searched for an area large enough to contain them all, and the valley of Shinar, which later became known as Babylonia, was the only suitable location.

            There may, however, be an additional reason for their selection of this region as the site for their settlement.  The next verse tells that the people decided to begin producing bricks, which they used in place of stones for building.  Ultimately, of course, they use the bricks for building the infamous "city and a tower with its top in the heavens" (11:4).  Rashi comments that the people of the time began producing bricks because there were no stones in the low-lying region of Babylonia.  Rav David Shaul Greenfeld (of Creteil, France), in his work Be-ne'ot Deshe, suggests that it is no accident that the people of this generation chose to live in a region with no rocks.  As many writers have explained, the project of Migdal Bavel was intended as a celebration of human ingenuity and industriousness.  When the Midrash speaks of the builders of the city planning to "wage war against God" (see Rashi, 11:9), it perhaps refers to a desire to establish mankind's independence and self-sufficiency, to demonstrate that they are no longer dependent on God's assistance and favor, and are capable of developing the world through their independent strengths and talents.  As part of this endeavor, they specifically chose as the site for their "rebellion" a region with no natural building resources.  They wanted to ensure that their city and tower would bear exclusively the imprint of human ingenuity, and resemble the raw, natural elements to as small an extent as possible.

            The choice of Babylonia as the site for their residence was thus an integral part of their misguided vision, to create a society – and, ultimately, an entire world – that would not feel any sense of dependence on God, and that would establish mankind's self-sufficient ability to build and cultivate the earth.

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            Earlier this week, we discussed a curious comment in the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 31) that appears to draw a comparison between Noach's experience in the ark and the purification process of a metzora.  According to the Midrash, God said to Noach when instructing him to build the ark that the ark would "purify" him just as a metzora achieves purification through the process outlined later in the Torah.

            In explaining this Midrash, Rav Mordechai Gifter (in Pirkei Torah) suggested that the Midrash refers here not to Noach's personal purification as much as the purification of the entire world.  Chazal famously remarked that the decree of destruction was sealed for that generation primarily for the sin of theft.  The people of the time had become selfish, self-serving and self-absorbed, showing no consideration for anyone but themselves.  They were consumed exclusively by their own concerns and passions, and allowed themselves to trample on others in the frantic, unrestrained pursuit of gratification.  The survivor from this age, Noach, who would bear the responsibility of building the world anew, had to be purged through the yearlong experience of the ark, where he was allowed no time for himself and had to exert himself tirelessly to care for the animals.  The months spent under these conditions helped ensure that the world would be rebuilt on the foundations of chesed, of people's mutual concern for one another, sensitivity to the needs and feelings of others, and the willingness to sacrifice one's own interests and desires on behalf of his peers.  Thus the world was "purified" from the effects of centuries of egotism and cruelty, and could be recreated with the values of kindness and compassion.

            It is in this sense that the Midrash compares the world's "purification" with the process undergone by a person stricken with tzara'at, a condition that would generally result from the sin of lashon ha-ra – slander and negative speech about others.  The metzora, too, shows no concern for the needs of others, for their privacy and reputation.  His process of "purification" is similarly intended to engender within him a heightened sensitivity to the feelings of other people, a willingness to look beyond his narrow, inward focus, and be mindful of the respect and dignity owed to all other human beings.