S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT NOACH

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

            We read in Parashat Noach that after the floodwaters had begun to subside, Noach sent a raven from the ark to determine whether the earth had become inhabitable.  (Presumably, as indicated later when Noach sent a dove which returned with a leaf, Noach wanted to see if the bird would return with food, which would mean that vegetation has once again become accessible.)  As the Torah relates, however, the raven never returned to the ark, and instead flew to and fro until the earth had dried (8:7).

            The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (108b) explains that the raven felt resentful toward Noach:

The raven presented a compelling response to Noach.  It said to him, “Your Master despises me, and you despise me!  Your Master despises me [in that He commanded you to take onto the ark] seven of the kosher species and two from the non-kosher species.  And you despise me in that you leave alone the species [that have seven] and send from a species [that has only] two.  If the angel of the sun or the angel of cold strikes me, will not the world be missing a creature?  Or perhaps you are in need of my mate?”

The Sages depict the raven as a spiteful, overly suspicious creature.  Noach innocently sent the raven from the ark, and the raven immediately suspected Noach of conspiring against it.  After all, rather than choosing a species represented by seven members on the ark, Noach specifically selected the raven, who had only its lone mate on the ark, endangering the only male raven by sending it off into the flood-ravaged earth.  The raven went so far as to suspect Noach of setting his eyes upon its mate.  Rather than showing trust in Noach, who had fed it, cared for it and sustained it during the months of the flood, the raven chose to cast suspicion and hurl accusations against him.

            It is possible that Chazal here allegorize the common mistreatment suffered by sincere and devoted public servants.  All too often, people who work tirelessly and selflessly on behalf of the community – as Noach worked on behalf of the creatures on the ark – are wrongly accused or suspected of selfish and sinister motives.  Innocent decisions and statements are dissected with relentless scrutiny by resentful, ungrateful and jealous constituents eager to find fault in their leaders and representatives.  Noach spent over a year caring devotedly for all the animals, but when the time came to enlist the raven’s assistance, he got an earful.  This situation has, unfortunately, repeated itself countless times throughout the ages, when devoted public officials are greeted with harsh resentment and accusations when attempting to gain support and cooperation from the people they wish to serve.

            After his failure in enlisting the raven’s assistance, Noach proceeded to send the dove, who obediently complied, flew from the ark, and returned with a leaf to indicate the emergence of vegetation.  Am Yisrael is often compared to a dove, the symbol of cooperation and gratitude, and the opposite of the cynical, mistrustful raven.  We are to show respect and give credit to those who, like Noach, work on our behalf and make sacrifices for the sake of the Jewish people, and resist the tendency to constantly suspect and accuse faithful public servants of selfish manipulation.

SUNDAY

            The Torah relates in Parashat Bereishit that after the flood, Noach did not leave the ark until ascertaining that the earth had once again become habitable.  He did this by twice dispatching a dove (after his first unsuccessful attempt with a raven), which returned the second time with an olive leaf in its mouth (8:11).  This indicated to Noach that vegetation had become accessible, and that the earth would soon be habitable.

            The term used by the Torah in reference to the olive leaf is “alei zayit taraf.”  The words “alei zayit” clearly mean “olive leaf,” but the precise denotation of the word “taraf” in this context is unclear.  Targum Onkelos explains this word as “tavir,” which means “broken” or “torn.”  As Chizkuni explains (see also Shadal), Noach noticed that the leaf brought by the dove was freshly torn from the tree, and had not fallen.  It thus proved that the trees were no longer covered by floodwaters, as the dove was able to remove a leaf from an olive tree.

            Rashi, in his commentary, cites a Midrashic reading of this phrase from the Gemara in Masekhet Eruvin (18b).  This reading interprets the word “taraf” to mean “food,” and adds that the dove brought back not only a leaf, but a message to Noach: “Let my food be bitter as an olive from the hands of the Almighty, and not sweet as honey from the hands of human beings.”  During the months of the flood, the dove was fed quality food each day from Noach.  Now, for the first time, it enjoyed the privilege of fending for itself, receiving its food from God’s bountiful Hand, rather than depending on a human being.  Alas, the only food it could find was a bitter olive leaf.  Nevertheless, the dove expressed its preference for the pungent olive coming from the Hand of God over sweet-tasting goods fed by the hand of Noach.  This message is alluded to by the word “taraf,” or “food.”

            Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, in his Torah commentary, notes how this Midrashic reading may likely be rooted in the plain meaning of the word taraf.  Rav Hirsch claims that the specific designation of taraf (or teref, its more common form) is food secured by one’s own efforts.  Thus, for example, the word teref is often used throughout Tanakh to mean “prey,” the food which an animal obtains by killing other creatures.  The Torah refers to the dove’s olive leaf as “taraf” to emphasize the dove’s gratification over its opportunity to once again receive its food directly from God, rather than through a gift from Noach.

            Rav Hirsch’s comments regarding the connotation of the word “teref” may offer some insight into a verse in Sefer Malakhi (3:10), in which the prophet, conveying God’s message, admonishes the people to bring the required tithes to the Temple treasury.  God declares in this context that the tithes serve as “teref be-veiti” – “food in My abode.”  As the commentaries explain, this means that the gifts brought to the Mikdash are used to support the kohanim and Leviyim officiating in the Temple.  Ironically, God emphasizes that these funds serve as “teref” – a livelihood secured through one’s personal efforts, rather than through dependence on others.  Possibly, the people had refused to bring the required gifts to the kohanim and Leviyim because they failed to recognize the importance of their service in the Mikdash.  They looked askance at and resented the institution of tithes, claiming that the priestly tribe did not provide any worthwhile service for which they deserved remuneration.  God therefore emphasized that these tithes are to be viewed as “teref,” a livelihood rightfully earned by the kohanim and Leviyim through the service they performed in the Mikdash.  Contrary to the nation’s misperception, the Jewish people indeed benefited from the rituals performed in the Temple, and those who devoted their time to the Mikdash were therefore no less deserving of a respectable livelihood than anyone else in the nation.

MONDAY

            The Midrash Tanchuma (Noach, 9) relates that when Noach was inside the ark during the deluge that destroyed the earth, he uttered to God the prayer recited many years later by King David: “Hotzi’a mi-masger nafshi” (“Release my soul from confinement” – Tehillim 142:8).  The simple meaning of this comment, it would seem, is that Noach prayed for relief and respite from the unimaginably grueling conditions he endured during the months spent on the ark.  Indeed, the Tanchuma proceeds to relate that Noach and his family did not enjoy a restful sleep throughout the year on the ark, preoccupied as they were caring for the animals and accommodating each species’ individual feeding schedule.  Noach prayed to be “released” from the “confinement” of around-the-clock labor which he suffered on the ark.

            Rav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/1-sichot/01-noach2.php), however, suggested another possible explanation for this prayer uttered by Noach.  Many sources in the Midrashim and commentaries note the estrangement and distance that characterized Noach’s relationship with his contemporaries.  Standing alone as the sole advocate for morality and ethics in a world overrun by corruption, violence and greed, Noach felt alienated from his society, and lived a life of isolation and seclusion.  Even before God spoke to him and informed him of the impending flood, Noach lived in an “ark” of sorts, cut off from the world around him and disinterested in engaging with his contemporaries on any level.

            Many sources criticize Noach for this sense of detachment, contrasting Noach’s silence after hearing of the decree with Avraham’s impassioned plea on behalf of the condemned sinful city of Sedom.  Noach should not have isolated himself from the people of his generation; he should have rather sensed a degree of responsibility toward them and done what he could to improve the situation – or at least pray on their behalf.

            It was only once Noach closed the door to the ark and became physically isolated from the rest of humankind that he regretted his seclusion and pleaded to leave his isolation.  “Release my soul from confinement.”  He suddenly felt confined, trapped in a lonely world, and he longed for the opportunity to join the world which he had shunned, rejected, dismissed and distanced himself from.  Tragically, only once it was too late did Noach experience a sense of identification with his contemporaries and a desire to help them.

            Rav Amital cited in this context a passage in the Zohar which relates that upon exiting the ark, Noach looked around at the empty earth and protested.  He turned to God and questioned how the devastation He wrought could be consistent with God’s qualities of mercy and compassion.  God sharply scolded Noach, questioning why he did not voice any objection when he still had the opportunity to have the decree repealed.  Noach uttered no prayer on behalf of his generation, yet after the catastrophe he turned to God to ask how this could have happened.

            Rather than praying, “Release my soul from confinement” after the flood, Noach should have released himself from “confinement” already before the flood.  His commitment to ethics and morality should have led him to work toward improving and saving his generation, not to distance himself from them.  This was the responsibility which he failed to assume, and the opportunity which he tragically squandered.

TUESDAY

            Rashi, in his commentary to Parashat Noach (7:23), cites a famous passage from the Midrash Tanchuma that tells of an injury sustained by Noach during the period he spent on the ark.  The incident happened when Noach one day ran late in feeding one of the lions on the ark, and the hungry lion lunged at Noach to grab his food, taking some of Noach’s hand along with it.  Rashi concludes by citing a verse from Sefer Mishlei (11:31), “Indeed, a righteous person is repaid on earth.”  This verse observes that the righteous are punished here on earth for whatever wrongs they commit.  The pain Noach suffered at the hands of the lion is apparently seen as an example of the suffering endured by the righteous.

            What message might this story seek to convey?  And for what sin was Noach “repaid” through the lion’s bite?

            Rav Menachem Bentzion Zaks, in his Menachem Tziyon, suggests that Noach’s experience with the lion serves as a warning to those occupying positions of leadership during times of hardship and crisis.  Noach, who worked devotedly throughout the months spent in the ark feeding and caring for all the animals, was punished for the one morning he arrived late for the lion’s feeding.  When a leader is relied upon during dire situations, he is held to the strictest standards of accountability.  Under such circumstances, the individuals responsible for caring for their communities may not “come late.”  Difficult situations do not allow leaders the luxury of a margin of error.  Noach was thus held accountable for his late arrival.  As the world depended on him, it was his responsibility to show up on time; anything less was deemed a failure on his part.

WEDNESDAY

            We read in Parashat Noach that after emerging from the ark following the flood, Noach planted a vineyard, partook of its wine, and became intoxicated.  He fell into a drunken stupor and unclothed himself, subjecting himself to the mockery (or much worse, according to the Midrashim cited by Rashi to 9:22) of his son, Cham.  Noach’s two other sons, Shem and Yefet, quickly covered their father to save him from further humiliation.  When Noach returned to his senses and realized what happened, he pronounced blessings upon Shem and Yefet and issued a harsh curse against Cham.

            Rashi (9:23) notes that in describing the action taken by Shem and Yefet, the Torah employs the singular form, “vayikach” (“he took”).  What this indicates, Rashi explains, is that in truth there was only one hero in this episode – Shem.  It was Shem who was “more vigorous in the mitzva” than Yefet, and the Torah therefore employs the singular form in reference to the covering of Noach.  In reward, Rashi adds, the descendants of Shem – Benei Yisrael – were given the special mitzva of tzitzit, which alludes to the garment that Shem used to cover his father.

            What exactly was the difference between Shem and Yefet’s responses to their father’s embarrassment?  What does Rashi mean when he writes that Shem was “more vigorous” (“nit’ametz yoter”) in performing this mitzva?

            Rav Soloveitchik (as cited in Rav Hershel Schachter’s Nefesh Harav, pp. 272-3) suggested that the difference between Shem and Yefet in this episode is the difference between ethics and etiquette.  Shem, it seems, acted first, out of a sincere, ingrained sense of ethical obligation.  Upon seeing his father dishonored and realizing that he could minimize the humiliation, Shem promptly rose to the occasion and covered Noach.  Yefet, by contrast, merely cooperated with his brother out of etiquette, which means complying with the sensitivities of other people and respecting their values.  Whereas Shem acted out of a desire to do what was right, Yefet acted out of a desire to do what was acceptable by his peers.

            Rav Soloveitchik added that this distinction between Shem and Yefet may explain the different rewards they received.  Shem, as mentioned, was rewarded with the mitzva of tzitzit.  The Arizal (as cited by the Magen Avraham 8:13) was of the opinion that the tallit katan garment must be worn underneath one’s clothing, and not over his clothing.  In his view, it seems, tzitzit represents our devotion to the Almighty in private, our commitment to serving God even when nobody is present to observe our conduct.  Shem was rewarded with this mitzva because of his genuine commitment to ethical behavior, irrespective of how the people around him acted.  Yefet, however, was blessed by Noach with aesthetics and beauty (“Yaft Elokim le-Yefet” – 9:27).  His descendents would have the unique ability to do what is pleasing to others, that which people find attractive and endearing.  This blessing suited Yefet’s response to his father’s shame, as he looked to do that which was accepted and respected by others, as opposed to Shem, who acted out of pure, sincere devotion to ethical values.

This episode thus reminds us to ensure that we determine our actions based purely on our principles of morals and ethics, and not simply to conform to society’s values.  While etiquette certainly plays an important role in maintaining a certain standard of behavior, we must endeavor to act out of a sincere commitment to Torah laws and values, rather than to make a good impression.

THURSDAY

            Toward the end of Parashat Noach we read of the famous incident of Migdal Bavel, the generation of people who settled in Babylonia and attempted to construct a “city with a tower in its midst” (11:4).  God reacted angrily to their initiative and confounded their languages, such that they could not understand one another.  The confusion obviously disrupted the project, and, moreover, led to the people’s dispersion and establishment of different nations and cultures.

            Rashi, in his final comments to this section (11:9), raises the question of why this generation received a much lighter punishment than the generation of the flood, of which we read in the first section of this parasha.  The people of Migdal Bavel, Rashi comments, were guilty of heresy, rejecting God’s supreme authority and, in the words of the Midrash, seeking to “wage war” against Him.  We might have assumed them to be deserving of harsher punishment than the generation of the flood, which, while committing grievous crimes, never denied God’s divine stature.  Rashi explains, citing the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 38:6), “The generation of the flood were thieves and there was fighting among them, whereas these [the generation of the tower] acted with love and camaraderie among themselves… We thus learn that fighting is despised and peace is great.”

            The message conveyed by the Midrash is certainly a meaningful and important one, but gives rise to the question of whether the generation of the tower was indeed characterized by “love and camaraderie.”  The Midrash cites as proof of this characterization the Torah’s depiction of the people as living “with one language and unified intentions” (11:1).  But this phrase might be understood as referring to a unity of mission, as opposed to genuine feelings of affection and respect.  Seemingly, the successful cooperation was the result of mutual interest and a perceived practical necessity.  The people of the time all agreed that it was to their benefit to construct the tower (however one chooses to explain the tower’s purpose), and to that end they joined efforts to complete this project in an efficient manner.  In fact, a famous passage in the Midrash relates that the builders mourned the loss of bricks more than the loss of workers when mishaps occurred.  And Rashi himself indicates (11:7) that once God confounded the languages, when a person requested from his coworker a brick and received instead cement, he beat his comrade in frustration.  Does this not prove that their “friendship” was purely utilitarian in nature, a practical blending of talents and manpower rather than a blending of hearts?  Should this kind of relationship qualify as “love and camaraderie” which is capable of sparing the generation more severe punishment?

            Apparently, it does.  Of course, we must aspire to feel genuine concern and love for all human beings regardless of the practical purposes served by friendship and cooperation.  From the comments of the Midrash, however, it appears that Chazal afforded some degree of value even to the less ideal situation of strictly pragmatic cooperation.  The builders of the tower did not necessarily feel true bonds of friendship and concern among one another, but their willingness and ability to work together peacefully for a common goal was significant enough to lessen the consequences of their heretical ambitions.  As Rashi comments, “peace is great” (“gadol ha-shalom”) – so great, in fact, that God looks kindly upon even pragmatic peace among people, cooperation driven by nothing more than the pursuit of a shared practical agenda.

            There are a number of reasons why we must endeavor to cooperate with one another and work together peacefully despite our differences.  Ideally, this goal should be inspired by an ingrained sense of love and respect for the tzelem Elokim within each individual.  Invariably, however, there are situations when we cannot genuinely harbor such feelings of admiration and affection.  Rashi’s comments perhaps remind us that even then, there is religious value in setting aside differences and working peacefully for pragmatic purposes.  So important are peaceful relations among people that they are deemed significant regardless of their underlying motive.  Even when do not feel a genuine sense of kinship, concern or respect, we must nevertheless endeavor to cooperate with each other with peace and goodwill.

(Based on an insight by Rav Yaakov Weinberg, cited at http://torah.org/learning/ravfrand/5769/noach.html)

FRIDAY

            Many writers have noted the comparison between the situations of Adam after creation and Noach after the flood.  Both are brought into an empty world and charged with the mission of populating and cultivating it.  After the flood, God proclaims His commitment to maintaining the natural cycles of day, night and the seasons (8:22), reaffirming and reestablishing the processes of creation, as though putting the natural order back into motion.  Noach, like Adam, enters a newly-created earth – or, in his case, a newly-recreated earth – bearing the responsibility of continuing its development.

            The parallel perhaps continues with the mistakes made by Adam and Noach shortly after their “creation.”  Adam, of course, partakes of the forbidden fruit, and Noach becomes intoxicated.  As a result of Adam’s sin, a curse is pronounced upon the ground, and Noach’s intoxication results in a curse upon his son, Cham.

            The parallel between Adam’s sin and Noach’s intoxication underscores the obvious distinction between the two incidents.  Adam violated an explicit prohibition; he partook from the tree that was clearly designated as forbidden and off-limits.  Noach’s mistake, however, did not involve a specific violation.  As Rashi (9:20) cites from the Midrash, “He profaned himself – he should have begun involving himself in a different planting.”  Noach violated not a particular prohibition, but the general value of dignified behavior.  He did not commit an offense, but rather failed in his mission of setting an example of productive, dignified activity for his children and future descendants.  Unlike Adam, he did not eat forbidden food, but acted in an unseemly manner.

            If the narratives of Adam and Noach are indeed intended as parallel accounts, such that Adam’s sin corresponds to Noach’s intoxication, then a meaningful lesson perhaps emerges.  Namely, undignified behavior, even if it involves no specifically prohibited activity, must be viewed with the same gravity as sinful acts.  If Noach’s inappropriate indulgence parallels Adam’s partaking of the forbidden tree, then we, too, must equate unseemly behavior with specific violations.  As the Ramban discusses in one of the most famous passages in his Torah commentary (beginning of Parashat Kedoshim), it is possible to live a lifestyle that is contrary to the Torah’s values without transgressing any particular laws.  The wine which Noach drank had not been designated as forbidden, but his excessive drinking rendered him – in Rashi’s words – chulin, “profane,” as he failed to live a life of dignity and holiness.  Like Adam, he sinned – only not by performing a particular, forbidden act, but by engaging in activity that is wholly inappropriate for a devoted servant of God.