The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

In the first verse of Parashat Noach, the Torah employs two adjectives to describe Noach's piety: "tzadik" (literally, "righteous") and "tamim" ("complete"). The Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (6a) ambiguously explains the difference in meaning between these two terms: "'Tzadik' in his actions; 'tamim' in his ways." What does the Gemara mean by this distinction? What is the difference between one's "actions" and his "ways"?

Rabbenu Bechayei suggests that Chazal define the term "tamim" based on the usage of this term in a different context – when dealing with animal sacrifices. Halakha forbids bringing as a sacrifice a "ba'al mum" – an animal with a physical defect. Throughout Chumash, a non-defective animal, which is suitable for sacrifices, is referred to as "tamim" (in the masculine form) or "temima" (in the feminine form). When dealing with the human spirit, the concept of "temimut," the absence of blemish, refers to one's "middot" – his character. Noach's conduct, Rabbenu Bechayei writes, was "tzadik" – righteous, and in terms of his middot, he was unblemished – "tamim."

Rabbenu Bechayei here appears to distinguish between one's actions and his essence. It is theoretically possible for someone to perform the right actions but still suffer from an inherent blemish, a fundamental flaw in his personality. Conversely, a "tamim" is not always a "tzadik": someone who is essentially good not always conducts himself as he should. A wrongful action does not necessarily reflect a fundamental blemish in one's character. Recall that the Gemara explained "tamim" to mean "tamim in his ways," or "paths." According to Rabbenu Bechayei, it seems, the Gemara speaks here of one's general path or direction, the overall nature and character of his life. Noach was both "tamim" in his general conduct and lifestyle, and a "tzadik" in terms of the specific actions he performed.

In his work "Yalkut Yehuda," Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg suggests a different approach to this Gemara. He explains that "tamim in his ways" refers to the means, the path one takes to lead him to the actions he performs. According to the Gemara, then, this verse informs us that Noach never allowed the ends to justify the means. He not only performed the appropriate actions, but he took the appropriate paths, he employed the appropriate means, in performing those actions. As opposed to those who are "tzadikim" in what they do but follow improper paths in the pursuit of those actions, Noach's record was entirely clean – in terms of both the ends and the means.

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Noach appears to undergo a drastic transformation of religious character over the course of the parasha that bears his name. The bulk of the parasha tells the story of the flood and Noach's escape from it on account of his exceptional piety and religious stature. According to one view cited by Rashi in his opening comments to the parasha, had Noach lived in a more spiritually conducive society, he would have attained even higher religious standards. Once, however, Noach leaves the ark after the flood, he appears to conduct himself far differently. He plants a vineyard, drinks from the wine, and becomes intoxicated, at which point he removes his clothes. Such behavior is far from what we would have expected from the man depicted throughout the parasha as the most righteous man in the world at his time.

Chazal (Bereishit Rabba 36:6) describe this regression as follows: "Noach, after having been called 'ish tzadik' [a righteous man] is called an 'ish ha-adama' [man of the earth]." The Midrash proceeds to contrast this process undergone by Noach to the reverse progression of Moshe Rabbenu: "Moshe, after having been called an 'ish Mitzri' [Egyptian man] is called 'ish Elokim' [a man of God]." What idea does the Midrash seek to convey by drawing this contrast?

At the simplest level, the Midrash may perhaps intend to teach us the critical importance of progress. It is interesting to note that "ish ha-adama," the phrase seen by the Midrash as indicating a lowering of Noach's stature, appears in the narrative at the introduction to the story of his intoxication. Thus, even before he partakes of wine and engages in inappropriate behavior, he is criticized for being an "ish ha-adama." What this shows is that in Chazal's view, what matters most is one's direction. Is the individual growing or regressing? Is he increasing his knowledge, observance and spiritual awareness, or is he moving backward? Moshe, the Midrash remarks, spent his life growing and developing, progressing from one achievement to the next. Noach, by contrast, moved in the opposite direction. Even though more severe crimes have been committed than becoming an "ish ha-adama," a man of the field, the fact that Noach did so after having first been an "ish tzadik" earned him the sharp criticism of Chazal.

The Meshekh Chokhma, however, suggests that the Midrash focuses on a different point of contrast between Moshe and Noach. All righteous people generally fall into one of two categories. First, there are those who withdraw from society, live in relative isolation and focus as exclusively as they can on their own growth and spiritual development. The other type is the tzadik who involves himself intensively in communal needs, who becomes active in public affairs in an attempt to lead and inspire others. Instinctively, we would expect that the first group of righteous people would enjoy far more success in their spiritual endeavors than their counterparts in the second category. After all, public life almost always exposes one to contrary ideas and poses significant challenges to one's religious devotion. What more, a person working in public service does not have the time to focus on his own religious development as does the one who withdraws from communal life. This Midrash comes to teach us that this does not necessarily have to be the case. Noach, who was generally withdrawn from his contemporaries – in fact, the Torah records not a word of conversation between Noach and anyone else until after the flood – regressed from his religious stature. Moshe, by contrast, who led an entire multitude through the wilderness, who was as public as a public figure could be, continuously grew and progressed. It is possible, therefore, for those who work in the field of public service to continue growing spiritually, and a compromise of religious standards is not a necessary byproduct of communal involvement.

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As we discussed yesterday, the Torah in the latter half of Parashat Noach tells the story of Noach's intoxication. The verse relates, "Cham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness" (9:22). Rashi cites from the Gemara two explanations as to what exactly occurred: either Cham had homosexual relations with his father, or he castrated him. According to Seforno, it was not Cham, but rather his son, Canaan, Noach's grandson, who committed the crime in question. Indeed, when Noach awakens from his intoxication, he curses not Cham, but rather Canaan, implying that it was Canaan who had molested him.

Noach punishes his grandson by condemning him and his offspring to slavery: "Cursed be Canaan; the lowest of slaves shall he be to his brothers" (9:25). Why did Noach choose specifically this response to Canaan's crime? How is slavery an appropriate punishment for Canaan's mistreatment of his grandfather?

Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his "Oznayim Le-Torah," answers based on a comment in the Midrash on a verse in Sefer Malakhi (1:6), "A son shall honor his father; a slave, his master." The Midrash advances the following homiletic interpretation of this verse: a son shall honor his father; if not, then as a slave, he should honor his master." Meaning, a person who does not respect his parents lacks the basic, elementary sense of authority, he has no concept of obedience to thosein charge. One can rectify this problem through slavery – the experience of subjugation and complete lack of independence. A slave must accustom himself to the reality that he has no will of his own, that his entire life is subject to the wishes of his master. Such an experience will assuredly engender a sense of obedience to authority necessary to respect one's parents.

Therefore, Rav Sorotzkin explains, Noach observed Canaan's utter disregard for his grandfather's honor, which reflected the absence of any form of obedience on his part. Noach therefore sentenced him and his offspring to servitude, such that they would have no choice but to surrender their own desires on behalf of their master, and thereby learn this most basic lesson, of obedience to authority.

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Parashat Noach concludes with the Torah's genealogical record of the offspring of Noach's righteous son, Shem. The Torah here traces Shem's descendants through the birth of Avraham (though at this point his name is still "Avram"), and near the end of the parasha we read of Avraham's marriage, as well as that of his brother, Nachor. The verse states, "Avram and Nachor took to themselves wives, the name of Avram's wife being Sarai and that of Nachor's wife Milka, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milka and Yiska" (11:19). Nachor thus married his niece – Milka, the daughter of Haran, who, as we know from an earlier verse (26), was the brother of Avram and Nachor. But the verse finds it necessary to add that Haran had another daughter, as well – Yiska. At first glance, Yiska's mention in this verse appears entirely irrelevant to the context. Chazal, therefore, as cited by Rashi, explain that Yiska was actually Sara – Avraham's wife, and the Torah here informs us that she was also known as "Yiska." This name, Chazal explain, comes from the Hebrew word "gazing," and has two possible connotations. It refers either to Sara's beauty, at which men would gaze in admiration, or to the fact that Sara was blessed with "ru'ach ha-kodesh," the ability to see with the divine spirit that which is normally hidden from human beings.

Many later commentators have wondered why Sara's beauty was of such significance on account of which the Torah makes a point of calling her "Yiska." While her power of ru'ach ha-kodesh understandably is noteworthy and warrants emphasis, her beauty, at least at first glance, should not be given the same importance. Why would she be called Yiska simply on account of her attractive appearance?

Rav Yosef Chayim Sonenfeld is cited as explaining that this interpretation of the name "Yiska" is to be understood in conjunction with the second interpretation – that Sara saw things with ru'ach ha-kodesh. Later in Sefer Bereishit (29:17), we read of the difference between the two daughters of Lavan, Leah and Rachel. Whereas Rachel was a woman of beauty, Leah "had weak eyes." Chazal explain that as the older sister, Leah was expected to marry the older of her two cousins – Esav. The prospect of her marriage to Esav frightened Leah to tears, as a result of which her eyes became worn, adversely affecting her appearance. Rav Sonenfeld speculates that perhaps a similar situation occurred during the time of Milka and Sara. Sara, the younger of the two daughters, may have been destined to marry the younger of her two uncles – Nachor, who, like his father, Terach, was an idolater. If she had responded to this expectation as Leah did, then her looks, too, would have been affected. Sara, however, was graced with ru'ach ha-kodesh, through which she saw that she would not marry Nachor, but rather the older brother, Avraham. Therefore, she remained beautiful. This explains Chazal's two interpretations of the name "Yiska" – that she was very attractive, specifically because of her ru'ach ha-kodesh which spared her the anxiety of the prospect of her marriage to Nachor.

The Ketav Sofer explains differently, claiming that, quite simply, beauty and attractiveness is indeed a meaningful trait when it is possessed by a righteous, God-fearing person. The beauty of a woman like Sara is an honor to the values of Godliness and sanctity that she represents – just as our synagogues and religious articles are to be beautiful. Therefore, once Sara had attained a spiritual level at which she was able to see with ru'ach ha-kodesh, then indeed, her beauty is worthy of mention.

A third interpretation is cited in the name of Rav Shemuel Weintraub. He claimed that Chazal interpret the name Yiska as highlighting the sharp contrast between Sara and her contemporaries. Whereas she "gazed" with ru'ach ha-kodesh, everyone else "gazed" at external beauty. Sara was a woman of the spirit, a woman of wisdom and spirituality, but she lived at a time when people could not see beyond the exterior. The name "Yiska" thus represents not Sara's personal qualities themselves, but rather the fundamental distinction between her and the people among whom she lived.

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Parashat Noach begins with the words, "Eileh toledot Noach" – "These are the descendants of Noach… " After reading these words, we would expect the verse the continue by presenting Noach's progeny, by listing the names of his children. We do, indeed, find a list of Noach's three sons, but only in the next verse. This opening verse, however, reads, "These are the descendants of Noach – Noach was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age." Why did the Torah prepare to present the names of Noach's offspring, only to digress to the issue of his piety?

Many commentators, including Ramban, Ibn Ezra and Seforno, avoid this problem very easily by interpreting the word "toledot" not as "descendants," but rather to mean "story," or "events." "Eileh toledot Noach" would thus mean, "This is the story of Noach." This story begins with the fact that he was the most righteous man of his generation, who therefore deserved to escape the floodwaters that would destroy the earth.

Rashi, however, cites two other explanations from Chazal. The first views the brief description of Noach's righteousness as a parenthetical comment necessitated by the very mention of Noach. Rashi writes, "Since it mentioned him, it tells of his praise, as it says (Mishlei 10), 'The memory of a tzadik is a blessing." Meaning, whenever we make mention of a righteous person, his piety immediately comes to mind and thus warrants mention, as well.

Rashi then proceeds to cite an additional explanation: "This teaches that the primary 'descendants' of the righteous are their good deeds." According to this approach, when the Torah comes to discuss the "descendants of Noach," it first mentions the primary "offspring" of a tzadik – his good deeds. The actions and conduct of a righteous person are considered his primary progeny, which are seen as more significant than even his biological offspring.

How are we to understand the Midrash's reference to one's good deeds as his "offspring"?

Rav Moshe Feinstein suggests that this Midrash likens a person's religious conduct to children in order to teach several points concerning the proper attitude to good deeds and Torah observance. Specifically, Rav Moshe notes three ways in which one must relate to his behavior similarly to the manner in which he relates to his children. The first is the excitement and enthusiasm involved. Regardless of how much work is entailed, child-rearing is a labor of love, hard work that parents go about with fervor and excitement. This same feeling of joy must accompany our performance of mitzvot, even when we find them difficult or demanding. Secondly, Rav Moshe writes, a person loves and accepts his children no matter who they are; even if a parent feels his child has made a mistake or did not accomplish as he should, he nevertheless loves and cherishes him. We must exhibit this same acceptance when assessing our own lives. We should never discount even the seemingly small or imperfect mitzvot we perform, we may never deny the importance of any good deeds, even those which may appear less than significant. Finally, the hard work and effort invested in the observance of mitzvomust correspond to the work entailed in raising a child. Just as a parent will spare no efforts in raising his or her child, so must we make Torah and mitzvot a central priority of our lives, one which deserves maximum effort and hard work.

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The haftara for Parashat Noach contains the famous verse, "And all your children shall be disciples of the Lord, and abundant is the peace of your children" ("Ve-khol banayikh limudei Hashem, ve-rav shelom banayikh" – Yeshayahu 54:13). Chazal, in the final sentences of Masekhet Berakhot, famously derive from this verse the principle, "Torah scholars increase peace in the world." Chazal extract this concept specifically from the final phrase in the verse – "and abundant is the peace of your children." As the Gemara comments, the word "banayikh" ("your children") in this verse may also be read as "bonayikh" – "your builders." As such, the verse may be understood (on the homiletic level of interpretation) as referring to Torah scholars, the spiritual "builders" of the nation, and thus teaches that they increase peace in the world.

Several basic questions must be addressed in approaching this comment by the Gemara. Firstly, the principle itself requires explanation. Why do Torah scholars increase peace in the world? And to what kind of "peace" specifically does the Gemara here refer? Additionally, why do Chazal compare Torah scholars to "builders"? What exactly do they "build," and how does this quality relate to their capacity to "increase peace in the world"?

Rav Shemuel Alter zt"l, in his "Likutei Batar Likutei" to Masekhet Berakhot, explains this Gemara based on his interpretation of the first clause of the verse: "And all your children shall be disciples of the Lord." Rabbi Alter suggests that according to the Gemara, this phrase sets a condition on the principle established by the second phrase, that "Torah scholars increase peace in the world." Scholars have this power only if they are "disciples of the Lord," if they follow His example. As we read last week in Parashat Bereishit, God declared before creating man, "Let us make man" (Bereishit 1:26), which Chazal interpret to mean that the Almighty consulted, as it were, with the heavenly hosts before deciding upon the creation of Adam. Needless to say, the Master of the world has no need for consultation or advice. But God nevertheless held this "meeting" to teach the importance of humility. Specifically, Rav Alter suggests, this shows the importance of listening to differing views and positions, to hear what others have to say rather than presuming the correctness of one's own opinion without any further discussion.

It is this type of "peace," Rav Alter suggests, of which this Gemara speaks. If the scholars are truly "disciples of the Lord," if they have learned from God's conduct the importance of hearing opposing views, then, indeed, they increase peace in the world, they contribute to the harmony and mutual respect among the Jewish people and mankind in general.

As for the equation drawn between the sages and builders, Rav Alter suggests that the peace they engender itself constitutes "building." Social harmony is a pillar upon which the world stands, it is the most basic prerequisite for any functioning society. By setting an example of respect and tolerance, then, the Torah scholars do, indeed, earn the title of "bonayikh" – the builders of the Jewish people.

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Yesterday, we discussed Chazal's famous homiletic interpretation of a verse from the haftara for Parashat Noach, "And all your children shall be disciples of the Lord, and abundant is the peace of your children" ("Ve-khol banayikh limudei Hashem, ve-rav shelom banayikh" – Yeshayahu 54:13). The Gemara at the end of Masekhet Berakhot claims that we may read the word "banayikh" ("your children") in this verse as "bonayikh," which means "your builders" – a reference to Torah scholars. The phrase "and abundant is the peace of 'your builders'" thus implies that, in the Gemara's words, "Torah scholars increase peace in the world." Today we will suggest a different approach as to what precisely this Gemara means, and in what sense Torah scholars are likened to "builders."

As anyone with a yeshiva education knows, Torah study has always involved two distinct processes: the accumulation of knowledge, and the in-depth analysis of the information learned. A defining characteristic of this second type of study is the concept of "chidush," arriving at novel insights into the basis and explanation of halakhot based on a rigorous, detailed analysis of the relevant texts. The term "bonayikh" as applied to Torah scholars perhaps refers specifically to this area of learning, the creative process of "chidush." It is this sense, perhaps, that the Gemara describes scholars as "builders," as they construct theories and insights, thereby adding more "buildings" onto the corpus of Torah. They not only amass knowledge, familiarizing themselves with the "buildings" that already exist, but they add new structures of thought, new explanations and new analyses.

But this creative power of scholarship is not without risk. Each scholar's analysis, the approach one student takes in explaining a given idea, will invariably conflict with the view of his fellow. No two buildings are identical; the moment scholars allow themselves the right to "build" Torah, debate and disagreements are inevitable. So long as students restrict themselves to the mere accumulation of knowledge, friction is easily avoided; they all study the same material at the same level. But when scholars analyze and probe with independent, creative thinking, differences of opinion will abound.

The Gemara therefore teaches that in truth, even the "builders," even the Torah scholars who learn with creativity and independent thought, increase peace in the world. Although they "build" different structures, so long as they all strive towards the same goal – the pursuit of truth, all these structures form part of a single complex: the corpus of Torah knowledge. Scholars increase peace in the world despite the variety of ideas they develop, despite the differences of opinion that naturally result from their "building." Indeed, as the mishna in Pirkei Avot says, "Kin'at sofrim tarbeh chokhma" – jealousy among scholars increases wisdom. Within the context of Torah education, a reasonable amount of academic competition is to be not only tolerated, but encouraged. When students jointly pursue the common goal of understanding Torah, then even the emergence of divergent ideas and insights brings genuine peace and harmony to the Jewish people.

(The Keren Ora, at the end of Masekhet Yevamot, explains this Gemara along similar lines.)

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