Noah: A Tale of Three Faiths

Noah: A Tale of Three Faiths

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

October 12, 2018

This week’s Torah portion is Noah (Genesis 6:9—11:32).

Noah, we are told, was righteous in his generations.Whether he would have been among the righteous in other, future generations is a question that’s been debated since the story was first told. 

In this week’s Torah portion we read Noah’s story: The story of the flood and the ark, the raven and the dove, the rainbow and the olive branch.Unlike many of the children’s illustrations which depict happy monkeys frolicking while giraffes and elephants lounge on the ark’s sunny deck, the Torah’s version of Noah’s Flood is a dark story, with a dark beginning, middle and end.

It also has a pretty depressing epilogue. After the flood, Noah, wracked with guilt, succumbs to alcoholism. One terrifying and dark night, something unnamed but quite terrible happens between a drunk and naked Noah, and one of his sons. 

Still, the Torah rewards Noah for his righteousness, blemished as it may be: Shem, the eldest of his three sons, will become the father of the Semites, the people from whom Abraham will eventually arise.

But the Torah’s narration isn’t there yet. There’s one more story to tell before we get to Abraham: The story of the Tower of Babel. 

If you think about it, this portion is a wonderfully constructed tale. It is symmetrical, with two spectacular images poised at either end: Noah’s Ark and the Tower of Babel. Both are monumental in size, yet both are doomed to failure. The Ark is as large as a football field; the Tower—though never finished—is intended to reach all the way into the heavens, past the clouds, into the very realm of the gods. There are, of course, also many differences between the structures, but even these are masterfully woven into the story: the Ark is built by one man: Noah. The Tower, on the other hand, requires the participation of the everybody in community. Each and every citizen of the land took part in the task.  Yet they all acted as one. “Behold,” notes God, “they are one people, they all speak one language” (Genesis 11:6).  Like a colony of bees or ants, they are all working together, single-mindedly, intent on one purpose—reaching the heavens. Between these two images, the arc of the story is capped with yet one more brilliant vision, the total opposite of the earth-bound Tower and the inundated Ark: A simple bird, The Dove, soaring high above the clouds, then emerging through the rainbow with an olive branch in its beak.

But there is also one glaring asymmetry in this portion. The Babylonians speak. Noah doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t ask “why me” when God tells him to build an ark; he doesn’t object when God restricts him to taking aboard only two of each living creature. Surely he must have realized how unfair this was! Why didn’t he protest? But Noah does not utter a single word. Only silence.

The depth of the tragedy in which he was a silent partner would haunt Noah for the rest of his days.

Parshat (the portion of) Noah serves a function in the larger story of Genesis. It explains how Adam and Eve’s world evolved into the world we know, a world of many lands, peoples and civilizations. But in the telling, it also has important lessons to teach about Faith. Why were these early attempts to reach God doomed to failure? What is it that Abraham, ten generations later, gets about God, that Noah doesn’t? Noah is described as being so righteous that he “walked with God.” Why is that wrong? 

Nor is the sin of the Tower of Babel so clear. All that the people of the land say is, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top is in the heavens; let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth (Genesis 11:4).” What could go wrong with that? Even if we set aside the arrogance that their words imply, don’t we all want to acquire a good name, a good reputation, and perhaps to leave a legacy? Don’t we, at least secretly, wish to represent our time and place in history? To be—to use a currently popular idiom—in the room where it happens? 

How did Noah fail? And what was the sin of the builders of the Tower of Babel? 

Looking again at the two stories, we can begin to understand the lesson of this Torah portion. 

Noah builds an ark, a water-tight vessel with only one single window forty feet up. The ark has no rudder, no oars and no sails. Tossed by the waves, both Noah and the Ark are totally dependent on the mercy of God. But Noah’s faith is perfect, leaving no room for doubt. God will save him, he is certain of that, and that’s enough for him. However, this kind of faith leaves no room for questions, no possibility of indicting God for acting in bad faith towards God’s creation. By wiping out almost all existence, God has shown Himself to be just like all the other gods people had been worshipping for ages: An angry, willful, murderous god. But Noah does not protest. He says nothing. He is silent. 

Noah fails his test of faith. His understanding of God is both incomplete and cowardly. Abraham, on the other hand, will argue, he will shake his fist; he will demand justice from a God who wants to be seen as Eternal Judge of Truth. But not Noah. Noah acquiesces.

Now, in total contrast to Noah in his Ark, the dwellers of Babylon are on dry ground and solid footing. Yet they too understand the very real dangers of life. The gods they worship can’t be trusted. They are fickle, distant, uncaring. Survival can’t be left up to them. They—the people—want to be in charge of their own lives and destiny. No thanks to these feckless gods. The tower they’re building is meant to take them up to the gods’ very abode, where they can contend and perhaps even defeat them.

But a faith that relies only on your own might and power, leaving no room for God’s spirit in your life, is no faith at all. The Torah makes a mockery of the Babylonians, as their plans to dominate the universe are scuttled and turned to dust.

Parashat Noah is a tale of two faiths. One relies too much on God, the other attempts to dominate God. They are both lacking and deficient. Both are doomed to failure. 

Yet the story does not end there. The portion ends on a hopeful note: The birth of Abraham. A new story is about to unfold, the story of the Jewish People and their faith—a faith that is both worldly and heavenly, a faith that accepts God’s will but reserves the right to question it—a people and a faith that still exist to this day.

© 2018 by Boaz D. Heilman