Parshat Noach5 min read

Ham Did to Noah What the Serpent Did to Adam and Used the Same Vine

Noah's vineyard came from Eden. Ham violated his father in the tent and the rabbis saw the Garden of Eden story happening again.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Same Vine, the Second Time
  2. Satan at the Planting
  3. Ham in the Tent
  4. The Contrast With Shem and Japheth

The Same Vine, the Second Time

The vine Noah planted when he stepped off the ark was not an ordinary vine. The tradition is explicit: Adam had carried a cutting from the Garden of Eden when God expelled him, and that cutting had been tended through the antediluvian generations and brought onto the ark. When Noah planted it on the slopes of Ararat, he was not starting a new agricultural chapter. He was setting down again the same fruit that had ended the first human story, in the first garden, before the gate was locked.

The rabbis who noticed this were not reading loosely. The structural parallels between the Garden story and the vineyard story were too precise to be coincidence. A man. A plant bearing powerful fruit. Contact with the fruit leading to nakedness. A curse falling not on the direct perpetrator but on a descendant. Two stories with the same shape, and at the center of both of them, the same vine.

Satan at the Planting

The moment Noah broke the ground to plant the vine, Satan appeared and asked to be his partner in the vineyard. Noah asked what Satan would contribute. Satan said he would bring the blood of four creatures: a lamb, a lion, an ape, and a pig, and water the vine with it. This is why wine affects human beings in a predictable sequence: the first cup makes a man gentle as a lamb, the second makes him bold as a lion, the third makes him foolish as an ape, the fourth makes him wallow like a pig.

Satan was not merely offering a partnership in agriculture. He was inserting himself into the post-Flood world at the precise point where the connection to Eden was being re-established, ensuring that the vine's fruit would carry his influence into every cup pressed from it thereafter. The Garden's fruit had been mediated by the serpent. The vineyard's fruit would be mediated by Satan. The transmission route was different but the destination was the same: the undoing of a righteous man through what came from the ground of Paradise.

Ham in the Tent

When Noah drank and lay uncovered in his tent, his son Ham entered. What happened there is described in Genesis in terms so compressed and indirect that every generation of commentators has argued about it. The text says Ham saw his father's nakedness and told his brothers outside. His brothers walked in backward with a garment and covered Noah without looking.

The tradition refused to accept that mere looking was the full extent of the transgression. Ham did not simply glance and leave. He did something, and the tradition has preserved several accounts of what it was: he castrated his father, he violated him, he took something that was not his to take. The garments of Eden, according to one strand of tradition, went with Ham out of the tent. He stole the inheritance.

When Noah woke and understood what Ham had done, he cursed not Ham but Canaan, Ham's son. The tradition explains this by reading Noah's knowledge: he saw in prophetic vision that Canaan would be the one through whom Ham's transgression would bear its worst fruit in history, that Canaan's descendants would settle the land promised to Shem's line, that the theft in the tent would ramify through generations of dispossession and conflict. He cursed the consequence rather than the cause.

The Contrast With Shem and Japheth

When Ham's brothers heard him outside the tent, they did not enter to see what their father had done. Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it on their shoulders, walked backward into the tent, and covered Noah's nakedness without their eyes ever seeing what Ham had seen. The covering was deliberate, careful, structured so that even in the act of repair they would not repeat the violation.

Noah blessed them in proportion to what they had done. Japheth was given an inheritance that would allow his people to dwell in the tents of Shem, to share in the sacred learning that Shem's academy would produce. Shem received the direct blessing: his God was the God of the covenant, the specific divine relationship that would pass to Abraham. The contrast between the two responses, Ham's entry and Shem's backward walk, structured the inheritance of the post-Flood world.


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Legends of the Jews 4:66Legends of the Jews

Think about Noah for a second. The flood survivor, the righteous man who saved humanity and all the animals. In many ways, he was considered pious, a paragon of virtue. But according to some accounts, things changed when he turned his attention to... grapes.

The story goes that Noah discovered the very vine that Adam had carried out of Paradise after the expulsion. A direct connection to the Garden of Eden. He tasted the grapes, liked what he tasted, and decided to cultivate it. He became a "man of the ground," as some texts put it. (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews).

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) actually suggests that the entire process, from planting to inebriation, happened in a single day! Incredible. He planted the vine, it bore fruit immediately, he pressed the grapes, drank the juice, and. well, he got drunk and dishonored himself.

There's another player in this drama. A shadowy figure who seems to pop up whenever things are about to go sideways: Satan.

The story in Legends of the Jews tells us that Satan just happened to be passing by as Noah was planting the vine. He asked Noah, "What is it thou art planting here?"

This seemingly innocent question is loaded. What does Satan know about the vine, and what does he intend to do with this knowledge? The text suggests that his presence, at that precise moment, was no accident.

This is where the tale pivots, hinting at the darker consequences of Noah’s discovery. His actions, though perhaps unintentional, paved the way for excess, curses, and even the introduction of slavery. Quite a heavy burden for one vineyard, wouldn’t you say?

What does it all mean? Perhaps it’s a cautionary tale about the potential for even the most righteous individuals to stumble. Maybe it’s a reflection on the duality of nature, how something as beautiful and seemingly benign as a grapevine can lead to both joy and ruin. Or maybe it's simply a reminder that even after surviving a global catastrophe, humanity is still, well, human. Flawed, complex, and full of surprises.

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Legends of the Jews, IV. Noah, The Curse Of DrunkennessLegends of the Jews

The story of Noah and the vine is a wild ride through temptation, disrespect, and divine retribution.

In Legends of the Jews, Noah's troubles began when he decided to cultivate the vine. He went from being "the pious" to "a man of the ground," and in doing so, inadvertently opened the door to excess and its consequences. It all started with a vine that Adam, the first man, had taken with him when he was expelled from the Garden of Eden. Noah tasted its grapes, found them pleasing, and decided to plant it.

The very day Noah planted the vine, it bore fruit! He pressed the grapes, drank the juice, got drunk, and was…well, dishonored. All in a single day.

Who was there to witness this agricultural endeavor? None other than Satan himself. As the story goes, Satan casually strolls by as Noah is planting, and asks, "What are you planting?" Noah, enthusiastic, replies, "A vineyard!" Satan, ever the instigator, proposes a partnership. Noah, perhaps a little too trusting, agrees.

Now, here's the really strange part. To seal the deal, Satan slaughters a lamb, a lion, a pig, and a monkey, letting their blood flow under the vine. This, according to the tale, is to illustrate the different stages of drunkenness. Before drinking, you're innocent as a lamb. With moderate consumption, you feel strong as a lion. Too much, and you become like a pig. And utterly intoxicated? You’re a monkey – dancing, singing obscenities, completely unaware of your actions.

You'd think that would be a deterrent. But as Ginzberg recounts, Noah, like Adam before him (who, according to some traditions, fell because the forbidden fruit was actually a grape!), was undeterred. He proceeds to get drunk and, in his inebriated state, finds himself in his wife's tent. His son Ham sees him there, and instead of looking away, he tells his brothers about their father's nakedness, adding insult to injury with disrespectful comments. He even tries to prevent Noah from having more children!

When Noah sobers up, he’s understandably furious. But because God had already blessed Noah and his sons after the flood, he couldn't directly curse Ham. So, he curses Ham’s youngest son, Canaan, instead. As we find in the story, the descendants of Ham, through Canaan, are marked with physical traits reflecting Ham's disrespect: red eyes for looking at his father's nakedness, misshapen lips for speaking of it, twisted hair for turning his head to look, and nakedness as a punishment for not covering his father. It’s a harsh example of "measure for measure" justice.

And Canaan? Well, his last will and evidence of his children is quite a piece of work: "Speak not the truth; hold not yourselves aloof from theft; lead a dissolute life; hate your master with an exceeding great hate; and love one another." Not exactly a recipe for a virtuous life!

Meanwhile, Shem and Japheth, Noah’s other sons, are rewarded for their respectful behavior. They covered their father's nakedness by walking backward with averted faces. As a result, their descendants receive blessings. The descendants of Ham, the Egyptians and Ethiopians, were led away captive and into exile by the king of Assyria, while the descendants of Shem, the Assyrians, even when the angel of the Lord burnt them in the camp, were not exposed, their garments remained upon their corpses unsinged. And in time to come, when Gog shall suffer his defeat, God will provide both shrouds and a place of burial for him and all his multitude, the posterity of Japheth.

Shem, who took the initiative in covering Noah, receives the greater reward: the tallit (prayer shawl). Japheth, who joined in later, gets the toga. Noah even blesses Shem by saying, "Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem," an honor usually reserved for the deceased.

The relationship between Shem and Japheth is also defined: "God will grant a land of beauty to Japheth, and his sons will be proselytes dwelling in the academies of Shem." Noah also prophesies that the Shekinah (divine presence) will dwell only in the first Temple, built by Solomon, a son of Shem, and not in the second, built by Cyrus, a descendant of Japheth.

So, what are we to make of this story? It's a cautionary tale about the dangers of excess, the importance of respect for elders, and the far-reaching consequences of our actions. It reminds us that even seemingly small choices can have ripple effects that impact generations to come. It prompts us to consider: How do we handle our own temptations? And how can we ensure we're building a legacy of respect and responsibility, rather than one of curses and shame?

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Legends of the Jews 4:75Legends of the Jews

The Torah portion of Noah certainly gives us food for thought on that subject. It's a story of survival, new beginnings..and a rather unfortunate curse.

The familiar version gives us the tale: the great flood recedes, the ark rests on Mount Ararat, and Noah, his family, and all the animals disembark to repopulate the earth. A moment of profound hope. But then, things take a turn. Noah plants a vineyard, makes wine, and, well, gets drunk. In his inebriated state, he disrobes. His son, Ham, sees his father's nakedness and tells his brothers, Shem and Japheth. They, in turn, respectfully cover their father without looking at him.

When Noah awakens from his stupor, he learns what has transpired. And instead of directly cursing Ham, the perpetrator, he curses Ham's youngest son, Canaan.

Why Canaan? This is a question that has puzzled commentators for centuries. Ginzberg, in his Legends of the Jews, suggests that Noah couldn’t curse Ham directly because God had already blessed Noah and his sons as they left the ark. A divine blessing, it seems, is a powerful thing. So, Noah, unable to harm Ham himself, directs the curse at Canaan, "the last-born son of the son that had prevented him from begetting a younger son." Ouch.

But the story doesn't end there. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Tanhuma Noah 13, goes into vivid detail about the alleged physical consequences of Ham's transgression. It says that the descendants of Ham through Canaan were cursed with specific physical traits: red eyes because Ham looked upon his father's nakedness; misshapen lips because he spoke about it; twisted, curly hair because he twisted his head to look; and nakedness because he didn't cover his father.

A bit harsh, isn't it?

This idea of "measure for measure" – middah k’neged middah – is a recurring theme in Jewish thought. The way we act in the world, the tradition teaches, comes back to us. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, God's justice is precise and proportionate. Ham's disrespect, in this understanding, leads to a specific, tangible consequence for his descendants.

This story certainly raises a lot of questions. Is it a just curse? What does it say about inherited guilt? And how should we interpret these physical characteristics attributed to Canaan's descendants?

The tale of Noah's curse on Canaan is a complex one, steeped in questions of divine justice, familial responsibility, and the enduring impact of our actions. It's a reminder that even in moments of new beginnings, the past can cast a long shadow. Food for thought,.

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Legends of the Jews 4:81Legends of the Jews

The familiar telling remembers Shem, Ham, and Japheth, but what were their lives really like after they stepped off the ark?

The blessing Noah bestowed upon them speaks volumes. It hints at a unique dynamic, a destiny intertwined. "God will grant a land of beauty to Japheth," Noah proclaimed, "and his sons will be proselytes dwelling in the academies of Shem." (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews). It's not just about land or lineage. It's about a spiritual partnership, a sharing of wisdom. The descendants of Japheth, blessed with worldly beauty, would find themselves drawn to the spiritual depth of Shem's teachings, studying in his academies.

There's a deeper layer still. Noah's words also implied something about the Shekhinah (שכינה), the Divine Presence. The Divine Presence, Noah suggested, would only dwell in the First Temple, built by Solomon, a descendant of Shem. But not in the Second Temple, which was built by Cyrus, who descended from Japheth. What does that tell us about the relationship between these brothers and their destinies? It's a subtle, powerful statement about lineage, holiness, and the unfolding of God's plan.

What of Ham? How did he react to his father’s curse? According to Legends of the Jews, shame consumed him. He fled, building a city for himself and his family, naming it Neelatamauk after his wife. It’s a poignant image: a man driven by shame to create his own world, separate from his father and brothers.

Japheth, too, felt the pull to create his own space. Perhaps driven by a jealousy similar to Ham's, or maybe simply wanting to establish his own identity, he built a city and named it Adataneses after his wife. We see here, perhaps, the seeds of future divisions, the natural human desire for independence and recognition.

Only Shem remained near his father, building his city, Zedeketelbab, close to Noah's home by Mount Lubar – the very mountain where the ark had rested. Imagine that: the ark, the symbol of survival and renewal, looming over their lives. These three cities, each representing a different path, a different response to the world after the flood, were all situated around Mount Lubar: Neelatamauk to the south, Adataneses to the west, and Zedeketelbab to the east.

What does it all mean? This isn't just a story about three brothers. It's a reflection on human nature, on the choices we make, and on the enduring power of family, legacy, and the Divine Presence in our lives. It's a reminder that even in the wake of destruction, the seeds of new beginnings, new conflicts, and new connections are always being sown.

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