Parshat Noach4 min read

Noah Built His Altar and Philo Asked Which God He Was Thanking

After the flood, Noah sacrificed to Elohim, not to Adonai. Philo of Alexandria thought the choice of divine name was the whole point of the story.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The First Thing He Did on Dry Ground
  2. The Name He Used
  3. The Two Kinds of Gratitude
  4. What the Name Withheld

The First Thing He Did on Dry Ground

The water had covered everything for a year. The raven had gone and not returned. The dove had gone and come back with an olive branch, and then gone again and not returned. The ground was dry. Noah opened the ark's door and stepped out.

The first thing he did was build an altar.

He took clean animals, clean birds, and offered burnt offerings on the altar. The smell of it went up, and the text says God smelled the pleasing aroma and said in His heart that He would never again curse the ground for humanity's sake. The rainbow followed. The covenant followed. The entire post-flood world emerged from the smoke of that one altar.

The question Philo of Alexandria asked is easy to miss in the drama of the rainbow: Noah built the altar to which God?

The Name He Used

In Hebrew, the divine name used in the altar passage is Elohim, not the Tetragrammaton pronounced as Adonai. These are not interchangeable. Elohim is the universal name, the one associated with God as creator and judge of all existence, the God who governs nature and nations and the general order of things. Adonai is the covenantal name, the one associated with the particular relationship between God and the Jewish people, the name of promise and intimacy and specific history.

Noah had just been saved from a flood in which all other human life was destroyed. His survival was as particular and personal a divine act as anything in Genesis. And he offered his gratitude to the universal name, the distant one, the name that belongs to no people specifically.

Why?

The Two Kinds of Gratitude

Philo's answer, in the text attributed to him, turns on a distinction between two modes of thanksgiving. The first is voluntary, spontaneous, the immediate overflow of a heart that has received something and cannot stay silent. This gratitude is complete in itself. It asks nothing, promises nothing, arrives before any formal structure shapes it.

The second kind of gratitude is what Philo calls obligated: the thanksgiving that comes from having understood intellectually what you have received, having traced the implications, having recognized the specific character of the divine action that spared you. This is the gratitude of reflection rather than reflex.

Noah's offering to Elohim was the first kind. It was not calculated. It was not the offering of a man who had fully worked out what had just happened to him. It was the offering of a man who stepped off a boat onto dry ground after a year on the water and built a fire before he could think. The universal name was the name you used when your gratitude was bigger than any particular relationship, when what you were grateful for was existence itself.

What the Name Withheld

Philo's reading implies something significant about what Noah was not yet ready to do. To offer to Adonai, the covenantal name, would have required Noah to understand himself as standing within a particular relationship with a God who had chosen him for a particular purpose. That understanding was coming. The covenant and the rainbow and the specific prohibitions of the Noahide laws were about to arrive.

But in the moment he built the altar, Noah was not yet in the covenant. He was simply alive. He was a man who had carried eight people and a world of animals through a year of water and had come out the other side. The offering he made was the offering of someone who did not yet know what name to use for what had saved him, only that something had, and that something deserved an altar.

The covenant would teach him the name. The altar came first.

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From the tradition

Sources

2 sources

The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

The Midrash of Philo 20:5The Midrash of Philo

That feeling, that impulse – it gets to the heart of what it means to be truly grateful, and what it means to connect with the Divine.

The Midrash of Philo touches on this very point, reminding us that gratitude to God should be offered freely, without being prompted or compelled. It should flow naturally from a heart filled with appreciation, a heart free from vice. when we’re given a blessing, shouldn't our first instinct be to express our thanks? To acknowledge the source of that goodness? It's like when a friend does you a huge favor – you don't wait for them to ask for your gratitude. You offer it willingly, joyfully.

What about those times when we do wait? When we need a nudge, a reminder, an explicit command to express our thanks? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests that this delay reveals a certain…ungratefulness. It implies that we're only honoring our benefactor – in this case, God – out of obligation, not out of genuine appreciation.

It's a powerful idea, isn't it? The difference between a heartfelt "thank you" and a perfunctory one. The difference between recognizing the gift and feeling the connection to the giver.

And that brings us to an interesting question posed in the Midrash: "Why is it said that Noah built an altar to God, and not to the Lord?" (Genesis 8:20).

Now, in Hebrew, "God" is often referred to as Elohim, a more general term for the Divine. "The Lord," or YHWH, often vocalized as Adonai, is the specific, personal name of God, the one that represents the covenant between God and humanity.

So, why the distinction here? What’s the significance of Noah offering his sacrifice to Elohim, and not Adonai? Is it that Noah's gratitude was somehow incomplete? Was it a general acknowledgement rather than a deeply personal expression of thanks?

Perhaps. Or, perhaps it points to something more fundamental about the nature of gratitude itself. Maybe it suggests that even in our most heartfelt expressions of thanks, we're ultimately acknowledging a power greater than ourselves, a force that transcends our individual understanding.

Whatever the answer, the Midrash of Philo invites us to reflect on the nature of our own gratitude. Are we offering it freely, willingly, from a place of genuine appreciation? Or are we waiting for a command, a reminder, a nudge? And, more importantly, are we truly recognizing the source of the blessings in our lives?

It's a question worth pondering, isn't it? A question that can help us deepen our connection to the Divine and to each other. And maybe, just maybe, it's a question that can help us become a little more grateful, a little more aware, and a little more…human.

Full source
Book of Jubilees 7:5Book of Jubilees

This book, considered scripture by some and a valuable historical source by others, gives us a detailed look into the life of figures from the Hebrew Bible. a particular moment – a celebration led by none other than Noah himself, after the flood.

The scene: The earth is still fresh, reborn. Noah, having survived the cataclysmic flood, is now planting. The Book of Jubilees tells us that he carefully watched over his newly planted vines. He guarded their fruit, ensuring a bountiful harvest. He gathered in the grapes during the seventh month. Then, he made wine. He didn't rush things,. He put the wine into a vessel, and then…he waited. He kept it aging until the fifth year, until the first day, on the new moon of the first month.

Finally, the moment arrived. Can you feel the anticipation? Noah celebrated with joy. It wasn't just a casual get-together. This was a sacred occasion. The text says he made a burnt sacrifice unto the Lord. Specifically, "one young ox and one ram, and seven sheep, each a year old, and a kid of the goats." A pretty significant offering!

The purpose? Atonement. He offered the sacrifice "that he might make atonement thereby for himself and his sons." This highlights a key concept: the need for reconciliation with God, even after surviving such a world-altering event.

The details are fascinating. "He prepared the kid first," the Book of Jubilees continues. He placed some of its blood on the flesh that was on the altar which he had made. And all the fat? That went onto the altar where he made the burnt sacrifice.

It’s worth pausing here. Why the blood? Why the fat? Sacrifice rituals in the ancient world were deeply symbolic, acting as a way to purify and consecrate offerings. Blood, often seen as the essence of life, played a crucial role.

These seemingly small details in the Book of Jubilees give us so much. We get a glimpse into the practical aspects of ancient life – winemaking, animal husbandry – but also into the spiritual heart of the matter: The enduring need for connection with the Divine, and the rituals developed to foster that connection.

So, the next time you raise a glass – maybe even a glass of wine – consider the story of Noah. Think about the patience, the joy, and the deep spiritual yearning that underpinned his ancient celebration. It might just give you a whole new appreciation for the moment.

Full source