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Why God Called Noah a Foolish Shepherd in Jewish Legend

Noah built the ark, survived the flood, and wept at the ruins. Then God rebuked him for never praying for anyone outside the ark before it was too late.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Prayer That Came After
  2. God's Answer to the Man Who Wept Too Late
  3. Abraham Would Do What Noah Did Not
  4. The Covenant Noah Built On

The Prayer That Came After

Noah did not cry until the world was already gone.

After a year inside the ark, he stepped onto raw ground and saw absence everywhere. No fields. No cities. No voices beyond the eight survivors and the animals pressing out into the open air. Only then did he turn to God and invoke mercy for what had been lost. The tradition does not let that prayer sound noble for long.

Before he would leave the ark at all, Noah demanded an oath. He had survived a year of water and he was not stepping into the new world without a guarantee that the old world's fate would not repeat. God swore. Noah accepted the oath and stepped out. Then he wept over the devastation and asked why God had not shown mercy to His creatures.

God's Answer to the Man Who Wept Too Late

The rebuke that came back is devastating in its precision. God called Noah a foolish shepherd. A faithful shepherd, when the flock is in danger, does not save himself and wait to grieve. He stands at the edge of the danger and argues for the flock. He pleads. He bargains. He throws himself between the threat and the animals in his care. Noah did not do this. He accepted the verdict on the world without a word of intercession. He built the ark. He followed the instructions. He waited out the flood. And only when the flood was over and the world was a field of bones did he think to ask for mercy.

The prayer was a year late. Possibly one hundred and twenty years late.

Abraham Would Do What Noah Did Not

The tradition places this rebuke in sharp relief by showing what came afterward. When God decided to destroy Sodom, He told Abraham about it. Abraham immediately began to bargain. He asked whether God would spare the city if fifty righteous people were found in it. God said yes. Abraham pushed to forty-five. To forty. To thirty. To twenty. Down to ten, Abraham pressed the negotiation, each step a plea on behalf of people who had done him no particular good and who lived in a city he had no practical reason to defend. He argued hard and honestly for people he barely knew.

Noah had known the people of his generation for hundreds of years. He had preached to them for one hundred and twenty years. He had watched them reject every warning. And when the verdict came, he built the ark for his family and said nothing on their behalf.

The Covenant Noah Built On

When he finally did offer the sacrifice that opened the covenant, God responded in a way that did not require Noah to be more than he was. The rainbow was given. The promise was made. The seven laws were established. The new world was inaugurated on the foundation of what Noah had actually done, not what he should have done.

The tradition does not deny him the covenant. It holds both things: the covenant was real and the rebuke was real. Noah was saved and Noah was insufficient. A man can survive a flood and still be smaller than the moment required. The tradition is careful not to flatten this into a simple verdict. It records the rebuke and records the rainbow and leaves them standing side by side, which is more honest than choosing only one.


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

Legends of the Jews, IV. Noah, Noah Leaves The ArkLegends of the Jews

Sounds… intense. That’s what Noah faced. But what happened after the floodwaters receded? it first appears it was all sunshine and rainbows, but the story, as the Legends of the Jews recounts, is a little more complicated.

Even after the year of punishment was over, Noah didn’t just throw open the ark doors and say, "Alright, everyone out!" No, he waited. Why? Because, as Ginzberg tells us, "As I entered the ark at the bidding of God, so I will leave it only at His bidding." He wasn't about to make a move without divine instruction.

When God did tell Noah to leave the ark, Noah hesitated. He refused! Can you imagine? After all that, he was reluctant to step back onto dry land. The reason? He feared God might send another flood after he and his family had repopulated the earth. He wouldn't budge until God swore – swore! – that He would never again destroy the world with a flood.

When Noah finally emerged, he was overcome with grief at the devastation. He wept bitterly, questioning God: "O Lord of the world! Thou art called the Merciful, and Thou shouldst have had mercy upon Thy creatures." It's a very human reaction. To see such destruction and to question the divine plan.

But God, in turn, rebuked Noah. He reminded Noah that He had warned him about the impending flood, giving him the opportunity to plead for humanity. But, as God says, Noah was too busy building his ark to worry about anyone else. Ouch. It's a harsh lesson about responsibility and the importance of interceding on behalf of others.

Noah, realizing his mistake, sought to atone for his inaction. He offered a sacrifice to God. Noah didn't perform the priestly duties himself; his son Shem did. Why? Well, legend has it that Noah had been injured by a lion in the ark – a hungry lion he’d forgotten to feed! This left him with a physical defect, disqualifying him from performing priestly duties. The sacrifices included various animals – an ox, a sheep, a goat, turtle doves, and pigeons. These were likely chosen, the text suggests, because Noah believed they were designated for sacrifice, as God had instructed him to bring seven pairs of them into the ark.

The altar, we are told, was erected on the very spot where Adam, Cain, and Abel had offered their sacrifices, and where the altar in the Jerusalem Temple would later stand. Talk about a place steeped in history!

After the sacrifice, God blessed Noah and his sons, granting them dominion over the world, just as He had done with Adam. He commanded them to be fruitful and multiply. The text notes that during their time in the ark, humans and animals had practiced abstinence, as "while a public calamity rages continence is becoming even to those who are left unscathed." However, Ham, along with a dog and a raven, broke this rule and were punished. Ham’s punishment, according to this tradition, was that his descendants would have dark skin.

As a sign of His promise never to flood the earth again, God set His bow in the cloud – the rainbow. Even when humanity sins, the rainbow serves as a reminder that their sins won't bring about another deluge. The text adds a fascinating detail: when people were particularly righteous, the rainbow wouldn't even appear, because there was no need for a reminder of God's promise.

God then granted Noah and his descendants permission to eat meat, something that had been forbidden since the time of Adam. However, they were forbidden from consuming blood. God also established the seven Noachian Laws, a set of moral principles binding on all of humanity, not just the Jewish people.

One of the most important of these laws was the prohibition against murder. "Whoso would shed man's blood, his blood would be shed," God declared. Even if human courts failed to punish a murderer, divine justice would prevail. And even animals that killed humans would be held accountable.

So, what does this all mean? The story of Noah's exit from the ark is more than just a tale of survival. It's a story about responsibility, atonement, and the establishment of a new moral order for humanity. It reminds us that even after the worst of times, there is always the possibility of renewal, and that with renewal comes the responsibility to build a better world. A world, perhaps, where we don't need rainbows quite so often.

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Legends of the Jews 4:59Legends of the Jews

Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, tells us that Noah wept bitterly at the sight of the destruction. He turned to God, saying, "O Lord of the world! Thou art called the Merciful, and Thou shouldst have had mercy upon Thy creatures."

It's a raw, human moment. After all, who wouldn't be overwhelmed by such a scene? But God's response, as recounted in Legends of the Jews, is… well, let's just say it's not exactly comforting.

God rebukes Noah, calling him a "foolish shepherd." Ouch.

God says, "Now thou speakest to Me. Thou didst not so when I addressed kind words to thee, saying: 'I saw thee as a righteous man and perfect in thy generation, and I will bring the flood upon the earth to destroy all flesh. Make an ark for thyself of gopher wood.'" for a second. God is pointing out that He warned Noah, gave him a chance to intercede, to plead for humanity. God even told Noah why he was choosing him. But Noah, focused on his own salvation, remained silent.

God continues, "Thus spake I to thee, telling thee all these circumstances, that thou mightest entreat mercy for the earth. But thou, as soon as thou didst hear that thou wouldst be rescued in the ark, thou didst not concern thyself about the ruin that would strike the earth. Thou didst but build an ark for thyself, in which thou wast saved. Now that the earth is wasted, thou openest thy mouth to supplicate and pray."

The message is clear: Noah was so consumed with his own survival that he neglected his responsibility to advocate for others. He missed his chance to be a true leader, a true intermediary between God and humanity.

It's a harsh lesson, isn't it? It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives, our own problems, especially when facing something as huge as a coming flood. But this story from Legends of the Jews challenges us to look beyond our immediate needs and consider the bigger picture.

Are we so focused on building our own "arks" that we forget to speak up for those who are suffering? Are we waiting until after the disaster to offer our prayers, when we could have acted beforehand?

Perhaps Noah's tears weren't just for the devastation he saw, but also for the opportunity he missed. And maybe, just maybe, his story is a reminder to us all to be more than just survivors, but to be advocates, to be compassionate, and to speak up for mercy, even when the waters are rising.

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Legends of the Jews 5:164Legends of the Jews

The story of how he pleaded for the people of Sodom and Gomorrah is one of the most powerful examples of intercession in the entire Torah.

Remember the story? God, seeing the wickedness of these cities, decides they must be destroyed. But Abraham, ever the compassionate patriarch, steps in. He doesn't just accept God's decree. He challenges it. He argues. He negotiates.

The initial plea, of course, is famous: "Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked? What if there are fifty righteous people in the city? Will you really sweep it away and not spare the place for the sake of the fifty righteous people in it?" (Genesis 18:23-24).

God, remarkably, agrees. He says he will spare the city for the sake of fifty righteous people.

But Abraham doesn't stop there. He continues to press, lowering the number again and again. It's almost audacious, isn't it? This human, standing before the Almighty, daring to question, to bargain.

Now, as our text picks up, Abraham, according to Legends of the Jews, continues his desperate plea. He asks whether God would be satisfied if there were just thirty righteous people, ten in each of the three larger cities. Would God pardon the two smaller ones even if they had no righteous people within them – if their merits could somehow be linked to the larger cities? God grants this request, too!

And Abraham persists! He gets God to agree to spare the five cities for the sake of just ten righteous people. Ten people. That's all it would take.

Why did Abraham stop there? Legends of the Jews explains that Abraham knew that eight righteous people, Noah, his wife, their three sons, and their wives, hadn't been enough to save the generation of the Flood. Perhaps a similar calculation was at play here.

He hoped that Lot, his nephew, his wife, and their four daughters, along with their daughters' husbands, would make up the necessary ten. A reasonable hope, wouldn't you think?

But here's the heartbreaking truth: even those considered "righteous" in Sodom and Gomorrah, while better than the rest of the population, were still far from truly good. As the story unfolds, we see just how deeply entrenched the wickedness had become.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 108a) elaborates on the corruption of Sodom, painting a picture of a society utterly devoid of basic human decency. The Midrash Rabbah (Genesis 49:8) adds further detail about the specific sins that were rampant.

Abraham's fervent prayers, his relentless bargaining. they weren't enough. Not because God was unwilling to listen, but because the people themselves had crossed a point of no return.

The story of Sodom and Gomorrah isn’t just a tale of divine punishment. It's a stark reminder of the power of human choice, the corrosive nature of evil, and the limits, perhaps, even of the most impassioned intercession. It leaves you wondering, doesn't it? What happens when a society's moral compass is so broken that even the best among them aren't good enough?

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Legends of the Jews 4:60Legends of the Jews

The familiar story is this: the animals, the flood, the rainbow. But what about the after the flood? What was Noah thinking, feeling? Did he get everything. Well, according to some fascinating traditions, not quite.

The story goes that after the floodwaters receded, Noah knew he had to make things right with God. He understood, perhaps belatedly, that he’d been guilty of folly. He needed to propitiate God, to offer a sacrifice and acknowledge his failing. And so he did.

God, in turn, accepted the offering with favor. That’s why, the tradition says, Noah is called by his very name – a name suggesting peace, comfort, and acceptance.

Here's a twist. The sacrifice wasn't actually offered by Noah himself. Instead, it was his son Shem who performed the priestly duties. Why? What kept Noah from fulfilling this sacred task?

Now, this is where the story gets interesting. According to Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, there was a very specific reason. One day, while they were all crammed together in the ark, Noah forgot to feed the lion! Can you imagine? With all those animals to care for, it must have been quite the undertaking.

Well, the hungry lion wasn't too pleased. He lashed out, striking Noah a blow so violent with his paw that Noah was left lame for the rest of his life. A physical blemish, a mum (מּוּם), as it's known in Hebrew.

And according to Jewish law, someone with a significant bodily defect was not permitted to perform the sacred duties of a priest. This isn't about judging Noah, but about the stringent requirements for those serving in the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple.

So, there you have it. A fascinating little detail that adds a whole new layer to the Noah story. It reminds us that even the most righteous figures in the Bible were still human, still fallible. And that sometimes, even a forgotten meal can have lasting consequences.

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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.

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Legends of the Jews 4:64Legends of the Jews

Jewish tradition sees that rainbow, the bow in the cloud, as a very specific promise. A promise from God.

The Torah tells us that after the great flood, God set His bow – the rainbow – in the sky as a sign, a covenant (Genesis 9:13). But according to legends elaborating on that passage, there’s a deeper meaning. The bow isn't just a pretty reminder. It's a constant proclamation: even if humanity stumbles again, plunges into sin, we won't face another world-destroying flood. That rainbow whispers, "You are forgiven. Given another chance."

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we didn't need that reminder sometimes? Some traditions even suggest that in periods of great piety, when people were truly righteous, the rainbow simply wasn't visible. No reminder was needed, because no great sin threatened the world. A world so good, so just, that the sign of potential destruction simply disappears.

After the flood, God made another significant shift in the rules. Remember, from the time of Adam until Noah, humans were vegetarians. But post-flood, God gave Noah and his descendants permission to eat meat. With one crucial caveat: they had to abstain from consuming blood. This is a big deal. It marks a change in the relationship between humans and the animal kingdom.

And it wasn't just about diet. God also established the seven Noachian Laws. These laws, detailed in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 56a), aren't just for the Jewish people. They're binding on all of humanity. They are: Do not deny God; do not blaspheme; do not murder; do not engage in forbidden sexual relations; do not steal; do not eat flesh torn from a living animal; and establish courts of justice. Pretty fundamental stuff. Of these laws, the prohibition against shedding human blood is particularly emphasized. The stakes are incredibly high. As it says in (Genesis 9:6), "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed."

But the legends amplify this even further. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, even if human courts fail, even if a murderer somehow escapes earthly justice, punishment will inevitably find them. They will meet an unnatural end, a fate mirroring the violence they inflicted on another. And it doesn't stop there. Even animals that kill humans are held accountable. Their lives, too, are forfeit. As we see in the Torah, God requires justice, one way or another.

These legends, these expansions on the biblical text, aren't just ancient stories. They speak to enduring themes: forgiveness, responsibility, and the inherent sanctity of human life. They remind us that even after the worst imaginable catastrophe, there's always the promise of a new beginning, symbolized by that simple, powerful arc in the sky. The question is: what are we doing to live up to that promise?

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