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The Three Climates Noah Gave His Sons in Jewish Legend

Ham got the south. Japheth got the north. Shem got the middle. The world's three temperatures carried the shape of a moral inheritance.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Shape of What Each Son Received
  2. Hot Lands and Cold Lands
  3. The Prophecy Attached to the Division
  4. What the Three Climates Produced

The Shape of What Each Son Received

When the lots were drawn and the earth was divided, the geography that fell to each son was not random in the way that chance is random. Ham's southern lands burn. Japheth's northern lands freeze. Shem's middle portion is neither extreme, a balance the ancient world understood not merely as meteorological but as something closer to a moral fact about the kind of life each portion would require.

The tradition is explicit: the temperate middle is where the work of holiness is most sustainable. Not too harsh to endure, not so comfortable that discipline becomes unnecessary. The sacred places fell within Shem's portion because the lot assigned them to him before any of his descendants had been born. But the tradition also implies that this was no accident. The place where holiness could most readily take root was the place between the extremes.

Hot Lands and Cold Lands

The southern heat that fell to Ham shaped the people who would live there in ways the tradition treats as obvious. Hot climates do not require the same discipline as cold ones. The urgency of cold, the necessity of shelter and preparation and the kind of forward-thinking that winter demands, belongs to Japheth's north. The southern abundance produces a different kind of character, more immediate, less burdened by the anticipation of scarcity.

Japheth's cold lands produce endurance, the patience of people who know that spring will come but must wait for it across months of deprivation. This is not the same as holiness. The tradition does not confuse suffering with sanctity. But it recognizes that the disciplines of cold and the undisciplined abundance of heat both point away from the middle, which is neither suffering nor ease but the sustainable daily commitment that religious life requires.

The Prophecy Attached to the Division

The division was prophesied before it happened. Noah, in the tradition, received the outlines of what each son would inherit and what each would become before the lots were drawn. Shem's portion would produce the lawgiver. The middle lands, the temperate inheritance, would be the place where the Torah eventually descended, where the Temple was built, where the story of Israel was set.

Noah rejoiced at Shem's portion not only because he loved Shem but because he understood what the geography meant. The place between the extremes was the place where the central human question, how to live in relationship to God, would be worked out over the centuries his descendants had yet to live. The hot lands and cold lands would produce greatness of their own kinds. But the work that mattered most to Noah was assigned to the middle.

What the Three Climates Produced

The three temperatures became three civilizations. Ham's descendants built and farmed and traded across the southern coasts and deep into Africa. Japheth's descendants spread north and west, filling the cold margins of the world. Shem's descendants occupied the center, the corridor of moderate climate that ran from the great rivers to the sea, and among them the family that produced Abraham, and from Abraham the line that eventually stood at Sinai.

The tradition does not claim that climate determined righteousness. It claims that the lots were cast by something that knew what each inheritance required, and that the physical conditions each portion imposed reflected the nature of the task each line was being given. The world has three climates, and they were assigned on the same day, by the same process, in the same tent, before a single descendant of the three sons had drawn breath.


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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 4:85Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews tells us that the south fell to the lot of Ham. Think scorching deserts, sweltering jungles... that kind of heat. The north? That became the inheritance of Japheth, a land of biting winds and icy landscapes.

What about Shem? He got something a little different. The land of Shem, it's said, was neither overwhelmingly hot nor intensely cold. It was a mixture, a balance. A place where you could experience both the warmth of the sun and the refreshing chill of the wind.

This division, this monumental carving up of the world, it didn't just happen at any old time. It happened towards the end of the life of Peleg. Peleg... that's an interesting name, isn't it? His father, Eber, gave him that name. And Eber, being a prophet, well, he knew something big was coming. He knew that the division of the earth, the pelagah (פְּלָגָה), would take place during his son's lifetime. It's like naming your kid "Earthquake" because you have a feeling something's about to shake!

Then there's Joktan, Peleg's brother. His name? It's tied to another change, a less geographical one. Joktan, from the Hebrew root qatan (קטן), meaning "small" or "shortened," was named so because the duration of human life was shortened in his time.

So, what does it all mean? Is it just an old story about land distribution and some peculiar names? Maybe. But I think there's something deeper here. It's a reminder that the world, and our lives, are constantly changing. Boundaries are drawn, lifespans fluctuate, and we, like Noah's sons, are left to work through the world we inherit. Maybe the real question isn't who got the best piece of land, but what we do with the land we’re given.

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Legends of the Jews 4:83Legends of the Jews

In the year 1569 after creation, Noah himself, guided by an angel, divided the world among his three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Imagine the scene – a world freshly cleansed, a family gathered, and the fate of nations hanging in the balance.

The method? A lottery, of sorts. Each son reached into Noah's bosom (a somewhat archaic but evocative image!) and drew a slip. And the slip Shem drew? Well, that was something special.

It was inscribed with the "middle of the earth." The middle of the earth! This, the story tells us, became the eternal inheritance of Shem's descendants. It’s a powerful image, isn't it? The very heart of the world belonging to one lineage.

Noah, upon seeing the result, rejoiced. Why? Because, as the story goes, this fulfilled his blessing upon Shem: "And God in the habitation of Shem." (Genesis 9:26). The idea is that God's presence would dwell most strongly within Shem's territory.

But what made this particular patch of land so significant? What made it the "middle of the earth?"

Well, three supremely holy places fell within Shem's designated area. Firstly, there's the Holy of Holies in the Temple in Jerusalem – the innermost sanctuary, the dwelling place of the Divine Presence. Then, there’s Mount Sinai, located at the middle point of the desert, where Moses received the Torah. And finally, Mount Zion, considered the navel – the very center – of the earth. Think of it as an umbilical cord connecting humanity to the divine.

These weren't just arbitrary locations. According to this tradition, they were points of immense spiritual power, all located within the territory of Shem. It’s a powerful assertion about the spiritual centrality of that land and the destiny of Shem’s line.

So next time you think about maps, about borders, about the division of land, remember this ancient story. It's not just about geography; it’s about destiny, blessing, and the enduring quest to find the center – the axis mundi – of our world. A quest that, perhaps, begins within ourselves.

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Book of Jubilees 9:4Book of Jubilees

It's like a post-diluvian real estate transaction, recorded for posterity.

Specifically,

So, how did Shem divide his inheritance? He portioned it among his sons. First up: Elam. His chunk included the land east of the Tigris River, stretching all the way to the east, encompassing the whole of India. The text continues, painting a vivid picture: “and on the Red Sea on its coast, and the waters of Dêdân, and all the mountains of Mebrî and ’Êlâ, and all the land of Sûsân and all that is on the side of Pharnâk to the Red Sea and the river Tînâ.” It’s a sweeping panorama of the ancient Near East, a landscape dotted with cities and natural landmarks that would have been incredibly significant to the people of that time.

Next in line was Asshur. His portion included "all the land of Asshur and Nineveh and Shinar and to the border of India, and it ascendeth and skirteth the river." Notice that India is mentioned again, suggesting its significance as a boundary marker in this ancient worldview. Shinar, of course, is significant. We know it from the story of the Tower of Babel in Genesis. It's a region rich in history and symbolism, right there at the heart of Asshur's territory.

What's so striking about this passage is the sheer scope of the geography involved. We're talking about vast distances, encompassing diverse cultures and landscapes. It gives you a sense of how these ancient people understood their world, how they mapped it, and how they perceived the relationships between different regions.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What was it like to live in a world where these were the known boundaries? What stories were told around the campfires about the lands beyond, the places where the map faded into mystery? And what can this ancient division of land tell us about the roots of civilizations, the flows of trade, and the enduring connections between people across continents?

The Book of Jubilees offers us a tantalizing glimpse into a world long past, a world where the echoes of the Flood still resonated, and the future of humanity was being mapped out, one son, one inheritance, at a time. It reminds us that even the most ancient texts can offer fresh insights into who we are and where we come from.

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Legends of the Jews 4:78Legends of the Jews

Sometimes, the answer lies in the smallest of actions, the purest of intentions.

Think about Noah. After the flood, things weren’t exactly smooth sailing. There’s that infamous episode where he… well, let’s just say he wasn’t at his best. His sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth, reacted in different ways. Ham, as the story goes, wasn't exactly respectful. But Shem and Japheth? They stepped up.

Both Shem and Japheth acted dutifully, showing respect for their father. But here's the kicker: Shem was the first to take action, the first to cover his father. Japheth joined in, but Shem initiated it. And in Jewish tradition, that makes all the difference.

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, this seemingly small difference led to a pretty significant distinction. The descendants of Shem were rewarded with the tallit, that beautiful prayer shawl we see in synagogues. – a garment imbued with holiness, a constant reminder of reverence and connection to the divine. The Japhethites, on the other hand, received the toga. Still a garment of respect, but not quite carrying the same spiritual weight. But it goes even deeper. Noah blessed God by saying, "Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem." (Genesis 9:26). Now, this might seem like a straightforward blessing, but it's actually quite unusual. Typically, we only associate God's name with those who have passed on. So, why Shem? Why connect the divine name with someone still living?

The sages pondered this, digging into the nuances of the text. Why did Shem merit this unique honor? The answer, it seems, lies in his actions. Because he was the first to show respect and reverence, he was elevated in a way that connected him directly to the divine, even in his lifetime.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we underestimate the power of being the first to do good? How often do we overlook the significance of simple acts of respect? Perhaps these stories, these legends, aren't just about the past. Maybe they’re a reminder that our actions, no matter how small, can have ripple effects that shape not only our own lives, but the lives of generations to come. Maybe it’s about the power of intention, the spark of initiative that sets us on a path toward something greater.

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