Parshat Noach5 min read

Noah Planted Eden's Vine and Drank a Prophecy About the End of Days

The vine Noah planted after the flood came from the Garden of Eden. What he saw in the wine was a vision of the messianic age he encoded in a drunken act.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The First Thing He Did on Dry Ground
  2. The Vine That Came Through the Ark
  3. Satan at the Vineyard
  4. What Noah Saw in the Wine

The First Thing He Did on Dry Ground

The water was gone. The sky was clear. The ground under Noah's feet was real ground after a year of floating. His family had survived. The animals were dispersing into the new world. The covenant had been made, the rainbow hung in the sky, and everything was beginning again from nothing.

Noah planted a vineyard.

The commentators who noticed this could not let it pass as an incidental detail about a man who liked wine. The tradition asked: why this first? Why not grain, not a house, not an altar? Why, in the first act of the post-Flood world, does the father of the new humanity put a vine in the ground?

The Vine That Came Through the Ark

The answer begins before the Flood. When Adam was expelled from the Garden of Eden, the tradition says he did not leave entirely empty-handed. He took a cutting. Not fruit, not a tree, but a small piece of the vine that had grown in the Garden, the vine whose fruit had been pressed into the wine of the divine table, the vine connected to everything that had happened in Paradise. He carried it out through the gate and tended it in the world outside.

Through the generations the vine was passed down, cutting to cutting, generation to generation, through the antediluvian line of the righteous. Noah received it. It was one of the things he took onto the ark, small enough to carry, precious enough to save from the waters that were coming to destroy everything else. For the year of the Flood, the vine from Eden floated with Noah above the drowned world.

When he planted it on dry ground, he was not beginning fresh. He was replanting Paradise. The connection was unbroken: the vine in the ground at Ararat was the same vine that had been in the Garden at the beginning. The post-Flood world's first vineyard was Eden's only surviving agricultural heir.

Satan at the Vineyard

The moment Noah began to plant, a figure appeared beside him: Satan, the heavenly Accuser, not acting against divine permission but always present at the moment of human beginnings, always watching to see what the new attempt will do. Satan asked Noah what he was planting. Noah said: a vineyard. Satan asked if he could become Noah's partner in it. Noah asked what Satan would contribute. Satan said: I will bring the blood of a lamb, a lion, an ape, and a pig, and water the vine with it.

The offer described the progression of drunkenness. The first cup makes a man gentle as a lamb. The second cup makes him bold as a lion. The third cup makes him foolish as an ape. The fourth cup makes him wallow like a pig. Satan was not describing a curse. He was describing what he had observed about wine's effect on human beings across all the generations before the Flood. He was offering to formalize what was already true. Noah accepted the partnership, whether knowingly or not, and the tradition records that this is why wine has the power it has: the blood of those four creatures is in every vine.

What Noah Saw in the Wine

When Noah pressed the first grapes and drank, what he saw was not simply intoxication. Several strands of tradition record that he saw a vision of the end of days. He saw the messianic age. He saw what the world would look like after the final accounting, after the covenant had been fully realized, after the kings of the nations had been judged and the scattered people gathered. He saw all of it at once in the fire of the Eden vine's first wine.

It was too much. He was not ready for it. He stripped off his clothes and lay naked in his tent, undone by the vision, unable to contain what had been shown to him. The prophecy had arrived faster than the prophet could absorb it. What looked from outside the tent like a drunk man sprawled in shame was, in the tradition's telling, a seer overwhelmed by what his own planting had given him to see.


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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 4:4Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Why Noah Had Two Names.

The name Noah wasn't the only one he went by. According to Legends of the Jews, a monumental compilation of Jewish folklore by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, Noah's grandfather, Methuselah, had a different name for him: Menahem.

Why two names? Well, Ginzberg tells us that Noah's generation was deep into sorcery, and Methuselah feared that if his grandson's true name was known, he might be targeted by dark magic. So, he kept the name Noah a secret.

Menahem, meaning "Comforter," was fitting in its own right. It hinted at Noah's potential role: a consoler, a bringer of hope, if only the wicked people of his time would turn away from their evil ways. Wouldn't that be something? If only humanity had listened.

The idea that Noah would bring consolation and deliverance wasn't just wishful thinking, either. Some traditions suggest it was apparent from the very moment of his birth.

Remember the curse God placed on the ground after Adam's sin? "Cursed is the ground for thy sake" (Genesis 3:17). Adam, ever the curious one, asked how long this curse would last. God's answer, according to legend, was intriguing: "Until a man child shall be born whose conformation is such that the rite of circumcision need not be practiced upon him."

And who was born already circumcised? You guessed it: Noah.

The implications are huge. This detail, found in sources like Pirkei De-Rabbi Eliezer, suggests that Noah was destined for greatness, set apart from birth. He was seen as a potential redeemer, a figure who could alleviate the suffering brought about by Adam's transgression. A light in the darkness.

It makes you think about the weight of expectation placed upon individuals, doesn't it? To be born with such a purpose, such a potential to change the course of history. It’s a powerful reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope can emerge in the most unexpected ways, sometimes in the form of a baby born already marked for something… more. Maybe even we have a little Menahem in us, waiting to bring comfort to the world.

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Bereshit Rabbah 34:13Bereshit Rabbah

The very beginning of that relationship, after the flood, is what Specifically, the verses in Genesis 9 that deal with what we can and cannot do in this new world. These verses might seem straightforward At first, but they open up into a whole world of interpretation.

So, what does this all mean? The rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic commentary) are all over this! Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of early rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, dedicates a whole section to unpacking these seemingly contradictory verses.

Rabbi Yosei bar Aivu, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, offers a fascinating perspective. He suggests that Adam, the first man, wasn't actually given these specific instructions about not eating a limb torn from a living animal. Why? Because, as it wasn't permitted for him to eat meat for pleasure at all, such a prohibition would have been irrelevant. However, the descendants of Noah, who were permitted to eat meat, received this command. It's a subtle but crucial distinction. It speaks to a shift in humanity's relationship with the animal kingdom after the flood, a new set of responsibilities that came with the expanded permission.

The story doesn't end there. (Genesis 9:5) takes an even darker turn: "But I will demand your blood of your lives; from every beast I will demand it, and from man; from every man for his brother, I will demand the life of man." This verse introduces the concept of accountability, not just for murder, but potentially even for suicide.

The Midrash sees this verse as a prohibition against suicide. The word "akh" (but, surely, only), is interpreted as an exclusionary term. This is interpreted to mean that while suicide is generally forbidden, there might be circumstances where taking one's own life is permitted. The rabbis immediately jump to examples: What about Saul, who took his own life to avoid torture and desecration by the Philistines (I Samuel 31:4)? Or Ḥananya, Mishael, and Azarya, who were willing to give up their lives rather than commit idolatry (Daniel 3:17)? The inclusion of the word "akh" implies there are exceptions, highlighting the complexities of life, death, and free will.

The Midrash doesn't stop at suicide. It also extends the interpretation of "From every beast" to include someone who knowingly puts another person in harm's way, like throwing them to a wild animal. Even if they didn't directly commit the act of murder, they are still held accountable. And "From every man for his brother" is interpreted as someone who hires others to commit murder. God will demand justice from any man or beast that kills a human.

But then, things take a turn toward history and the future. "From every beast I will demand it" is interpreted as referring to the four kingdoms that would subjugate Israel until the coming of the Messiah, a concept drawn from the Book of Daniel chapter 2. "From man [adam], from every man for his brother" is equated with Esau, also known as Edom, the ancestor of the Romans, drawing a parallel from (Genesis 32:12). And finally, "I will demand the life of man" is seen as referring to Israel, who were constantly being killed by the Romans.

These interpretations, found in Bereshit Rabbah, transform these seemingly simple verses into a profound meditation on responsibility, justice, and the enduring struggle of the Jewish people. We find ourselves confronted with challenging questions about free will, accountability, and the meaning of life itself. It reminds us that the words of the Torah are not static pronouncements, but rather living texts that continue to speak to us across the ages. They invite us to confront their complexities, to wrestle with their meanings, and ultimately, to find our own place within their timeless wisdom.

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Legends of the Jews 4:82Legends of the Jews

The familiar story centers on Noah, the ark, and the animals. But what happened after the waters receded? Did life just magically reset?

Well, according to the Legends of the Jews, compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, it was Noah's job to pick up the pieces and try to rebuild civilization. He wasn't just building houses; he was building a moral code.

Being Noah. You’ve just witnessed the utter destruction of the world. Your family is all that's left. The weight of the world – literally – is on your shoulders. What do you do? You teach. You preach. You warn.

Noah, according to the legends, didn't just send his kids out into the world and say, "Good luck!". He actively tried to instill in them the laws and commandments he knew. He specifically warned them against the very sins that had brought about the flood in the first place: sexual immorality, impurity, and general wickedness.

He saw the seeds of discord already sprouting. He rebuked them for living separately, for their jealousies. He feared that after he was gone, these petty squabbles would escalate into something far more terrible: bloodshed. And that, he warned them, would lead to their own annihilation, just like those who came before. Talk about pressure!

But there was more to it than just avoiding the bad. Noah also passed on a specific law about fruit trees. He told them that for the first three years, the fruit of a tree was not to be used. And even in the fourth year, the fruit was to be reserved for the priests, with a portion offered as a sacrifice to God. This law, which sounds so specific, speaks to a larger principle: patience, respect for the land, and honoring the Divine.

And where did Noah get these teachings? He wasn’t just making them up as he went along! He traced them back through the generations.

"For thus did Enoch, your ancestor, exhort his son Methuselah, and Methuselah his son Lamech, and Lamech delivered all unto me as his father had bidden him, and now I do exhort you, my children, as Enoch exhorted his son."

It’s a beautiful image, isn't it? A chain of tradition, stretching back through the generations, a living evidence of the importance of passing down wisdom and values. Enoch, who lived in the seventh generation of humanity, commanded and testified to these principles to his descendants until the very day he died.

So, what does this tell us? It reminds us that rebuilding after devastation isn't just about physical structures. It's about rebuilding a moral framework, about learning from the past, and about passing on those lessons to the future. Noah's task wasn't just to repopulate the earth; it was to ensure that humanity didn't repeat its mistakes. And that, my friends, is a lesson that resonates just as powerfully today.

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