Parshat Noach5 min read

The Two Crimes Bereshit Rabbah Says Drowned the World

Leaders seized brides at weddings. Everyone else stole less than a small coin. Both crimes together sealed the flood verdict.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Crime That Could Not Be Prosecuted
  2. What the Sons of the Judges Did at Weddings
  3. Why Both Crimes Were Needed to Drown the World
  4. What the Delay Cost Them

The Crime That Could Not Be Prosecuted

The judges of the generation before the flood sat in a city that ran on theft so precisely calculated it was untouchable. If a man's field held cucumbers, the people of the town would come through and each take one cucumber less than the value that allowed a legal complaint. The law required a minimum. They stayed under it. Each took less than a perutah, the smallest denomination of coin. No single theft was actionable. The aggregate destroyed a man's harvest.

This was not improvised wickedness. It was organized. Someone had worked out the threshold, and the whole town knew what it was and used it. The flood generation had not collapsed into primitive chaos. They had become sophisticated. They had turned the legal system into a protection for predators who understood its minimum floor.

Bereshit Rabbah calls this the second crime. It was widespread, ordinary, practiced across the whole society. The first crime was worse and confined to the top.

What the Sons of the Judges Did at Weddings

Genesis 6:2 says the sons of the great ones took the daughters of man, from whomever they chose. Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai refused to let that verse be translated as "sons of God." He cursed any Aramaic translator who used the divine equivalent. The phrase is not about fallen angels. It is about powerful men and what they did with their power.

The rabbis read benei haelohim as sons of the judges, drawing on Exodus 22, where judges are called elohim because they exercise the authority of judgment. The sons of the judges saw the daughters of commoners at their weddings and took them. The midrash specifies the mechanics: on the wedding night, before the groom came to his bride, the judge's son came first. The language the rabbis use is precise and ugly. The first intercourse is with the great man's son. The husband receives what remains.

The one hundred and twenty years of warning Noah's generation received, before the flood came, were not punishment delayed. They were time given for repentance. The generation took the time and continued both crimes until they became ordinary. The stolen cucumbers and the stolen brides both became the texture of normal life.

Why Both Crimes Were Needed to Drown the World

The rabbis are careful not to collapse the two crimes into one charge. They were separate offenses against separate principles. The great men's crime was sexual violation of a particular kind: the abuse of legal authority to claim access to women who were not theirs, at the moment of their most protected rite. The people's crime was economic: the systematic dismantling of a neighbor's livelihood through perfectly legal micro-theft.

Together, the crimes describe a society that had corrupted itself at every level simultaneously. Not just the leaders. Not just the masses. Both, in coordinated fashion, from the top of the social structure to the bottom. The flood, in this reading, was not a response to spectacular wickedness. It was a response to total wickedness, the kind that leaves no clean place anywhere in the culture.

The rabbis also note that 120 years of warning produced nothing. The generation planned evil all the day. They made wickedness structural. Structural wickedness, in the rabbinic reading of the flood narrative, is worse than impulsive wickedness because it requires collective cooperation to maintain. Everybody had to agree to the cucumber theft for it to function. Everybody had to accept the judge's son at their wedding night. When a whole people agrees to wrong, the individual sinner can claim he was only following custom. That excuse, the rabbis suggest, is exactly what makes the collective judgment necessary.

What the Delay Cost Them

The one hundred and twenty years are in the story as an act of divine patience, not divine indifference. Rabbi Yochanan reads Noah's building of the ark during those years as a public sign. People saw him building. They asked what he was building. He told them. He warned them. The building itself was a 120-year sermon in wood and pitch. Nobody repented.

The midrash does not soften the judgment by making the generation ignorant. They were warned. They had time. They had a visible demonstration of what was coming. The crime that sealed the verdict was not just the theft and the violation. It was the refusal of 120 years of opportunity to stop.

FloodNoahMidrash RabbahBereshit RabbahDivine JusticeLeadershipNoach
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Bereshit Rabbah 26:6Bereshit Rabbah

This week,

The verse at the heart of our discussion is (Genesis 6:3): “The Lord said: My spirit will not abide in man for eternity, for he too is flesh and his days will be one hundred and twenty years.” It’s a verse loaded with meaning, a turning point in the story of humanity right before the Flood. But what does it really mean?

The rabbis of old weren't content with a simple reading. They delved into the nuances of the Hebrew, searching for hidden layers of meaning. For instance, Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei sees this verse as a statement about the future reward of the righteous. God is saying, "I will not place My spirit in them," meaning He won’t bestow that ultimate spiritual fulfillment on the generation of the Flood. He connects it to (Ezekiel 36:27), "I will place My spirit in them," highlighting the contrast.

Then we get into a fascinating debate about Gehenna, often translated as hell. Rabbi Yanai and Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish offer a radical idea: no Gehenna! Instead, they envision a day of intense heat that burns the wicked, drawing support from (Malachi 3:19). But the Rabbis counter, citing (Isaiah 31:9), which speaks of a fire in Zion and a furnace in Jerusalem. The debate continues with Rabbi Yehuda bar Rabbi Ilai suggesting that the fire will emerge from within the wicked themselves, based on (Isaiah 33:11). What are we to make of all these conflicting views? Perhaps the point isn't the literal existence of a place, but the inevitable consequence of our actions.

The passage then explores the word yadon, "abide," in the verse. Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Ilai interprets it as a denial of judgment. The generation of the Flood won't even be resurrected for sentencing. A rather grim pronouncement! Rabbi Huna, quoting Rav Aḥa, takes it further: when God restores the spirit, He won't return their spirit to its "scabbard" (nadan), the body, as (Daniel 7:15) calls it. They're excluded from the final resurrection.

Why this harsh judgment? Rabbi Yudan ben Beteira suggests God won't judge man with a destructive flood again. Rav Huna, citing Rabbi Yosef, interprets the double "I will not continue" in (Genesis 8:21) as a promise for both Noah's sons and future generations.

Here's where it gets even more intriguing. The text suggests a link between divine control and human suffering. God laments, “I had said that My spirit would hold sway [dana] over them, but they did not want [this]; therefore, I will cause them to be entangled [meshagem] with suffering.” This “entanglement” leads to disputes and feuds, ultimately incurring the death penalty. Even animals or inanimate objects like rods and straps are held accountable if they cause death! As (Isaiah 9:3) says, "the rod that oppresses it, You have broken as on the day of Midyan." This paints a universe where even the smallest actions have profound consequences.

Rabbi Aḥa even claims that non-fruit bearing trees are destined to give a reckoning! Linking this to (Deuteronomy 20:19), "For man is like the tree of the field," the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) draws a parallel: just as humans are accountable, so are trees.

Rabbi Yehoshua bar Neḥemya offers another perspective: God won't judge their spirit separately but will shorten their lives and "entangle" them with suffering. Rabbi Aivu poses a powerful question: “Who caused them to rebel against Me, is it not because I did not cause them to be entangled [meshagem] with suffering?” Is suffering a necessary component of spiritual growth? The text even uses the analogy of a door and its hinges (shegam): just as hinges support the door, suffering supports spiritual growth.

Rabbi Elazar presents a profound idea: "Anyplace where there is no justice, there is justice." If earthly justice fails, divine justice will prevail. Rabbi Beivai, following Rabbi Elazar, interprets “My spirit will not abide [Lo yadon, ruḥi]” as: "If they do not judge [lo yadon], My spirit [ruḥi] will judge."

The passage culminates in a series of stark pronouncements. Rabbi Meir declares that because humans didn't exercise justice below, God won't exercise justice on High, opting instead for wrath and fury. Rabbi Yosei HaGelili asserts that God will judge with justice alone, without mercy. Rabbi interprets the verse as the generation of the Flood rejecting God's judgment altogether! Rabbi Akiva sees (Psalm 10:13) reflected in their actions: "Why has the wicked man mocked God, saying to himself: You will not seek?" They believed there was no justice, no Judge.

Finally, Rabbi Ḥanina bar Pappa offers a glimmer of hope: even Noah's survival wasn't solely due to his merit. God foresaw that Moses would descend from him. The numerical value of beshagam is the same as Moshe. And the verse's "one hundred and twenty years" foreshadows Moses' lifespan.

So, what do we take away from all this? It's a interplay of ideas about judgment, suffering, and divine justice. It challenges us to consider our actions, to strive for justice in this world, and to recognize that even in the face of chaos, there may be a deeper purpose at play. It's a reminder that our choices matter, not just for ourselves, but for the world around us. And perhaps, just perhaps, that even in the darkest of times, there's a seed of hope for a brighter future.

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Bereshit Rabbah 26:5Bereshit Rabbah

The verse says, "The children of the great men [benei haelohim] saw the daughters of man, that they were fair, and they took for themselves wives, from whomever they chose." Simple enough The first reading. But dig a little deeper, and you'll find layers of interpretation and moral lessons that are still relevant today.

The very term benei haelohim is itself a point of contention. Who were these “children of the great men"? Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai, a towering figure in Jewish tradition, had a very specific take. He translated the term not as "children of God," but as "children of judges." Why? Because, as Bereshit Rabbah points out, Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai used to curse anyone who literally translated it as "children of God!" In Hebrew, Elohim can mean either "God" or "judge" (Exodus 22:8). But in Aramaic, Elohaya only means "God." So a literal translation could be seen as blasphemous.

There’s more to it than just avoiding blasphemy. Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai emphasized that moral failings often start at the top. "Any breach in morals that is not begun by prominent men is not a breach," he taught. The idea is that people follow the example of their leaders. As the saying goes, "If the priests steal the idols, who will ever take an oath in their names, or who will ever sacrifice to them?"

So, if these benei haelohim weren't divine beings, why were they called that? Rabbi Ḥanina and Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish offer an explanation: it was because they lived such extraordinarily long lives, "without pain and without suffering," almost as if they were divine. Rabbi Ḥana, citing Rabbi Yosei, suggests they were granted these long lives "in order to track astronomical phenomena and [make the relevant] calculations.": the cycles of some heavenly bodies are incredibly long. You'd need a long life to observe and understand them.

But the Rabbis offer another, more sobering perspective. These long lives allowed them to accumulate a massive amount of sin, so much so that God ultimately had to bring the Flood. Future generations, witnessing the devastation, would hopefully learn from their mistakes.

The text then turns to the phrase “that they were fair [tovot].” Rabbi Yudan points out that the word is written without the usual vavs, spelling it tvt instead of tvvt. This, he says, hints at "beautification." He interprets this to mean that when a woman was adorned for her wedding, these prominent men would take advantage of her before her husband. "That they were fair [tovot]" refers to unmarried girls who were violated just before their weddings. A truly horrifying image.

And it doesn't stop there. The verse continues, "They took for themselves wives from whomever they chose.” The Rabbis see this as an indication of even further depravity. "From whomever they chose" – this refers to married women! And even more shockingly, "From whomever they chose" – this refers to males and animals! Bereshit Rabbah suggests that they also engaged in homosexuality and bestiality.

Rabbi Huna, quoting Rabbi, states that the generation of the Flood wasn't wiped out until they actually wrote marriage contracts for males and animals, essentially legalizing these abominations.

Rabbi Simlai connects sexual immorality with societal collapse, stating that "Anywhere sexual immorality is found, a chaotic catastrophe comes to the world, which kills the righteous along with the wicked." Think of the Flood, which spared only Noah and his family.

Rabbi Azarya and Rabbi Yehuda bar Rabbi Simon, citing Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, emphasize God's intense aversion to sexual immorality. "The Holy One blessed be He is slow to anger regarding everything except for sexual immorality." They point back to the verse, "The children of the great men [benei haelohim] saw…." And what follows immediately? "The Lord said: I will obliterate man" (Genesis 6:7).

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, again citing bar Pedaya, brings up the story of Lot and the people of Sodom. Lot pleaded with the angels to spare Sodom, and they were initially receptive. But when the people demanded, "Bring them out to us, that we may know them" (Genesis 19:5), meaning to have sexual relations with them, the angels turned away. They asked Lot, "Whom else do you have [here] [po]?" (Genesis 19:12), implying, "What else can possibly be in your mouth [peh] to plead in their favor?" At that point, it became impossible to defend them.

This passage in Bereshit Rabbah isn't just an ancient interpretation of a biblical verse. It's a stark warning about the dangers of unchecked power, moral decay, and the devastating consequences of sexual immorality. It reminds us that leadership carries immense responsibility, and that the choices we make, both individually and collectively, have far-reaching effects. It forces us to consider: what are the benei haelohim in our society doing, and what consequences will follow?

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Bereshit Rabbah 31:5Bereshit Rabbah

A reader can focus on the sheer scale of the destruction, but the rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), those ancient interpreters of scripture, dug deeper. They asked: what exactly was so awful that it warranted wiping out nearly all of humanity?

The answer, according to Bereshit Rabbah (31), lies in the verse, “The end [ketz] of all flesh has come [ba] before Me” (Genesis 6:13). It wasn't just that people were sinning; it was the nature of their sins. The text unpacks this verse, explaining that their “time has come to be cut off [lehikatzetz]; their time has come to become desolate [bata]; their indictment has come before Me.” A harsh judgment,. But why?

The Midrash continues, "It is 'as the earth is filled with injustice because of them.'" Okay, injustice. But what kind? What's the difference, the rabbis ask, between simple stealing and this overwhelming “injustice” [ḥamas]?

Rabbi Ḥanina offers a fascinating distinction. He says that ḥamas, in this context, refers to monetary wrongdoing involving amounts less than a peruta. Now, a peruta was a tiny, almost worthless coin. We’re talking about something so insignificant that it wouldn't even be worth taking to court.

Imagine a marketplace. Someone sets out a basket of lupin beans. One person takes a few beans, worth less than a peruta. Then another, and another. Individually, these acts are trivial. No one would bother to pursue legal action over such a small loss.

But collectively? The Midrash paints a picture of a society where petty theft has become normalized, a thousand tiny cuts bleeding the community dry. Everyone’s taking just a little bit, just enough to get away with it, creating a culture of pervasive dishonesty and erosion of trust.

The Holy One, blessed be He, says to them: ‘You acted improperly; I, too, will act improperly with you.’ The Midrash connects this behavior to the verses in Job (4:20-21): “Behold, their remnant has gone away from them, and they die without wisdom… From morning to evening they are broken; forever unnoticed [mibli mesim], forever they will perish.”

That phrase, mibli mesim, "forever unnoticed," is key. The Midrash cleverly connects the word mesim to the Hebrew word for judge (as in (Exodus 21:1), “These are the monetary ordinances that you shall place [tasim] before them”). Thus, mibli mesim can be understood as "without a judge." They made sure their crimes could never be brought before a judge, because each individual act was too small to warrant legal attention. But God sees the cumulative effect.

So, the flood wasn’t just about grand acts of wickedness. It was about the insidious, corrosive effect of petty dishonesty, the normalization of taking what isn’t rightfully yours, even if it’s just a few lupin beans. It's a chilling reminder that even seemingly insignificant actions can have profound consequences, and that true justice isn't just about punishing big crimes, but about upholding integrity in the smallest details of our lives. What kind of world are we building, one peruta at a time?

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