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The Word Hamas Held Three Sins That Flooded Earth

Before the rain, the earth filled with hamas. Rabbi Levi heard idolatry, bloodshed, and sexual ruin in one word, and only Noah found favor.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Three Crimes in Four Letters
  2. Noah Alone Finds Favor
  3. When the Head Falls, the Body Follows
  4. Leaving the Ark Under Orders

The decree did not begin with rain. It began with a word that filled the earth until the earth itself seemed sick of standing. Hamas, violence, wrong, the crush of one body against another until law becomes a joke told by the strong.

The Word Hamas Held Three Sins That Flooded Earth Click for full size

Rabbi Levi refused to leave the word thin. In ḥamas he heard three ruins braided into one. Idolatry. Sexual immorality. Bloodshed. One Hebrew sound carrying three ways a world ends while still looking busy.

Three Crimes in Four Letters

He tied each strand to Scripture. Idolatry, where a land fills with hamas and the prophet sees abominations in the Temple courts (Ezekiel 8:17). Bloodshed and sexual chaos, the twin engines that make neighbors into prey. The generation did not merely steal. It reorganized reality around appetite and force until the ground cried harder than the victims could.

Creation's early map already held warnings. Emptiness and disorder pointed toward Adam's fall. Disorder pointed toward Cain. Darkness toward the generation of Enosh that profaned the Name. The flood generation was not a surprise ending. It was the chapter where the pattern stopped being local.

Noah Alone Finds Favor

In that thick air, Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord (Genesis 6:8). Favor is not a slogan. It is the difference between a sealed door and a sky that will not stop. Philo's reading presses on why grace attaches to one man when a civilization rots. Righteousness in a generation is not average behavior. It is resistance that looks lonely until the water proves the loneliness was the point.

Noah built while neighbors laughed. Pitch sealed what sermons could not. The ark was not a metaphor first. It was lumber, cubits, and the smell of animals that did not yet know they were survivors.

When the Head Falls, the Body Follows

Why did all flesh die, beasts with humans? One parable answers like a battlefield. When a king falls, the army's strength collapses with him. Humanity was the head of the living world. When the head was judged, the body could not keep its own purpose. Animals created for human service do not continue a festival after the banquet hall burns.

Another image is a body with its head severed. Vital organs may still be warm for a moment. They do not remain a person. The flood did not only punish private sins. It withdrew the world that those sins had already hollowed out.

Leaving the Ark Under Orders

When the waters fell, exit was not casual. The Hebrew of "take out" carries a reading of coercion. Some creatures preferred the floating cage to a washed earth. They were not to teem inside the ark. Life after judgment came with rules as strict as the voyage. Blood was forbidden as food. Boundaries rewritten for a second beginning.

Noah stepped onto mud that had been mountains and cities. The word hamas still existed in human mouths. The rain had not deleted the alphabet of violence. It had shown what that alphabet costs when heaven stops arguing and starts flooding.

Rain that begins as judgment does not fall like ordinary weather. Windows of heaven and fountains of the deep opened on a world that had already flooded itself with force. Noah's family heard wood strain. Outside, the three crimes braided in hamas lost their markets and their temples in the same dark hour. Favor is a small word for a sealed door while a civilization sinks.

When the ark finally rested, the rules waiting on the mud were not a return to the old free-for-all. Blood stayed forbidden. Boundaries stayed loud. The second world began under stricter speech because the first world had died of loose violence.

Idolatry teaches a person to bow to what he made. Bloodshed teaches him to erase a face. Sexual ruin teaches him to treat bodies as unlocked doors. Rabbi Levi heard all three inside hamas because the flood generation did not specialize. It ran the full curriculum of force until the earth filed a complaint heaven could not ignore.

Noah's favor did not make him popular. It made him a builder in a town that preferred noise. When the parable says the head's fall kills the body, it means human corruption is never only human. The world arranged around our rule shares our sentence. The ark's sealed wood was the narrow exception, not the new normal of easy pardon.

When the animals finally left, some had to be forced from the dark comfort of the hull. Teem on the earth, the command said, not inside the boat. Noah's altar smoke rose over mud that remembered cities. The three strands of hamas had drowned with their markets, yet the prohibition of blood still needed saying, as if violence might try to relearn speech on a clean planet.


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From the tradition

Sources

5 sources

The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Bereshit Rabbah 31:6Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis, digs into this very question. It focuses on the word ḥamas (חָמָס), often translated as "injustice" or "violence," and unpacks its deeper meaning in the context of Noah’s flood.

Rabbi Levi offers a fascinating interpretation: ḥamas isn't just one thing, but a cluster of transgressions. He says, ḥamas encompasses idolatry, sexual immorality, and bloodshed. Pretty serious stuff. Rabbi Levi doesn’t just pull these interpretations out of thin air. He anchors them in scripture. When he says ḥamas refers to idolatry, he points to (Ezekiel 8:17), which says "As they filled the earth with ḥamas." If you look at the context there, Ezekiel is condemning the rampant idolatry practiced by the Israelites. So, one facet of ḥamas, the thing that filled the earth, was the worship of false gods.

Next, Rabbi Levi connects ḥamas to sexual immorality. He cites (Jeremiah 51:35): "The ḥamas done to me and my flesh is upon Babylon.” Now, this is a little more subtle, but the implication is that the violence and injustice being lamented is connected to sexual transgression.

Finally, bloodshed. For this, Rabbi Levi turns to (Joel 4:19), where it speaks of the "ḥamas against the children of Judah, that they shed innocent blood." Here, the connection is direct and undeniable: ḥamas is the shedding of innocent blood.

So, what are we left with? According to this reading in Bereshit Rabbah, the world before the flood wasn’t just generally bad. It was specifically plagued by idolatry, sexual immorality, and bloodshed. And of course, ḥamas is also understood in its plain and simple meaning: injustice.

Why is this important? Because it gives us a more nuanced understanding of the Flood narrative. It's not just a cosmic temper tantrum. It's a response to a world that has become deeply corrupted on multiple levels. It’s a world where the very fabric of society has been torn apart by these specific transgressions.

It forces us to ask ourselves: Are these same forms of ḥamas still present in our world today? And if so, what is our responsibility to address them? Maybe the story of the Flood isn’t just an ancient myth, but a timeless warning.

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Bereshit Rabbah 2:3Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It sees echoes of the very first moments of creation rippling through time, playing out in the lives of individuals and entire generations.

Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, in Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Genesis, offers a powerful interpretation of the opening verses. He doesn’t just see a description of the physical creation; he sees a blueprint for the spiritual and moral struggles of humanity.

"The earth was emptiness and disorder" – tohu vavohu in Hebrew. Rabbi Yehuda says this represents Adam, the first human. Adam, in his initial innocence, succumbs to temptation and brings oblivion, a kind of nothingness, into the world.

“And disorder” – this, shockingly, is Cain. Cain, in his jealousy, commits the first murder, seeking to return the world to that original state of chaos, that tohu vavohu.

“And darkness” – this is the generation of Enosh. Remember them? The Torah tells us that they "profaned God’s name" (Genesis 4:26). Bereshit Rabbah (23:7) elaborates, connecting them to the verse in Isaiah (29:15): "Their actions are in the dark and they say: Who sees us and who knows of us?" They thought they were hidden, but their actions cast a shadow.

“Upon the face of the depths” – this, of course, is the generation of the Flood. The text explicitly links it to (Genesis 7:11): “On that day all the wellsprings of the great depths were breached.” The world was literally submerged in chaos and destruction.

“And the spirit [ruaḥ] of God was hovering over the surface of the water” – here, the tradition sees a connection to the Flood again, but this time with a glimmer of hope. It references (Genesis 8:1): “God passed a wind [ruaḥ] over the earth.” The ruaḥ, the spirit or wind, is both a symbol of the Flood's destructive power and of God's potential for renewal.

‘Until when will the world conduct itself in darkness?’ The text clarifies that this darkness refers to the darkness of idol worship. ‘Let some light come.’ And that’s where Abraham enters the picture.

“God said: Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3) – “this is Abraham.” Isn't that a profound idea? Abraham as the light emerging from the darkness? The midrash connects this to (Isaiah 41:2): “Who roused [he’ir] righteousness from the east?” But there’s a clever wordplay here. the verse says: Do not read it as he’ir (הֵעִיר) spelled with an ayin, meaning "roused." Instead, read it as he’ir (הֵאִיר) spelled with an aleph, meaning "illuminated." Abraham, the one who brings light!

The interpretation continues with Jacob and Esau, drawing parallels to the phrases "God called the light, Day, and the darkness, He called Night. It was evening and it was morning, one day" (Genesis 1:5).

“God called the light, Day” – “this is Jacob.” “And the darkness, He called Night” – “this is Esau.” The text continues: “It was evening” – “this is Esau”; “and it was morning” – “this is Jacob.” It breaks it down further: “It was evening” – “the evening of Esau”; “and it was morning” – “the morning of Jacob.” It’s a cyclical view of history, where power shifts between these opposing forces.

Finally, the midrash offers a glimpse of hope: “One day” – as it is stated: “There will be one day, it will be known to the Lord, that is not day and not night…” (Zechariah 14:7). This "one day" alludes to the ultimate redemption, when Jacob’s ascendance over Esau will be asserted. Or, alternatively, it's interpreted as Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, a day when, even in this world, there is light for Jacob and darkness for the forces of evil.

So, what does all this mean? It suggests that the struggles we face today are not new. They are echoes of ancient conflicts, reflections of the very first moments of creation. But it also offers hope. We just need to choose to be the light.

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Bereshit Rabbah 34:8Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It is often remembered as a storybook tale, but the details, as the Torah and later rabbinic interpretations reveal, are surprisingly strict.

The verse in (Genesis 8:17) commands Noah to "take out every living being" so they can "teem on the earth." But the Rabbis in Bereshit Rabbah, a classical collection of Rabbinic homilies on the Book of Genesis, noticed something peculiar about the Hebrew. The word "take out" (from the root y-tz-a) is written hotze, but read haitze. This subtle difference, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests, isn't accidental. Hotze would mean "take them out peacefully," whereas haitze implies a degree of…coercion. Could it be that some of the animals weren't exactly thrilled to leave their temporary floating home?

Here's another fascinating point: "They will teem on the earth," the verse continues, "but not in the ark." The animals, apparently, were under strict instructions to not procreate during their voyage! Imagine the challenges of enforcing that rule! It wasn't exactly a romantic cruise, more like a carefully managed survival mission.

The regulations didn't end when they disembarked. (Genesis 8:19) tells us, "Every beast, every crawling creature and every bird, every creature that crawls on the earth, by their families, emerged from the ark.” Rabbi Aivu, quoted in Bereshit Rabbah, points out that the Hebrew word for "crawls," romess, is unusually spelled with an extra vav. This, he says, excludes hybrids. In other words, Noah and his sons were being commanded to keep the animal species pure and distinct. According to this interpretation, cross-breeding animals was forbidden even for the descendants of Noah – the B'nei Noach.

And that's not all! The phrase "by their families" excludes castration, according to the Midrash. So, not only were the animals to be kept pure, they were also to be allowed to reproduce naturally.

This brings us to the Seven Laws of Noah, the commandments given to Noah and his descendants, which apply to all of humanity, not just Jews. What were these laws? Well, the Midrash lists them: abstaining from idol worship, sexual immorality, bloodshed, blasphemy, robbery, and eating a limb torn from a living animal. Rabbi Hanina ben Gamliel adds drinking blood from a living animal. Rabbi Eliezer adds producing hybrids and Rabbi Yochanan ben Beroka adds castration.

But the list doesn’t end there. Rabbi Assi broadens the scope considerably. He suggests that the descendants of Noah were commanded regarding everything in (Deuteronomy 18:10-11), which includes divination, interpreting omens, sorcery, and more. Why? Because, as (Deuteronomy 18:12) states, the Canaanites were driven out of the land for practicing these abominations! The implication is clear: these acts were forbidden to them, and by extension, to all of humanity descended from Noah.

So, what does all of this tell us? It reveals a complex and nuanced understanding of our relationship with the animal kingdom. It wasn't just about saving them from the flood; it was about preserving their integrity, respecting their natural processes, and upholding a moral code that extends to all people. It’s a reminder that even in the earliest stories of humanity, there are deep ethical considerations about how we interact with the world around us. What responsibility do we have, as descendants of Noah, to uphold these principles today?

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The Midrash of Philo 8:1The Midrash of Philo

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Works of Philo Judaeus, trans. C. D. Yonge, London, H. G. Bohn, 1854-1890 · Public Domain

The Midrash of Philo asks: Why is it afterwards said that Noah found grace in the sight of the Lord? (Genesis 6:8).

The source holds the question. It does not invent Noah's merits beyond the verse's claim.

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The Midrash of Philo 17:5The Midrash of Philo

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Works of Philo Judaeus, trans. C. D. Yonge, London, H. G. Bohn, 1854-1890 · Public Domain

The verse in question, from (Genesis 6:13), states that "all things which existed upon the earth shall be consumed." But why? The text grapples with this apparent injustice.

One explanation rests on the idea of a kingdom and its ruler. Just as the military's strength collapses with the death of its sovereign, so too does the animal kingdom suffer when humanity, its "sovereign," falls. Think of it like this: when a plague strikes, the animals closest to us, our dogs and companions, often succumb first, followed by humans. It’s a chilling image of interconnected fate.

Another analogy compares humanity to the head of a body. If the head is severed, the rest of the body, no matter how vital, perishes along with it. Humanity, as the "head" of the animal kingdom, drags everything down with it in its destruction. It's a stark and somewhat unsettling way to view our relationship with the natural world.

Perhaps the most compelling explanation lies in the purpose of animals themselves. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests that animals were created not for their own sake, but to serve humanity, to be used for our benefit and glory. Therefore, when humanity is destroyed, the very reason for the animals' existence vanishes, making their destruction a logical, if harsh, consequence. Ginzberg, in his monumental Legends of the Jews, echoes this sentiment when discussing the divine rationale for the flood.The Midrash offers a deeper, more spiritual interpretation. It suggests that the flood represents a deluge of vices that overwhelms the soul. Just as the physical world is destroyed by the flood, so too is the "earthly" part of ourselves – our bodies – destroyed by wickedness. A life consumed by wrongdoing is a living death. Our eyes "perish" because they see wrongly, our ears because they hear wrongly, and our entire sensory experience becomes corrupted.

This idea resonates with teachings found throughout Jewish tradition. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the flood wasn’t just about punishing bad deeds; it was about cleansing the world to allow for a new beginning.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that our actions have far-reaching consequences, not just for ourselves but for the entire world around us. It challenges us to consider our responsibility towards the environment and to live in a way that honors the interconnectedness of all living things. And maybe, just maybe, it encourages us to strive for a life where our "eyes see rightly" and our "ears hear rightly," so that we don't contribute to the "deluge of vices" that can ultimately consume us all.

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