It wasn't exactly smooth sailing, if you'll pardon the pun.

According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, things got a bit…complicated. Ham, you see, was not thrilled about his father's curse. So he did what any self-respecting, slightly disgruntled son would do: he packed up his family and moved out. He built his own city, naming it Neelatamauk after his wife. Japheth, not wanting to be outdone, followed suit, building Adataneses after his own wife. Only Shem stayed put, building his city, Zedeketelbab, near his father, remaining loyal. These three cities, we're told, were all near Mount Lubar, the very mountain where the ark had rested. Imagine, if you will, these first post-flood settlements, clustered around the ark's landing site like spokes on a wheel.

Noah, understandably, was concerned. He tried his best to pass down the wisdom he had, warning his descendants against the sins that had led to the flood in the first place – fornication, uncleanness, and all forms of iniquity. He pleaded with them to avoid jealousy and strife, fearing they'd repeat the mistakes of the past and descend into violence. "Don't be annihilated from the earth like those that went before!" he urged. He even passed down laws about not using the fruit of a tree for the first three years, a law mirroring agricultural practices meant to honor the land. He reminded them of the teachings of Enoch, passed down through generations: "When he lived, in his generation, which was the seventh generation of man, he commanded it and testified it unto his children and his children's children, until the day of his death."

But how do you divide up an entire world?

The story goes that in the year 1569 after creation, Noah, with the help of an angel, divided the earth among his three sons by lot. Each son drew a slip of paper, and Shem landed the middle of the earth, a portion blessed to remain his descendants' forever. Noah rejoiced, seeing this as fulfillment of his earlier blessing: "And God in the habitation of Shem." This, we’re told, is because three holy places – the Holy of Holies in the Temple, Mount Sinai, and Mount Zion – all fell within Shem’s territory. Ham got the south (hot!), Japheth the north (cold!). Shem’s land, as you might guess, was a mix of both.

This division, by the way, happened towards the end of the life of Peleg. Ever wonder about that name, Peleg? Well, his father, Eber, a prophet, knew the earth would be divided in his son's time. Peleg in Hebrew means "division"! His brother was named Joktan, because the lifespan of humans was shortened in his time. Names in the Bible, and in Jewish tradition, are rarely arbitrary. They often carry profound meaning.

Each son, in turn, divided his portion among his children. Noah, ever the worried patriarch, threatened a curse on anyone who tried to grab land that wasn't theirs. And they all cried, "So be it! So be it!" Imagine the scene: seventy-two nations, each with its own language and culture, spreading out across the globe. Forty-four lands to Japheth, thirty-four to Ham, and twenty-six to Shem. And languages and writing systems to match! Shem even got an extra set of written characters: Hebrew.

Interestingly, the land eventually promised to the twelve sons of Jacob – the land of Israel – was provisionally granted to other nations, tasked with caring for it until the "rightful owners" arrived.

But here's where it gets even more interesting. With the new world order established, unclean spirits started causing trouble. Upon Noah's plea, God sent the angel Raphael to banish most of them, leaving just a tenth for Mastema to punish sinners. But get this: Raphael, with the help of the chief of the unclean spirits (talk about an unlikely alliance!), revealed to Noah all the remedies hidden within plants. It's like divine damage control! Noah, being the responsible guy he was, recorded all of this in a book, which he then passed down to Shem. According to the tradition, this book became the source for all medical knowledge, influencing the wise men of India, Aram, Macedonia, and Egypt. Think about that – a single book, passed down from father to son, shaping the course of medicine for millennia!

The sages of India focused on trees and spices, the Arameans on grains and seeds, and the Macedonians were the first to apply medical knowledge practically. The Egyptians? They went the magic and astrology route, studying the Midrash of the Chaldees.

The story even touches on Aesculapius, the legendary Macedonian physician, who, along with forty magicians, journeyed to the edge of Paradise in search of the tree of life. They were hoping to spread their fame throughout the world. Alas, their quest ended in flames, literally. They found the healing trees, but when they reached out to take them, lightning struck them down, wiping out all medical knowledge. It wasn't until the time of Artaxerxes that medicine revived, thanks to figures like Hippocrates, Dioscorides, Galen, and the Hebrew Asaph.

So, what does it all mean? It's a story about inheritance, responsibility, and the enduring power of knowledge. It's about how even after a cataclysmic event like the flood, human nature – both good and bad – persists. It shows us that even in the face of immense challenges, the pursuit of knowledge, healing, and connection remains a constant thread in the human story. And maybe, just maybe, it reminds us that even the most unlikely sources can offer wisdom, if we're willing to listen.