It's usually translated as "also," "indeed," or even "moreover." Seems harmless enough. But according to Rabbi Ḥanina ben Sansan, that seemingly innocent word, when uttered with a certain… intention, becomes a harbinger of doom. He points out four instances in the Torah and Tanakh where the speaker begins a statement with af and then meets a rather unpleasant end. And these aren’t just any speakers.

Who are these unfortunate souls? First, we have the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Remember that fateful conversation? As Bereshit Rabbah 19 points out, the serpent sidles up to Eve and purrs, "Did [af] God actually say…?" (Genesis 3:1). That little word, dripping with doubt and manipulation, sets in motion the entire story of the Fall. It's the initial crack in paradise, the subtle undermining of divine authority.

Then there's the baker, languishing in prison alongside Joseph. He's had a dream, a disturbing one, and he desperately wants Joseph's interpretation. "I, too [af], in my dream…" he says (Genesis 40:16). While we might feel sympathy for the baker, his use of af here, according to Rabbi Ḥanina ben Sansan, seals his fate. He's ultimately impaled, just as Joseph predicted.

Next, we encounter the rebellious congregation of Korah. They're challenging Moses and Aaron’s leadership, stirring up dissent in the Israelite camp. Their complaint? "Moreover, [af] not to a land flowing with milk and honey have you brought us…" (Numbers 16:14). They accuse Moses of failing to deliver on God's promise, and that "moreover," that af, becomes their undoing. The earth swallows them whole, a dramatic demonstration of divine displeasure.

Finally, we have Haman, the villain of the Purim story. Flush with power and consumed by hatred for Mordechai, he boasts to his wife and friends, "Moreover, [af] Esther did not bring anyone else with the king to the feast that she prepared but me" (Esther 5:12). He sees himself as indispensable, favored, but that af is his downfall. He’s soon hanging on the very gallows he built for Mordechai.

So, what’s going on here? Is it simply the word af itself that's cursed? Or is there something deeper at play? Perhaps it's the arrogance, the defiance, the underlying negativity that accompanies the word in these specific instances. It’s not just that they said "also" or "moreover," but that they said it with a heart full of something… rotten. : each of these figures is in a position of challenging or undermining divine order. The serpent questions God’s word, the baker presumptuously seeks to understand his fate, Korah’s congregation challenges God-ordained leadership, and Haman, well, he’s just pure evil.

Is there a lesson for us here? Maybe it’s about the power of language, the subtle ways in which our words can reveal our intentions and, ultimately, shape our destiny. Maybe it’s a reminder to be mindful of the spirit behind our words, to ensure that they are rooted in humility, gratitude, and respect. Maybe it’s a warning against arrogance and the dangers of questioning divine authority.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a fascinating little tidbit of Jewish folklore, a reminder that even the smallest word can have enormous consequences. Either way, it certainly gives you something to think about the next time you reach for that "also" or "moreover" in a sentence, doesn’t it?