to a fascinating little exploration from Bereshit Rabbah 23, where they unpack the Hebrew word huḥal (הוחל), meaning "then commenced."
The discussion kicks off with Rabbi Simon, who makes a rather bold claim: that in three key places in the Torah, the word huḥal isn't just neutral. It’s actually "an expression of rebellion!" Talk about loaded language! Where do we find these rebellious commencements?
First, there’s the verse, "Then commenced the proclaiming of the name of the Lord" (Genesis 4:26). Rabbi Simon, as it's further explained, believes the generation of Enosh wasn't exactly praising God. Instead, they were using God's name to desecrate it, to rebel against Him. Bold interpretation. Next, we have, "it was when man began" (Genesis 6:1), referring to the lead-up to the Flood. Think about what was happening then: "The children of the great men saw the daughters of man, that they were fair, and they took for themselves wives, from whomever they chose" (Genesis 6:2). Not exactly a picture of piety and obedience!
Finally, there's Nimrod, of whom it is written, "he began to be a mighty one in the earth" (Genesis 10:8). Nimrod, in Jewish tradition, is pretty much the poster child for tyrannical ambition and defiance of God.
But then, a challenge! What about the verse, "This is what they began to do" (Genesis 11:6), referring to the builders of the Tower of Babel? Isn't that also a rebellion?
Rabbi Simon has an answer. He essentially argues that the rebellion of the Tower of Babel and the rebellion led by Nimrod are one and the same. It all goes back to Nimrod's instigation. Sneaky. So, three rebellions it is.
Rabbi Levi then chimes in with a powerful analogy. He likens the generation of the Tower of Babel to a woman who dreams her husband is divorcing her. The husband responds, "Why in a dream? Here it is for you in reality!" The generation feared dispersion (Genesis 11:4), and, well, they got exactly what they feared. Sometimes, anticipating a negative outcome almost... invites it?
And Rav Aḥa adds another layer. He says that the generation of Enosh made idols and called them by God's name! "You made idolatrous objects of yourselves and called your own names as divinities." That's what's really meant by "then commenced the proclaiming of the name of the Lord.” It was idolatry. And what was God's response? "I, too, will call the seawater by My name and eradicate those people from the world." (to act as my agent). Pretty harsh stuff.
Rabbi Abahu then brings the discussion to the ocean itself. The ocean, he says, is higher than the rest of the world. Rabbi Elazar ben Menaḥem backs him up with a verse from Amos (5:8): "He who calls forth the water of the sea and pours it upon the face of the earth." It’s poured from above to below, implying the sea is higher!
And it gets even more intense. The verse "Who calls forth the water of the sea" appears twice (also in Amos 9:6), corresponding to the two times the sea rose up and flooded the world! Once in the generation of Enosh, and again in the generation of the Dispersion (Jerusalem Talmud, Shekalim 6:2).
The Rabbis then debate just how far the water reached each time. Opinions vary. Rabbi Yudan, Rabbi Abahu, and Rabbi Elazar in the name of Rabbi Ḥanina say the first time it reached Akko and Yafo, and the second time to the rocky peaks overlooking the Barbary Coast. Rabbi Ḥananya and Rabbi Aḥa in the name of Rabbi Ḥanina flip that. Rabbi Elazar says it reached Calabria the first time, and the Barbary Coast the second.
They even bring in a verse from Job (38:11): "I said: You shall come this far and not continue, and here the foam of your waves will be set." They interpret "this far" as Akko, and ufo, meaning "here," as Yafo. A clever play on words!
So, what do we take away from all this? It's more than just a linguistic exercise. It's a reminder that words have power. That actions have consequences. And that sometimes, the things we fear the most are the very things we bring upon ourselves. And also, perhaps, a reminder to be mindful of the intentions behind our actions, even when we're using seemingly "holy" language. Are we truly honoring the Divine, or are we, in some subtle way, rebelling? It's a question worth pondering.