In the Torah, the word heḥel (הֵחֵל), meaning "began," is one of those words. It pops up in some pretty unsettling contexts.
In Bereshit Rabbah 26, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, the rabbis dig deep into the implications of this word as it appears in Genesis 6:1: “It was when man began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born to them."
Rabbi Simon points out something fascinating: this word heḥel appears in three places as "an expression of rebellion." First, we see it in Genesis 4:26: "Then commenced [huḥal] proclaiming the name of the Lord” in the generation of Enosh. Now, you might think proclaiming God's name is a good thing, right? But in this context, it's interpreted as a deviation, a turning away from the proper way to connect with the Divine.
Then, heḥel appears again in connection with Nimrod, in Genesis 10:8: "He began [heḥel] to be a mighty one in the earth." Nimrod, as we know, wasn't exactly a righteous dude. He was a tyrant, a symbol of earthly power gone awry.
Now, someone raises an objection: What about the Tower of Babel? Isn't that another example of rebellious beginning, as described in Genesis 11:6: "And this is what they have begun [haḥilam] to do"?
But Rabbi Simon is ready with an answer. He connects the rebellion of the Tower of Babel directly to Nimrod, suggesting they were one and the same. So, the three instances of heḥel as rebellion stand. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Nimrod was even struck on the head for inciting the people to rebel (Ginzberg, Legends, Vol. 1, "The Dispersion of Mankind").
So what was so bad about humanity multiplying and having daughters? Bereshit Rabbah doesn't shy away from some pretty harsh interpretations. It suggests that "they would spill their seed on trees and stones," a euphemism for sexual depravity. Because of this rampant profligacy, God increased the number of women, supposedly hoping that more women would curb these unnatural desires. Hence, the verse: "It was when man began…daughters were born to them.”
There's a story included here that offers a different perspective on daughters, though. When the wife of Rabbi Shimon son of Rabbi (Ami) had a daughter, Rabbi Ḥiyya the Great congratulated him, saying, "The Holy One blessed be He has begun to bless you!" Rabbi Shimon was surprised, but Rabbi Ḥiyya pointed back to the verse: "It was when man began to multiply…and daughters were born to them."
However, when Rabbi Shimon told his father, Rabbi Judah haNasi, about this, Rabbi Judah wasn't quite so enthusiastic. He acknowledged that both sons and daughters are needed, but ultimately, sons are more desirable. Why? Because sons, in that cultural context, remained more connected to the family after marriage, while daughters left to build new lives elsewhere.
To illustrate this point, the text shares a story about Rabban Gamliel marrying off his daughter. When she asked for a blessing, he said, "May you never return here!" Which sounds harsh, right? But it was actually a blessing that she should have such a good marriage that she would never need to return home due to divorce or hardship.
Later, when she had a son, she again asked for a blessing. This time, he said, "May the word ‘Woe’ never cease from your mouth!" Again, seemingly harsh, but the interpretation is that her son would live a long life, and she would always be saying "Woe, he hasn't eaten yet! Woe, he hasn't gone to the synagogue!" These "woes" are the loving anxieties of a mother.
What does all this tell us? It's a complex mix of societal values, anxieties about morality, and interpretations of scripture. It shows us how the rabbis grappled with the challenges of their time, using the text as a mirror to reflect both the flaws and the potential of humanity. It's a reminder that even in the most ancient texts, we can find echoes of our own struggles to understand our place in the world, our relationships with each other, and our connection to something greater than ourselves. And perhaps, also, to be cautious about the words we use, for they may carry more weight than we realize.