The Torah tells us, in Genesis 6:5, that God saw the wickedness of humankind was "great" – raba in Hebrew – before the Flood. But what kind of "great" was it? Rabbi Ḥanina suggests it was constantly increasing, always getting worse. A chilling thought, isn’t it?
But here's where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Berekhya, citing Rabbi Yoḥanan, makes a fascinating connection. We know the generation of the Flood was punished with water, and the people of Sodom, famously, with fire. But can we learn something more by comparing the two? Absolutely! By noting that the word "great" – raba – is used in both stories ("the wickedness of man was great" in Genesis 6:5, and "the outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great" in Genesis 18:20), the rabbis suggest a verbal analogy. It indicates that perhaps both punishments contained elements of both water and fire. A kind of reciprocal judgement, if you will.
The passage continues, focusing on the nature of the pre-Flood generation’s wickedness: "And every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the day." Bereshit Rabbah states that from sunrise to sunset, there was no hope for them. A truly bleak picture.
To illustrate just how pervasive this evil was, the Rabbis turn to the Book of Job (24:14), "The murderer rises in daylight, kills the poor and indigent, and at night is like a thief." But wait, another verse in Job (24:16) seems to contradict this, saying, "In the dark they burrow under houses; during the day they remain sealed at home." So, were they thieves by night or by day?
The Rabbis reconcile this apparent contradiction with a rather ingenious interpretation. They describe a particularly brazen method of robbery. The wicked would smear balsam oil – a fragrant and valuable commodity – on the stone walls of houses they intended to rob. Then, under the cover of darkness, they would follow the scent to break in. So, in a way, they were involved in thievery both day and night! Plotting during the day, and executing at night.
Now, here’s the kicker. The text tells us that Rabbi Ḥanina once shared this interpretation in a lecture in Tzippori, a town in the Galilee. And that very night, three hundred break-ins occurred! Apparently, some less-than-righteous individuals in the audience took the rabbi's explanation as a how-to guide. The text wryly notes that balsam wasn't readily available in Tzippori, so they used another method to mark the houses. But imagine, the Rabbis ponder, what would have happened if they had had balsam oil!
What does this tell us? It's a reminder of the power of words, the potential for misinterpretation, and the ever-present struggle between good and evil. It also highlights the rabbinic method of finding connections, parallels, and deeper meanings within the text. Even a single word, like raba, can unlock a wealth of understanding. And perhaps, a cautionary tale about being careful what you teach… you never know who might be listening.