The passage starts with a seemingly simple verse: "And to Shem, father of all the children of Ever, brother of Yefet the eldest, children were also born" (Genesis 10:21). But hold on a second. Is Shem really the eldest? The verse is a bit ambiguous; it could also be translated as "the elder brother of Yefet." So, who was the oldest of Noah's sons?
The text teases out this question, drawing on other verses. Genesis 11:10 tells us that Shem was 100 years old when he fathered Arpakhshad, two years after the Flood. But Genesis 5:32 says that Noah's eldest son was born when Noah was 500 years old, and the Flood began when Noah was 600 (Genesis 7:6). This would mean Noah's eldest son was 100 before the Flood. So, according to this calculation, Yefet was actually the eldest! It’s like a biblical birth order mystery.
Now, let’s shift our focus to Ever, a descendant of Shem. Genesis 10:25 states, "Two sons were born to Ever; the name of the one was Peleg, as in his days the world was divided, and the name of his brother was Yoktan." The text hones in on this. Why Peleg? The name literally means "division," and the Torah tells us the world was divided in his time.
Here, Bereshit Rabbah brings in a fascinating discussion about naming practices. Rabbi Yosei suggests that in ancient times, when people lived long enough to know their ancestors intimately, they named their children based on significant events that happened during their lives. But, he laments, we moderns, who don't have that connection, name our children after our ancestors. Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel offers a similar idea: the ancients, possessing a "divine spirit" (ruach hakodesh), named based on events, while we, lacking that, name after family.
Rabbi Yosei ben Ḥalafta takes it a step further, arguing that Ever was a great prophet! He named his son Peleg based on a future event – the dispersion after the Tower of Babel. Talk about foresight!
But what about Yoktan? Why that name? The midrash explains that Yoktan minimized himself and his affairs – he acted humbly. And what did he merit? He merited to father thirteen families! The takeaway? Humility pays off. If the younger son, by being humble, merited such a reward, imagine how much more the older son would merit by acting the same way!
The text then draws a parallel with Jacob and his grandsons, Ephraim and Menashe. Remember how Jacob crossed his hands to bless Ephraim, the younger, with the greater blessing (Genesis 48:14)? Rabbi Huna asks, “Do we not know from the report of their births (Genesis 41:51–52) that Ephraim was the younger?” The explanation, he says, is that Ephraim used to "downplay" (matz'ir) his affairs, acting with humility. And what did he merit? He merited the birthright! Again, the message rings clear: humility is a powerful virtue.
So, what does this all mean for us? Beyond the fascinating glimpses into ancient naming practices and biblical family dynamics, Bereshit Rabbah offers a timeless lesson. It reminds us that humility, even in a world that often celebrates ambition and self-promotion, can lead to unexpected blessings. Maybe sometimes, minimizing ourselves can actually maximize our impact.