The passage begins with a verse from Jeremiah (48:30): "I know its fury, the utterance of the Lord, and its lies [badav] are unfounded [lo khen]." This verse becomes the springboard for a discussion about the very beginnings of Moav, born from the union of Lot and his daughter after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Were their actions driven by pure motives, a desperate attempt to continue humanity? Or was something else at play?
Rabbi Huna bar Pappa and Rabbi Simon offer differing perspectives on this thorny question. Rabbi Huna, as recorded in Bereshit Rabbah, suggests that initially, Moav’s conception was for the sake of Heaven. Lot's daughters, believing the world was empty of men, acted from a place of perceived necessity. Their "offshoots" [badav], however, strayed from this path. They, unlike their forebears, acted for the sake of licentiousness, as evidenced by the events described in Numbers 25:1: "Israel was residing in Shittim, and the people began to engage in licentiousness [with the daughters of Moav]." A stark contrast, indeed.
But Rabbi Simon sees it differently. He argues that Moav's conception was never for the sake of Heaven, but rather driven by less noble impulses. “Its fury [evrato]…its lies [badav] are unfounded [lo khen]” – his offshoots [badav] did not act this way [lo khen] – [they did not act] for the sake of licentiousness, but for the sake of Heaven." How so? He points to Ruth, the Moavite, who, according to Bereshit Rabbah, “went down to the threshing floor, and acted in accordance with everything that her mother-in-law had commanded her” (Ruth 3:6). This act of loyalty and devotion, which ultimately led to her becoming an ancestor of King David, redeems the initial sin.
Rabbi Levi then adds another layer to this complex interpretation. He posits a fascinating "what if" scenario: if Moav's beginning was for licentiousness, so was its end ("Did his offshoots [badav] not do so as well [lo khen]? 'Israel was residing in Shittim...'"). Conversely, if the beginning was for the sake of Heaven, then so was the end ("Did his offshoots [badav] not do so as well [lo khen]? 'She went down to the threshing floor.'"). In essence, he frames it as a continuation – actions mirroring their origins.
What's so powerful about this passage is the rabbis' willingness to grapple with ambiguity. There are no easy answers here, no simple pronouncements of good or evil. Instead, we're presented with a nuanced exploration of human motivations, the messy realities of history, and the enduring power of choice. The rabbis in Bereshit Rabbah use the ambiguity inherent in the Hebrew words themselves – particularly the word badav, which can mean both "lies" and "offshoots" – to expose this ambiguity of intent.
Ultimately, this passage from Bereshit Rabbah invites us to consider: how do beginnings shape endings? Can a lineage tainted by questionable origins still produce acts of great virtue? And perhaps most importantly, what does it mean to act "for the sake of Heaven," and how can we discern true intent from self-serving justifications? Food for thought, indeed.