We all know the story: the flood, the animals two-by-two, a new beginning. But what about the creatures that almost didn't make it? Or the ones that hitched a ride in the most unexpected ways?
According to Legends of the Jews, a treasure trove of Jewish folklore compiled by Louis Ginzberg, there was one animal, the re’em (often translated as a wild ox or unicorn, depending on the source), that Noah simply couldn't fit. Imagine the logistical nightmare! This wasn't your average house cat. The re’em was so enormous it couldn't find room inside the ark. So, what did Noah do? He tied it to the ark, and the mighty re’em ran alongside, battling the rising waters. Talk about dedication!
And then there’s Og, king of Bashan. Now, Og is a figure of immense proportions in Jewish lore – literally. We're talking about a giant! And Noah couldn’t make space for him inside the ark either. So, where did he go? Og, being the resourceful giant he was, sat on top of the ark! Can you picture that? Balancing precariously as the flood raged below. The story goes that Noah, in exchange for Og's promise of eternal servitude from him and his descendants, doled out food to him daily through a hole in the ark's roof. A precarious bargain struck amidst a world-ending deluge!
But the ark wasn't just a refuge for animals of flesh and blood. It seems abstract concepts were seeking shelter too. The Legends of the Jews tells us that Sheker, Falsehood, also came seeking refuge. But Noah turned him away. Why? Because Noah was only admitting creatures in pairs, and Falsehood was all alone.
So, Falsehood goes off in search of a partner, and who does he meet? Pora’anut, Misfortune! They strike a deal: Misfortune gets to keep whatever Falsehood earns. A match made in… well, you can imagine. Together, they’re finally allowed onto the ark.
But the story doesn't end there. After the flood, Falsehood realizes that everything he gathers just vanishes. He confronts Misfortune, and she simply reminds him of their agreement: "Did we not agree to the condition that I might take what you earn?" And so, Falsehood is left empty-handed, a fitting end for a creature whose very essence is emptiness.
What does this little story, nestled within the larger narrative of Noah's Ark, tell us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in times of great upheaval and rebirth, the seeds of negativity—Falsehood and Misfortune—persist. They find ways to survive, even thrive, and their consequences are as real as any physical threat. Maybe it's a commentary on the nature of truth and the fleeting nature of ill-gotten gains. Or perhaps it’s just a quirky reminder that even in the most epic of tales, there's room for a little bit of the absurd. Whatever the interpretation, it's a story that sticks with you, long after the floodwaters recede.