Rabbi Yossi, in Sifrei Devarim 43, asks a pointed question: why are idols even called elohim – "gods" in Hebrew? It's not just a matter of labels. He explains that it's precisely to avoid future generations saying, "Ah, if only we’d called them (idols) by God's name, they would have had power!" It's a subtle but crucial point: the act of naming, of bestowing a divine title, is itself a form of empowerment.

So, when were these idols first called by God’s name? Rabbi Yossi points to the time of Enosh, the grandson of Adam. Genesis 4:26 tells us, "And to Sheth, too, there was born a son, and he called his name Enosh. Then they began to call (artifacts) by the name of the L-rd." But what does that mean? The Sifrei understands this verse to mean that during Enosh’s time, people began attributing God's name to created things, to objects, essentially blurring the line between the Creator and creation.

And the consequences, according to the Sifrei, were dramatic.

"At that time Oceanus rose and flooded a third of the world."

Whoa. That’s a serious reaction. The text continues, "The Holy One Blessed be He said to them: You have made something new and called it by My name; I, too, will do something new and call it by My name, as it is written (Amos 5:8) 'He called to the waters of the sea, and He spilled them out upon the face of the earth — 'the L-rd' is His name.'"

In other words, the flood wasn’t just a punishment. It was a reassertion of God’s unique power, a way of saying, "You're playing with fire here. You think you can control the divine by naming things? I'll show you real power." It's a cosmic correction, a reminder of who truly holds dominion over the world.

Rabbi Yitzchak takes it a step further. He says that if you were to actually spell out all the names of idolatry, "all the hides in the world would not suffice" to write them all down! That’s why the Torah just uses the general term "other gods." The sheer volume of invented deities is staggering.

Then, Rabbi Eliezer weighs in: "Why are they called 'other gods'?" His answer is surprisingly practical. "For they (their worshippers) fabricated for themselves many gods." It wasn't about some grand theological system, but about human needs and desires.

He gives a vivid illustration: if an idol was made of gold, and its maker suddenly needed gold, he'd melt it down and make another one of silver. If he needed silver, he'd make it of copper, and so on, down the line to iron, lead, and even wood.

It’s a cycle of creation and destruction, driven by human whim. The idols weren't objects of genuine reverence, but rather tools, commodities to be used and discarded. It pulls the rug out from under any romanticized notion of ancient idolatry. It reduces it to a kind of spiritual…bartering, a transactional relationship with the divine, constantly being renegotiated.

So, what's the takeaway? The story in Sifrei Devarim isn't just about ancient history. It's a warning about the human tendency to confuse the created with the Creator, to seek power and control through false idols – whether they're made of gold, silver, or something far more subtle in our modern world. It challenges us to examine what we call by God's name, and to ask ourselves if we’re truly worshipping the source of all being, or merely the things we’ve made with our own hands.