The tale of Noah and his sons after the flood certainly has that quality. We're talking about the incident where Ham sees his father naked and then tells his brothers. It seems simple enough on the surface, but the sages have wrestled with its deeper meaning for centuries. What exactly was so terrible about Ham’s actions?
The text in question reads, "He told it to his two brothers out of doors" (Genesis 9:22). It’s a brief verse, but according to the Midrash of Philo, it's packed with implications.
Think about it: why does the Torah specify that Ham told both of his brothers? The Midrash suggests that Ham would have told anyone and everyone he could, reveling in his father's misfortune. It wasn't just an observation; it was a deliberate act of ridicule. He made a “jest of what ought not to have been treated with laughter and derision, but rather with shame and fear mingled with reverence.”
And then there's the location: "out of doors." The Midrash takes this to mean that Ham wasn't just sharing the information privately. He was displaying his father's vulnerability to anyone who would look – “both men and women.” It was a public spectacle, an act of exposure far beyond a simple observation.
The Midrash of Philo digs deeper, suggesting that Ham’s behavior reflects a "depraved and malignant habit of life." It's one thing to judge someone's misfortunes, but to actively rejoice in the downfall of a wise and righteous man? That's another level entirely. It's the act of a "thoroughly hostile accuser" who should have offered compassion instead of condemnation.
Why is this so significant? The Midrash connects it to a broader concept: the interplay between good, bad, and indifferent thoughts. These three, "as it were brothers together," constantly compete for our attention. Those who "emulate wickedness" will always seize upon the flaws and failures of the virtuous, ridiculing them as if their efforts towards goodness are worthless. In other words, those overseers who support acts of malignity rejoice at the fall of the wise man.
Ultimately, the Midrash is warning us about the dangers of schadenfreude, the pleasure we sometimes take in the misfortune of others. It highlights the importance of empathy, reverence, and the recognition that even the most righteous among us are vulnerable to mistakes and moments of weakness.
It's a powerful reminder that our actions, even seemingly small ones, can have profound consequences. And that true wisdom lies not in celebrating the failures of others, but in offering compassion and support. What kind of "overseer" will we choose to be?