The book of Bereishis is about the evolution of human justice and the evolving dynamic of God’s relationship with people.
While Bereishis opens with Noah’s righteousness in contrast to his corrupt surroundings, it quickly shifts to Avraham’s model, who redefines righteousness as a proactive and outward-facing commitment to justice.
Avraham is considered the first prototype of the kind of person God wanted people to behave like, and it is his descendants that would go on to receive the Torah.
But Noah was righteous too; why is Noah not held up as a model of what a good person looks like?
R’ Shlomo Farhi explains that our role models followed their internal moral compasses, even when it led them to the point of directly questioning God outright.
When Noah left the Ark, everything and everyone was gone. Noah took in the scale of desolation and loss, and questioned God – where was God’s mercy all this time? The Zohar describes God’s stunning reply to Noah – when God had told him the flood was coming and all would be lost, where was Noah’s mercy for the world he had known?
Our forefathers understood that righteousness entails advocating for justice, even when faced with divine judgment. This reflects the Jewish ideal that questioning perceived injustices is not merely allowed but expected of righteous heroes. In sharp contrast to Noah, when God announced that Sodom would be destroyed, Avraham questioned God’s justice. When God threatened to destroy the Jewish people after they danced around the Golden Calf, Moshe questioned God’s justice. Throughout history, our heroes have challenged God when something felt wrong.
Even if unsuccessful, they are still fundamentally correct. Avraham stood up for pagan barbarians, and said that if God is merciful and good, then that ought to be true even towards the wicked! Our heroes’ internal moral compasses tell them that something is wrong, and they follow through.
Noah’s silence in the face of impending destruction wasn’t just acceptance; it was a surrender, an abandonment of the world around him to its fate.
This kind of acceptance isn’t a feature – it’s a critical flaw. Noah agreed that everything and everyone was bad, and that they deserved what was coming. R’ Yisrael Salanter says that a hidden tzadik is no tzadik at all. A tzadik whose actions remain hidden cannot inspire or guide others, rendering their righteousness insular, and ultimately ineffective for his community, and therefore, fatally incomplete. In contrast, figures like Avraham and Moshe embody public righteousness, challenging God openly as a model for the community.
Or, as our sages challenge us, if I am only for myself, what am I?
Jewish tradition teaches that the truly righteous and saintly, like Avraham and Moshe, look outward, aiming to elevate the collective good rather than solely ensuring personal integrity. It is this outward vision that distinguishes the Jewish concept of righteousness from that of other traditions.
Maybe that’s why he never seems to make the list of truly righteous people. It may also be why he planted vineyards and turned to alcohol and solitude. The magnitude of his missed opportunity was enormous.
Questioning divine edicts is an essential, almost sacred, trait in Jewish tradition, one that empowers believers to hold even God accountable to His attributes of justice and mercy.
As the Rambam clarifies, prophecies of doom are conditional, meant to inspire people toward repentance. Just because God Himself says something, does not mean we must accept it – ותשובה ותפילה וצדקה מעבירין את רוע הגזרה. The truly righteous therefore act as agents of change, echoing God’s message in both actions and words.
Jewish heroes wrestle with the divine, not from a place of defiance, but out of a deep dedication to ultimate good.