The Torah’s Flood narrative is rich with ethical and spiritual messages, inviting us to reconsider what it means to live with righteousness, justice, and moral responsibility.
One critical insight our sages derived from the Flood narrative is the profound impact of language, recognizing that our words shape how we perceive ourselves and others.
One of the messages that our sages understood is the importance of careful speech. They derived this from, among numerous other instances, the Torah’s use of language discussing the different animals that came to board the Ark. Rather than the accurate and concise form of pure and impure – טהור / טמא – the Torah uses cumbersome and verbose language to avoid a word with negative connotations, subtly teaching the importance of using language that uplifts rather than diminishes.
Yet, intriguingly, when the Torah introduces Noah, the tone seems less delicate:
Yet the Torah’s opening narrative is not overly complimentary towards Noah:
נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו – Noah was righteous; he was flawless in his day… (6:9)
In fact, the Creator spoke to Noah in a similar way:
כִּי־אֹתְךָ רָאִיתִי צַדִּיק לְפָנַי בַּדּוֹר הַזֶּה – “I have found you alone to be righteous in this generation…” (7:1)
Our sages detected ambiguity here: is the Torah commending Noah’s greatness or subtly diminishing it? Was Noah a genuinely righteous person by all standards and be found righteous in any era, or was he merely the best among a generation in moral decline, but only relative to his times, and he might not have stood out in others? In a degenerate age, you take what you can get, the thinking goes.
But this raises a powerful question.
Our sages used this story to teach us to speak with care, so why would they interpret an ambiguous phrase unfavorably in this very story?
As R’ Shlomo Farhi explains, it’s not our sages who took it as a criticism; Noah himself did. The Zohar teaches that Noah interpreted God’s words as faint praise, sensing that God did not truly see him as great and was making do with whatever was available.
Noah’s perception of faint praise became a limiting belief, a ‘self-fulfilling prophecy’ in modern psychological terms. This belief shaped his actions, weakening his resolve to influence others, and led to passivity. Noah’s interpretation of God’s words as criticism led him to believe he could never be more than ‘good enough,’ thus preventing him from striving to influence others.
Because of this belief, Noah became passive. He did not try to save or influence his community, nor did he pray on their behalf. In the Torah’s words, he was only flawless – תָּמִים. There was nothing wrong with him, but in another age, that may not have been enough. Noah had the potential to become more than merely blameless, but his belief that God viewed him as lacking limited his growth.
Or, to put it sharply as R’ Yisrael Salanter does, a hidden tzadik is no tzadik at all.
When words can be taken in two ways, one hurtful and one harmless, choose the kinder interpretation. Often, that’s the one intended.
This narrative illustrates the profound impact of language and self-perception. When we diminish ourselves, we may avoid mistakes yet fail to reach our potential or lift those around us. True responsibility, however, demands more. It is not enough to be flawless – we must be proactive forces for goodness.
Each of us has the power to influence others for the better. Yet, like Noah, how often do we hold back, thinking our efforts won’t make a difference?