“Noah, the tiller of the soil, was the first to plant a vineyard. He drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent” (Bereishit 9:20-21).
Having survived the Flood, Noah becomes drunk in his tent. While this is the simple meaning of the verse, the word ahalo – in his tent – is spelled in a unique manner. Rather than closing with the letter vav, it closes with the letter heh, which is the feminine possessive. Ibn Ezra argues that this is a semantic issue, and that certain Hebrew letters are interchangeable, but the midrash does not view this as an exchange of letters or a misspelling. It suggests that there is meaning to the word as it appears:
In his tent – but it is spelled “in her tent.”
This is because he was in his wife’s tent
(Bereishit Rabbah, Noah)
The midrash suggests that we should ignore the way the word is read and pay attention to the way the word is written. Someone who just listens to the reading knows that Noah was in his own tent, but someone who reads the words understands that it was a woman’s tent, and the midrash clarifies that Noah was in the tent that belonged to his wife. The midrash seems to imply that Noah was on a quest to connect with his wife, but that his efforts were, ultimately, a failure.
According to this interpretation, Noah has made mistakes and unfortunate choices; he is unable to acclimate to the new world in which he finds himself. This view expresses itself in the opinion of Rav Huna that appears in the continuation of the midrash:
Rav Huna said in the name of R. Eliezer, son of R. Yose HaGalili:
When Noah exited the ark, he was bitten by a lion who broke him,
When he came to engage in relations with his wife, he spilled his seed and degraded himself.
The interesting question is whether to emphasize the written word, deriving from it deeper meanings, or simply accept ibn Ezra’s approach that there is no significant difference between a vav and a heh in this context.
The rabbinic sages disagreed about this point in discussing whether yesh em la-mikra (that the manner in which the verses in the Torah are written is authoritative) or yesh em la-masoret (that the vocalization of the Torah is authoritative). As an example, what can be derived from the verse: “You shall not cook a kid in its mother’s milk”? Based on its reading, the law is clear: There is a prohibition against cooking meat and milk together. If we look at the verse as it is written, however, we cannot be sure of its intent. Does the prohibition forbid cooking meat with milk (halav), or does it prohibit cooking meat with fat (helev)?
The use of this methodology is found throughout midrash aggadah, which is replete with ideas that are based on how words are written, ignoring the way those words are pronounced. In truth, we find this approach in areas of halakhic inquiry, as well. One example, found in Sanhedrin 36a, reads as follows: “Rav Aḥa bar Pappa says: The verse states: ‘Neither shall you answer in a cause [al riv]’ (Shmot 23:2), and the Sages interpret: Neither shall you answer after the Master [al rav].” This teaching derives the law that it is forbidden to argue with the greatest of the scholars – and that, therefore, discussion of a capital case must begin with the least significant judges – from the fact that the word riv is written in the Torah without the letter yod.
This is the source of disagreement in Parashat Noah, as well. Ibn Ezra ignores the unusual spelling, choosing to listen to the traditional reading of the verse. The midrash prefers to examine the way the word is written, and derive meaning from that.
At first glance, this disagreement appears to be a question of semantics, but really it deals with an essential matter – how do we define the Torah that is so central to our lives as Jews? Is it the written word, as in “and the writing was God’s writing” (Shmot 32:16), or, perhaps, it is the spoken word? What came first? Did God give us the Torah in writing, or did He speak and command that those spoken words be committed to writing so that His words could be accurately conveyed?
If the written Torah is what we received from God, surely we must go beyond a superficial understanding, and examine every jot and tittle of this valuable tract. If, on the other hand, it is a transcript of oral teachings, then, perhaps, the writing itself holds little of value from which to learn.
The Hassidic masters suggest that the world was created by means of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet. This suggestion posits that the letters served as the primeval ingredients making up the world, and that they precede the words that they create. Delving down to the level of the letters themselves offers the opportunity to examine the very source of the words and understand the process of creation of those words.
In his introduction to his work, Reish Milin, Rav Kook writes that letters represent free thought, but that once they are bound together into words, they become fixed and forced into set patterns. Truly pure thought is found in the letters. We sometimes experience this when we search for a way to express an idea that is greater than the words that stand at our disposal. At those moments, the feeling that we experience is that forcing that grand idea into our limited language will automatically diminish the idea that we wish to express. According to Rav Kook, studying the letters found in the Torah – focusing not on the words, but just on the letters – may reveal divine ideas inherent in the folds of the words and beyond them.
On more than one occasion, the great teacher, Nechama Leibowitz, was asked how a chapter of Tanakh should be studied. Her consistent answer was – it should be read exactly like the young lady who receives a letter from her lover peruses that note. She examines every comma and every period, asking herself “why did he write ‘Dear’ at the beginning just the way he did?” Why did he use that word rather than another?” That is how a chapter of Tanakh should be read. (See Hayuta Deutch’s “Nechama” p. 15).
That is the method that is suggested for the individual who loves the Torah. Do not be satisfied with the overt messages, rather study and search out the hidden ones, the secrets, as well, for love-notes are hidden throughout the Torah, between and in the midst of the words.
The Hebrew word “teivah” that appears repeatedly in Parashat Noah, means “ark,” but it also means “word.” The Ba’al Shem Tov comments on the verse “Noah…went into the teivah” (Bereishit 7:7) – that it is necessary to enter and examine every word in the Torah for itself.