Discussing Torah matters because the Torah matters

Cain: From Messiah to Mob Boss - Episode I

Drawn across her bed, her dwelling quiet at midmorning, Eve revisits her last day in the Garden of Eden. It is a memory more than 40 years old, but through closed eyes she watches it replay in vivid detail. As her memory retraces the scene, the baby in her womb tosses and turns. She cannot figure out why, nor can she stop a younger version of herself from making the biggest mistake the world has ever seen. 

She is grateful that this memory ends with a promise. This promise is the hope to which she clings. The image of her oldest son accompanies the promise as she hears it delivered once more. She hears God promise the serpent, “Because of what you have done . . . I will put enmity between you and the woman, between your offspring and her offspring; he shall crush your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”

In the decades since their departure from Eden, Eve has already seen portions of the promise come true. As promised, she had come to despise the serpent. And, as promised, an offspring: a son whom she named Cain. The birth of Cain was, in her eyes, the Lord delivering on His promise. It was Eve’s belief that he would be the one to kill the serpent! And that, by his victory, perhaps humanity’s access to the Garden would be restored.

Doting on Cain now, a precious memory moves to the forefront. As the recollection has it, a handful of children encircle her feet as she sits and tells them stories about the Garden of Eden. She speaks of its trees 70 feet high, its waters bright as crystal, its hillsides a wild and colorful collage of plant life, its sky after sunset a choir of stars declaring the praises of heaven. Little Cain, no more than 10 years old at the time, is wide-eyed with wonderment as he listens to the stories. 

Cain had been the first to listen to her stories. Even when more sons and daughters were added to their circle, Eve tended to look at Cain the most when she spoke of the Garden, the serpent, and the promise. His eyes would lock into hers every time she told them, “God promised that my offspring will someday crush the serpent’s head.” She could see that the boy was in love with the idea that he, the firstborn son of humanity, was the chosen one, the one to redeem his mother, the one to avenge his family, the one to return them to the Garden that he so desperately wanted to see. The boy would break from her storytelling to go outside and race down some snake greasing through the field, to crush it with his heel, to bring it back to her as evidence of the promise. He always returned empty-handed, but that never stopped Eve from commending him for his effort. 

Into his teens and twenties, Cain worked the ground tirelessly. His dedication to the earth came as no surprise to Eve. She understood exactly what he was rehearsing for. It was their return to Eden on his mind. He wanted to steward the Garden like his father had been called to do, so working the ground—cursed though it was—seemed like fitting preparation. Eve also knew that, beneath Cain’s constant toiling, he was really just waiting for that inevitable day when he and the serpent would finally cross paths.      

Indeed, the promise hanging over his head had come to define his identity. The vengeance he sought against the serpent supplied his warrior spirit with purpose and meaning. At home he saw himself through the eyes of his mother, not to mention through the eyes of his siblings whose adoration he welcomed. He loved his family because he so cherished their supporting role in his destiny. He stayed close to them after marrying his sister; he and his wife remain nearby as he works the ground and waits for bigger things to come. 

Eve tries to settle the baby in her womb. She repositions her body and relaxes, letting the bed cradle her weight. There is no anticipation of the horror that is about to visit her, news that will be delivered by a man with blood on his hands. 

What Eve doesn’t know is that a week ago, two of her oldest sons—Cain and Abel—brought an offering to the Lord, each in their own way. Cain, a worker of the ground, offered his fruits of the soil. Abel, a keeper of sheep, offered the best of his flocks and their fat portions. These sacrifices were an outward expression of an inward reality, and by offering the best of his best, Abel’s heart had proven itself superior. When God turned to favor Abel’s offering above Cain’s, Cain became upset. After all, Cain was supposed to be the chosen son! So then, why was his offering not accepted? Why was he not accepted? The matter concerned Cain’s very identity, his perceived role in life. God’s favoring another caused Cain to call everything into question. It sparked tremendous fear in his heart, fear which ignited the storehouse of anger already bound up there. Cain had spent his whole life nourishing an anger toward the serpent, a hatred that he could always justify with noble intentions. But his conclusions depended upon a certain storyline, a narrative that could not be questioned. Now one question could not be ignored: Is Abel the chosen one?

An unnatural sound now reaches Eve through her bedroom window. It is the strained voice of her husband. He is yelling something that she cannot decipher. She shoves off from the bed. Being eight months pregnant, her movements are sluggish but she reaching the door by the time her husband reaches their dwelling. 

Adam collects himself. He explains to Eve how he found their son—their sweet Abel not seen in a week—lifeless at the far end of Cain’s field. Eve, the mother of all living, crumples to the ground in a sort of crash-landing. She clutches the earth and struggles to breathe as the baby inside her belly, Seth, continues to toss and turn. 

 

One Week Prior

 

Cain uses his cunning. He speaks to his brother Abel (Gen. 4:8). This chilling detail is not superfluous. It is preserved because it is essential to the plot. It’s connected to the murder. Just like the serpent used words to lure Eve to her death, here Cain uses words to lure Abel to his death. And Abel trusts his older brother like his mother once trusted the serpent. The detail is evidence that Cain’s crime is one of calculation, a premeditated murder in the first degree. Cain tells Abel, “Let’s go out to the field” (LXX Gen. 4:8). 

Abel draws his flock into a nearby pen while Cain stands beside the gate and observes. Cain wonders what the animals will do without a shepherd.

“I’ll follow your lead,” Abel tells the oldest brother at last, latching the gate shut and smiling. Cain gives a nod and they set off. 

Cain has a particular field in mind. It is relegated to the far side of his expansive property. He walks faster than normal but Abel keeps pace close behind. Farther and farther they move into isolation.  

Rounding a curve in the footpath Cain makes an abrupt stop where a spade leans against a tree stump. Cain bends to pick it up and Abel, thinking nothing of it, raises his eyes to survey the scenery. Not often does Abel visit Cain’s property. His flocks would damage the yield after all, so he keeps them at a distance. But now amid the sprawling landscape, gazing out at a cultivated field he’s never seen before, Abel is reminded of how much his oldest brother warrants admiration. Cain toils in sweat to make the cursed land produce year after year. Abel is humbled by his oldest brother’s strength and—

Cain strikes, unleashing the lethal venom of his rage in an instant. He puts Abel on the ground with a sickening thwack! By primal instinct Cain draws the spade above his head again, poised to strike once more. His brother—now face down and motionless in the dirt—makes no sound. Cain watches over the body in silence. After a moment he realizes the finality of his attack. He lowers the spade to eye level, glancing at the blade to assess the wallop of its impact. There is blood lining its edge which indicates it was slightly slanted as he brought it down. 

Again he trains his eyes on the body beneath him. Cain has killed animals before—animals that menaced his crops—so he is no stranger to ending life. But this experience, this killing, feels unlike anything from his past. This was the betrayal of a person who trusted him, the confiscation of life for no other reason than to satisfy a terrible jealousy. 

And it occurs to him then, an unexpected thought that enrages him to the core: that, in his jealousy, Cain has become the serpent! He has become the very thief that he was supposed to kill!

He grips the shaft of the spade and, letting out a guttural yell, sends it flying headlong into a brush of uncut thorn bushes that encroach upon his property. He is breathing through his teeth when he turns away from the crime and starts in the direction of his dwelling. Stomping up the footpath by himself, he blocks out the unwelcome voice of his conscience with all its questioning. He’s halfway home when, out of nowhere, another voice overtakes his defenses. 

It is God with a simple question. “Where is your brother?” He inquires. 

Cain retreats. “I don’t know!” he calls out to his field. Whereas his parents hid among the trees, Cain hides beneath selfishness foliated with excuses. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” 

In a flash of introspection, Cain’s conscience chimes back in: Not that long ago, you thought yourself to be your brother’s savior, your family’s avenger. You once dreamed of returning them to the Garden of Eden. Yet now you deny being your brother’s keeper? You know what you have done.   

God wants honesty from Cain so He leads by example. God shares a hidden truth that causes Him great pain. “The voice of your brother’s bloods cry out to Me from the ground.” 

Cain clenches his jaws and quickens his pace. The thought of being his brother’s keeper is suddenly nauseating to him. He rejects it all and, in so doing, he rejects his place within the family. After another fifty steps it is decided: he will leave them all behind. He will go his own way. 

God tells him as much, declaring, “You shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.”

Cain does not turn to listen. He continues up the path in stubborn defiance. But God is not finished. Having seen how Cain misused his strength, God determines that the soil will no longer yield its strength to him. He curses Cain from the ground. 

Cain’s face is burning red when he spins at last and strains to see beyond the sky. He cries out with a voice that bears no remorse. “My punishment is too great to bear! You have driven me away from the face of the ground!” Under his breath now, “From Your face I will be hidden.” 

“I will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth,” Cain mutters in self-pity. “Whoever finds me will kill me!” 

God doesn’t deny the point. God realizes that, down the line, there may come a vigilante at ready with a knife saved for Cain’s back. But God wants nothing of the sort. God recognizes that there is yet no judicial process in place to dispense legal justice. Moreover, God doesn’t want Cain to be killed because Cain can, at some level, save the world. How so? Because Cain is the firstborn human, the elder in any camp that he visits. As such, he wields tremendous influence over subsequent generations. Had he confessed his sin and repented in humility, his example could have guided many hearts toward the Lord. His repentance may have been enough to stave off the flood for a time and, well, save the world in some temporary way. Instead, Cain gave his heart to the evil one (1 John 3:12) and thereby influenced many other hearts to do the same. Today, though, such choices are yet to be made. God grants Cain the time to choose rightly, to wield his influence for the good, but this will require some protection. God places a mark upon Cain, a sign which designates him as set apart unto the Lord. Having been given this special mark, no one is to strike Cain lest the vengeance they seek rolls back on them seven times over (Gen. 4:15). 

When Cain enters his dwelling, his wife hardly recognizes her husband. He is unreasonable; he is violent; he is rummaging through their belongings. He is demanding that they leave without notice or delay. She will never see her parents again. At Cain’s hurried pace, they load up their mules and set off, passing field after field after field as they travel toward the edge of their property. The fields–with their rows of varied produce–represent uncountable hours of toil, commitment, and investment between them. But Cain doesn’t dawdle on the fields as much as his wife would expect. Instead it’s a kind of dispassionate stare as they continue forward. It’s like there’s been a distance wedged between him and the land. She perceives it privately, and she finds it frightening. He efforts no explanation, either. In fact he says nothing at all until they reach the outermost boundary of their estate. There, without stopping the mules, Cain announces his decision to them as much as to her, “We’ll head east. We’ll make a new home there.”

“East? What’s east?” his wife asks. 

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are we going east?”

His response comes after a full minute of deliberate thought. “I want to get as far away from the Garden of Eden as possible.”

The statement weighs on her as the two of them, accompanied by their mules and a fragment of their belongings, wheel eastward. In front of them is nothing but a wild and unsettled frontier. Hours later—at some point in the middle of the night—Cain sharply senses the pain that’s soon to visit his mother when she finds out what happened. It takes all of his strength to push the feeling down, to bury it with cruel hands in a part of himself that he will remember not to visit.


[Episode 2 linked here!]

God's Friend

The Bible starts in Genesis 12. 

Now obviously it doesn’t, but understand what I mean when I say that. Prior to Genesis 12, we are hurtling through time at break-neck speeds! Genesis 1 by itself crosses millions of years. Genesis 2 to 6 sends us through more than a thousand years. 6 to 11 sends us through hundreds of years. If you can imagine this like being in a spaceship moving forward in time, advancing at a speed that keeps up with the narrative of Genesis page by page. Moving through Genesis 1, you would be a blur rocketing through space. Approaching Genesis 2 you hit the brakes and begin to slow some, but still you’re flying at quite a velocity! The stories go by in the blink of an eye––you barely have time to make out the characters of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel. In a moment you’re a thousand years ahead of them. Still your foot is pressing hard on the brakes. Piercing the dark clouds over the flood, your spaceship shakes violently. It’s decelerating fast. You emerge from the other side of the clouds and you get a quick glance of Noah and his family. The spaceship is descending toward earth as it slows down. Hundreds of years pass in the span of a few paragraphs, and you narrowly miss hitting the top floor of the tower of Babel as you sail past it. Still you’re descending and decelerating. And then, finally, it happens: the opening of Genesis 12. 

Your spaceship touches down and makes a soft landing. It slows to a complete stop at the end of the runway. And there before you––no more than 20 feet away––stands a single man, age 75. You see him through the front windows of the ship, but he doesn’t seem to notice you. Yet God invites you to step out and join him. You’re about to go on a long walk with him toward the mountains. You’re going to follow him for the next 13 chapters or so, at the pace of a man on foot. Compared to the pace at which you’ve been traveling, Genesis 12 is the start of a whole new experience, one that opens up the rest of the Bible. It’s as if the Torah has been hurrying you along just to get you to this one man and his family. God has been so excited for you to meet him. He couldn’t wait to introduce you to His friend, His companion, this man named Abraham. 

When we meet him, his name is just Abram. Already 75 years old, Abram is very special in God’s eyes, so much so that he is called God’s friend (James 2:23). Unbelievably, he is the man whom God treated as an equal

Say what?! How can God treat a man as an equal? 
Because God’s a lot more humble than you are! That’s how! 

Do not hear me lifting Abraham up to God’s level. By no means! Abraham is but dust and ashes. Abraham himself wouldn’t dare do such a thing. What I am saying is, God, in a stunning act of grace and humility, bent down and treated Abraham as an equal. He humbled Himself enough to do the unthinkable: to initiate a blood covenant with him! A blood covenant is done between equals, between committed friends on level ground. Yahweh (Y-H-V-H) gave Abram part of His own name. The H in Y-H-V-H went to Abram, transforming Abram into Abraham.  (The other H went to Sarai, making it Sarah.) And as we follow this man and his family over the coming years, we find that Abraham really is God’s friend. Allow me to make the case with just a few points.

In Genesis 18, God and Abraham are walking together. They come to a mountaintop, or a cliffs edge, and they look down toward Sodom, a city of the plain. It is soon to be destroyed. And we read this: “Then the Lord said, Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?’” (Genesis 18:17). Read it again because that is one incredible piece of Scripture! It’s a rare glimpse into God’s private thoughts. God knows that He is about to destroy Sodom, and here, it’s like He says to Himself, “Shall I hide this from my friend? Friends don’t keep secrets from one another. Abraham is trustworthy. I will confide in him.” What ensues, then, is a kind of conversation. God and Abraham go back and forth in a dialogue about the city’s judgement. The discussion reveals the quality of their friendship. These are a couple of friends with each other: the Judge of all the earth alongside a bag of dust and ashes, walking and talking about current events.

In Genesis 22 we have another demonstration of friendship between them, wherein God actually says please to Abraham! Why would the Lord say please to a man? Well, because they’re friends! And friends say please to each other. After all, God realizes that He is asking a lot of a friend when He says to Abraham: “Please take your son, your only son whom you love––Isaac––and go to the land of Moriah. Offer him there on one of the mountains that I will point out to you” (Genesis 22:2 ISV). Now note that most English translations forgo the please, in part because the Hebrew word can be translated in different ways, but also because at some level it’s uncomfortable to hear God say please to a man. The International Standard Version and Young’s Literal Translation translate the verse to say please, but the other translations translate the verse to say now. Their translations will read, “Take now your son, your only son...” But in Hebrew, it’s the same word. It’s the word na.



Na is the word used in Genesis 18:4 when Abraham says, Please let a little water be brought and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree” (NASV). Na is the word used in Genesis 12:13 when Abraham says, Please say that you are my sister so that it may go well with me because of you, that I may live on account of you” (NASV).

Na is the word used in Genesis 22:2 when God said to his friend Abraham, “Take please your son, your only son . . . and offer him there on one of the mountains that I will show to you.” And we know how the story goes: Abraham listens to the Lord. He leads his son up the mountain to offer him there. But God stops Abraham from killing his son Isaac. Jesus gives us this insight: “Your father Abraham rejoiced at the thought of seeing my day; he saw it and was glad” (John 8:56). I believe that there on Mount Moriah, after the ram was pulled from the thicket to be a substitute for Isaac, put on the altar and made to go up, Abraham saw what God’s Son would one day accomplish. Just like God revealed to Abraham what would happen to Sodom before it actually happened, God revealed to Abraham what would happen in Messiah’s day before it actually happened. 

I mean the two of them were friends, and friends don’t keep such important matters from one another.

Why Does Noah Curse Canaan?

Noah, a man of the soil, began, and planted a vineyard. When he drank some of its wine, he became drunk and lay uncovered inside his tent. Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father naked and told his two brothers outside. But Shem and Japheth took a garment and laid it across their shoulders; then they walked in backward and covered their father’s naked body. Their faces were turned the other way so that they would not see their father naked. When Noah awoke from his wine and found out what his youngest son had done to him, he said, “Cursed be Canaan! The lowest of slaves will he be to his brothers.” (Genesis 9:20-25)

This passage yields a picture and a mystery. 

The picture is this: two brothers walking backward, a garment laid across their shoulders, working together to cover their father’s nakedness, their faces turned away in respect. This is the picture you should have in your mind when you think about how Shem and Japheth covered their father’s nakedness, and also how the Levites worked together to prepare the Ark of the Covenant for transport. To explain, the Tabernacle was a mobile home, so to speak, that would move through the wilderness with the Israelites. It would be disassembled piece by piece and then reassembled at the next encampment. When you see pictures of the Ark of the Covenant (the most holy object in the universe), you tend to see the priests carrying the Ark of the Covenant out in the open. This is not accurate, because the Ark was never out in the open like it is commonly depicted nowadays. It was not exposed like you see in some pictures. Rather, the Ark was always covered during transport. As it says in Numbers 4:4-6, 15a:

“When the camp is to move, Aaron and his sons are to go in and take down the shielding curtain and put it over the ark of the covenant. Then they are to cover the curtain with a durable leather, spread a cloth of solid blue over that and put the poles in place . . . After Aaron and his sons have finished covering the holy furnishings and all the holy articles, the camp is ready to move...”



When the sons of Aaron went to cover the Ark, they acted in a manner like Shem and Japheth. They would take up the curtain between their shoulders and, walking backward, cover the Ark without looking at it. This was a gesture of utmost respect for the Father and His place of privacy. And interestingly, it will be this Ark that imposes defeat upon the Canaanites––an echo of Noah’s curse imposed on Canaan for disrespecting his privacy.

This brings us to the mystery. Why did Noah curse Ham’s grandson Canaan? It’s a question that deserves to be asked because, after all, it was Ham who disrespected Noah––not Canaan! Canaan seems to have nothing to do with anything, so why does Canaan receive the curse? What is the logic behind this? I mean I see the prophetic connection to Israel moving into the land of Canaan and subduing the Canaanites, but I doubt Noah foresaw that future event. So something else has to explain why Noah cursed not Ham but Canaan. And from the text alone, there appears to be no decisive answer. At the end of the day, it remains a mystery. 

But! Jewish tradition does offer us a thought worth entertaining. In fact, it’s the best explanation that I have encountered. I first heard it from Rabbi David Fohrman. Let me share it with you in my own words.

You have to get in Ham’s head. What is he thinking? Well, by the time this whole event happens, a number of years have passed since the flood. It is enough time such that Noah’s vineyard has come to maturity, and Noah’s youngest son Ham has had his fourth son. (Genesis 10:6 tells us that the sons of Ham are Cush, Mizraim, Put and Canaan.) Noah is over 600 years old, and Ham––more than 100 years old––naturally expects to live no less than his father. Ham assumes that he has at least another 500 years ahead of him. Already, he is seeing himself as a power-player on the world’s stage, a respected forefather above all subsequent generations. His two brothers, Shem and Japheth, are his equals, so Ham is one of three at this level. And he likes that share. A third of the earth sounds good to him. 

But wait. Coming off the ark, God told Noah to be fruitful and multiply! Ham knows that his father Noah is faithful to God, a man who commits to doing whatever God commands him to do. No doubt: Noah will multiply. Noah will have more sons! And where will that leave Ham? With less and less share! In the end, Ham may not be one of three anymore. He may end up being one of 10 brothers! Or 15! That sounds like war to him. Just the thought of it makes him angry. So he makes his decision: he will act swiftly. He will strike at an opportune time. He will prevent his dad from having any more children. 

The passage in Genesis is interesting, isn’t it? It says Ham saw his father naked and told his two brothers outside. . .When Noah awoke from his wine and found out what his youngest son had done to him...

What did Ham do to Noah?! If Ham had merely seen his dad naked, his dad wouldn’t have even realized it. No––something more serious had to have been done to Noah when he was naked, something that Noah realizes after he emerges from his drunken stupor. What did Ham do to Noah?

Tradition fills in the blank. Ham damaged his father’s male organ, thereby preventing Noah from having any more sons. Ham tells his brothers about it afterward, given that they are also benefactors. Both his brothers don’t react as Ham had expected. Shem and Japheth are mortified and ashamed. They cover their father’s nakedness; they cover what has been done to their father. They wonder what he will do when he wakes up. 

Genesis tells us what Noah does: he curses Ham’s grandson Canaan. Why? Because Canaan is Ham’s fourth son (Genesis 10:6). Since Ham has prevented Noah from having a fourth son, Noah places the curse upon Ham’s fourth son. Since it was status and power that Ham had sought, Noah’s curse upon Ham diminishes the status and power of many in Ham’s lineage. It counteracts Ham’s motivation. And it humiliates Ham to no end. 

Now why doesn’t Genesis just come out and say all of this plainly? Because the Torah is handling the matter with sensitivity. The Torah is avoiding details on purpose, in a manner that is respectful to Noah. The Torah is itself covering the wound, alongside Shem and Japheth. And because the details have been covered so respectfully, what exactly happened that day will remain a mystery.

The Old Man Noah


I’ve heard it said that the flood is, at its core, a story of identity crisis. Typically when people get to know you, they get to know you by your interests, your friends, the places you go and the things you do. But imagine Noah aboard the ark on his knees before the Lord. He has none of that anymore. His entire world has been swept away. He has to make sense of himself without so much as a hobby.

To relate this to modern times, it would be like you suddenly finding yourself in a world without sports, without restaurants, without pop culture. Apple computers? No such thing. Nike? No such thing. Hollywood? No such thing. Your hometown? It doesn’t exist anymore. Starbucks? Coffee is a thing of the past. The Superbowl? None of your grandkids have heard of it. 

In a world without context, who are you? 

Noah is battling sea sickness and asking himself this very question. He is forced to understand himself as God sees him. The surrounding culture has been stripped away. What remains––his heart, his character, his family, his faithfulness––makes up his identity before the Lord.

Identity remains an issue even after the flood. Coming off the ark and starting again, Noah is an old man in a new world. The next-to-oldest male is 500 years younger than him. Beyond his immediate family, every other person in the world is at least 600 years younger than him! Having no contemporaries, no friends who can even begin to relate to him in his old age, certainly he feels lonely! And so he misses the fathers. His misses the company of an older person. No matter how much he appreciates God’s deliverance, and no matter how much he enjoys watching his sons have sons and daughters of their own, in certain respects his heart remains on the other side of the flood. He spent the majority of his life there, after all. 

I have to relate this to Job. Job also lost his whole world in a storm. (Job 38:1 literally refers to Job’s experience as a storm.) Job had an identity crisis of his own. (Job lost his kids, whereas Noah did not. But Noah lost his friends, whereas Job did not. They both weathered the storm with their wives.) What we see in the story of Job is that, even after all things are restored to Job (Job 42:10), God never takes away the pain of his loss. Job still has to grieve his previous life. We read that “the Lord blesses the latter part of Job’s life more than the former part” (Job 42:12) and that Job goes on to have “seven sons and three daughters” (Job 42:13). Nevertheless, Job never forgets the children he had at first, those who died when a storm blew in and killed them (Job 1:18-19). Job remembers them and longs for their presence even after God blesses him in the latter part of his life. And so, too, Noah’s heart breaks when remembers his former life. I can’t help but think a large portion of him died right along with the others.

The Torah does an interesting thing with Noah. It groups him with his fathers, as if to suggest Noah belongs to the old world more than he does to the new world. To see this, we have to set two lineages side by side. First look at Shem’s lineage in Genesis 10, and keep in mind that these people represent “the new humanity,” those living after the flood.


Now that you have a sense for how it reads, compare it to Seth’s lineage back in Genesis 5. You’ll notice the rhythm is totally different. These are people living before the flood:


Now look at Noah. There are two verses that bookend his life (Genesis 5:32 & Genesis 9:28-29). Bringing those together, we read:

After Noah was 500 years old, he became the father of Shem, Ham and Japheth. After the flood Noah lived 350 years. Noah lived a total of 950 years, and then he died. 

You can see how the language corresponds to Seth’s lineage. It follows right along with the repetitious nature of Genesis 5. You just have to remove the events in the middle to see that Noah’s life is told in a manner exactly like those before him. Why is this, though?

It is because Noah is of the old world. Noah is different than his sons in this regard, because his sons belong to the new world. And if I may explain: Noah is certainly the patriarch of the new humanity, but even still, he is a foreigner to it. His ties to the old world make him unlike subsequent generations. And you’re thinking––weren’t Shem, Ham, and Japheth also of the old world? Because they were born prior to the flood as well. But you see, they grew up as dad was building the ark! They had known from an early age that a new beginning was coming soon. Their short time in the old world was spent preparing for the new world. Their hearts and their minds were always looking forward. But Noah? He spent 600 years in the old world! For much of his life, he knew nothing of a flood! For at least five centuries, the old world was the only world as far as Noah was concerned. And so it goes that Noah is attached to the older generations more than he is to the newer generations. The old man Noah belongs with his fathers on the other side of the flood. And so the Torah poetically groups him in with the lineage of Adam and Seth. And his kids living after the flood go forth in a new world, knowing a rhythm different than that of Noah and his fathers.

Why a Flood?

In Genesis 7, we read about humanity’s big reboot––the flood. But a question arises: of all the ways in which God could go about restarting the world, why did God choose to use a flood of water?

The secret is revealed in Numbers 31. There we find a passage that is easy to pass over without a second glance, but frankly it’s the key that answers our question. Not only does it explain the water of the flood, it also explains why earth’s final cleansing will come by fire.

In Numbers 31:21-23, we read: Then Eleazar the priest said to the men in the army who had gone to battle: “This is the statute of the law that the LORD has commanded Moses: only the gold, the silver, the bronze, the iron, the tin, and the lead, everything that can stand the fire, you shall pass through the fire, and it shall be clean. Nevertheless, it shall also be purified with the water for impurity. And anything that cannot withstand the fire, you shall pass through the water.

The context of this passage is as follows: the Israelites have returned from battle, victorious. In their great victory, they have found vessels of precious metal, gold, silver, and all kinds of things that will now come into their possession. But, as they start to bring these vessels back into the camp, the priest Eleazar basically says, “Stop! God told Moses these items must be purified before they can enter the camp! If the item can withstand fire, purify the item with fire. If the item cannot withstand fire, then purify the item with water. This is the rule. Understand?”

The passage seems to have no connection with the flood, but then you start thinking about the fire and the water and the purification, and you begin to realize that what applies to a vessel taken from the battlefield must also apply to the planet. After all, the planet is a vessel taken from the battlefield.  

Let’s consider these verses:

• Matthew 3:11 (NIV)––“I baptize [your body] with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

• Hebrews 10:22 (NIV)––Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.

• 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 (NIV)––[Your foundation] will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work that anyone has built on survives, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire.

• 2 Peter 3:7 (NIV)––But by the same word the heavens and earth that now exist are stored up for fire, being kept until the day of judgment and destruction of the ungodly.

• 1 Peter 1:7 (NIV)––These trials have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

It is the same principle at work. If the vessel is something that can endure fire (i.e., it’s something spiritual), then it is to be cleansed with fire. But if it is something that cannot endure fire (i.e., it’s something physical), then it is to be cleansed with water. We take this, in turn, and apply it to God’s first and second judgment.

The flood was meant to cleanse the world of sinful people.
The coming judgment is meant to cleanse God’s people of a sinful world.

So why a flood? 

Because the first was a physical purification. Therefore, the cleansing came by water. 
However, the second will be a spiritual purification, so the cleansing will come by fire.

Sarah Lived 127 Years

Genesis 23 probably starts this way in your English translation: “Sarah lived 127 years; these were the years of the life of Sarah.” But note, this is not how every Torah scroll in the world reads. What the translators have changed is how the Hebrew conveys Sarah’s age. The Hebrew in verse 1 more accurately reads, “And the life of Sarah was a hundred and seven and twenty years; these were the years of the life of Sarah.”


It’s as though the life of Sarah is being divided up into distinct periods of time. The rabbis offer a beautiful reason for this. They say it is because Sarah had the wisdom of a 100 year old woman, the heart of a seven year old girl, and the beauty of a 20 year old young lady. At least, in Abraham’s eyes. Having withdrawn from the public Abraham mourns her passing, and I can imagine sitting next to him and asking something like, “How old was Sarah? Wasn’t she 127?” And thinking of her, he’d say after a moment, “She was a hundred. She was seven. She was twenty.” 

I love this thought so much. I’d be content to leave it here, but I would be remiss if I didnt mention how some have extracted from Sarah’s lifespan an intriguing mathematical connection that does not seem to be happenstance.

As they point out, Sarah is the great matriarch of the Jewish nation. She ties together the three patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Now watch how her lifespan shows up when you rub together the lives of the patriarchs. 

Abraham lived to 175.     (175 = 5x 7)
Isaac lived to 180.            (180 = 62 x 5)
Jacob lived to 147.           (147 = 72 x 3)

A pattern emerges when we dissect the age of the patriarchs. We have a perfect square in sequential order multiplied by odd numbers in a descending pattern. In each case, the sum of the factors is 17, as shown here:

Abraham:    175 = 5 x 5 x 7.    (5 + 5 + 7 = 17)
Isaac:           180 = 6 x 6 x 5.    (6 + 6 + 5 = 17)
Jacob:          147 = 7 x 7 x 3.    (7 + 7 + 3 = 17)

Sarah lived to 127 years. 127 is the sum of these square numbers plus 17.

In other words, 52 + 62 + 72 + 17 = 127!

Math nerds everywhere are freaking out at this point, especially if they just finished their coffee.