By Rabbi Moishe New
A CURIOUS REPETITION
Following the Flood, Noach emerged from the ark after an entire year. During that time, he had been responsible for the care of all the living creatures sheltered within it, working tirelessly to feed them and attend to their needs.
When the ordeal was finally over, the Torah tells us that Noach planted a vineyard, drank of its wine, became intoxicated, and lay uncovered in his tent.
Noach had three sons: Shem, Cham, and Yefet. Cham entered his father’s tent, saw his father’s nakedness, and went outside to tell his two brothers what had happened.
The reaction of Shem and Yefet was quite different. The Torah tells us that they took a garment, placed it upon their shoulders, and walked backwards into the tent. With their faces turned away from their father, they covered him, preserving his dignity.
The verse concludes with the words: “And their father’s nakedness they did not see.”
Now, there is something rather puzzling about these final words. The Torah has already told us that Shem and Yefet walked backwards into the tent, keeping their faces turned away from their father. Clearly, they did not see his nakedness. Indeed, that was the entire purpose of entering the tent backwards.
Why, then, does the Torah find it necessary to state what is already perfectly obvious?
We know that the Torah is precise in every word. Nothing is stated unnecessarily, certainly not something that has already been made abundantly clear. These additional words must therefore be communicating something deeper.
To appreciate their meaning, we must first examine a remarkable teaching of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chasidic movement.
THE OTHER PERSON AS A MIRROR
The Baal Shem Tov taught that when a person sees a shortcoming in another, it is an indication that the same shortcoming exists, in some form, within himself.
At first glance, this is a rather startling assertion. Surely, when we observe another person behaving improperly, we are simply witnessing that person’s failure. Why should it follow that we share the same failing?
The explanation lies in one of the fundamental principles of Chasidic thought: Divine Providence.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that nothing in this world happens by accident. G-d’s guiding hand extends not only to the great events that shape history, but also to the smallest details of creation. Even a leaf blown down the street, the number of times it turns and the place where it finally comes to rest, is part of the Divine plan.
It follows that whatever a person sees or hears must contain a lesson relevant to his own life.
Suppose I encounter a failing in another person. I see an unattractive character trait, an improper action, or some weakness that I find objectionable. Why has Heaven arranged for me to see it? G-d could just as easily have arranged that I not be present, that I not notice, or that the matter never come to my attention at all.
The Baal Shem Tov explains that the other person is serving as a mirror. I am being shown something that exists within me, something that I have failed to recognize and address.
We are naturally inclined to love ourselves, and that self-love can blind us to our own shortcomings. A failing that appears glaringly obvious in someone else may be almost invisible when it exists within ourselves. Heaven therefore arranges that we encounter it in another person, in the hope that we will recognize the message and undertake to correct it.
But this teaching raises a fundamental question.
A QUESTION RAISED BY THE REBBE
The Rebbe, in discussing this teaching, asked: Why must the fact that I see a shortcoming in another necessarily mean that I possess the same shortcoming myself?
Certainly, Divine Providence has arranged that I should become aware of the problem. But perhaps there is another reason. Perhaps I have been shown this failing because I am meant to help the other person correct it.
After all, the person may not recognize the problem or may be unable to overcome it without assistance. It is entirely possible that G-d has brought the matter to my attention precisely so that I can offer guidance, encouragement, and help.
Why, then, does the Baal Shem Tov insist that the failing must exist within the observer?
The Rebbe’s answer reveals a profound distinction in the way we perceive other people. It all depends on how we see it.
When I witness a shortcoming in another person, what is my immediate reaction? If my instinctive response is one of disgust, criticism, or condemnation—“How ugly! How shameful! How could someone behave that way?”—then it is the ugliness of the failing itself that has occupied my mind.
Sometimes there may even be an element of satisfaction in discovering another person’s weakness. Seeing someone else’s failure can make us feel a little better about ourselves. Even where there is no conscious sense of superiority, the very fact that we are preoccupied with the negative quality is significant.
In such a case, explains the Rebbe, the Baal Shem Tov’s teaching applies. If what attracts my attention is the failing itself, I must recognize that Heaven is directing me to examine that quality within myself.
But suppose my immediate reaction is one of compassion. I recognize that something is wrong, yet rather than becoming absorbed in the ugliness of the failing, I am troubled by the fact that another person is struggling. My instinctive thought is not, “How terrible!” but, “How can I help?”
In that case, the reason I have been shown the problem may indeed be so that I can assist the other person in overcoming it.
The distinction is not in what we see, but in our response to it. Are we focused upon the failure, or upon the person who needs our help?
BEFORE WE CORRECT ANOTHER
This distinction has important practical implications.
We may feel justified in pointing out another person’s shortcomings, believing that we are helping by making him aware of his faults. But the Rebbe’s teaching requires us to examine our own motives before assuming the role of mentor.
If our reaction has been one of contempt or indignation, our first responsibility is to look within ourselves. Only after recognizing and addressing the corresponding failing in our own character are we in a position to offer guidance to someone else.
Indeed, the Rebbe explains that even if our initial response was negative, once we have recognized the problem within ourselves and sincerely resolved to correct it, we can then become capable of helping another.
On the other hand, where our response is genuinely one of compassion, we should not simply turn away. If Heaven has brought another person’s difficulty to our attention, and our concern is solely for his welfare, then perhaps we have been given an opportunity and a responsibility to help.
The question is whether our desire to intervene comes from concern for another human being, or from our own reaction to his failing.
WHAT SHEM AND YEFET DID NOT SEE
We can now return to the story of Noach and his three sons, and understand the significance of the Torah’s seemingly unnecessary words.
Cham entered the tent and saw his father’s nakedness. What occupied his attention was his father’s disgrace. He went outside and told his brothers what had happened, focusing upon the humiliating condition in which his father lay.
Shem and Yefet heard the very same information, but their response was altogether different.
They did not become preoccupied with their father’s failure. Their concern was how to restore his dignity. They took a garment, placed it upon their shoulders, and walked backwards into the tent, ensuring that their father would be covered without their gazing upon his nakedness.
The Torah has already informed us that they did not physically see their father. When it concludes, “And their father’s nakedness they did not see,” it is therefore telling us something much deeper.
They did not see their father’s nakedness in the sense that it did not become the object of their attention. They knew what had happened, but they were not absorbed in his disgrace. Their concern was not his failing, but what they could do to help.
This was the essential difference between Cham and his brothers. One saw a disgrace to be reported; the others saw a situation that required compassion and action.
We inevitably encounter the shortcomings of others. No human being is perfect, and we cannot avoid witnessing weaknesses, mistakes, and failures in the people around us. But we do have a choice in how we respond.
A person’s failing can become an occasion for criticism, or an opportunity for personal growth and genuine kindness. The teachings of Chasidism direct us to examine not only what has come before our eyes, but what our reaction reveals about ourselves and what G-d may be asking of us.