A Life Lived

The life of Sarah was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years. Genesis 23:1.

Painstakingly, the Torah details segments of Sarah’s lifetime. Here, the words are repetitive and unnecessary. They do not gently pass through the narrative. Instead the words arrest our vision. They are clunky and dissonant. Yet we are taught that nothing is redundant in the Torah. No word is extraneous, chide the ancient voices. Why then does the holy Torah use its precious space to ploddingly delineate the lifetime of Sarah, our Mother? It does need to repeat the word years after every number. Any reader would know that the cumulative lifetime spanned one hundred twenty-seven years, without those additional words.

Idea: Each part of our life is a stepping-stone to reach upwards toward a new level. Sarah’s life is demarcated into three segments, each representing a distinct phase of her life. At one hundred years of age, tell the Sages, Sarah was as sinless as a young woman. 1 What happened during those many decades? Sarah strove not to become jaded or bitter. Everyone’s life is full of disappointments. People let us down. They betray us. We are victimized. Only the most resolute character can maintain the discipline to remain positive. Sarah incessantly worked to maintain her hopeful outlook despite the ravages of decades.

At twenty years old, Sarah was as wide-eyed and beautiful as a child of seven. Nothing deterred this matriarch from being full of awe at a world brimming with miraculousness. While most people become tired of sunsets, flowers in full bloom, love given and received, birth and death; Sarah remained full of awe at the spectacle of the universe.

Sarah’s beauty was never diminished by the blights of sadness, depression or despair.

Musar: At all costs, we must never abandon our hope, trust and optimism. It easy to be psychically marred by the bad things that happen to us. We are betrayed. We are assaulted. Our character is defamed. To become cynical in the face of such onslaughts is a natural reflexive action. Do not do this, warns mother Sarah. Remember who you are at your core: a pure soul.

Idea: —all of them [each year of Sarah’s life] full and perfect. 2 That is why the Torah states; The life of Sarah was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years … the Torah subtly indicates that Sarah lived every day of her life. Time was not wasted on self-pity, abuse or wantonly killing time. Instead, she lived every moment of her one hundred twenty-seven years.
Musar Talmud teaches, "one can acquire his universe" — the world-to-come — or destroy it "in a single moment." 3
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From earliest times, it is a great mitzvah (commandment) to comfort mourners. The first seeds of the practices of mourning are found here. Why is comforting mourners such a great mitzvah? Rules and practices of how to grieve and how to treat the bereft fill many heavy volumes. When there are so many demands in life, why does tradition place such a premium on mourning?
Is it not obvious?

Part of our life is excised when someone we love dies. There will be no more kisses or caresses. No more conspiratorial meetings or happenstance encounters at the refrigerator. No more birthdays will be celebrated. No more blessings given. How could the yanking of a life-soul be anything but painful?

Sarah died. According to the Midrash, Abraham looked around and saw distraught looks on the faces surrounding him. He looked at their unmasked pain and felt the overwhelming raw abandonment everywhere. He saw their tears and watched as they ground their hands helplessly into one another. Isaac dissolved into tears and cried out, “My mother, my mother! Why have you left me?” 4 Servants gathered about and ripped their clothes as they fell to the ground weeping. So, Abraham went to console them. Abraham? The bereft was comforting everyone else? How did this cruel inversion happen?

When we finish studying a holy text, we say Tam v’nishlam…” All is whole and complete now.” Long ago the book was written but it is only complete when it has been read and finished. Only then is the book tam, whole. Afterward, we return the volume to its place on the shelf. It is truly finished. Is this a cause for celebration or sadness? You can argue that it is an unhappy event to finish a good book. Once it is over, what becomes of the yearning in the dark night to find out what happens next? The desire to grasp the book that held our attention and pursue us to lose sleep is gone. Now that it is over, are we sad? Or perhaps having become enriched by the experience of the book we rejoice.

In a Jewish frame of mind, we celebrate our immersion and successful conclusion of the volume. We read. We analyze. We fulfilled the terms of the author; the words were animated by our connection with them. In some sense, Tam v’nishlam, we and it, are whole and complete. So it is with Sarah, our Mother. Having lived a full and rich life she returns to the resting place of Adam and Eve, Makhpelah. She is whole. Soon afterward Sarah will be joined by Abraham.

In the meanwhile, Abraham knows his separation from Sarah is temporal. He is old and will soon regain the companionship of his life. Tam v’nishlam. That is why the Patriarch can comfort the others. Abraham knows the truth. He knows that eternity has clasped his beloved and soon he will come to the banquet table of the Almighty too. Tam v’nishlam.
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Hebron is the place where Sarah, our Mother, died and was interred. The transaction for Makhpelah between Ephron and Abraham is bizarre. Ephron kindly offers the land to Abraham free. It is a grandiose and magnanimous offering to Abraham. Yet, the Patriarch refused. Why? Translating the exorbitant price Abraham ultimately gave Ephron into today’s currency, he paid millions of dollars for the Cave of Makhpelah. Perhaps we understand why Abraham refused to take the land as a gift but paying such an extraordinary lot of money?

Kabbalah illumines why Ephron was so willing to part with the property. The Zohar declares that Ephron believed the Cave of Makhpelah he was selling to the new immigrant was a worthless, dank black hole. 5 What was father Abraham able to discern about the true nature of the Cave of Makhpelah? And, why did he see it when Ephron saw nothing but blankness?

Rebbe Nachman observed that when a person lives a virtuous life, seeks opportunities to do God’s Will, fulfils mitzvot and acts with kindness a change occurs. The inner soul-voice becomes pronounced and strong as it is allowed to speak and be heard. Its ability to be the eyes which perceive and interpret is the catalyst for greatest wisdom. Such a person begins to see the true nature of all things. That is why Abraham saw what others – including Ephron – could not. Noble living allowed Abraham to see the great supernal light hiding in the darkness.

There is a gifted and innate connection between the Jewish people and Israel. The holy Torah opens up with a question posed by Rashi: why does the Torah bother to begin with Bereshit? What does the book of Genesis contribute to our connection to God and the Torah? All the book seemingly does is provide an awareness of the chain of generations that spanned the Beginning until the descent to Egypt. Rashi reveals that its task is to declare the Godly nexus with the Land. In other words, all the tales lead to the covenant between the Abrahamic line, God and Israel. The Land of Israel is the eternal inheritance of the Jewish people, equally the property of every individual Jew. This is what Abraham saw and why no amount of money was too much for the cave of Makhpelah.

At the same time, said the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Schneerson, the purchase by Abraham was the fulfillment of Rashi’s rationale for the existence of entire book of Genesis: Makhpelah was the moment when the Jews took ownership of the Holy Land. The Cave of Makhpelah would become each generation’s share in Israel.



1 Bereshit. Rabbah 58:1
2 Ibid.
3 Avodah Zarah 18a
4 Ginsberg, Legends of the Jews, vol 1.
5 I, 127b

You Can Tell the Love for the Trees and Avraham vs. Lot

                        You Can Tell the Love for the Trees


The reaction of primordial man to the Tree of the Garden in Eden altered the trajectory of humankind. One tree changed the world. Could it still be exerting power over us?
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When Abraham greeted the weary, dust covered strangers at his tent he invited them to sit under leafy branches and rest. Under the shade of this one lone desert tree, Abraham would use his wisdom to introduce the concept of one God to them. 1 Seating travelers under this tree held a dual opportunity for Abraham; it enabled him to at once to perform the mitzvah of feeding the hungry while teaching the Torah of the universe to idolaters. The strangers sat and washed while Abraham opened his heart and began to unfold the truth of the One God to passersby. Then, he and Sarah fed them.

A question. Could the way we interact with the world (trees by example) be a clue to a person’s inner goodness? Is the Torah intentional when drawing our focus to the mention of this tree two times? Might the seeming innocuous meeting at the tree be an indication of something greater?
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Tales meet, separate, intertwine and then re-group throughout the book of Genesis. We meet the same characters repeatedly. They appear, seemingly blend into the desert landscape, only to reappear some time later. At each meeting, we understand a bit more of their character and watch as they grow and mature. Two principal characters in this week's parasha are Abraham and Lot, uncle and nephew. We first met the couple in last week's parasha. There we read:
Avram went up from Egypt with his wife and all his possessions - and Lot was with him - from the south. As Lot went with Avram he had his flocks, cattle and tents." Genesis 13:1-5
Lot traveled with his uncle Abraham not only from the ancestral home of Ur but even on his trek to Egypt to escape the terrible famine pinching Canaan. The two men must have shared many experiences and a special kinship through their years together. Having endured starvation, hardship and terrible danger there is little doubt that Abraham and Lot were close. As an extended and connected family they returned to the promised land of Canaan much richer.
However, the Text next informs us that the land could not support them both. The accumulated possessions of Abraham and Lot were too many and their needs were too great. They could not live together. Fighting broke began between the herdsmen of Abraham and of Lot. They argued over the scare water supply and the prime pastures. They fought about whose flocks took precedence. The frequency and intensity of the conflicts escalated.
Is this the curse of affluence? Must life always singed and marred by jealousy? They were happy when they were impoverished; when the relatives banded together for security. And now? Why could this family not remain intact and unified now?

"When love was great we could have made our home on the edge of a blade," says the Talmud. "When our love faltered the whole world was not great enough to hold us." 2
The quarrels continued. Is this surprising? It started with the employees of Lot and Abraham and swiftly worsened. A question: is it possible for the shepherds, the hirelings of Abraham and Lot, to fight without the tacit approval of their employers? Had Abraham and Lot demanded that their hired hands stop the feuding they would have stopped. A word from their masters and all would have been well. Perhaps that is why Abraham then turned to his nephew and cried:
I beg of you, let there be no hatred between us and between our herdsmen. After all, we are brothers! All this land lies before you. Choose the parcel that you like the best. If you move to the right, I will go the left. If you choose the left, I will make my home on the right. Genesis 8-9 Abraham desperately wanted to control the dark downward spiral of enmity between him and Lot. He was distraught. In a magnanimous gesture of goodwill, he told his nephew to choose whatever section of land he desires. Perhaps, reasons Abraham, Lot might learn how not to be greedy as he became more secure with his wealth. ‘Perhaps when there is no competition between us, Lot will release his anger.’
Lot quickly made his decision. In the division of land, Lot chose the verdant area that encompassed the wicked city of Sodom. Why would Lot choose to live in midst of such evil? How could he? Did he not learn goodness from his uncle? Was he not paying attention? How could he make such a mistake?
Abraham’s trust in his nephew is reasonable. After all, Lot is a basically good man. He had watched and learned from his uncle. Lot lived his whole life with Abraham; he consistently witnessed great acts of kindness. Lot observed how Abraham acted. Abraham was ever diligent in his desire to welcome in strangers. Countless times Lot watched and learned from his uncle.
Lot watched and learned as Abraham invited guests into home. Even when feverish and ill, Abraham looked for opportunities to be kind to strangers. God was so pleased and protective of him that He rewarded Abraham with the ultimate kindness: The Holy One visited Abraham while the aging patriarch was in pain.
Another example of Abraham’s hospitality was when Abraham planted an eshel in Beersheba Genesis 21:33.
An eshel?
Modern day scholars conjecture that the eshel was simply an old term for a tamarisk tree. It would feed future generations. Other more ancient sources believe that Abraham planted a whole orchard to cover the land and produce fruit for generations to-come thus feeding the hungry. Perhaps wanting to do such an undetermined kindness, Abraham planted such an orchard. Other sages say that the eshel was actually an inn where travelers could stop, eat and rest. If this understanding is true then Abraham expanded his idea of the tree that greeted the strangers to a much larger level. These wise men tell that the word eshel is not a tree at all. Eshel is an acronym for eating, drinking and keeping company. 3
He did learn from Uncle Abraham. Lot became skilled at the mitzvah of hachnassat orchim, welcoming travelers. Lot freely invited guests into his home. In fact, Lot absorbed the lesson so well that he endangered himself and his family to perform the deed of hachnassat orchim. The people of Sodom threatened to destroy him because of his willingness to be kind to visitors. Against all mores of Sodom, Lot remembered the lessons of his youth. Lot defended the strangers against the pooling violent crowd threatening violence at his door.
Yet, underneath the outer veneer of hospitality towards the stranger lay a greedy kernel at his core. In his heart, Lot was selfish. Earlier, Lot showed his insatiable desire for more in the episode with the shepherds. He was even willing to turn a cold eye to his beloved uncle for the sake of wealth. Lot then displayed his lack of concern for where he lived by choosing Sodom as his home. Once again Lot showed his skewed morality by offering his daughters to the Sodomites for their pleasure. About the only parcel of morality in Lot’s life that was learned in his uncle’s home was kindness to strangers.


A final tale from the Talmud:
Rabbi Nachman asked Rabbi Yitzchak to bless him.
Rabbi Yitzhak thought. “I can only tell you a parable. A man was traveling through the desert. Tired and thirsty, he came to an oasis. There was a fruit tree drooping under the weight of the luscious gifts it bore. Beside the tree was a gurgling stream. The traveler ate the fruit, drank the water and rested in the shade of the tree. He rose to go. Before he left the oasis he wanted to bless this tree.
‘Tree, how can I bless you? I could bless you for sweet fruit. What use would that be? You are already sweet. 'I cannot bless you with shade. You already have it.
'I cannot bless you with a stream of water, for you already have one. All I can say is, may it be the Will of the Almighty that all the shoots and tendrils that come from you, be just like you.’
“So is it with you, my friend Nachman,” said Yitzchak. “You have Torah, wealth and are blessed with children. All I can say is, may it be the Will of the Almighty that your progeny be just like you.” 4



Perhaps the Tree of the Garden would continue to prove a blessing or curse. Humanity, throughout the epochs, would always make choices between good and evil in every matter. The Supernal Tree of Life hopes that we will sit in its shade and choose goodness.
May we be worthy of Nachman’s blessing.




1 Meam Loez
2 Sanhedrin 7a
3 Rashi on Sota 10a
4 Taanit 5b


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Davar Acher

                      Avraham vs. Lot

When, at the beginning of the parasha (18:4) three angels approach Avram, the ailing patariarch runs out to greet them. It is a powerful moment as the reader marvels at this man’s ability to run with alacrity three days after having undergone a circumcision! He exclaimes, “Let some water be brought to wash your feet before you rest under a tree.”

Avram then gathers a magnificent feast for his guests. One cannot help but wonder why it seems Avram was so stingy with water and so effusive about serving the travelers every possible food. Midrash Lekach Tov noted that Avram was tight with the water because he asked his servants to do this task and did not want to overburden them. Regarding the food, he went to prepare that alongside his wife so he was more giving.

Contrast that story with the scene that occurs when two of those same angels came to Lot in Sodom. Lot tells the visitors, “Spend the night here, wash your feet, then get up early and be on your way” (19:1). Unlike Avram, Lot does not assist his guests with their washing at all. Further, he makes it clear they are not wanted in his home any longer than they have to be there. Is it any wonder then that the angels decline to stay with Lot altogether prefering to spend the night in the street?

Soon afterward, the angels warn Lot to flee Sodom with his family. One angel advises them "Flee for your life! Do not look behind you, nor step anywhere in the Plain; flee to the hills, lest you be swept away" (19:17). Why shouldn't they look back? What difference could it possibily make? Rashi comments, "let it suffice you to save your lives; do not give a thought to your possessions." In other words, these messengers of God knew the character of Lot and his family. They understood their deep attachment to physical things. Lot and company were miserly to their core.

Avram and Lot are a study in human behavior. One is giving without out thought to his persoanl wealth. Avram understands the essential mission of life as stated by Winston Churchill, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” In the Midrash we are taught that this is the reason why Avram was elected to be the progenitor of this new people. God saw inside this man a willingness to share whatever he had with others. God does not make us into saints or villains. We choose those roads for ourselves. Yet, we understand that God keenly watches how we behave toward one another because that is the determinant of character.

And what did God see? He saw that Avram believed that “to do is to be” and not vice versa. The Holy One, blessed be He, witnessed in Avram that the power of tzedaka is the bonding force that heals the world.

And what is tzedaka as defined by our text? It is the way we treat people not as fortunate as ourselves (think of the servant with the water); it is the way we respond to strangers who are in need of food or companionship; it is the genuine “givingness” that comes from the heart; it is valuing people over things.

"Go," came the word. "But where do I go?"

It is unnecessary. Utterly redundant. That is one reason why the words are so striking.

The Torah parses out its language sparingly. It uses no extraneous space or words. Each word seems carefully selected after much thought and only what is absolutely necessary remains. What we read are only the barest of facts that tell – or better imply – greatness. Our task is to read the nuances of the words and decipher what is unspoken: the hidden meaning of the Text.

The introductory words to the Parasaha, Lech lecha, stand out because of they are superfluous. Lech means “you go”. That is why lecha does not make sense. It is a useless redundancy. Lecha means ‘you.’ If we were to translate the phrase literally, it would mean “You. You go.”

The great Sages of the past have taught us to look closely at anomalies. They beg us to peer more closely to the inner kernel of meaning inside every phrase, each word. When the holy Writ wants us to pay attention it throws out a buoy that is intended to catch our eye and make us think.

To grasp the import of this phrase they softly whisper, “Do not read it as ‘you go…’ Instead, read the phrase as “You go (Lech) into yourself (lecha). In other words, this story is not so much about Avram’s physical journey from his homeland to Canaan as much as a leap on consciousness. God is asking Avram, the ultimate progenitor of the Jewish nation, to make an internal journey and find a treasure that is of incalculable worth. It will change history.

“Said Rabbi Yitshak: Four things can change a person’s destiny. They are tzedaka, an anguished soulful cry, a change of name and a change of behavior.” Yalkut Shimoni 12.

Each of these actions cause a dramatic alteration of the person. Any one of them is enough to alter the course of a life. For Avram, all four events would crystallize and culminate in a life that would transfix the world. In stages that begin now, Avram begins to embrace each of these significant changes. They all begin here in the third parasha of Genesis.

Each catalyst for change commences with an internal decision to travel deep within the Self, penetrating thick layers of resistance. True tzedaka is a conscious decision to live a righteous life. A searing cry that emanates from the soul is also the first step on a new path of life. A change of name or character is likewise a shifting of one’s inner life. What would spur someone to abandon everything familiar and venture out into a territory that is utterly unfamiliar? What would cause a person to undertake such a dramatic journey?

Rabbi Yitshak once again comes to our aid. A traveler passed his days moving from place to place. One day he sighted a far-off palace in flames. The man approached, looked at the conflagration and wondered aloud, ‘Where is the master of this palace? Is it possible that it has no owner?’
Before another moment passed a voice answered him, “I am the master of this palace.”

Avram asked, ‘Is it possible for this world to exist without a Master? Can it be that this universe has no Guide?’ That is when the Holy One, blessed be He, looked upon Avram and said, “I am the Master of the universe.”

Just before the tale of Lech lecha began we read the tale of the Tower of Babel. One story leads into the next. Is it possible that Avram witnessed this event? Could he have possibly seen the massive structure being erected? Could Avram have watched as the Tower came to an abrupt end? Could Avram have watched immobilized as masses of people were suddenly incapable of communication?

A midrash called Baraita Seder Olam Rabba connects the turning point of the Tower of Babel to Avram’s sudden understanding of the God of the universe. Just as the earlier midrash of Rabbi Yitshak pictured a flaming palace to be followed by Avram questioning of Master of all, could it be that Avram was a witness to Babel? Could that have been the moment of Avram’s enlightenment? ?” When he saw the massive abandoned Tower Avram extrapolated that just as the Tower had a purpose, a design, an architect and an owner so too most the universe have a greater plan.

Then Avram began to go more deeply into himself. “Is this it?” the nascent sage might have wondered. “Is this what our life is all about? We are supposed to build castles up to the sky? For what purpose? Is there nothing grander, mightier, more powerful than the work of our hands that were used to storm heaven?” he sobbed.

The awakening had begun.

That is when the Holy One answered the yearning heart of Avram. “I am the Master of this Universe,” He said. “I am He.”

Only after Avram let loose his piercing cry was Avram told, “Lech lecha,” “Go into your self.” There you will find all the answers that you need. The truth will become evident.

Rabbi Mordecai Yosef interprets Lech lecha as Avram "struggling (or raging like a massive storm) inside," of himself. Avram was in the process of transformation, of great growth. The soulful birth of Avraham was about to emerge from its husk. Perhaps our journey begins the same way.

Noah's Vineyard

“Noah was an absolute Tzaddik in his time.” Genesis 6:9

Rising high above his contemporaries Noah was intent on listening for the Word of God. He hungered to touch the Divine and yearned for a moment of devekute, a holy encounter with the One. While a world grew despoiled from ongoing senseless acts of carnage, Noah kept his vision focused on God.
Perhaps that is why the first act Noah did when his boat struck earth was to plant a vineyard. Lovingly planting the tiny seeds and guarding its steady growth Noah wanted to please the Master. When the vines were heavy with their thick fruit, Noah squeezed the elixir from the grapes. He drank. Noah became intoxicated. That is when the Holy text says, “Noah profaned himself.” Genesis 9:20 Drunk, spewing vomit, Noah the Tzaddik lolled about in his own filth inside his tent.
What do we learn from the Torah? That even tzaddidim can veer from the course of righteousness? Is this the message? When we finish reading the terrible ending of the Flood we wonder: what is the moral of the tale? Could it be a simple lesson in the fallibility being made from flesh and blood? Prone to sin? That we are not made of holier stuff?
אּ
Just prior to the great Flood a humble and perfect man, Hanokh, was wrested from the physical universe. The youngest of all the people enumerated in the long list of generations stretching from Adam to Noah, Hanokh was gripped by God and “walked with God.” Hanokh was the youngest of all the generations to die. Genesis 5:23
The French medievalist scholar, Rashi, pondered this question. Why did Hanokh die prematurely? Rashi suggested that perhaps Hanokh was too perfect to be a victim of the Flood. He was pure and blameless; the only member of an entire society to be whole. That is why just before the waters began their deathly rise the Lord snatched up Hanokh and brought him to heaven. Hanokh did not live to see the utter destruction of humanity. He was saved. This was God’s gift to Hanokh, explained Rashi.
Yet, a doubt lingers….if Hanokh was so righteous why did not God place him on Noah’s vessel? His life would have been spared. He could have been a survivor and not a victim. Hanokh would have then received the ultimate reward to being the progenitor of the new human race. Is survival not the greatest reward for righteousness?
Again, Rashi provides a shaft of light illuminating this enigmatic figure. Hanokh, states Rashi, was withdrawn from the world before his time because he may have been persuaded towards the evil side. Hanokh’s kindness was also his vulnerability.
Hanokh was a cobbler, a shoemaker. According to midrash he was focused on repairing shoes and helping repair broken souls. Hanokh was a content man free of sin, free from distraction. Yet, intimates the midrash, when the oncoming disturbances from the rampant evil began to enter into his ears and penetrate his soul, God withdrew his perfect servant from the world. The danger of contamination was too great. Hanokh did not survive the Flood because he was too pristine, too pure. He would have lost his soul in the process.
This returns us to Noah who began his life similar to Hanokh. Noah was a tzaddik, like Hanokh. Unlike his ancestor, Noah was not as prone to influence from his friends, neighbors and society. In that sense, Noah was a more trustworthy candidate to start the human race once again. Indeed, Noah follows God’s direction to their absolute end. With unerring devotion, Noah heeds the commands from Above and commences the process of building an Ark. Ignoring the corruption all around him Noah set his mind to the task of following God.
אּ
At the end of it all, we are still confronted with the awful reality of Noah’s stupor and shame. Noah’s moral stamina may have been stronger than Hanokh’s but he still ended up in a mess. Is this the end of a tzaddik? The story of individual honor and reliance against evil concludes with a man lying naked in puddles of vomit? The one chosen to be the new Adam of the reborn universe starts the journey of a new civilization by profaning himself?
Remember what Noah planted: a vineyard. Why grapes? There is a virtually endless list of crops Noah could have planted instead of a vineyard. Think of the possibilities: there are pears, melons, barley, bananas, lettuce, eggplant, wheat….
Why wouldn’t a tzaddik plant grapes in the new world? After all, doesn’t he need to make a Kiddush? Doesn’t a tzaddik want to make a l’hayim to his Maker? A true tzaddik would want to praise and bless God as the first Shabbat approached. According to tradition, there is only one way to do this; Noah needed wine.
אּ
Make no mistake: the forbidden fruit of the Garden could have been many things. It most certainly was not an apple. One strong opinion holds that it was a grape. At once, the fruit of the vine held promise of true knowledge of the world and hint of evil. It opened up new vistas for the first humans.
Remember too, that the one that enticed the woman was the feared nahash, the Evil One. Sforno, a fifteenth century Italian sage, reveals to us that the nahash was not merely a snake but the embodiment of the great tempter, the Evil One himself. The Evil One, tells Sforno, reached into the dark subconscious minds of primordial man and coaxed them toward the darkness while pretending it was light.
אּ
The advantage that Noah had over Adam and Eve was that Noah knew that grapes were necessary to hallow God. They may have been the gateway out of Eden but they were still the gateway that led back. With fervency, Noah clamored out of the Ark and swiftly moved to sanctify the Holy One’s name immediately. What Noah did not know was that the Evil One had permanently perverted the potential of the grapes. The grapes were holy when only used to sanctify God’s name. Used for any other purpose, including excess, and the Evil One comes to claim the owner for himself.

Holiness is being aware and awake. It means being conscious of the choices we make and the path that we tread. Good and evil are different sides of the same coin. They are not different coins. It is critical to be ever aware of our words, gestures and even prayers.
The Evil One approaches when we become self-absorbed. With a gentle whisper, he brings us the shadowy world that is the other half of existence.
In the meanwhile, we have all the tools necessary to wend our way back towards the Garden. Accessing holiness is being open, joyful and devoted to the Holy One. The lesson of Noah? Even a tzaddik can go astray.