In recording the ten generations separating Adam to Noah, the Torah provides brief encapsulations of their lives. By far the most intriguing on the list is Hanokh (in English, he is referred to as Enoch), the seventh generation of humanity. Here is the complete record of what the Torah reveals about Hanokh:
When Jared had lived 162 years, he begot Hanokh.… When Hanokh had lived 65 years, he begot Methuselah. After the birth of Methuselah, Hanokh walked with God 300 years; and he begot sons and daughters. All the days of Hanokh came to 365 years. Hanokh walked with God; then he was no more, for God took him.
There are several striking features in this tantalizing description of Hanokh’s life. That the number of his years equals the days in the solar year may provide the context, the result of, or the source for post-biblical legends that attribute the invention of the solar calendar to Hanokh.
Another striking note is the two-fold repetition of the phrase that he “walked with God.” With the other people in the list of generations, we are simply told that they lived. Only Hanokh merits this superlative description of having walked with God during his life. On the level of p'shat, the contextual meaning, it appears that Hanokh was a righteous man who lived his life in full accord with divine will and great intimacy with God. The phrase appears only on two other occasions, for Noah and for the ideal priest described by the prophet Malachi. High praise indeed!
The curious nature of his end also attracts our attention. The phrase, “he was no more” replaces the more normal expression “then he died.” It suggests some sudden, unexpected, and unexplained disappearance, different from the more standard deaths that the other figures experienced. This unusual end is linked to two other oddities: he dies very young (relatively speaking). His father lived for 800 years, his son lived 969 years. He only lived a third as long as they did. And the Torah tells us that “God took him.” Biblical scholar Nahum Sarna explains that this is probably a euphemism for death, and Rashi explains it as a premature death. Yet one could also read this odd passage as suggesting that Hanokh didn’t die at all; that like Elijah, he was simply carried off to heaven.
In fact, abundant Midrashim make that suggestion explicit. Derekh Eretz Zuta observes that he was one of only nine tzaddikim who entered Paradise without having died first. Another legend says that God brought him to heaven to become the chief of the angels. God transformed him into the angel Metatron, altering his fleshly body into one of purest fire.
Whether he died a natural death or was carried to heaven, the greatest curiosity linked to Hanokh is that he is described as having walked with God and as having died an early death. How is that possible? Shouldn’t his righteousness have been rewarded with longevity? Isn’t his premature death a scandal? An accusation against God?
The rabbis of the Talmud were very aware of this problem, and they resolved it by stating that Hanokh wasn’t really righteous after all. They observe that the second, superfluous “he walked with God” is followed immediately by “he was no more” and they connected the two: “Hanokh was a hypocrite, acting sometimes as a tzaddik, sometimes as a rasha (wicked person). Therefore the Holy Blessing One said, ‘while he is righteous, I will remove him.’” His early death, then, is really an act of divine mercy — allowing him to die in a state of righteousness, allowing him to enjoy a greater reward in the Coming World.
That “solution” to the problem of why a good man would die an early death has clear connotations for how the rabbis see the world and God’s justice in the world. However much we may admire their faith and their confidence, most moderns cannot accept the notions that what is and what ought to be are one and the same. We have a hard time reading a message from a just and loving God in an early death.
What, then, can this biblical paradox mean for us? What do we do with the idea that one can “walk with God” during his lifetime and still suffer disappointment, misfortune, illness, and death? In fact, rabbinic opinion itself suggests another way to read God’s message in this story. The Bekhor Shor (12th Century France) suggests that the second “he walked with God” was repeated specifically to ensure that we not read the brevity of Hanokh’s life as a punishment for sin. Whatever the reason for Hanokh’s early death, it is not a moral or religious condemnation of the quality of his life.
In our own day, too, we still suffer from those who would use religion as a cudgel to denigrate other human beings and castigate their opponents. How many have suggested that AIDS, for example, is the payment for sin? Some prominent ministers even suggested that the LA earthquake was a punishment for Hollywood’s lifestyle.
The example of Hanokh repudiates such smug judgment. The righteous suffer and die just as do the rest of us. Whether one is rich or poor, whether one survives into a ripe old age or not is not necessarily a measure of divine favor or wrath. Hanokh reminds us that one can be a tzaddik and still suffer, that bad things do happen to good people.
God is to be found, not in the punishment, not in the suffering, not in self-righteous condemnation, but in the hands of those who reach out to help, in the wisdom we muster to mitigate each other’s pain, to comfort each other’s sorrow, and to heighten each other’s joy.
Walking with God is not an investment for a better tomorrow, it is the expression of a righteous today. No mere tool for amassing reward; walking with God is the way to infuse whatever time we do have with profundity and with purpose.
Anyone care for a stroll?
Shabbat Shalom.