Noah and the Covenant

Another brilliant commentary by Rabbi Yitz Greenberg.
Enjoy, and repair the World!
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Parashat Noah 5781
R. Yitz Greenberg

The Torah inherited a Mesopotamian cultural consensus that a Great Deluge had wiped out almost all of humanity. In the Gilgamesh epic, the gods (Anu and Enlil) inflict this catastrophe arbitrarily in a display of their power, but later defend their actions both as deserved punishment and designed to curb population growth. According to the older epic, Atrahasis,
Enlil, and the gods are troubled by the rapid growth of human population and offended by the noisy, raucous human behaviors. They use the flood (and then shortened life span) to drastically reduce human presence on earth. Rearticulated through the Torah’s revelation, the Flood is explained as inflicted because of widespread human wickedness, especially
violence and oppression. God, who wanted Earth to be a living paradise of justice and peace, is so disappointed and angered as to decide to undo the initial Creation with a flood of watery chaos and try again. The Lord determined to wipe out the corrupt human race and renew humanity, building it on righteous Noah and his family.

But the crucial departure and revolutionary moral path of the Torah is expressed in the day after the Flood—which may well be the most transformative religious moment in Judaism’s history. God pledges never to inflict such a catastrophe again. Attributing a cataclysmic flood to willful action by God would define the Lord as a perfectionist who cannot tolerate the flawed and wayward human nature acting out badly, and so rejects the world and starts again. Alternatively, such a flood would reveal God as a punitive Ruler who ruthlessly wipes out those who disobey divine instructions to be good.

Instead, the Torah reveals that God is a loving Lord who is deeply distressed at the sight of widespread devastation and death. To wipe out people for the sin of disobedience and violence is so coercive that even if people do the right actions thereaer, there is no dignity or genuine morality in their behaviors. A loving God wants people to be good out of free will and
love of others. Therefore, God permanently renounces the threat of inflicting catastrophe: All powerful but loving God self-limits and offers humanity a covenant or partnership.

In this committed partnership of love, humans will join with the Divine in building a better world and filling it with life. But they will do so out of free choice and doing their best, not out of terrorized submission to divine dictates. In the covenant, there is full allowance for human weakness in the form of lower, “compromised” expectations—at least along the way to the final goal. Even bad behaviors are provided for by mechanisms of repentance, milder punishments, and divine forgiveness. God still wants Creation and society to be perfected. However, God loves humans and wants them to mature and become fully images of God—that is, independent creatures who are infinitely valuable, equal, and unique. God wants humans to live lives of dignity and creativity in partnership. That is more important than humans building God’s desired paradise while living lives of robotic conformity to divine instructions.

In entering covenant, omnipotent God self-limits, out of love, to allow humans their freedom and the chance to grow into full dignity. How? First God establishes the natural order as independent and irrevocable process, never to cease or be disrupted (Genesis 8:22). The Talmud explains: “Olam ke-minhago noheg, the world follows its custom” (Avodah Zarah 54b). The objectivity of the natural order means that nature will not differentiate between stolen and honestly acquired seeds—both will germinate. The sperm of adulterous intercourse can conceive a child just as much as sperm emitted in moral or legal sexual relations. Nature will not hound or punish those doing evil. In God’s world, humans freely choose to do good or bad. By choosing to do good, humans exercise—and earn—their freedom. This means that God upholds human freedom (with the risks of bad behavior) ahead of obedience or guaranteed preferred outcomes.

The divine self-limit means that humans must pick up the slack in creating life and repairing the world. Rather than confer a paradise by miracles, God binds God’s self to depend on human actions to complete the world. By upholding the human role and making the divinely desired outcomes dependent upon human behavior, God enables human freedom. People
must participate in their own liberation or they remain imbued with a slave mentality. If paradise is simply bestowed, humans are likely to remain dependent, or even spoiled children, rather than repair their own world and become mature masters of their own fate.

The covenant mechanism protects against the two most widespread pathologies that flow from the human encounter with God. One is to neglect this world or even allow it to rot and instead pray for God to upgrade it miraculously (Footnote: Thus religion became in Marx’s critique the “opium of the masses” which enabled an unjust status quo to persist of necessity and established culture.) The other is to turn to God and to ritual life in order to escape from this world, with its challenges and burdens, into the timeless, perfect heavenly realms. The covenant tells humans that they have a companion or partner or helper, but that they must do their share. They must fulfill their commitment by creating life and doing good in this mortal realm.

Our parashah illustrates the covenantal method of working for tikkun olam, the repairing of the world. Out of deference to human needs and nature, society takes small and compromised steps toward the ultimate goal. The ideal diet of the Torah is vegetarianism; no creature should live by taking the life of other creatures. In the Garden of Eden, all living animals including humans were vegetarian (Genesis 1:29-30). However, after the Flood, allowing for human hunting for food and human need for protein, permission is given to eat meat. (Genesis 9:3).

The covenantal goal of a final peaceful world is upheld by restricting meat eating. All humans are prohibited from eating blood of the animal. Blood is seen as the carrier of life (Leviticus 17:11). The prohibition is a reminder that the ideal remains not to take another life. Not consuming blood is humanity’s acknowledgment that it is “violating” the sanctity of life—out out of necessity and established culture. The prohibition goads people to try to ultimately reach the vegetarian ideal.

It is noteworthy that Noah’s covenant includes a warning not to shed the blood of humans. (Genesis 9:5-6). This is an acknowledgement that compromising with nature and culture by permitting the killing of animals raises the risk of humans acting out their hunting instincts by killing people. There is an implied moral risk in every compromise of the ideal. There is a price in accommodating human beings and the status quo.
Our parashah concludes this account by reminding us of the goal of this partnership: It is to fill the world with life and so upgrade the world as to enable people to live abundantly— not constrained, not deprived, not reduced—but rooted and flourishing lives (Genesis 9:7).

Postscript: The covenant with Noah is a universal covenant with all of humanity (and other living creatures, see Genesis 9). This covenant has not received that much attention in Jewish tradition, certainly not as much as the particular Jewish covenants, i.e. with Abraham, at Sinai, on the plains of Moab at the end of Moses’ life (Deuteronomy 29-30ff).

The Noahide covenant supplies the model in the Torah of covenantal process (ideal goal, initial lowered expectations or compromise in actions, upholding the ideal through ongoing restrictions, provision to minimize the inevitable, negative side effects and costs of compromises with an unredeemed status quo and a sign/marker of the covenant; in our
parashah the sign of the universal covenant is the rainbow, Genesis 9:12-17). This model shapes our understanding of all the later laws in the Book of the Covenant (Exodus 21-23) and the rest of the Torah.

I believe that all subsequent covenants—not just with the Jewish people but, I argue, those made with other non-Jewish covenantal communities as well—are based on and draw authority from this Noahide covenant.

I call on the prophet Isaiah to back up this view. When the exiled Jews returned from Babylonia, they were wracked with religious concerns. Maybe God had rejected the covenant with Israel and, therefore, allowed the destruction of the First Temple and the exile of Jewry? Isaiah assured them this was not so. He tells them: Just as God’s covenantal pledge not to
allow another Deluge was self-evidently unbroken—it was operative and irrevocable—so they should be assured that God’s covenant with Israel would never be withdrawn (Isaiah 54:9-10). In other words, the manifest validity of the Noahide covenant and the ongoing natural process
is our assurance that our particular covenant is ongoing and eternal.

Shabbat Shalom.

Pain, suffering and anguish

In my previous post, I talked about the Jewish cantor who officiated in Liege, Belgium, where I grew up. I did some research for that article which led me to the Holocaust Survivors and Victims Database of the U.S. Holocaust Museum (USHM).  I went back to the USHM database to see if I could find out more about my extended family.  

Jewish children of the Lodz Ghetto working fot the Germans (photo Mendel Grossman)

Jewish children of the Lodz Ghetto working for the Germans (photo Mendel Grossman)

My family came, by-and-large, from Zdunska Wola (Z-W), in Poland, about 60 kilometers from Lodz. About half of the population of Z-W was Jewish before the War, or about 10,000 people.  The Lodz area was a major center of Jewish life before WWII. In the spring of 1940, a ghetto was formed by the Nazis on the outskirts of the city. On August 23-24, 1942,  the Z-W ghetto was liquidated. One thousand able-bodied Jews were sent to the Lodz ghetto, 550 Jews were shot dead on the spot in the Jewish Cemetery, and between 6,000 and 8,000 were transported to the death camp at Chelmno.   Many others had already fled to Lodz, and found themselves with about 250,000 other Jews in the Lodz Ghetto, under the control of the German Gestapo.

And so I started to search the databases, using my grandmother’s maiden name of Olej, because it is a relatively uncommon name which makes it easier to spot potential family members.  First I searched for the last name, then recognized some first names and checked them against research I had done before and data I had received from long distance relatives.  Records came back from the Ghetto register of 240,000 names. Then data came back from people deported to Chelmno with their transport (train) number.  Data came back from those who had perished in the camps… and my heart started beating faster.

Lajb1The Ghetto register contained addresses, scrupulously maintained by the Gestapo.  I used the address as a search parameter, and suddenly, entire Olej families started to appear.  These were brothers and sisters of my grandmother, or her uncles and aunts, and their kids.  Lajb Olej was one of two kids of Estera Malka Olej. There was no man at this precise address as far as I could tell, so Estera was probably raising her two kids by herself.  Her husband may have been selected for hard labor and sent away.  Lajb was born in 1938 and died of typhoid in 1941.  

I moved from family to family, my heart beating faster and faster.  Now, I almost felt as if I were there, with them, in the Ghetto. My eyes stared at Lajb’s record for several minutes, several long minutes, unable to move away, as if I was acknowledging his existence when few others probably have.  My grandmother had moved out of Poland with her husband on her way to Argentina years before the war. They stopped in Belgium and never left.  I only knew of a brother of hers who lived in Brazil and sent me collector stamps once in a while.   

I turned to a USHM database that lists the names and residences of Jews in Liege, my home town, almost 1,500 of them.  There too, I was able to visualize entire families using common addresses, like my uncle Abraham who lost his wife and four children to the Holocaust (Max, Jeanne, Flora and Daniel) and my Aunt Ruja, Abraham’s sister in law, who lost her husband and three of her children (Samuel, Flora and Henri). Abraham and Ruja lived together after the war, with the ghosts of nine of their loved ones.

Folks like me, sons and daughters of Jews who survived the Holocaust, are exceptions to the millions who perished. This exploration into the USHM databases has given me a much more personal appreciation not only for the incredible slaughter of Jews during WWII, but also for the immense suffering, pain and anguish they suffered along the way.

Smiling: The 11th commendment..