Creation, Chapter Two: Comapassion

Creation, Chapter Two: Comapassion
D’var Torah for Parashat Noah
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman


Last week’s Torah portion, Breishit—named after the opening Hebrew word—contained the first value of human society: justice. In contrast, this week’s parasha, Noach, contains several more

Justice, we learn in Breishit, isn’t an arbitrary system. There is a higher authority which oversees a higher standard, one to which all must aspire. And the first rule issued by this higher being or intelligence, is not to commit murder. Life itself is sacred. It is God given. Life is a blessing God gives and which only God may retract.

Genesis, the portion which gives the entire first book of the Torah its title, is about Creation. It posits a God that creates, setting laws of time and physics in motion that all must obey. It is a system based on strict justice.

But just as God gives, God sometimes also takes away. As punishment for disobeying God’s sanction and eating of the forbideen fruit, Adam and Eve are cast out from the Garden of Eden. In this week’s portion, Noach—Genesis 6:9-11:21—all earth, all living creatures that breathes, walks the earth or flies above it, is taken away, undone. Corruption has reached such new depths that the whole of God’s creation drowns with waters that come flooding from below and with gushes and torrents that pour down from above. All life is completely wiped out.

All save for the slight remnant saved by Noach. Pairs of animals of all kinds, his three sons and their three wives, Noach and his own wife—they are the privileged few deemed worthy of redemption.

Exactly as God had instructed, Noach builds his ark; measure for measure. As though by magic, the summoned animals all appear. As the boarding of the animals begins, ominous clouds appear and gather overhead. With ever increasing alarm and speed, Noach rushes the last of the pairs into the ark. No sooner has he taken the last count and checked the last list, than an enormous thunder announced the storm. The overarching portal doors slam shut and are barred from the outside, and a sudden, shocking, silence descends.

Of course that silence didn’t last long. The thundering rain that suddenly began to fall produced an ongoing roar. The animals responded in kind, each from his and her compartment. Noach clapped his hands to his ears trying to drown out the noise, but to no avail.

Then, through it all, as he got accustomed to each sound and could identify its source, Noach began to perceive yet another sound—the echo of wailing, screaming and weeping. He heard the pawing on the outside the ark as the water began to raise it from the ground. He heard the scratching of nails and talons ripping at the wood, seeking refuge inside from the torrents. He thought he heard voices calling out to one another, to him, calling out names, cursing, praying, crying. But slowly these sounds began to diminish.

Finally all that was left was the sound of the rain as it fell relentlessly on.
On those terrible first nights, Noach learned many things about what being human meant.

Overnight it seems, responsibility bent his shoulders. He suddenly felt old. His once-strong body turned weak; his strong arms, accustomed to chopping wood, raising barns and building homes, were reduced to feeding animals, taking care of newly hatched chicks. And in the process, Noach learned to care for his charges.

It isn’t for naught that the rabbis taught that whoever saves a single human soul, it is as though he had saved a whole world in its entirety. Noach could now only ruminate on how little he did, and how many more worlds he could have saved.

He next learns about reliance. At first he relied only on himself and his own strength. Later, he learned to rely on God to show him the right way to use his abilities. Now, confined to the darkness of the ark, having to share his little world with so much life around him, he learns to listen to his own conscience, to hear the voices of the animals around him.

He learns the pangs of disappointment as he releases the raven and watches it fly away without even a glance back.

And then he learns about hope. He releases a white dove and watches it take wing, gain strength for a moment—only to lose it again and founder in the grey clouds and whipping winds. He takes it back gently, bringing it in through the ark’s only window, shielding it from the cold and wet air. Neither Noach nor his bird despair, however. They will try again, and this time the dove will succeed, it will find land, food, a tree to perch on and nest in.

Compassion and gratitude—those are the feelings of humanity, sparks of the Divine Presence within us, that Noach finally senses in him. And so, having learned his lessons, Noach is released from his captivity. The rainbow in the sky signals an everlasting covenant between humanity and its supreme judge. From now on, justice will forever be tempered with compassion. Those are the ground rules by which we all must coexist from that point on.

As with any covenant, both sides agree to abide by this agreement—God and Noach, and through Noach, all humanity.



© 2011 by Boaz D. Heilman