Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

And it came to pass, as they journeyed east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there. (Bereshit/ Genesis 11:2)

Good morning!

Our Torah portion this week contains two famous stories: the flood and the Tower, each in its own way a story of human nature and our capacity for self-deception and its inevitable consequences. The generation that built the Tower toward heaven was entirely the descendants of Noach and his family, so it’s not surprising that they spoke one language and had some sense of power in their commonality. The building of the Tower is perhaps best understood as an attempt to supplant or become like God; thus the Divine decree of different languages, which means having to learn to communicate with each other, is a humbling reminder of our imperfect knowledge and abilities.

The verse above sets the stage for the rest of the story by putting this mass of people in one place, Shinar, which Rashi thinks is merely a plain big enough to hold everybody. On the other hand, another early midrash notices that in the previous chapter, some number of the descendants of Noach were already living at or by the “mountains of the east,” (cf. 10:30). This midrash asks: how could they travel from the east to go to the east? That doesn’t make sense! Rather, according to this text, they didn’t travel “from the East”, m’kedem, but away from God, who is called kadmon, or Ancient/ First One.

With this Hebrew pun, the rabbis remind us that the story of the Tower isn’t really about the Tower as an object, per se, but about the worldview of the people who built it. The tragedy of the Tower isn’t that people used their ingenuity to build something amazing, it’s that they thought that the only way to get a “name” for themselves was through the world of making, doing and owning, rather than through the virtues of caring, loving and justice. Among other things, faith means knowing our compassion and mercy are of infinite value even if they don’t make us immediately famous!

It seems that the generation of the Tower squandered their unity on a false premise; had they not “moved away from God,” as it were, they might have used that unity for a spiritual, humane purpose, and thus gotten themselves an even greater “name” than that of builders with brick and stone. We move “away from God” when we act out of our baser values, out of fear, insecurity or greed, and use our lives to build things which gratify the ego but don’t nourish the soul. Yet this cautionary tale ends on a hopeful note, the birth of Avram, who will symbolically journey back from east to west, from m’kedem back to Kadmon, the most Ancient Source of life itself.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL
The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

Copyright 2012 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

“And on the seventh day the waters of the Flood came upon the earth.. . . “  (Bereshit/ Genesis 7:10)

Well, it’s late on Friday afternoon and it seems that the waters of the flood are being unleashed on Poughkeepsie today, but hopefully things will clear up within a shorter time than 40 days.

Most readers will know the basic outline of the Flood story: Noach is picked to build a vessel in which to preserve the biodiversity of the earth when humankind is punished for its corruption. Now, there are all kinds of logical and theological problems with the narrative, so it’s perhaps helpful to understand this as a psychological parable, posing a pressing question: when will humankind take seriously the consequences of its choices, and who will speak up in a world gone mad?

The ancient rabbis portray the generation of the Flood as corrupt and violent, seeking to cheat each other out of even trivial amounts, each person wanting only more for themselves and incapable of putting the common good over personal gain. On the other hand, they also see the building of the Ark as a public service announcement, a warning to that wicked generation that disaster awaits without a collective moral renewal. Along those lines, there’s a subtle midrash, found in the Talmud but quoted in the Torah Temimah, that calls attention to the unexplained seven-day period between Noach entering the Ark and the beginning of the Flood. (See verse above.)

The ancient rabbis offered several explanations for that week-long waiting period, but one that caught my eye imagines that the Holy One offered the inhabitants of the world a taste of the World to Come, so they’d know what they were missing. (Presumably, the wicked generation of the Flood lost their share in the World to Come in their stubborn refusal to repent or take heed of the warning Noach was acting out in building the Ark.) To me, this midrash captures the timeless tragedy of the story: even experiencing something close to paradise, we are often unable to truly appreciate or preserve what makes a decent life possible. We think the good times will go on forever, not realizing that our own actions, as individuals and collectively, undermine our goals and dreams.

Thinking globally, we might note that the planetary upheaval of the Flood is hardly the realm of myth in an age of climate change and environmental crisis. We live the good life, almost the paradise of heaven, but there may soon come a reckoning, and we can’t say we weren’t warned. On a smaller scale, we note that communities, companies, organizations, families and individuals typically resist changes until it’s too late. It might be the state of our relationships, finances, health or spirit, but the principle is the same: it’s all too human to put off till tomorrow the change that needs to happen today.

Yet the story of Noach, while a warning, is ultimately hopeful. The story ends with renewal and the powerful image of all humankind being descended not from the corrupt generation but the righteous exception. We don’t have to fall into the trap of self-deception like Noach’s peers; we have instead the story to guide us, to awaken us, to prick our bubbles and pull us towards the gift of introspection and the possibility of growing and learning. The Flood story asks the question: who shall speak up in a world gone mad? and provides its own answer: each one of us can be the saving force of our times.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2010 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach / Rosh Chodesh

“God said to Noah, ‘I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with lawlessness because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth . . . ‘ ” (Bereshit / Genesis 6:13)

Greetings on this glorious morning!

Well, as we see from the verse above, it may be a glorious morning in the Hudson Valley but at the time of Noach, things weren’t so great. The “lawlessness” [chamas] in the verse above (and verse 11) is understood by the ancient rabbis to indicate a special fondness for robbery among the people of Noach’s generation.

Now, let’s leave aside the ethical problems with collective punishment- to say nothing of the theological difficulty in this story- and let’s just take it at face value for a moment that the generation of the flood was indeed so evil, so selfish and so committed to stealing and preying on each other that the only way to start over was to wipe the slate clean, as it were. Again, let’s bracket for today the harshness of the decree and just focus on the dramatic scene: a whole society utterly corrupted, with no respect for rights, property, dignity or safety.

You”d probably imagine that everybody in Noach’s time was Bonnie and Clyde, stealing brazenly, but the rabbis of the Jerusalem Talmud told a startling midrash:

“What did they steal? If someone walked out carrying a basket of beans, they would steal an amount worthy less than a penny so they would not be guilty in court.” (Adapted from the Torah Temimah)

This is interesting- the robbery and stealing wasn’t, in this telling, like Bonnie and Clyde- guns (well, bows) blazing and bold heists- but was more like petty shoplifting on the order of noshing out of the bulk bins. This image hardly suggests a world filled with corruption, deserving of an unmerciful fate. . . . does it?

Perhaps the ancient rabbis of the land of Israel (where the Jerusalem Talmud was compiled) were suggesting that nonchalant cynicism is just as destructive to society as overt lawlessness. Countless small acts of self-centered disregard for others will also bring collapse on a community, just as surely as the more dramatic kinds of crime. Now, to be sure, most people reading this don’t make it habit to steal beans out of each other’s baskets- but perhaps the midrash is suggesting that we should pay better attention to the small ways we can respect each other, better to create a warmer, more generous and compassionate community as a whole.

To put it another way, I remember a sign up in the Essex County Correctional Facility, where I used to visit as a volunteer chaplain: it said something like “character is what you do when nobody is looking.” In terms of our midrash on Noach, I might rephrase that as: “society is sustained from small things- and we are all potential builders.”

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

This week’s Torah study is in honor of my father, z’l, whose yahrzeit
was this week; he constantly appreciated the beauty, diversity and
complexity of nature.

Dear Friends:

This week, we read the Torah portion Noach, with its story of the
flood, the ark, the animals who came on by twosies-twosies, etc. (I
think y’all know that part.)

Less well known is what happens after the flood, when God promises
never again to bring such destruction on the earth, and says that the
rainbow will be the sign of a covenant with “all flesh” (not just
humans):

“I have set My bow in the clouds, and it shall serve as a sign of the
covenant between Me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the
earth, and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember My covenant
between Me and you and every living creature among all flesh, so that
the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. ”
(Bereshit/ Genesis 9:13-15)

It makes sense that the rainbow would be a seen as a sign of God’s
covenant with all creation, because without such an assurance, one
could imagine some anxiety on the part of our earliest Biblical
ancestors every time it rained- “uh oh, is this Noach all over again?”
In fact, to this day, Judaism teaches that we should make a blessing
upon seeing rainbows:

“Blessed are You, Holy One our God, Sovereign of the Universe,
who remembers the Covenant, is trustworthy in sacred covenant, and
fulfills the Divine word.”

That is, every time we see a rainbow, we’re supposed to remember that
God is not going to bring another flood, but instead desires that all
Creation flourish and live.

Now- let’s be clear- your humble Torah commentator knows that rainbows
are caused by a refraction of the sunlight and are a natural
phenomenon not necessarily reflective (or refractive, as the case may
be) of a specific act of Divine intent. Yet having brachot- blessings-
over natural phenomena doesn’t mean we have to reject the laws of
nature; on the contrary, Judaism sees natural phenomena as
opportunities for wonder and gratitude. Heschel coined the phrase
“radical amazement” to describe that sense of overwhelming wonder at
the beauty and blessing of existence – thus, a rainbow can not only be
understood as the refraction of sunlight, but also experienced as the
bursting through to our consciousness of the extraordinary gift of
life and Being itself.

The Noah story is only incidentally about a big boat full of animals;
more importantly, it’s about recognizing that the world we live in is
not a scary place bound to be destroyed by a vengeful God, but is
rather full of blessing and grace- if we choose to see it, and if (big
if) we act accordingly. Seeing the rainbow reminds us that God has
(and will not) not brought the flood- but are we ourselves seeing the
fragile grace of creation and working to protect it?

God remembers the covenant with “all flesh,” but do we? The rainbow
sign turns out be a question mark.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

This week’s Torah portion is Noach: the flood, the animals, the Ark.  The story is well known, but the moral of the story is less well known. After the Flood, God promises to Noach and his family that
never again will such a thing happen- the Flood was a one-time event,
and going forward, with the world re-created from Noach’s lineage,
humankind does not have to fear total Divine retribution. (Cf.
Bereshit/Genesis 9.)

On a smaller scale, however, the Bible does seem to endorse a theology
of Divine action on the national or communal level (sub-planetary, as
it were.) Thus, this week’s haftarah (Isaiah 54-55) compares Israel’s
exile to the “waters of Noach;” that is, Israel’s exile is a
punishment for the people but only a temporary one, and just as there
won’t be another Flood, there won’t be another episode of Divine
retribution after the people are redeemed from exile. (Cf. Isaiah 54:9)

Besides the “waters of Noach,” other metaphors for exile and
redemption are:

1) Zion as a “barren one” who will bear children and enlarge her
dwelling (54:1-3)

2) Zion as a widow or estranged wife to be espoused by God (54:5-8)

3) A storm-tossed ship which will be as steady as a rebuilt city
(54:11-12)

4) One who is hungry or thirsty who will be satisfied greatly (55:1-2)

What all these metaphors have in common is the theme of a temporary
disruption or problem which can and will be fixed and healed. While
many contemporary readers will question a simple conception of exile
as Divine action in history (after all, that gets the dispossessers
off the hook in terms of moral responsibility), one can also read the
metaphors. . . well, metaphorically.

That is, we can remember that exile and redemption are not only
historical narratives but also symbolic of the necessary struggles
over a long lifetime of spiritual journey. There are times when we are
estranged, alienated- from others, from ourselves, from our Divine
Source- but like a storm, this too may pass. There are times when we
may feel barren, hungry, cut off- but faith means believing that these
states need not be permanent, nor does internal state depend on
external circumstance.

The waters of Noach were terrible, but they were temporary; the
promise that they will not occur again means that we can’t blame God
for destruction that humans have chosen. The haftarah reminds us that
hope is a fundamental religious orientation: hope for healing, for
fixing, for reconciliation. This is what faith means: not dependence
on miracles but seeing past despair. Out of such hope great things
happen!

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

The Torah
portion Noach, as the name [Noach=Noah] indicates, begins with the
choosing of Noach, then continues with God’s instructions to build the
Ark, the flood, and the eventual renewal of humankind. Yet an ancient
question concerning this story points out that God didn’t need to send
a flood to wipe out those doing evil, nor did God need Noach to build
an Ark in order to save him and his family. So why did God tell Noach
to build the Ark?

Rashi, quoting an earlier text, tells us that the building of the Ark
was meant as a public warning to those engaged in violence and
wrongdoing- perhaps they would see Noach engaged in this huge project,
make some inquiries, find out that disaster is on its way, and repent
of their misdeeds, which would presumably avert the flood. (Cf. Rashi
on Bereshit/Genesis 6:14.) This midrash [homiletic interpretation]
changes the tone of the story from one in which an angry God desires
to punish wrongdoers to a story of a patient God desiring that
humankind change from within.

The idea that we are given the capacity for reflection, and the
responsibility to use it, is a fundamental concept in Judaism,
reflected in the positive mitzvah [that is, a commandment to take a
specific action] of confession and “returning,” or t’shuvah. This
mitzvah is based on Bamidbar/Numbers 5:6-7, which says that a person
who wrongs another must confess and take reparative actions. The
Chafetz Chaim* lists confession and t’shuvah as mitzvah #33 on his
list of positive mitzvot, saying that the essence of this commandment
is remorse in the heart and resolve to act differently in the future.
Most commentators also include verbal admission of doing something
wrong, apology, and making amends, when possible, in the practical
application of t’shuvah.

In other words- in Judaism, reflection on one’s deeds and awareness of
their consequences isn’t just a good idea, it’s the law! The mitzvah
of t’shuvah- “returning”- presupposes that nobody is perfect, but
everybody has the capacity for good. We are called to do t’shuvah all
year round, not just before Yom Kippur, because we are all created in
the image of God- the mitzvah teaches us about our potential to lead
lives reflecting the ideals of compassion, justice and truth which are
the core orientations of religious striving.

In summary: if Judaism didn’t believe that every person can grow in
awareness, sensitivity, responsibility and compassion, we wouldn’t
have a mitzvah to reflect on our actions, apologize when necessary,
and think hard about the ways we’d like to be in the future. It
shouldn’t take somebody building an Ark in his backyard to get us to
ask a few basic questions- but in our day, the questions are for each
person to ask him or herself. But as in ancient times, the answers can
return us to becoming our truest selves.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

* R. Israel Meir HaKohen Kagan, d.1933- this year we will frequently
refer to his short book listing the mitzvot operative in the Diaspora.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noach

Shalom friends! This week’s Torah learning is dedicated to the memory
of my father, Robert Loevinger, whose first yahrzeit was yesterday. In
his own quiet way, he showed us with his life what it meant to “come
out” into the world as an engaged and globally aware citizen.

With that. . . . Parshat Noach. Many of you will recall the basic
outlines of the story of “Noah’s Ark:” the violence that filled the
land, the building of the Ark, the gathering of the animals, the
Flood, the dove bringing an olive branch. Some of us first learned
this story as a children’s song, but it’s not only a children’s story-
it’s also a profound meditation on the moral responsibility of good
people in bad times. Noach, the “righteous man” in his generation, is
told by God to build the boat and take the animals on board, yet those
readers who wonder why ostensibly righteous Noach didn’t protest to
God on behalf of doomed humanity are asking a venerable question.

Some of the ancient rabbis tried to soften the narrative somewhat by
interpreting the story as primarily about God’s patient forgiveness,
rather than God’s angry justice: this reading is supported by the
building of the Ark itself, which is seen as a warning to the violent
men around Noach that they do have an opportunity to change their ways
if they wish to avert the Divine decree. Reading closely, we notice
what seems to be a slight reticence on Noach’s part both to enter the
Ark and to eventually leave it. In both cases, the text tells us that
Noach didn’t act until God told him to:

“Then the Lord said to Noah, ‘Go into the ark, with all your
household, for you alone have I found righteous before Me in this
generation.’ ” (Bereshit/Genesis 7:1)

“God spoke to Noah, saying, ‘Come out of the ark, together with your
wife, your sons, and your sons’ wives ‘ ” (Bereshit/ Genesis 8:15-16)

One interpretation* suggests that Noach did, in fact, feel reluctant
to leave his neighbors behind and take refuge in the Ark, hoping till
the very last moment that the people around him would repent and be
saved, and would thus not enter the Ark until explicitly commanded. If
we posit that Noach was concerned about his fellow citizens, and
wished for their survival, this reading makes sense, and explains why
God had to say “Go into the Ark,” when otherwise we’d assume that one
doesn’t need to be told to seek safety.

So why, then did God have to tell Noach to leave the Ark? Would we not
assume that after being cramped up for 40 days, he’s be delighted to
see dry land? Again, if we go with our assumption that Noach was
concerned about the welfare of humankind- who are now all destroyed-
one can only imagine the pain of confronting the reality of such
destruction. It’s one thing to seek safety in a storm, it’s another
thing to go out and see what the storm has wrought; a morally
sensitive, compassionate person often finds it difficult to look
directly at scenes of pain, loss, and horror.

So God says: “Come out of the Ark”- that is, if you are charged with
rebuilding the world, you cannot avoid seeing what has happened to
beast and human alike. Noach probably preferred the safety of the Ark
to the full knowledge of the effects of the Flood- a human heart can
only absorb so much, and no more. Yet the story could not end with the
appearance of dry land, but only with Noach and his family (and all
the animals) walking upon it and rebuilding- that’s the real point,
that out of tremendous evil, even one person can rebuild the world in
closer conformity to God’s vision of justice and peace.

God’s call to Noach, to “come out of the Ark,” thus becomes one of
those moments in the Torah which is not a one-time event, but a
paradigm for living a fully human life. It’s always tempting to stay
in the Ark- that is, to stay in our comfort zones, avoiding the
spiritual task of rebuilding that which is lost and broken by choosing
not to see disturbing or painful realities. Whether it’s the poor of
Poughkeepsie, the bereaved of Boston, the refugees of Darfur, the
hungry halfway across the world, God says to each of us: “come out of
the Ark, the world needs you, you have planting and building and
healing to do, and if you don’t do it- who will?”

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

* This week’s Torah study was inspired by a comment I read in “Talelei
Oros: The Parashah Anthology,” compiled by R. Yissachar Dov Rubin.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Noah

“They, and every beast after its kind, and every domestic animal after its
kind, and every
creeping thing that creeps on the earth after its kind, and every fowl after its
kind, every
bird of every wing. And they came to Noah to the ark, two by two of all flesh
in which
there is the spirit of life. . . ”
(Bereshit/ Genesis 7:14-15)

The image from those verses is probably familiar to almost any American who has
ever
heard even a few Bible stories in their childhood: Noah took in every species of
animal that
walked upon the earth, so there could be a new beginning after humankind had
corrupted
God’s plan for a harmonious Creation. The story of Noah is rich with theological
questions
about justice, mercy, fairness and responsibility, but it’s also very much a
story about
God’s relationship with the entirety of Creation, not only its human
inhabitants.

Taking the Biblical story in its own terms, one might reasonably ask why God
commanded
Noah to bring the entire spectrum of animal life- what we today call
biodiversity- into the
Ark, when surely other means would have brought about the Divine purpose of
starting
human society over from scratch. A child would probably ask: well, couldn’t God
have
chosen to have the animals eat all the bad people, or cause a plague, something
like that?
Isn’t that easier than a flood and starting the whole Creation project over with
the
survivors?

To me, a central moral teaching of the Noah story lies in the image of humans
humbling
themselves in relation to other living beings: after a period of human arrogance
and
selfishness, the surviving people had to learn to serve and preserve the wider
world of
Creation in order for humanity to be renewed. Perhaps the reason Noah had to
build an
Ark was to teach him and his family (and, by extension, all of us who are in
mythic terms
his descendants) the value of every single species which constitutes the beauty
and
integrity of an awe-inspiring biosphere. Creation could not be renewed without
its
diversity, and humankind cannot exist apart from our larger ecological context.

More and more, people of faith (from many religions) are turning to stories like
Noah’s Ark
for inspiration as they seek to infuse religious traditions with an ethic of
ecological
awareness- and, conversely, many environmentalists are seeking a spiritual
language of
care for Creation in their work of advocating for sustainable and wise policies.
The Noah
Alliance is an interfaith coalition dedicated to the proposition that care for
Creation is a
central religious concern, and a core imperative is therefore to preserve the
richness and
diversity of our shared world. The Noah Alliance is currently working on
strengthening the
Endangered Species Act, and I encourage you to visit their web site and see for
yourself
how traditional teachings can inform very contemporary concerns.

At the end of the Noah story, God makes a promise never again to bring ruin upon
the
earth and <all> its inhabitants; the rest is up to us.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

For more information about the Noah Alliance, see their web site:

http://www.noahalliance.org/index.htm

For a statement on biodiversity signed by Jewish scientists and prominent
rabbis, see here:

http://www.noahalliance.org/resources/jewish.htm

For many more resources connecting Judaism to biodiversity, see the web site for
the
Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life (upon whose Board I serve):

http://www.coejl.org/learn/biodiversity.php

And, of course, for the complete text of the parsha and further commentary:

http://www.jtsa.edu/community/parashah/index.shtml