It's easy to just say "God did it," but Jewish tradition wrestles with these questions. It digs deep, looking for meaning, for justice, for a reason why.
Take the verse in Genesis 6:13: "God said to Noah: The end of all flesh has come before Me, as the earth is filled with injustice because of them and, behold, I am destroying them with the earth." Seems pretty straightforward, right? Injustice = destruction. But the rabbis of the Midrash, those ancient interpreters of scripture, they weren't satisfied with the surface. They wanted to understand the how and the why.
So, they turn to another book, Ezekiel, and find a seemingly related phrase: "Injustice rises up into a rod of wickedness" (Ezekiel 7:11). Now, that's interesting. Does injustice actually "rise up," as in, succeed or triumph? The Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of early rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, picks up on this. It asks, almost rhetorically, does evil actually triumph in the end? God forbid! Of course not.
But if it appears to rise up, it’s only to act as a "rod of wickedness," a tool of punishment against the wicked. In other words, injustice doesn't "rise up" in the sense of victory, but in the sense of becoming the instrument of its own destruction. Pretty powerful image, huh?
The verse in Ezekiel continues: "Not among them and not among their multitudes [mehamonam] and not among anything of theirs [mehemehem]" (Ezekiel 7:11). The Midrash breaks this down. "Not from them" means none will be spared. "Nor from their wealth [mamonam]" – their possessions won't save them. "Nor from their offspring [timhatehon]" – their children won't carry on their legacy. Nothing will remain.
And then comes a truly haunting line: "And there is no mourning [noa] among them" (Ezekiel 7:11). Now, the rabbis, being the clever interpreters they were, play on the word noa. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana says it’s as if God is saying, "As I regret that I made them." The Hebrew word for regret, naḥat, sounds similar to noaḥ (Noah), if you change the final letter. So, there's no satisfaction, no naḥat, either for the people or, incredibly, for God.
But wait, there's more. The Midrash even connects this wordplay to Noah himself: "And Noah…" (Genesis 6:7-8). Even Noah, who remained from among them, it wasn't because he was inherently worthy. He survived because he "found favor in the eyes of the Lord" (Genesis 6:8). He was spared by grace, not by right.
The final takeaway? The people of Noah's time were "steeped in licentiousness," and that's why they were wiped from the earth. It's a stark reminder of the consequences of unchecked corruption and moral decay.
So, what does all this mean for us? It's a reminder that injustice, while it may seem to flourish for a time, ultimately carries the seeds of its own destruction. It's a call to examine our own actions and the values we uphold. And it's a profound statement about the nature of divine judgment – a judgment rooted not in arbitrary wrath, but in a deep sorrow over the choices we make and the world we create.