to a fascinating passage from Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, and uncover some hidden layers of meaning.
The verse in question, Genesis 6:17, is pretty stark: “And behold, I am bringing the flood, water upon the earth, to destroy all flesh…” But the rabbis, masters of nuance, pick up on something extra. That little word "and" – "and behold, I am…" Why is it there? The Midrash sees this as God almost… concurring with someone. Who? The angels! Remember when they questioned God, "What is man that You remember him?" (Psalms 8:5)? It's as if God is saying, "Yes, even I agree, after all that has happened, destruction is now the answer." Powerful stuff. It shows the weight of the decision, the internal struggle, even within the Divine.
Then there's the phrase, "The flood, water." Bereshit Rabbah notes that it started as water, but became the flood. It's a subtle, but important distinction. The waters began to rise, and then, as they persisted, they became an overwhelming, destructive force. And the text says "everything that is on the earth will perish [yigva]." The Midrash is careful to point out that yigva here means "waste away," not "expire peacefully." The destruction wasn't gentle.
But amidst this devastation, there's hope: Noah. “But I will keep My covenant with you,” God says (Genesis 6:18). And here’s where it gets really interesting. The Midrash asks, why does Noah need a covenant? Is it just for his safety? According to Bereshit Rabbah, it's about practicalities. He needed a guarantee that the food he stored wouldn't rot! But it's also about something more profound. Remember the nephilim, the giants from Genesis 6:4? The Midrash suggests they were so powerful they could literally block the sources of the flood! The covenant was needed to ensure that these mighty beings couldn't interfere with God's plan. It says that if one of the giants would try to enter the ark, his legs would teeter, as it says in Job 26:5: “The giants will tremble under the water and its dwellers.” And if a lion tried to get in, its teeth would become dull (Job 4:10). Think of it – even the mightiest creatures were subject to the power of the covenant.
Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba adds another layer: Noah was a carpenter, he built the ark. But even with his skill, he wouldn't have been able to enter the ark without God's covenant, because of the violent weather and the threat from those who wanted to kill him. The covenant wasn't just about surviving the flood, it was about enabling Noah to fulfill his purpose.
And what about Noah’s family? Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon and Rabbi Ḥanin, quoting Rav Shmuel bar Rabbi Yitzḥak, point out that once Noah entered the ark, procreation was forbidden! "You shall come to the ark: You, and your sons" – by yourself – "and your wife, and your sons' wives," by themselves. Only after they emerged was it permitted again: "Go out of the ark: You and your wife, and your sons and your sons’ wives" (Genesis 8:16). Rabbi Avun connects this to Job 30:3, “They are in want and in famine, they are solitary [galmuda].” He says that during times of crisis, we should treat our wives as galmuda, like a menstruating woman (as they say in coastal cities), meaning refraining from marital relations. Rabbi Huna reinforces this, citing Genesis 41:50, which mentions Joseph having children before the famine. The implication? Times of catastrophe call for a different kind of intimacy, a focus on survival and solidarity, not procreation.
So, what does this all mean? The story of Noah isn't just a simple tale of destruction and survival. It's a complex exploration of divine judgment, human responsibility, and the power of covenant. It reminds us that even in the darkest of times, there's always a glimmer of hope, a promise of renewal. But it also challenges us to consider our actions, our relationships, and our priorities in the face of crisis. What kind of covenant are we making, both with ourselves and with the world around us?