We make them all the time – to loved ones, to ourselves, and, if we believe, God makes promises to us. But what happens when the very foundations of the world seem to shift? What then?
Our story begins in Bereshit Rabbah 34, a section of the ancient Midrash that wrestles with this very question. Specifically, it's about the promise God makes to Noah after the flood. You remember, the big one. God says, "As long as the earth endures, sowing and reaping, cold and heat, summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease" (Genesis 8:22). A pretty solid guarantee, right?
But Rabbis in the Midrash are never ones to just take things at face value. Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Shmuel, asks a pointed question: Do Noah's descendants really believe this covenant is eternal? Is it an unconditional lifetime guarantee? According to them, it's not so simple.
The Midrash suggests that the promise is contingent. "As long as the heavens and the earth endure, their covenant is in effect," Rabbi Yudan explains. But what happens when the heavens erode and the earth wears away, as the prophet Isaiah (51:6) tells us will happen someday? At that point, Zechariah (11:11) says, "It will be annulled on that day…" Whoa. Suddenly, that forever promise has an expiration date!
Rabbi Aḥa adds a really interesting layer. He connects the flood generation’s rebellion with their easy lives. God asks, what made them rebel? They sowed but always reaped, they had kids, but didn't bury them because they outlived them. In other words, they lacked the natural hardships that keep people grounded. So, God says, from now on, "sowing and reaping" will include bearing children and burying them. "Cold and heat" will bring fever and chills. "Summer and winter" will mean birds of prey in summer, beasts of the earth in winter, echoing the words of Isaiah (18:6). Life will be less comfortable, less predictable.
There's even a story about a prominent leader, some say Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman, suffering from a headache. He laments, "Look at what the generation of the Flood brought upon us." A tiny headache as a reminder of cosmic upheaval.
Then Rav Huna, quoting Rabbi Aḥa, offers another perspective. He asks, what do the descendants of Noah believe? That the covenant is forever? Not so fast, he says. The promise lasts "as long as day and night endure." But Zechariah (14:7) speaks of a day that is neither day nor night. At that moment, the covenant is annulled. It all boils down to the continuity of the natural order.
Rabbi Yitzḥak brings in another angle, painting a picture of the pre-flood world. He says that once in forty years they would need to sow, because one crop would produce enough grain to last forty years and they were able to walk from one end of the earth to the other end in a short time. They were so mighty and gigantic they were uprooting cedars of Lebanon with their feet and [bites of] lions and leopards seemed to them like [tearing out] a hair from one’s flesh. It was eternally pleasant, as it is between Passover and Shavuot. All this power and comfort caused them to become haughty and sin.
Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, quoting Rabbi Meir, offers a calendar-based breakdown of the seasons, grounding the promise in the cyclical nature of the year. Half of Tishrei, Marḥeshvan and Kislev – that is “sowing”; half of Kislev, Tevet, and half of Shevat – “winter”; half of Shevat, Adar, and half of Nisan – “cold”; half of Nisan, Iyar, and half of Sivan – “reaping”; half of Sivan, Tamuz, and half of Av – summer; half of Av, Elul, and half of Tishrei – “heat.” You can almost feel the rhythm of the seasons, the constant turning of the wheel.
But even that is debated! Rabbi Yoḥanan says the constellations didn't function during the flood. Rabbi Yonatan counters that they did, but their effect wasn't palpable. And Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua even disagree on whether the seasons ceased during the flood itself! Rabbi Eliezer says no, Rabbi Yehoshua says yes. Even the Rabbis can't agree on the details.
So, what do we take away from all this?
Perhaps it’s that even the most seemingly eternal promises are intertwined with the very fabric of creation. They're dependent on the cycles of nature, the balance of day and night, the changing seasons. And maybe, just maybe, they're also dependent on our own behavior, on our ability to appreciate the gifts we've been given and not let comfort lead to hubris.
The Midrash reminds us that "forever" is a big word, a powerful concept. But it's a concept that demands our constant attention, our constant questioning, and our constant striving to live in a way that honors the covenant, whatever form it may take. Because even the heavens and the earth, as vast and enduring as they seem, are not promised forever. And neither are we.