The very beginning of that relationship, after the flood, is what we're talking about today. Specifically, the verses in Genesis 9 that deal with what we can and cannot do in this new world. These verses might seem straightforward at first glance, but trust me, they open up into a whole world of interpretation.
Let's dive right in. Genesis 9:3 states, "Every crawling creature that lives shall be yours to eat; like green vegetation, I have given you everything." Sounds like a pretty open invitation to a barbeque. But then, boom, the very next verse throws a curveball: "But flesh with its life, its blood, you shall not eat" (Genesis 9:4). What's going on here?
So, what does this all mean? The rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic commentary) are all over this! Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of early rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, dedicates a whole section to unpacking these seemingly contradictory verses.
Rabbi Yosei bar Aivu, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, offers a fascinating perspective. He suggests that Adam, the first man, wasn't actually given these specific instructions about not eating a limb torn from a living animal. Why? Because, as it wasn't permitted for him to eat meat for pleasure at all, such a prohibition would have been irrelevant. However, the descendants of Noah, who were permitted to eat meat, received this command. It's a subtle but crucial distinction. It speaks to a shift in humanity's relationship with the animal kingdom after the flood, a new set of responsibilities that came with the expanded permission.
But the story doesn't end there. Genesis 9:5 takes an even darker turn: "But I will demand your blood of your lives; from every beast I will demand it, and from man; from every man for his brother, I will demand the life of man." This verse introduces the concept of accountability, not just for murder, but potentially even for suicide.
The Midrash sees this verse as a prohibition against suicide. The word "akh" (but, surely, only), is interpreted as an exclusionary term. This is interpreted to mean that while suicide is generally forbidden, there might be circumstances where taking one's own life is permitted. The rabbis immediately jump to examples: What about Saul, who took his own life to avoid torture and desecration by the Philistines (I Samuel 31:4)? Or Ḥananya, Mishael, and Azarya, who were willing to give up their lives rather than commit idolatry (Daniel 3:17)? The inclusion of the word "akh" implies there are exceptions, highlighting the complexities of life, death, and free will.
The Midrash doesn't stop at suicide. It also extends the interpretation of "From every beast" to include someone who knowingly puts another person in harm's way, like throwing them to a wild animal. Even if they didn't directly commit the act of murder, they are still held accountable. And "From every man for his brother" is interpreted as someone who hires others to commit murder. God will demand justice from any man or beast that kills a human.
But then, things take a turn toward history and the future. "From every beast I will demand it" is interpreted as referring to the four kingdoms that would subjugate Israel until the coming of the Messiah, a concept drawn from the Book of Daniel chapter 2. "From man [adam], from every man for his brother" is equated with Esau, also known as Edom, the ancestor of the Romans, drawing a parallel from Genesis 32:12. And finally, "I will demand the life of man" is seen as referring to Israel, who were constantly being killed by the Romans.
These interpretations, found in Bereshit Rabbah, transform these seemingly simple verses into a profound meditation on responsibility, justice, and the enduring struggle of the Jewish people. We find ourselves confronted with challenging questions about free will, accountability, and the meaning of life itself. It reminds us that the words of the Torah are not static pronouncements, but rather living texts that continue to speak to us across the ages. They invite us to grapple with their complexities, to wrestle with their meanings, and ultimately, to find our own place within their timeless wisdom.