My four year old daughter Lila loves rainbows. The theme of her fourth birthday—I didn’t know birthdays have to have themes, but according to my wife they do—was rainbows. Her favorite dress is her rainbow dress, her favorite shoes are her rainbow shoes—one day I brought her home “rainbow sparkle gummies,” which were basically sour patch kids in the shape of rainbows, and it was probably my most successful day as a father yet. Lila loves rainbows.
The funny thing is, she has never actually seen one. She asks me what a real rainbow looks like, and I rely on the only thing I retained from High School physics, the mnemonic device ROY G BIV, and I tell her it has red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. She’s disappointed to hear that pink is not in there, but generally she retains her excitement to one day see a real rainbow.
I hold that excitement for her, and for all of us.
Because a rainbow, in Judaism, is a profound thing.
A rainbow, as you may know, plays a prominent role in this week’s parsha, parashat Noach, the story of Noah, one of the most familiar stories in all of biblical tradition.
“In the six hundred and first year, in the first month, on the first of the month,” it says in Bereshit, in Genesis, 56 days after the rain began to flood and submerge all the earth’s living things, “the waters began to dry from the earth; and when Noah removed the covering of the ark, he saw that the surface of the ground was drying.”
“And God said to Noah and to his children with him,
‘I now establish My brit, my covenant with you and your offspring to come,
and with every living thing that is with you—birds, cattle, and every wild beast as well—all that have come out of the ark, every living thing on earth.
I will maintain My covenant with you:’” God says. “‘never again shall all living things be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’
God further said, ‘This is the ot, the sign that I set for the covenant between Me and you, and every living creature with you, for all ages to come.’
I have set My keshet, my rainbow 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 rainbow appears in the clouds,
I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all living things, so that the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all living things.’”
According to Jewish tradition, there is a berit, a covenant, an agreement which brings about a relationship of commitment, between God and not just the Jewish people, not just humanity, but kol basar, all living things, and the rainbow is the ot, the sign of that covenant, to remind God of that covenant, that agreement, that relationship of commitment, to preserve life.
There are a number of striking features about this tradition. For starters, I’m struck that the rainbow, at least officially, is not there to remind us about the existence of the covenant, though certainly it has that effect, and we’ll come back to that—it’s to remind God.
Apparently God needs reminding.
And sometimes, that’s our experience of the world, of history, isn’t it? Sometimes, it can feel like God’s absence is more pronounced than God’s presence; like God’s forgetfulness is more salient than God’s memory.
And yet, what this tradition tells us is that the Berit has been formed, the covenant, the relationship of commitment between God and all of life is forged, is unseverable. There may be periods of distance, periods of forgetfulness, but ultimately, just like in the relationships we hold most dear, the bonds of the relationship are unbreakable, and at the end of the rainstorm, which can last for days, weeks, months, the sun shines through and the rainbow appears.
It can feel silly to talk about rainbows at a time like this. When the storm clouds are pronounced. In Israel. In Gaza. On Social Media. On Campuses. On City streets. It can feel like there is no end in sight to the storm.
We have been flooded over the past couple of weeks. Less so than they have in Israel and in Gaza, but still we have been flooded. Our senses have been flooded, our minds have been flooded, our emotions have been flooded, our newsfeeds have been flooded, our inboxes have been flooded, our hearts have been flooded. We are overwhelmed. By grief, by anger, by sadness, by exhaustion.
And yet, tradition says, and our hearts —I believe — believe, that, God says, וְזָכַרְתִּ֣י אֶת־בְּרִיתִ֗י
“I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all living things, so that the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all living things.”
God will remember.
What does that look like?
We know it doesn’t mean we just prop our feet up on the desk and wait for this to end. We know, according to Jewish tradition, that we have a role in revealing God’s presence in the world. Noah didn’t just sit back; he and his family had to get to building. They had to lay foundations for the start of something new.
The rainbow isn’t the thing that causes peace; it’s the thing that reminds us that it’s possible.
As my messages to the community have indicated, I’m not a pacifist. I think history shows us there are times when peoples have had to take up arms to ensure their protection—but there can be no doubt that peace is the ultimate goal. To have, like the rainbow represents, peoples living side by side in dignity and in peace, each respecting the peaceful visions and aspirations of the other, even if it involves significant compromise. We have to, like Noah, lay the foundations for that in planning for the future.
In Jewish tradition, in the Talmud, the rabbis all agree that we should say a blessing when we see a rainbow. Some sages say that when we see a rainbow, we should say Baruch Atah Adonai Elohienu Melekh Haolam zocher ha’berit — Blessed are you Adonai our god sovereign of the universe zocher ha’berit, who remembers the covenant. Rabbi Yishmael says we should say נֶאֱמָן בִּבְרִיתוֹ וְקַיָּים בְּמַאֲמָרוֹ Blessed are you Adonai… Who is faithful to His covenant and fulfills His word. And does Jewish tradition have us do? We compromise and we say all those words together. When we see a rainbow—that remarkable, striking feature, filled with color, symbolic of our diversity reminiscent of the ot, the sign God consecrated in making a promise after the flood that we would never again see the earth’s destruction like that—we say Baruch Atah Adonai Elohienu Melekh Haolam זוֹכֵר הַבְּרִית, וְנֶאֱמָן בִּבְרִיתוֹ וְקַיָּים בְּמַאֲמָרוֹ Blessed are You Adonai Who remembers the covenant and is faithful to His covenant and fulfills His word.
Lila, I pray that someday soon you get to see a rainbow. I pray that we all do. I pray that we get to experience the fulfillment of this word, never again. Never again will all humanity, will all life experience the death and destruction that came with the flood. We know we’re not there yet. But the rainbow reminds us that God promises that we can be. Ken Yehi Ratzon, May it be so. Shabbat Shalom.