A Covenant of Mercy

A Covenant of Mercy
By Rabbi Sarah Berman

Just one week ago, here we were. Rejoicing that 20 living hostages had returned home. Mourning, but relieved, that 10 deceased hostages had been returned to their families for burial. Joining together in gratitude for the cease-fire agreement, and the promise of real peace.

We were celebrating a new beginning--in the world, and in our Torah. In an entirely new way, as we read Parashat Bereshit, we were appreciating the real-world potential of the earth, of humanity, and of God.

This week, as we read Noah, the story of the great flood that wipes out creation, we see how optimism and promise are not always enough. New beginnings require determination, dedication, and embracing two sometimes competing, but equally Jewish values: justice and mercy.

There is a midrash, a rabbinic story, on the very first verse of the Torah: It starts with a mashal, a parable, of a king who had a beautiful, finely wrought cup of glass. He worried he could not use the cup because of its delicacy. “If I add hot water to the cup, it will expand and shatter,” he said. “And if I add cold water to the cup, it will also shatter.” So the king poured hot water and cold water together, and added it to the cup, which remained whole. At first God intended for the new world being created to exist under the strict rule of Divine Justice. There would be right, there would be wrong; there would be reward, there would be punishment. But, God quickly realized that such a stark world could not endure--it would shatter like the glass. So God elevated Divine Mercy to become the partner of Divine Justice. Justice without mercy would be inhumane, God knew. So God brought mercy into the world. In addition to right and wrong there would be empathy and kindness. In addition to reward and punishment there would be consideration and nuance.

Noah’s generation disappointed God:

Adonai saw how great was human wickedness on earth—how every plan devised by the human mind was nothing but evil all the time. And Adonai regretted having made humankind on earth. With a sorrowful heart, Adonai said, “I will blot out from the earth humankind whom I created—humans together with beasts, creeping things, and birds of the sky; for I regret that I made them.”

Following Cain’s violence towards his brother Abel, and this generation’s wickedness, humanity was shaping up to be one of God’s greatest regrets--the creation that just never lived up to its potential.

But Noah “found favor with Adonai,” he “was a righteous man; he was wholehearted in his generation.” And because Adonai found value in Noah and in his family, they were saved.

The flood that God sent could have wiped out all of humanity--in all our imperfections--for good. That could have been Divine Justice. But rather than letting us all be consumed, God chose Noah and his family to be the seeds that planted future generations. God allowed Noah (and through them, humanity) the opportunity to try again. We would not be perfect, but we could learn to be better--by trying, and failing, and trying again. This, we can see as Divine Mercy.

God destroying Noah’s world and all its living inhabitants in the face of humanity’s wickedness-- that would have been Divine Justice without Divine Mercy.
God allowing humanity to use and misuse one another without intervention--that would have been Divine Mercy without Divine Justice.

Noah and his family were granted both Divine Justice and Divine Mercy, and became the first humans to inhabit a world that needs both in balance.

“Mercy begins at the outlying border of justice to guard us from going too far,” teaches my colleague Rabbi Vered Harris. Just like God in the act of creation, we humans have a natural tendency towards justice. What is fair, what is right--we know what we believe is just! And, also like God, mercy is a value we have to remind ourselves to embrace. And our tradition offers us the tools to do just that.

Our daily prayer for peace, Sim Shalom, asks God not just for tranquility, but for a harmony of chein vachesed v’rachamim--kindness, compassion, and mercy. This is Divine Peace, complete peace, Shalom--a peace that only exists when humanity, like God, learns to balance our need for justice with our ability to grant mercy.

The story of the flood in this week’s parashah concludes with God promising never again to destroy the earth, its creatures, or humanity. This is the b’rit, the covenant God makes with humanity. It is a covenant of mercy.

This week, as we read of a cease-fire broken and two of Israel's soldiers killed --we see how difficult peace is when it is no longer theoretical and full of potential, but has become a task requiring hard work to bring into being. The break in the cease-fire this week could have been catastrophic. But rather than an escalation into all-out war, there was a return to calm. Strict justice for a break in the ceasefire could have meant Israel pursuing justice and renewing the war against Hamas. But judgment was tempered by mercy. And this choice leaves us the possibility of continuing to pursue real peace.

Yesterday, in a program in our Pavilion downstairs, Daniel Taub, former Israeli ambassador to the United Kingdom, taught us that, “peace does not mean finding a solution to all our problems. Instead, it means replacing them with a better set of problems.”

The road ahead will not be easy. This is likely not the last time the ceasefire will be tested by bad actors seeking to break it apart. It will take the determination of all parties to continue to shepherd this ceasefire forward. But we hope, and we pray, that step by step, better problem by better problem, we will move towards peace.

Since the generation of Noah, when God promised never again to destroy the Earth, its creatures, and humanity--since God made a covenant of mercy--it has been our task to live up to that b’rit.
When humans fall short, our job is to try again..
And again…
And again…
To bring not only justice, but mercy and peace into the world that God has given us.