Archive for the ‘Parsha 02 - Noach’ Category

Quinn’s Ishmael

Friday, April 24th, 2009

In his book Ishmael, Daniel Quinn posited two competing stories which are being enacted by all the civilizations of the world: the Takers and the Leavers. The human race began by telling only one story in which mankind was but one species among millions competing for finite resources. They did not see themselves as masters of the world, but one element of it on a par with every other creature. Mankind was no better or worse, no more or less deserving of food and space than wolves or sparrows or sea bass. They lived at the mercy of seasons and solar cycles, happy to accept life or death as the world decreed. Around 8000 years ago something changed dramatically. One tribe among the thousands that then lived on earth decided that they would no longer live by the benevolence of nature, but by their own power to manipulate their conditions to better suit their own desires. They beat back the forest and plowed the land under, planting what they wanted to eat right where they lived rather than having to search it out. They stored the excess of the years of plenty to stave off starvation in the years of famine. As a result, they circumvented the historic cycles of population expansion and contraction, and their numbers grew. So did their need for resources. They pushed back the forest a little further, plowed under a little more earth, and grew a little more food than they needed to feed their greater numbers and thereby enabling yet more growth.

The revolutionary new story that upset the age old pattern told of how mankind was something more than his natural competitors. It told him that he must not continue behaving as the property of the world, but as its owner instead. So he began to treat all resources around him—animal, plant, mineral, and often even people—as his property to use however suited him. To protect his food supply he waged war on his neighbors, hunted down predators, burned down forests, and eventually poisoned his own crops to kill anything that might take them from him. This agricultural revolution spread around the globe, across every continent, and eventually nearly wiping out all traces of the hunter-gatherer peoples who came before. Quinn called the tribes who adopted this new story “the Takers” and those who remained in the older story “the Leavers.”

The Takers’ story must eventually lead to the consumption of so many resources that they will be unable to continue telling it. It relies on unrelenting expansion at the expense of the rest of the world, and there is no possible ending but catastrophe. The Takers cannot see this, of course, and rush ever faster to their own doom, trying to save their future by continually undermining it.

The Leavers, on the other hand, live in such a way that their impact on the rest of the world is minimal. The cost, however, is high. Despite Quinn’s assertions in Ishmael, the lives of stone-age tribes are every bit as miserable as those of their city-dwelling counterparts. The causes of their miseries are simply different. They still wage war against neighboring tribes and predators. They frequently hunt their prey to extinction as far as they are able. They suffer injury and disease with little or no recourse. They might be happy much of the time, perhaps more than the Takers, but their lives are far from Edenic.

Quinn contended that the solution to the Takers’ dilemma is to find a way to lead our civilization into the Leavers’ story, to invent a code of living that allows computer users to become hunter-gatherers over time. His arguments are compelling. Quinn frequently anticipated my objections to many of his points, asking and answering the very same questions I had in mind. Many of his observations were profound, but I frequently felt frustrated that he came so close to the truth on so many points, but still fell short.

In the end I found his proposed solution unsatisfactory. I see no reason at all why I should abandon one hopeless way of life only to adopt another. Yet it still seems that we must abandon many of our current ways. If we do not make some fundamental changes we might find ourselves becoming Leavers whether we want to or not as the world rebels against our perennial abuses. The gods will eventually put a stop to our Tower of Babel and scatter us back to the stone age without power tools or insecticides or cell phones.

Fortunately, there are other alternatives. There are at least four stories that could be told by mankind. The Takers’ story is one of ownership, in which mankind owns the world outright and may do with it whatever he pleases. The Takers live in a state of self-focused materialism. The Leavers’ story is also one of ownership, but in reverse so that mankind is owned by the world and must submit to whatever it decrees. It is a backwards looking fatalism. Many environmentalists would have us tell a third story of transience, in which mankind is a guest on the earth and should seek to have as little impact as possible.

The Torah tells a different kind of story, one of stewardship, in which mankind is God’s gardener set in the Garden of Earth not to conquer and pillage, but to govern on behalf of the King. We are neither the owners of the earth nor its property, but we are very definitely meant to live here. Everything we have, weather it be real estate, animals, tools, or family, is only delegated to us, and God will someday hold each of us responsible for how we used his possessions. We may derive our sustenance from our charge, but we may never abuse it.

Noach 5769 – A Man Worth Following

Monday, October 27th, 2008

Genesis 6:18

…thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons’ wives with thee. Genesis does not describe Noah’s family as especially righteous, although it is reasonable to believe that they were. (With the possible exception of Ham, of course. See Genesis 9:22-27.) The families of righteous men tend to be more righteous than the families of unrighteous men. The most convincing evidence of the character of Noah’s family, however, is that they went along with his plan to build a giant boat contrary to common sense. They trusted Noah’s judgment enough to stick by his side through one hundred years of ridicule and alienation. Most women today would leave their husband if he so much as quit his job to start a prison ministry or a homeless shelter. It would be almost unthinkable to stay with him while he gave up everything to pursue an unprecedented project with no conceivable benefit. How many women would even believe their husbands had heard from God, let alone support him in carrying out God’s instructions? I do not mean to blame women. How many men could inspire their wives and children to such devotion? What kind of man must Noah have been to inspire such loyalty in his wife and to have brought up such children?

I should also mention that Noah is the second verifiably monogamous man mentioned in Scripture. The first monogamist introduced death into the world, while the second presided over death’s ultimate implementation. Both men were righteous overall, but their monogamy seems to be more of a practical consideration than anything else. Adam could not have two wives because polygamy was not to be the standard pattern for all families. Noah could not have two wives for two reasons: there were too few good women in the world, and he only took with him on the ark what was necessary for regeneration.

Check out A Commentary on Marriage in the Bible!

Veils, Tallits, and Covering

Monday, January 28th, 2008

When Moses came down from Mt. Sinai, his face glowed and he wore a veil over his face to hide the glory of it from the Israelites. I was taught that this was a purely pragmatic act, that he had absorbed so much of God’s glory that nobody could withstand it. I don’t think that’s true. When he was about God’s business–for example, when he spoke the Torah to the assembled Israelites and when he was in the tent communing directly with God–he removed the veil. When he was about more mundane business–for example, judging legal cases and performing administrative duties in the camp–he wore the veil. The key distinction is not whether or not the person in front of him could stand to look at him, but whether or not it was appropriate to display directly God’s glory.

I think it was important that he did not appear to be speaking for God at every waking moment. He wasn’t Pharaoh’s replacement god; he was an emissary for that replacement. He had to hide his face so that the Israelites would not be tempted to worship him or to take every word as divine law. Removing the veil was like the pope speaking ex cathedra. He removed the veil when he read God’s Law, because he wanted Israel to see God speaking.

After studying the biblical mentions of veils and the like, I’ve concluded that coverings in general are emblems of authority, protection, and separation. There are several different kinds of coverings talked about in scripture: headcoverings, veils, mantles (or stoles), robes of state, wraps, hangings, bedding, and shadows.

I think that headcoverings and mantles are two sides of the same coin. How the covering is worn or used advertises the bearer’s relationship to the authority. Worn on the head, they indicate submission to the authority of someone else over the wearer. One who is under authority is obligated to obey, but is entitled to protection and provision. To a certain extent, he shares in the power of that authority. Worn on the shoulders, a covering represent the authority carried by the wearer. Think of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. One who carries authority is responsible for its exercise and for the protection and provision of its subjects. Paul’s argument regarding the wearing of headcoverings in worship helps to clarify this principle that the Torah and the prophets only alluded to.

Some examples of coverings representing the bearing of authority:

  • Elijah was a chief prophet and the headmaster of a school. He wore a mantle on his shoulders as a badge of office and passed it on to his successor, Elisha.
  • The High Priest wore an onyx stone bearing the names six of the twelve tribes on each of his shoulders. They represented his right to judge the nation on spiritual matters, while he wore a gold plate with twelve different precious stones over his heart to represent his obligation to judge with love and mercy.
  • Jacob gave Joseph a coat of many colors. Immediately after that, Joseph dreamed that all of Israel would someday bow to him. I don’t think that Jacob meant for Joseph’s coat to represent anything except his affection, but God had other plans. Think of the twelve differently colored stones on the High Priests breastplate. How much do you want to bet that there were exactly twelve different colors on Joseph’s coat?

Some examples of coverings representing submission to authority or protection:

  • Ruth covered herself with a corner of Boaz’s tallit as a subtle marriage proposal.
  • Boaz told Ruth to remove her veil–something that should only be done by someone in authority: a husband or father, for instance–so that he could fill it with barley. He was replying in the affirmative to her proposal.
  • Paul argued that a woman who prays or prophecies without a headcovering dishonors her husband.
  • Headcoverings were frequently used to hide shame or sorrow, a response which I believe to be very closely related to submission.
  • The Hebrew word for “pitch” in the story of Noah’s ark literally means “covering.” The same word is also translated “bribe” or “ransom.”
  • After God threatened Abimelech’s life for attempting to take a prophet’s wife as his own, Abimelech told Sarah that Abraham was a covering for her.
  • In the trial of a wife suspected of adultery, the priest removes her headcovering before subjecting her to the ordeal, symbolizing the removal of her husband’s protection.

Noah’s pitch coated his ark to keep out the floods that destroyed the rest of the world, like Yeshua’s blood that separates us from our world and its eventual fate. Likewise, the Hebrew word translated “mercy seat” in Exodus 25:17 referring to the lid of the Ark of the Covenant actually doesn’t have anything to do with seats, although it does imply mercy. It means “lid” or “cover” and comes from the same root as the word translated as “pitch.” Both coverings protect the contents of a wooden box from something outside. The Ark of the Covenant represents (at least on one level) the heart of a human being. It’s where David said he hid God’s law and where God says he wants to write it in every person. We can’t face God in our natural state directly, but in the Tabernacle, God’s presence hovered above the Ark. The mercy seat represents Yeshua’s role as our High Priest and intermediary with the Father, who sees us through the filter of his son. In this case, Yeshua as our covering takes on almost every aspect symbolized by all the other types of coverings. He hides us from an overwhelming power. He seals our hearts off from the rest of the world. He commands our obedience as we submit to him.

Tamar wore a veil to hide her identity but also to subtly tell Judah that the deaths of his sons weren’t her fault. Her very name means “upright.” The real problem was with Judah’s sons and their mother. Through the entire humiliating ordeal, she remained submitted to authority, and thereby wound up with Judah’s life and power in her hands. She took his staff (a symbol of power and authority) and rings (rings, bracelets, and ear/nose rings are symbols of betrothal and ownership) from him, and returned them in such a way that had he insisted on prosecuting her, he would have forfeited his own life.

Other coverings represent the outpouring of one spirit or another or separation from God or protection from danger or comfort. I could probably write a book on this topic alone. Enough for now, though. I need to incorporate some of this into the current book first.

Noach 5768 – A Man of the Soil

Tuesday, October 9th, 2007

Genesis 9:20 “Noah became a man of the soil, and he planted a vineyard.”

Wherever men live, they are men of the soil. So few of us exist the way we were intended, but we always find a way of bringing green back into our lives. We plant grass around our houses, hang plants from our apartment ceilings, put flowers in our windows, or grow vegetables in our back yards. Somehow, someway, we manage to maintain our connection to the soil. Only in the most disfunctional and unhappy societies is everything consumed by brick and concrete.

Update October 10, 2007: Yesterday I was reading on someone else’s blog  about the parallels between Noah’s ark and Moses’ ark. I don’t remember him mentioning this one. Noah’s ark was to be pitched inside and out. The Hebrew word used for “pitch” is kopher, which means to cover something. The Ark of the Covenant was topped by the mercy seat. The Hebrew word translated as “mercy seat” is kapporeth, which comes from kopher and means “lid or cover.” (I have no idea why it was translated as “mercy seat.”) The pitch on Noah’s ark kept its inhabitants from drowning in the water that was the result of a world of sin. Without that pitch, the boat would have leaked and eventually sunk. The cover on the Ark of the Covenant represents the Messiah seated between two angels. Without him, the spiritual death that results from our world of sin would overwhelm us. It is only by the pitch of his blood, inside and out, that we are saved from ultimate destruction.

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Salvation through Death

Tuesday, June 19th, 2007

(My apologies for the recurring theme of death. It’s not a fixation. Really!)

Whenever you see the numbers 4 or 40 in scripture, look for a lesson on the Messiah. The fourth day brought lights to rule the heavens. Esau, a type of antichrist, married two Hittite women when he was forty years old. Jacob was mourned for forty days. Israel ate manna for forty years. There are probably dozens of other examples. Noah and the flood is one of the best known.

The obvious analogy one can draw between the flood story and the Messiah is in the salvation of Noah and his family. The analogy might even be stronger than you think. For example, the Hebrew word translated “pitch” in Genesis 6:14 comes from the same root as the Hebrew word translated “mercy seat” in Exodus 25:17. Noah’s ark was covered with pitch to shelter the survivors from God’s wrath. Moses’ ark was covered with the mercy seat to be a buffer between us and God’s overwhelming presence. The first ark contained God’s chosen people and miraculously provided sustenance. The second ark contained emblems of God’s Law, guidance, and sustenance, all given to God’s people and carried by them through the Wilderness.

But the forty in Genesis 6 and 7 isn’t directly connected to the ark itself, but to the destruction from which it saved. It rained for forty days and forty nights, covering the whole earth, crushing and drowning millions, possibly billions of people. How can such unimaginable destruction contain a teaching on the Messiah?

The truth is that the Messiah does not only save us from death, but he saves us through and by death. God cannot look directly on our corrupt, tainted flesh, which is why we need the buffer of Messiah. He enables our purification and resurrection into a perfected form so that we can stand in the divine presence without being destroyed. But purification only comes through the removal of dross by intense and repeated heat, and resurrection only comes after death. In a world in which there is very little silver, there must be very great destruction to achieve any state of purity.

The Messiah brings the flood by which we are cleansed of violence and tyranny. He brings the fire by which the dross is separated from the silver. He brings the thousand little deaths by which we are given opportunities to grow and become purified. Ultimately, he takes us through Death itself to be resurrected and stand judgment before the Bema Seat. The more we survive and grow through flood and fire here in our mortality, the more gold, silver, and gems will remain in us then.

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