Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Towards the beginning of Parashat Noach, God informs Noach of the deluge He has decreed and orders him to construct an ark to save himself and his family. Among the details concerning the construction of the ark is the requirement to install a "tzohar" (6:16). This word, which relates to the more familiar word "tzohorayim" ("afternoon"), clearly refers to some form of lighting, but we find two different views among Chazal as to what precisely "tzohar" means. As Rashi cites from the Midrash, one view interprets the word to mean "window," whereas others explain that it refers to precious stones and diamonds that shine and thereby provide illumination.

Rav Barukh Halevi Epstein, in his "Torah Temima," suggests that this debate involves a far more fundamental issue than simply the meaning of the word "tzohar." The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (108b) records that it was Rabbi Yochanan who interprets "tzohar" to mean a shiny stone, rather than window. The Torah Temima sees this position as but another reflection of a general trend Rabbi Yochanan follows in his overall assessment of Noach. For example, a famous debate exists among the Sages – as Rashi cites (6:9) – regarding the Torah's description of Noach as "blameless in his generations." While one view interprets this as a favorable description, another view – that of Rabbi Yochanan – detects within this clause a criticism of Noach: only in his wicked generation was he righteous. Had he lived in a generation of other righteous men, he would not have earned such a glowing description. Similarly, Rabbi Yochanan commented that Noach remained somewhat skeptical with regard to God's warning about the flood, and only after the rain began to fall did he enter the ark (see Rashi to 7:7). This negative assessment of Noach, the Torah Temima claims, led Rabbi Yochanan to interpret "tzohar" as a source of artificial light, rather than a window. Since Noach was himself imperfect, he did not earn the right to behold with his own eyes the death and destruction of his contemporaries. The Torah Tamima compares Noach's situation to that of Lot and his family, who were saved from the destruction of Sedom and ordered not to turn around to see the city's eradication. As Rashi explains (19:17), since Lot lacked the personal merit to survive the destruction of Sedom, and was spared only in the merit of his uncle, Avraham, he did not earn the right to witness the city's fall. Similarly, the Torah Temima contends, Rabbi Yochanan held that Noach did not fully deserve survival. He therefore could not have a window in the ark, and thus required an alternate means of illumination.

We might add that in Rabbi Yochanan's view, the absence of windows in the ark accurately represented the precise shortcoming for which Noach is blamed. Why does Rabbi Yochanan criticize Noach if the Torah appears to describe him so favorably? Many have pointed to Noach's passivity and indifference towards the spiritual decline of his generation as the basis for this negative assessment. Citing Rabbi Yochanan's opinion concerning the phrase, "blameless in his generations," Rashi writes, "Had he lived in the generation of Avraham, he would not have been considered anything." Meaning, compared to Avraham, Noach's achievements should not impress us. This contrast between Noach and Avraham perhaps refers to their opposite approaches in dealing with the iniquity that surrounded them. Whereas Noach (according to most views) invested little if any effort to improve the moral standards of his society, Avraham, as Chazal emphasize, exerted himself tirelessly in the dissemination of monotheism and ethical values.

If, indeed, it was Noach's indifference that drew the criticism of Rabbi Yochanan, then we understand even clearer why, as the Torah Temima explained, there could be no window in the ark. Noach, who spent his pre-deluge years in an "ark" of sorts, isolated from his contemporaries and apathetic to their depravity, was to remain secluded during the flood, as well. If he did not take interest in the people of his generation during their lifetime, then neither may he look upon them in their demise. The ark, then, according to Rabbi Yochanan, accurately reflects the seclusion and isolation that characterized Noach's attitude towards the corruption of his age.

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The Torah tells in Parashat Noach that when Noach emerged from the ark after the flood, God granted permission to Noach and his progeny to partake of animal meat: "Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat; as with the green grasses, I give you all these" (9:3). As Rashi explains, until Noach's time mankind was permitted to eat only vegetarian foods; now, at this point, God permitted the consumption of animals. In the very next verse, God establishes an important limitation: "You must not, however, eat flesh with its life-blood in it." Rashi, based on the Gemara (Sanhedrin 59a), explains this verse as introducing the prohibition against "eiver min ha-chai" – flesh from a live animal. Only meat from a dead animal may be consumed by human beings, not flesh taken from a live animal.

This prohibition marks the final of the "shiva mitzvot benei Noach," or "seven Noachide laws." The first six – the prohibitions against murder, idolatry, immorality, theft and blasphemy, and the obligation to establish a judicial system – were introduced much earlier, after the creation of Adam (see Sanhedrin 56). These mitzvot, according to our tradition, are charged upon all mankind. God declares this prohibition of eiver min ha-chai after the flood for the obvious reason that only now did it become practically relevant. Since man was confined to a vegetarian lifestyle prior to the flood, God had no reason to forbid the consumption of meat from a live animal. Only now that man received permission to partake of animal meat must he be told not to eat meat from a live creature.

This discussion gives rise to an important question concerning the title of this group of laws – "shiva mitzvot benei Noach." Why does our tradition speak of these laws in reference to specifically the descendants of Noach? Is it merely because the final of the seven laws was introduced to Noach and his children? Shouldn't we refer to these mitzvot as the "mitzvot benei Adam" – the laws of the children of Adam, incumbent upon all human beings?

Rav Michael Rosensweig (see www.torahweb.org/torah/1999/parsha/rros_noach.html and www.torahweb.org/torah/2000/parsha/rros_noach2000.html) suggested that the nature and purpose of these seven laws correspond to Noach's defining characteristic, thus warranting the title of "mitzvot benei Noach." As we saw yesterday, Chazal spoke of the distinction between Noach and Avraham. Rashi comments that according to one view among the Sages, had Noach lived in Avraham's generation, he would not have been considered an exceptionally righteous man, as he would have been overshadowed by the towering personage of Avraham. Noach's great achievement was survival. He managed to maintain acceptable moral standards for himself and his family, but achieved little more than that. As opposed to Avraham, who did not feel content simply weathering the storm of paganism and corruption, and thus embarked on an ambitious campaign to disseminate the truth about God and His laws, Noach simply survived. He maintained a degree of religious stability which enabled him and his family to resist the pressures of his generation, but did not pursue the lofty spiritual goals and achievements realized by his descendant, Avraham. Therefore, after emerging from the ark, Noach fails to work towards building a better and more Godly world. Instead, he plants a vineyard, drinks of its wine, anbecomes intoxicated. He does not feel motivated to pursue a vigorous campaign of building and developing a society characterized by loftier, spiritual ideals. So long as he survives, as he resists external pressures, his goal has been achieved.

This distinction, Rav Rosensweig claimed, corresponds to the fundamental distinction between the seven Noachide laws and the "taryag mitzvot" – the 613 mitzvot charged upon Benei Yisrael, the biological and spiritual heirs of Avraham Avinu. The mitzvot benei Noach are geared to ensure social stability and avoid moral corruption and degeneration. Essentially, they do little more than maintain the separation between man and beast, requiring people to display basic loyalty to their family, respect for their fellow man, and an awareness of God's authority. The Torah, by contrast, goes much further. It is meant to elevate Am Yisrael and transform them into a select group of people. As God Himself proclaims shortly before giving Benei Yisrael the Torah, these laws will make them a "mamlekhet kohanim ve-goy koadosh" – a "kingdom of priests and a sacred people." The mitzvot do not merely protect Benei Yisrael from the deluge of corruption and immorality that rages throughout the world. They are not to remain in an ark and simply weather the storm of spiritual destruction. Rather, like Avraham Avinu, they must, by observing the mitzvot, transform themselves into a unique people capable of elevating the standards of all mankind.

This helps explain why we refer to the seven laws required of all people as the "Noachide laws." These laws are intended to help all Noach's descendants accomplish what he accomplished – spiritual survival. From Benei Yisrael, however, God demands much more. We say each day in the final paragraph of shema, "Thus you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments, and you shall [then] be holy to your God"(Bamidbar 15:40). Our goal through the observance of mitzvot must extend beyond spiritual survival; we must strive to "be holy to your God" – a goal we reach by committing ourselves uncompromisingly to all 613 mitzvot.

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Chazal often distinguish between the two most common Names used in reference to the Almighty – the "Shem Havayah" ("Y-H-V-H"; we will refer to this Name as "Hashem") and "Elokim." Generally speaking, "Hashem" is used in the context of the divine attribute of mercy; it describes God in light of His qualities of benevolence and forbearance. "Elokim," by contrast, refers to the divine attribute of judgment, generally used in the context of divine retribution.

In the narrative of the flood, however, the Midrash observes two instances where the Names "Hashem" and "Elokim" seem to appear in contexts diametrically opposite to their respective connotations. In the final verses of Parashat Bereishit, "Hashem" declares His decision to destroy mankind (6:7). Intuitively, we would certainly have attributed this harsh sentence to "Elokim" – the divine quality of judgment, rather than to "Hashem" – the attribute of mercy. Conversely, in Parashat Noach, we read that after one hundred and fifty days of raging floodwaters, "Elokim remembered Noach and all the beasts and all the animals with him in the ark, and Elokim caused a wind to blow across the earth, and the waters subsided" (8:1). Here, it is precisely the attribute of "Elokim" – the divine attribute of justice – that brings an end to the destruction and prepares the flooded earth for its rebirth and reconstruction. These two verses led the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba, 33) to the conclusion that the wicked "transform the attribute of mercy into the attribute of justice," whereas the righteous "transform the attribute of justice into the attribute of mercy." The Torah employs the Name "Hashem" with reference to the sinful generation of the flood because even the divine attribute of mercy worked against them as a result of their corruption. Conversely, God remembered Noach and brought the flood to an end even with the attribute of judgment.

What exactly does the Midrash mean when it speaks of one divine attribute "transforming" into another?

The simplest explanation, perhaps, is that the wicked are capable of reaching the point where even the flexibility and forbearance represented by "Hashem" cannot spare them, whereas the righteous are deserving of divine grace even according to the strict calculations of the attribute of "Elokim." The generation of the flood deserved to perish even by the merciful standards of "Hashem," while Noach deserved to be saved without resorting to the flexibility of the divine attribute of mercy. This, perhaps, is what the Midrash meant when it speaks of one attribute "transforming" into another. At times the attribute of mercy will resemble the attribute of judgment, as it cannot overturn the harsh decree issued against the sinner. In other instances, the attribute of judgment will yield a favorable sentence, as if issued by the attribute of mercy, due to the extraordinary piety of the given individual.

Rav Yehuda Ginsburg, however, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," suggests an additional explanation of this comment in the Midrash. The wicked "transform" the attribute of mercy into the attribute of judgment by misusing the attribute of mercy. In the specific instance of the flood, the Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (108) tells that the people of the time denied their dependence on God, claiming that all they need Him for is to provide rainwater, and even that they enjoyed in abundance independently, from rivers and lakes. In other words, rather than responding to the divine attribute of mercy – as manifest in the provision of water – with gratitude and humility, they used it as a basis for rebellion and rejection. They thereby transformed God's compassion into strict justice. The righteous, by contrast, do just the opposite. When they find themselves affected by the divine attribute of judgment, when they face hardship and crisis, they respond with a process of introspection and repentance, furthering their religious development and growth. Thus, the attribute of judgment becomes, in effect, a catalyst for the attribute of mercy, as they are ultimately rewarded for their achievements and continued efforts towards spiritual perfection.

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Towards the end of Parashat Noach we read the famous story of Migdal Bavel – the Tower of Babel. Many different approaches have been taken to explain the precise nature of the sin committed, and why God punished this generation for attempting to build a city and a tower. Today we will discuss the explanations offered by the Or Ha-chayim and Keli Yakar.

The Or Ha-chayim makes reference to a Kabbalistic concept that God wished for one-third of the land on earth to be settled. The way this happens, the Or Ha-chayim explains, is when people build and develop cities and countries far from one another, giving rise to highway traffic in between them. The roads between the settled areas may then be considered inhabited, and in this way mankind reaches its goal of settling one-third of earth's land. But the people of Migdal Bavel wanted for all people on earth to settle in a single location. The tower, which could be seen at vast distances, was to ensure that even those who found themselves far away from the city could easily make their way back. Indeed, as the Or Ha-chayim notes, the narrative strongly suggests that the people's primary concern was remaining together: "And they said: Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world" (11:4). The Or Ha-chayim draws what he considers "conclusive proof" ("eid ne'eman") to his approach from the narrative's concluding verse: "That is why it was called Babel, because there the Lord confounded the speech of the whole earth; and from there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth." This suggests that God's intention and purpose was primarily to scatter them about, to ensure that a sizeable percentage of the earth's territory would become populated and cultivated, rather thanallowing mankind to limit itself to a single area.

One wonders, however, how, according to this explanation, the people of the time could have known that God demands dispersion rather than concentration. When did God ever issue a command to this effect? The Or Ha-chayim appears to address this question when he writes, "And this is something that they could understand, given that they were people of choice and will with respect to physical actions." Still, this fails to explain on what basis the people should have known not to assemble in a single city. Presumably, according to the Or Ha-chayim, God issued this command when He declared, "u-mil'u et ha-aretz" – "and fill the earth," the declaration made immediately upon the creation of man (1:28) and repeated to Noach after the flood (9:1). "Fill the earth" perhaps refers to not only reproduction and population growth, but also geographic expansion and development.

The Keli Yakar, in his discussion of this topic, actually finds potential merit in the people's desire to all live together in a concentrated area. As the narrative begins, "Everyone on earth had the same language and the same words" (11:1). At this point in history, mankind lived harmoniously together. People worked in perfect cooperation with one another, and there was no conflict or war. They pursued similar goals and were prepared to join forces peacefully in pursuit of those goals. Perceptively, however, they feared that a process of dispersion would result in conflicting interests and needs, thus causing friction and dissention, and, ultimately, bloodshed. They therefore sought to prevent mankind's territorial expansion by assembling in a single city. This endeavor would have been noble and commendable, the Keli Yakar writes, if not for the three words the people insert in their formulation of their plan: "ve-na'aseh lanu shem" ("we shall make a name for ourselves" – 11:4). This phrase indicates that the people were not motivated purely by the concern for world peace. Rather, each person – or perhaps each faction – thought that this new project would help further his personal agendas and bring him pride and honor. And when people are driven by aspirations for personal glory, it is far better for different groups to live separately, distant from one another, than to reside in the same city. God therefore found it necessary to foil the plan and disperse the people, precisely to avoid the type of bloodshed that their project was supposedly intended to prevent, though would have inevitably caused.

This approach of the Keli Yakar perhaps sheds new light on the famous comment of the Midrash cited in Rashi's commentary to this narrative (11:1). According to one view cited by Rashi, the people built the tower in order to make a support system for the sky, hoping to thereby prevent another flood. At first glance, this view appears to portray the people of this generation as fools who honestly felt they could construct a barrier to block floodwaters from descending from the heavens. One might suggest, however, that we read this comment allegorically. The people of this generation lived in blissful harmony and cooperation, but heard the stories of the corruption and lawlessness that prevailed before the flood and warranted civilization's destruction. They therefore sought a way to build a "support system" to prevent another flood – meaning, they designed a plan to ensure peace and harmony among men for all time, and thus built a city with a tower. Unfortunately, however, their efforts were lacking in sincerity, and God therefore decided to scatter them throughout the earth rather than allowing them to remain in a single location, where conflicts of interest would inevitably arise and lead to terrible warfare and bloodshed.

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After the flood, God speaks to Noach, bestowing upon him a blessing and conveying to him a series of instructions. These instructions include the issue of meat consumption, which was now permitted for the first time, as we discussed earlier in the week. God tells Noach that he may now eat animal meat and warns against the consumption of meat taken from a live animal. Immediately thereafter, God says, "But for your own lifeblood I will require a reckoning: I will require it of every beast; of man, too, I will require a reckoning for human life" (9:5).

The Ramban expresses uncertainty concerning the meaning of this verse. At first glance, as the Ramban acknowledges, the verse means that God holds all creatures responsible for the death of people. He will "require a reckoning" of every beast that kills a human being, as well as of every man who kills. Although man is permitted to hunt and kill animals for consumption, animals were not permitted to do the same to humans, and they are in fact punished for doing so. This would mean, of course, that the concept of punishment and retribution applies even to animals. Even they are held accountable for their wrongdoing. However, as the Ramban notes, this seems hardly tenable, given the simple fact that animals lack the wisdom and understanding necessary to justify reward or punishment for their conduct. He speculates that perhaps there is a "gezeirat ha-Melekh" – a divine decree – that animals who kill people are killed. The Ramban's formulation suggests that he denied the possibility of applying the familiar concept of reward and punishment to animals. At most, this verse establishes that for reasons beyond our comprehension, God decrees death upon animals that kill people. The Ramban suggests that the halakha of "shor ha-niskal" – requiring the "execution" of an ox who kills a human being, perhaps reflects this concept.

The Ramban then proceeds to suggest a second interpretation of the verse, by which it does not speak at all of the accountability of animals for their conduct. According to the Ramban's second reading, the verse means that God will punish killers "mi-yad kol chaya" – at the hand of animals, by sending animals after them to kill them. Abarbanel follows this approach, as well, and explains that Noach and his family may have feared that in the aftermath of the flood, any disagreement that might erupt between two people and end in bloodshed may undermine their efforts to replenish the earth's population. Given that only a handful of people survived, a single murder could jeopardize the restoration of human life on earth. What more, such a small number of people might find it difficult to establish an effective judicial system capable of deterring potential killers. God therefore warned that murderers will be held accountable for their crimes, if not by the human court, than at least by God, who has many means at His disposal for executing judgment – such as the beasts of prey.

Later the Ramban proposes yet a third possible reading, one which is found already in Rabbenu Sa'adya Gaon's commentary. The word "edrosh" (translated above as "I will require reckoning") may be interpreted not as a reference to retribution, but rather to prevention. The verse would then mean not that God will hold animals responsible for killing people, but that He will restrain them. As the Keli Yakar explains in his comments to an earlier verse (9:2), the permission granted to people to partake of animal meat necessitated instilling within animals a degree of fear of humans. Cattle would not walk obediently to the slaughter had the Almighty not implanted within them a certain nature and character engendering this otherwise peculiar behavior. Therefore, as God allows Noach and his children to eat animal meat, He also guarantees them that the animals will not turn against mankind in response.

In any event, the Ramban and Rabbenu Sa'adya Gaon appear to deny the concept of reward and punishment with respect to animals. This is also the position of the Seforno, who offers a slightly different interpretation, claiming that "mi-yad kol chaya edreshenu" means that God will rescue deserving human beings from beasts of prey.

The Radak, by contrast, upholds the straightforward meaning of the verse and acknowledges that animals, like hu, are subject to the doctrine of reward and punishment. He draws evidence from two verses in the Nevi'im, one referring to reward and the other to punishment. We read in Sefer Melakhim I (13) of the prophet who disobeys God's warning not to spend any time in the city of Bet-El. As punishment for staying in the city to eat, he is devoured by a lion, which, oddly enough, does not devour his donkey. The Radak explains that God spared the donkey in reward for having served the prophet of God, thus proving that God rewards animals. As for the concept of retribution for animals, the prophet Chabakuk (2:17) declares, "the plundering of animals shall destroy them." The Radak explains this to mean that animals that bring death and destruction upon human beings are ultimately punished for their violent behavior.

Rav Hirsch, in his commentary, likewise explains this verse to mean that God will punish animals for killing human beings. He adds, however, "How God exercises His jurisdiction over the animal world lies beyond our ken." He, too, points to the law of "shor ha-niskal" as an expression of this notion, but claims that we cannot possibly understand the workings of reward and punishment with respect to animals. Thus, even if such a concept exists, it does operate along the same lines as the familiar doctrine of reward and punishment regarding human beings.

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Yesterday, we discussed a verse in Parashat Noach (9:5) which appears to indicate that God holds animals accountable and punishes them for killing human beings. We encountered a number of different views among the commentators as to whether the doctrine of reward and punishment applies to animals. The Ramban, as we saw, seems to deny this concept, but does acknowledge the possibility that a special "gezeirat ha-Melekh" – divine decree – requires that animals be killed for killing human beings. Although animals are not subject to the doctrine of reward and punishment, since, after all, they do not possess the knowledge and understanding to choose between right and wrong, a special rule ordained by God dictates that an animal must die if he kills a human being.

Although the Ramban does not provide or allude to any reason for this "gezeirat ha-Melekh," we might venture to guess that it stems from the very next verse: "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for in His image did God make him." The Seforno comments that this verse comes to explain the distinction drawn in the previous verses between human beings and the animal world. Recall from yesterday's discussion that this section began with God's granting of permission to Noach and his descendants to partake of animal meat. From there God proceeded to clarify that although man may kill animals for food, they may not kill other human beings, and, according to some commentaries, even animals are forbidden from killing humans. The phrase "for in His image did God make him" comes to explain why God treats animals' blood so differently from human blood. Animals may be killed to serve the needs of human beings, but human beings may not be killed to serve the purpose of animals or of other human beings, due to the unique spiritual quality man possesses, the "divine image" within him. Whereas animals are purely physical creatures, the human being is endowed with a Godlike dimension which sets him apart from the rest of God's creations.

This might explain why, according to the Ramban, a special "gezeirat ha-Melekh" was issued sentencing to death any animal that kills a human being – to highlight the basic difference between the blood of humans and that of animals. As the Ramban notes, animals cannot discern between right and wrong and are thus not subject to punishment. But a killer animal is killed not as a punishment, but to underscore the fundamental difference between man and beast. When an animal kills a person, the impression is given that just as men kill animals and animals kill other animals, so do animals kill human beings, as part of the broader struggle of all living creatures for survival. God therefore proclaims that He will exact retribution from animals that kill people, for the human being stands separate and apart from the rest of creation. Even if animals do not and cannot "deserve" punishment, God decrees death upon an animal that kills a person so as to emphasize the significance and sanctity of the human soul and its distinction from all other creatures on earth.

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We read in Parashat Noach of the "berit" ("covenant") God establishes with Noach and his offspring, by which He promises never again to flood the earth. God chooses the rainbow as a sign of this covenant: "I have set My bow 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 bow appears in the clouds, I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all flesh" (9:13-15).

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary, briefly lists several traditional explanations of the symbolic meaning of the rainbow, and why it specifically was chosen to signify this berit between God and the earth. One approach sees the rainbow as a reversed weapon: the bow's string, from which the arrows are sent, faces away from the earth, rather than towards it, symbolizing the turning away of God's anger. He turns His "weapon" away from the earth, so-to-speak, having decided against destroying it. Others explained that the arc shape symbolizes the union between heaven and earth, the bond between man and God established through this treaty. More famously, perhaps, the rainbow is often seen as representing the presence of light among the darkest and most ominous clouds, and thus symbolizes the presence of divine grace and compassion even when God decrees calamity upon the earth.

Rav Hirsch himself, however, prefers a different approach, focusing instead on the rainbow's constitution. A rainbow, of course, is a single ray of light refracted into its various components, which assume different colors. Rav Hirsch claims that this manifestation symbolizes the wide gamut of existence – both human and animal, all of whose components are joined together in this covenant. Indeed, God emphasizes to Noach that when He sees the rainbow, He will "remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures, all flesh that is on earth" (9:16). This covenant makes no distinctions between different types of creatures, and even among human beings, it applies to all races and classes. This universality of the covenant is symbolized by the refraction of a single ray of light into numerous different colors.

Rav Gavriel Zev Margolis, in his "Torat Gavriel," suggests an entirely different explanation for the significance of the rainbow. In the famous first chapter of Sefer Yechezkel, the prophet Yechezkel describes the "ma'aseh merkava" – the vision he beheld of God's glory transported by a chariot. The final verses of this prophecy describe the actual appearance of God's glory: "There was radiance all about him [the figure of a person described one verse earlier]. Like the appearance of the bow which shines in the clouds on a day of rain, such was the appearance of the surrounding radiance" (Yechezkel 1:27-28). While obviously we cannot possibly claim to have a concrete understanding of what Yechezkel actually saw, it is clear that the rainbow is part of the visible appearance of God's glory. Rav Margolis suggests that for this reason God chose the rainbow – a form of God's visible manifestation – as the sign of His covenant. This interpretation has strong basis in the wording of these verses. God tells Noach, "I have set MY BOW in the clouds." The reference to the rainbow as "God's bow" can be understood more clearly if God speaks here of the image of His physical manifestation to the prophets.

Why would God use a feature of His physical manifestation as a symbol of His covenant?

The rainbow serves as a means of reassurance to mankind that God will never again destroy the earth. As the Netziv writes in hiscommentary to these verses, God here does not establish a new covenant with Noach, but rather reaffirms the covenant He established at the time of creation that the earth will never cease to exist. We might suggest, then, that He accomplishes this by giving mankind a glimpse of His presence. This quasi-prophetic vision of the rainbow represents God's ongoing involvement and interest in the world. He will never destroy the earth because He maintains a relationship with it, as evidenced by His "appearance" in the form of the rainbow. Understandably, then, the rainbow serves as the eternal sign of the Almighty's guarantee to continue preserving the earth and its inhabitants.

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