Rather than demanding promises from humankind, God unilaterally commits to a promise never to destroy the world again. This is a radical concept: an all-powerful Divine ruler who self-limits for the sake of humanity. To seal this promise, God provides a sign—the rainbow in the clouds. The bow, usually a symbol of war, is inverted by God to become a sign of peace. The very instrument used by humans for violence becomes, through God’s covenant, a reminder to respect one another’s differences and avoid violence as a means of resolving disputes. The image of distinct colors existing side by side to form a single, beautiful arc symbolizes unity without uniformity—a call to honour diversity while fostering harmony.
The idea of covenant, or brit, is central to Jewish tradition and emerges even more fully in this week’s Parsha, Lech Lecha, where God establishes a unique covenant with Abraham. Here, it’s a mutual commitment, rather than a unilateral promise. This covenant—“Brit Bein HaBetarim”—and later Brit Milah, redefine the relationship between God and humankind. For the first time in ancient tradition, a greater power binds itself to a lesser one without undermining the individual autonomy of the latter. Through covenant, God invites humanity to partner in perfecting creation, not by force, but by consent, strengthening individual freedom while calling for shared purpose.
The Brit Bein HaBetarim, symbolized by divided animals and a passing fire, is rich with meaning. In it, Abraham is not only a recipient but an active participant. By performing the symbolic act of “cutting,” Abraham acknowledges the complexity of covenantal life: the potential for both connection and rupture, hope and darkness. Unlike the flood covenant, this agreement requires Abraham’s active commitment, binding him and his descendants to a life dedicated to justice and moral integrity. This ritual marks the beginning of a partnership in which both God and humanity assume roles in the journey toward a perfected world.
Brit Milah further deepens this commitment. Through circumcision, the bond of covenant is inscribed on the flesh—a permanent mark symbolizing the enduring nature of this sacred agreement. As Leon Kass writes, it emphasizes procreation, continuity, and the generational transfer of values. Although performed on an infant, the covenantal responsibility belongs to the parents and reflects the community’s pledge to perpetuate values of holiness and ethical living. Circumcision thus signifies not just a religious act but an ethical inheritance, one that parents impart to children as they initiate them into a life dedicated to communal and moral responsibility.
This week’s Parsha reveals three essential themes of covenantal living: 1. The partner as a subject, 2. Trust and the acceptance of uncertainty, and 3. hope. In the Brit Bein HaBetarim, God asks Abraham to “step outside” and “look toward heaven.” Affirming our faith and nurturing a covenantal relationship requires a movement outwards that allows us to see the other. Being prisoners to the confines of single vision will prevent us from seeing the bigger picture. True faith requires stepping beyond oneself, and connecting with a shared history and a shared future. God reminds Abraham of their journey together, of promises made and experiences shared: “I am the God who took you out from Ur Kasdim to give you this land.” Covenantal life calls for memory and for gratitude, grounding commitment in mutual recognition and purpose.
Last week, we discussed the sin of Bavel, marked by a shift from “איש אל רעהו” (each person to their fellow) to “ויאמרו” (they said as a generic whole), signifying a movement from an “I-Thou” relationship to an “I-It” dynamic. The unusual phrase in this week’s episode, where Avraham is instructed to place the carcasses “each one לקראת רעהו”—facing its “friend”—is intentionally chosen. It suggests that redemption from the sin of Bavel lies in this new covenantal relationship, which calls us to see the other, in all their individuality, as a partner—a fully present subject and friend. Rather than a vassal treaty, a covenant requires mutuality, loyalty and dignity of each partner.
2. Trust and acceptance of uncertainty are also intrinsic to covenant. Abraham’s question—“במה אדע” (How will I know?)—reveals humanity’s craving for knowledge and assurance, a desire that began with Adam and Eve’s pursuit of knowledge in Eden. Yet, as humans bound by time, we inevitably face limits in what we can know or control. Covenant acknowledges this tension, embracing faith in the unknown. Covenant is not a transaction but a journey, calling us to relinquish certainty in favor of trust. A covenantal space, necessitates letting go and shattering illusions of certitude to allow for transformation and growth. There exists the possibility of rupture (represented by the cutting of the animals) as well as times of hope and darkness (represented in the imagery of darkness and promise throughout the narrative). But there is also the Divine promise. Existing between the despair of the lived moment and the hope of the future promise requires faith. Not faith that everything will be ok, but rather an active faith that requires us to take responsibility and for God to remember his promise. Where mankind acts, God responds.
3. Finally, covenant is grounded in hope. In many other religions, their Messiah has come; in ours, he is always coming. The eschatological vision of Judaism frames our entire psyche. We are waiting for Moshiach to bring world peace and an idyllic existence. We trust there is a happy ending; we just don’t know when or how it will unfold. Brit—covenantal living—teaches us that this ending will not come through passive waiting or blind faith but through hope as a catalyst for action. We are always on a journey to the promised land, to a better future, to a brighter tomorrow.
This week, Avraham begins that journey with God’s call: "Lech lecha—go to the land I will show you." The destination remains mysterious, undefined. Avraham must make difficult decisions along the way, staying open to endless possibilities. He knows there is a destination, though he does not know how or when it will be revealed. But he is required to walk, to travel, to shatter idols, and to let go of all that is familiar and holding him back.
To be a Jew, in the spirit of Avraham, means leaving behind what is familiar and beginning anew, in every generation and in every time. It means embarking on a journey without certainty of reaching the destination within our lifetime. It means believing in a call that transcends the self, following the journey begun by our ancestors (as Avraham followed Terach’s path to Canaan) while making it our own. It means never being satisfied with the world as it is and always striving toward the world as it ought to be. It means looking at things with fresh eyes and, in the words of T.S. Eliot’s Little Gidding, "seeing them for the first time."
Never before in my lifetime have we, as a Jewish people, needed this message more than we do now. Each day presents a new challenge, another moment to choose life over death, hope over despair. Covenantal living calls us to action, not passivity. Acting today means standing strong for our people, strengthening our army, refining our intelligence, and advancing our technology, wearing our Jewish identity with pride and courage whether it be on collage campuses, on social media or in public arenas. It is knowing that as we help ourselves, God will be with us.
In the complacency of our own making, we became passive, and tragedy struck. Yet every time we have defended ourselves, innovated to outmanoeuvre our enemies, and faced battles with courage, we witness the unfolding of a greater covenantal reality. We must not lose sight of the destination—the promise of redemption and the light at the end of the dark tunnel. But equally, we must remember that, following the biblical model of brit, we have an active role to play; without our efforts, that vision will not be fulfilled.
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