What does it mean to be human? The Torah gives us a remarkable answer: we are created in the image of God and entrusted with dominion over the earth. But what does that dominion mean? Does it give us license to take whatever we want, or does it impose a responsibility to care for what God has made? In Parashat Noach, we discover that the relationship between humanity and the rest of creation is more complicated than we might imagine. The story challenges us to consider our appetites, our capacity for compassion, and the discipline of knowing when enough is enough.
Created to Rule, Called to Serve
In Genesis 1:28, God commands humanity to “fill the earth and master it” and to rule over its creatures. Yet in Genesis 2:15, the human being is placed in the Garden of Eden “to till it and tend it.” The Hebrew words, l’avdah and l’shomrah, suggest working or serving the garden and guarding it. We are given dominion, but we are also called to be caretakers. How do we reconcile these two responsibilities? If we are created in God’s image, our authority ought to reflect his character. A good ruler protects what has been entrusted to his care rather than consuming everything within reach and leaving the kingdom in ruins. Dominion, then, is not permission to exploit creation, but a responsibility to serve and preserve it.
Perhaps this is also why Yeshua challenged his disciples to understand greatness in terms of service rather than domination: “Whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant” (Matthew 20:26). His teaching reminds us of what it means to exercise authority in the image of God. To rule well is to serve faithfully, protecting and nurturing what has been entrusted to our care.
Were Animals Ever Meant to Be Our Food?
In the opening chapter of Genesis, God gives humanity plants and fruit for food, while the animals receive green vegetation (Genesis 1:29–30). There is no explicit permission to eat animals. The picture is of a creation in which life is sustained without predation. Does this mean that vegetarianism is God’s original ideal? Perhaps. At the very least, the narrative invites us to consider whether our relationship with the animal world might be more complicated than simply viewing animals as a source of food. The Torah permits us to make use of creation, but it also calls us to recognize its value and to exercise our responsibilities with care.
The question becomes even more interesting in Genesis 2. When God declares, “It is not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18), we might expect the next verse to introduce the woman. Instead, God forms the animals and brings them to Adam to see what he will call them. Adam names the creatures, but none proves to be a suitable companion. Only afterward does God form the woman, whom Adam recognizes as “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Genesis 2:23). Why does the Torah place the animals in this story? Perhaps it reminds us that humanity shares a closer relationship with the animal world than we sometimes acknowledge.
Jewish theologian Michael Wyschogrod observed that although human beings and animals are distinct, the gulf between them may not be as absolute as we imagine. Human beings alone are described as bearing God’s image, but the rest of creation is not thereby rendered insignificant. Animals are fellow creatures, and some become our companions. Anyone who has shared a home with a dog or cat knows that the relationship can be rather more complicated than that between a consumer and a product. We may be the ones who feed them, but sometimes they seem to do a remarkably good job of taking care of us. If we recognize the value of these relationships, perhaps we should think twice before treating the animal world as nothing more than a collection of resources waiting to be used.
The World After the Flood
By the time we arrive at Noach, humanity has become corrupt and the earth is filled with violence. The flood is a devastating judgment upon a creation that has gone terribly wrong. Yet the ark offers a glimpse of hope. Noah gathers his family and representatives of the animal world into a single vessel, preserving creatures that would otherwise perish. The Torah does not tell us exactly how Noah managed this extraordinary menagerie. I suspect there were some rather challenging moments aboard that boat! Still, the ark offers an intriguing picture of creatures sharing a common refuge, a small preview of the harmony the prophets envision for the age to come.
Isaiah describes that future in one of Scripture’s most beautiful passages: “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid” (Isaiah 11:6). He goes on to describe the cow and the bear grazing together and the lion eating straw like the ox. What a remarkable vision! The natural world is no longer governed by fear and predation. Even the lion has apparently decided to change its menu. This is the peace of the Messianic Age, when God restores the harmony that has been lost.
Rav Shaul expands this vision when he writes that creation itself waits to be liberated from its bondage to decay (Romans 8:19–21). Redemption encompasses more than the reconciliation of human beings to God; it includes the renewal of the created order. If this is the world God intends to restore, should that future not influence how we live today? If we hope for a world characterized by peace and compassion, perhaps we should begin practicing those things now.
A Divine Concession
After the flood, Noah offers sacrifices to God from the ritually pure animals and birds. God then blesses Noah and his sons with words echoing the original blessing of humanity: “Be fertile and increase, and fill the earth” (Genesis 9:1). But something has changed. God declares that the animals will fear humanity and then permits them to be eaten: “Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat; as with the green grasses, I give you all these” (Genesis 9:2–3).
Why the change? The Torah does not explicitly explain it, but the narrative invites us to consider the possibility that this permission reflects a concession to the world as it now exists rather than the ideal of the original creation. Even after the flood, humanity’s inclination toward evil remains. Just before the flood, God observes that the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth (Genesis 8:21). The waters have receded, but the human problem persists.
Significantly, the permission to eat animals comes with restrictions. Noah is forbidden to consume flesh with its blood, and God emphasizes the sacredness of human life and the accountability that accompanies its taking (Genesis 9:4–6). Life belongs to God, and even permitted uses of creation have boundaries. Permission does not mean that everything is permissible, nor does human appetite erase moral responsibility. Perhaps one of the central lessons of Noach is that God recognizes the realities of our world without abandoning his expectation that we exercise restraint.
What Does the Rabbi Say About Meat?
Jewish tradition recognizes this tension. The Talmud teaches that meat and wine have an appropriate place in festive celebration (Pesachim 109a). Judaism is not a religion of perpetual deprivation; there is a place for feasting, joy, and enjoying God’s good gifts. Another passage, Hullin 84a, discusses eating meat in the context of a person’s means and desires, reminding us that consumption need not be automatic or unlimited. The point is not that eating meat is forbidden, but that we might occasionally pause to consider our choices. How much do we need? How much do we simply take because it is available? And how might we enjoy the good things of creation while remaining mindful of our responsibility toward it?
Our culture rarely encourages such questions. Instead, we are urged to acquire more, consume more, and replace what we already own with something newer. Scripture and Jewish tradition offer a different understanding of the good life. A good life is not necessarily one in which every desire is satisfied; sometimes it is one in which we learn which desires should be moderated or left alone. Self-limitation is not necessarily a denial of freedom. It can be an expression of wisdom.
Learning to Say Enough
The opening chapters of Genesis have led me to consider whether a plant-based diet might reflect something of God’s original vision for creation. That is an interpretation of the narrative, not a command that the Torah explicitly imposes upon us. The Torah permits eating meat, and Jewish tradition has long recognized its place in our lives, particularly in celebration. We need not all make the same dietary choices, nor should what we eat become a measure of our righteousness. Nevertheless, we can all ask how our habits might better reflect compassion and responsible stewardship. For some, that may mean eating less meat; for others, it may mean reducing food waste, choosing food more thoughtfully, or paying greater attention to the treatment of animals. What matters is not that we all reach the same conclusion, but that we take seriously the responsibility God has entrusted to us.
Our responsibility extends beyond the dinner table. We live in an age of extraordinary consumption, using energy and resources on a scale prior generation could scarcely have imagined. We sometimes behave as though the earth’s capacity to provide for us were limitless, forgetting that our choices affect other creatures, our neighbors, and future generations. What would it mean to exercise dominion in a way that actually serves creation? Perhaps it means consuming more thoughtfully, wasting less, and recognizing that the freedom to enjoy God’s gifts also carries an obligation to care for them. The discipline of restraint need not diminish our enjoyment of life. It can deepen our gratitude for what we have received and help us become more faithful stewards of the world God has placed in our hands.
The story of Noach reminds us that God’s covenant embraces not only humanity, but every living creature. If God remembers the animals, perhaps we should remember them too. And if we believe that God intends to restore the harmony of creation, then our calling is not simply to await that day, but to live in anticipation of it. Yeshua reminds us that true greatness is expressed through service, and Rav Shaul reminds us that creation itself awaits redemption. These belong together in a Torah-shaped life that honors the Creator by caring for what he has made. We cannot bring about the Messianic Age by our own efforts, but we can begin to live according to its values now. Perhaps the first step toward the world Isaiah envisions, where the wolf lies down with the lamb and the lion eats straw like the ox, is learning to care for the world God has already placed in our hands.