October 20, 2026|ט' חשון ה' אלפים תשפ"ז What Makes Us Human By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

Imagine celebrating your birthday in Gan Eden. You go to a restaurant, open the menu, and discover that the appetizer, main course, and dessert are all fruit. No meat in Gan Eden.

According to the Torah, Adam and Chavah were originally given vegetation for food. Permission to eat meat came only after the Flood. I’m not sure whether they were permitted to eat milk, i.e., products from animals, but if so, Gan Eden might have looked a lot like kosher Oceanside. We have ice cream stores, Baya Bar, and, of course, no Chimichurri.

Then, in this week’s parsha, Hashem tells Noach:

Kol remes asher hu chai lachem yihyeh le’achlah; keyerek esev natati lachem et kol.

“Every living creature shall be yours for food. Just as I gave you the vegetation, I give you everything.” (Bereishit 9:3)

One of the most significant developments after the Flood was, apparently, the creation of the steakhouse.

But why did the permission change? Was this progress or a regression? I happen to like steak, so I welcome the change. But does the Torah view this as an improvement in the human condition or a concession to human weakness?

Ramban explains the new permission in the context of humanity’s relationship with the animal world. After Noach preserved the animals in the teivah, Hashem permitted human beings to use them for food.

Rav Kook, in A Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace, offers a more challenging perspective. He understands the original prohibition against eating meat as reflecting a higher moral ideal. The permission granted after the Flood was a concession to humanity’s moral limitations. Humanity had not yet achieved the sensitivity and restraint that the original ideal demanded.

This raises a fundamental question: Is being human simply a matter of having greater power than other creatures, or does that power impose a greater responsibility?

When Hashem creates humanity, He declares:

Vayomer Elokim: na’aseh adam betzalmenu kidemutenu, veyirdu bidgat hayam uve’of hashamayim uvabehemah uvechol ha’aretz.

“Let us make man in Our image, after Our likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, and the animals.” (Bereishit 1:26)

The same verse that declares humanity’s creation betzelem Elokim, in the image of God, grants humanity dominion over the natural world. These ideas belong together. Human beings are given power, but not unlimited permission to do whatever they want with it.

An animal acts according to its nature. Human beings can step back from their impulses and ask not only, “Can I do this?” but “Should I do this?” Our divine image, according to many mefarshim, is not merely a status that makes us superior to other creatures. It calls us to exercise our power with judgment, restraint, and moral sensitivity.

In the beginning of time, the Torah states:

Vayikra ha’adam shemot lechol habehemah ule’of hashamayim ulechol chayat hasadeh; ule’adam lo matza ezer kenegdo.

Adam named all the animals and the birds, but he couldn’t find an ezer kenegdo. He couldn’t find his bashert. You can almost imagine Adam going on a series of shidduch dates with the different animals. Hashem introduces him to one creature after another, but Adam isn’t interested. Finally, the shadchan asks, “Adam, what’s the problem? Why aren’t you interested in any of them?” Adam responds, “I’m looking for someone who doesn’t behave like an animal!” As the Torah concludes, ule’adam lo matza ezer kenegdo: “But for Adam, no suitable partner was found.” Adam needed another human being, someone who shared his humanity and was created betzelem Elokim.

I never had much desire to own a dog. Leora once wanted one, so I got her a nice guitar instead. We even gave the guitar a name, and the maintenance was considerably easier than caring for a dog!

Our relationship with pets may offer a glimpse of the original vision of Gan Eden. We often think of dogs as companions that share our lives and enrich them. Perhaps that is closer to the original ideal, when people ate plants and were not yet permitted to eat animals. Animals were part of the world that humans lived alongside, not food to be consumed.

After the Flood, however, Hashem permits Noach to eat animals. But in the very same passage, He draws an important distinction between animal life and human life. Hashem declares:

Ach basar benafsho damo lo tochelu.

“But flesh with its life, its blood, you shall not eat.” (Bereishit 9:4)

The Torah later explains, ki hadam hu hanefesh: “For the blood is the life” (Devarim 12:23). Even though people are now permitted to eat animals, they must still recognize that animal life has value. Permission does not mean that there are no limits.

Immediately afterward, Hashem declares:

Shofech dam ha’adam ba’adam damo yishafech, ki betzelem Elokim asah et ha’adam.

“Whoever sheds the blood of a human being, by a human being shall his blood be shed, for in the image of God He made humanity.” (Bereishit 9:6)

The timing is striking. In the same section in which Hashem permits people to take animal life for food, He declares that taking human life is fundamentally different. Human beings are created in the image of God, and that gives every human life a unique sanctity. Animals have value, but they do not have the same status as human beings. We may eat animals under the conditions set by the Torah, but we may never treat human life as though it were simply another form of animal life.

Perhaps this distinction was especially important after the Flood. The world had been destroyed because human society had become corrupt and violent. As humanity began again, Hashem permitted people to eat animals while emphasizing that human life is sacred. We have a unique status because we are created in God’s image, and with that status comes the responsibility to respect and protect human life.

This principle is not tested only in extreme situations. It is tested whenever we encounter someone whose views or actions we strongly oppose.

This lesson is especially relevant as we approach elections in Israel and the midterm elections in the United States. Elections matter. The issues are serious, the stakes can be high, and we should care deeply about the future of our communities and countries. We should challenge ideas we believe are wrong, hold leaders accountable, and work passionately for the causes we believe are just.

The Torah does not ask us to abandon our convictions. It asks us not to abandon our values in pursuing them. If we believe that human beings are created betzelem Elokim, that belief must apply even to people whose opinions we find misguided or whose actions we strongly condemn. We can oppose what someone says or does without denying that person's humanity.

Perhaps that is one of the most practical tests of tzelem Elokim: not simply whether we defend human dignity when it is easy, but whether we remember it when we are angry, when our side is under attack, and when abandoning our standards seems useful.

What makes us human is not simply that we have power or that we believe we are right. It is that even when we are convinced we are right, we remain responsible for how we treat others. Our causes may be important, but they do not release us from the obligation to live up to the divine image in which every human being was created.