News seems to be bad everywhere.

Copenhagen, Egypt, France, the West Bank, North Carolina, even Canada.

Each day, the voice of hope seems to be receding.

But yesterday, I heard it!

A signature, high-pitched, fast-paced chitter!

A bald eagle, perched in the tree above me at Stanley Park, hidden from view.

And today, I saw it. As our local crows screamed their outrage, four bald eagles rode the thermal currents right above Main Street.

It is eagle season here in Vancouver. These raptors love our mild winters, and our streams loaded with fish and waterfowl. Just last week, on my morning commute through city streets, I saw three eagles soar with astonishing grace. Just four weeks ago, spotters in rural Brackendale counted 637 eagles playing and hunting near the local rivers on a single day!

And just two weeks ago, in synagogues around the world, we read God’s description of the Exodus from Egypt:

I carried you on eagle’s wings, and brought you to me. (Exodus 19:4)

Va’esa etchem al kanfei nesharim v’avee etchem aylye.*

The Exodus account is filled with miraculous animals – sticks becoming crocodiles; swarms of frogs obeying God; locust warriors rallying their troops. But no eagles appear until God offers this brief recap of the divine work.

Is this a missing shred of story, inelegantly stuck on at the end? An alternate narrative popping through? Or a poetic description of God’s power?

I’ll read the eagle as a metaphor, turning the heart towards a particular image of God: powerful, graceful, soaring, watchful and — yes — bringing hope. Because 50 years ago, North American bald eagles were dwindling towards extinction. And yesterday, on U.S. Presidents’ Day, their growing health was announced!

Seeing the eagle as a hint of God helps interpret a tantalizingly obscure Biblical verse: Let us create a human in our image…in the image of God [he] created them. (Genesis 1: 26).

“Who,” careful readers ask, “is this plural us whose image is also God’s image? ”

Rabbi Joshua ben Levi says: “Us” is the heavens and the earth, and all who fill them.** Light is an image of God; so are sky, land, water, stars, birds, mammals, fish, amphibians and more. Each creature is more than just itself; it is also a sign that Earth is alive with spirit.

The Torah is full of such animal signs. Some writers say the Torah speaks with an indigenous spirituality.*** During creation, God hovers, like a bird over its nest. In the Garden of Eden, a snake tempts people to knowledge. On Noah’s ark, a crow scout reports to his human friend. In the Sinai wilderness, a donkey sees angels and talks back to her driver.

Even God says: look for the eagle, and you’ll know me.

But animals are not only signs. The Torah’s stories do not drain them of life. In fact, each creature’s role in the narrative is consistent with its species biology. Snakes are hyper-aware; crows look out for each other and speak a language; donkeys are sensitive and stubborn; eagles return and endure.

Torah’s animals are fully themselves and they redirect human hearts.

People speak about the healing power of nature; this is one facet of healing.

Last week I read about it. Yesterday I heard it. This morning I saw it: an eagle, flourishing in our land, air, and waters.

And this afternoon, I felt it: hope that humans, too, might flourish in civic peace.

 

Notes: *Technically, says Rabbi Nathan Slifkin, “nesher” is an Egyptian vulture. However, he adds, to our modern ears, “eagle” better conveys the verse’s intention. **From Midrash Genesis Rabbah 8:3, slightly reinterpreted by Shai Cherry in Torah Through Time. ***See, for example, Gershon Winkler, The Magic of the Ordinary