Parashat Noach

During these past two weeks, it has felt as though the world itself has begun to breathe again. We have watched with tears in our eyes as hostages reunite with their families, communities gather to celebrate the end of the war, and the long-lost sounds of laughter and song fill the air once more.

And yet, there is a question that burns in the back of all of our minds. Why has this taken so long? Couldn’t we have skipped all the suffering of the last two years and jumped to this moment?

In this week’s Torah portion, Noach, God sends a flood to wipe out the entire population. He commands Noach, the only worthy member of his generation, to build an ark to escape the oncoming flood. Noach does as God commands, and water covers the Earth. After 150 days, the waters finally begin to subside, and the ark comes to rest upon a mountain. 

Three months later, Noach sends out a raven, then a dove, each time hoping the flood has ended. The dove returns with nothing, then again seven days later with an olive branch, and finally, after another seven days, does not return at all. Still, even then, Noach waits three more months before the ground is dry and God tells him to leave the ark. Again and again, the Torah hints that the flood is ending, only to add more time. 

Several commentators ask a similar question to the one we have been asking ourselves for the past two years. What was the reason that God caused the flood to last for so long? Eighteenth-century scholar Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto offers a potential answer to this question. He says that although Noach was the most righteous member of his generation, he was far from perfect, and needed this year within the ark to learn compassion and integrity. While evil swelled in the raging waters outside, the warmth and safety of the ark enabled Noach and his family to establish their morals and grow spiritually and emotionally together. 

We embarked on a similar journey throughout the duration of this tragic war. While violence and hate flooded our cities, communities, and TV screens, we grew stronger and more unified inside our figurative ark, learning new ways to connect with and support each other. We took trips to Israel to provide relief for Israeli farmers affected by the Hamas attacks. We sat and mourned for the lost children of families we’d never met before. We smiled and celebrated as news came of hostages returning home. It took too long, but perhaps, like Noach, we kept learning through the wait. And, most importantly, we never once turned our backs on our people and our values, embodying the meaning of “Am Yisrael Chai.”