When Our World Floods: Parshat Noah
- Dr Tanya White
- 40 minutes ago
- 6 min read
The Flood of Simchat Torah 5784 / 5786
The war has ostensibly ended—for now. The living hostages have returned, and as we await the return of the remaining bodies, we find ourselves flooded by a torrent of emotions—joy and sorrow, relief and grief, wholeness and emptiness. On erev Simchat Torah I could not properly process what I was feeling. But I knew that for the first time in two years I felt I could stop. I could breathe. The waters of the flood had receded; light began to seep through the horizon.
I wanted to plant vineyards and open champagne so I went to celebrate with thousands on Motzei Simchat Torah at Kikar HaChatufim—the place where I had wept, prayed, and sat in empathy with hostage and fallen-soldier families over the past two years. Yet beneath the singing and dancing, I still felt that uncomfortable ambivalence that had inhabited my joy the day before.
It is known that when a soldier is shot in battle, adrenaline prevents the body from feeling pain. Only when safety is reached does the pain begin. For two years we have been on the battlefield—some literally, others metaphorically—running in survival mode. Now, as the storm subsides and we finally pause to breathe, the wound we had been running with begins to ache and reveal the extent of its damage.
How do we live amidst such devastation? Not only the loss of loved ones, but the loss of faith—faith in the goodness of the world, in humanity, even in the Zionist story. October 7 shattered us on multiple levels. And now, after journeying through the sea of destruction, we must begin to make sense of this new world.
Noach as a Template for Our Times
The story of Noach offers a template to explore how to navigate loss, faith, and human purpose.
Before Noach’s birth, the Torah records a genealogy from Shet—Adam and Chava’s third son—down to Noach. Each generation lives, produces offspring, and dies (vayamat[1]), except one:
“וַיִּתְהַלֵּךְ חֲנוֹךְ אֶת־הָאֱלֹקים וְאֵינֶנּוּ כִּי לָקַח אֹתוֹ אֱלֹקים.”
“Chanoch walked with God; then he was no more, for God took him.” (Genesis 5:24)
Chanoch does not die in the ordinary sense. Somehow, “walking with God” allows him to transcend the usual boundaries of mortality. Though he dies young, he lives on eternally. The Torah introduces the idea of immortality through legacy: walking with God infuses the world with continuity beyond death.
When Noach is born, his father Lemech names him, saying:
“זֶה יְנַחֲמֵנוּ מִמַּעֲשֵנוּ וּמֵעִצְּבוֹן יָדֵינוּ”
“This one will comfort us from our work and from the sorrow of our hands.” (Genesis 5:29)
The word עִצָּבוֹן first appears after Eden—God’s decree that humanity will labor (both the land and in childbirth) in pain (Genesis 3:16–19). It names the gap between our expectations of the world and our experience of it: we plant seeds and expect fruit, yet reap thorns; we dream of peaceful family relationships and often reap heartbreak. This rupture at the heart of existence is what it means to be human.
Lemech longs for comfort—for נח, ease. He seeks to close the gap that psychologists might call alienation. Yet perhaps this gap is divinely decreed. The comfortable life is not necessarily the good life; the easy life is not the meaningful one. Could it be that the space between expectation and reality is the very ground from which human growth emerges?
In an ironic twist, these same words- נחם and עצבון—are later used not about man but about God:
“וַיִּנָּחֶם ה׳ כִּי עָשָׂה אֶת־הָאָדָם... וַיִּתְעַצֵּב אֶל־לִבּוֹ.”
“And the Lord regretted having made man on earth, and His heart was grieved.” (Genesis 6:6)
God, too, feels disappointment. He expected goodness but found corruption. In a radical anthropological turn, the Torah imagines God stepping into this space of עצבון—divine grief or disappointment—that ultimately leads to destruction: “I will blot out humankind whom I created,” says God (Genesis 6:7). Yet amidst ruin, one man finds favor—Noach, who, like Chanoch, “walks with God” (Genesis 6:9).
“Tell Them to Remember You”: The Antidote to Destruction
Recently, I heard a story on a podcast that left a deep impression on me. An Israeli psychologist volunteering in war-torn Ukraine met a young girl who had lost her family. Before parting, she asked the girl, “What should I tell other children who have lost hope?” The girl thought for a moment and replied: “Tell them to remember YOU.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8By4YzgB_Xs
When asked what she meant, she said: “Tell them to remember that people like you exist—people who cross the world to help strangers.”
After the flood, God makes a covenant with humankind and promises never again to destroy the world:
“וַיָּרַח ה׳ אֶת־רֵיחַ הַנִּיחֹחַ וַיֹּאמֶר ה׳ אֶל־לִבּוֹ לֹא־אֹסִף לְקַלֵּל עוֹד אֶת־הָאֲדָמָה בַּעֲבוּר הָאָדָם כִּי יֵצֶר לֵב הָאָדָם רַע מִנְּעֻרָיו וְלֹא־אֹסִף עוֹד לְהַכּוֹת אֶת־כׇּל־חַי כַּאֲשֶׁר עָשִׂיתִי.”
“The Lord smelled the pleasing odor and said to Himself: Never again will I curse the ground because of humankind, for the devisings of the human heart are evil from youth; nor will I again destroy every living being as I have done.” (Genesis 8:21)
God, like the Ukrainian child, chooses to remember that even in a world of evil, Noach exists; that even within disappointment (עצבון), goodness endures. Smelling Noach’s offering, He recalls that within human frailty lies Divine potential. Evil will always be part of the human story, yet God chooses partnership—brit—over annihilation. He becomes both realist and idealist: acknowledging our brokenness while inviting us into covenant.
'Itzavon' - the gap between what we expect of the world and what we experience—is woven into existence. At times it overwhelms us, yet it is also the source of meaning, resilience, and growth. It compels us to step beyond comfort, to question our assumptions, to see past the parochialism that shapes our outlook. True growth begins when we leave the place of ease.
The answer toעצבון is not in binaries—destruction or utopia—but in covenantal partnership: the slow, faithful work of bringing light into the world through small acts of goodness. The rainbow becomes that promise—light refracted through storm, color born of tears and rain (Genesis 9:12–17). It is in fact a קשת - a bow - a weapon of war - turned upside down to bring radiance, light, beauty and diverse colour into the world.
The Mortality and Immortality of Noach’s Tragic End
Yet Noach cannot bear the devastation. Perhaps it is survivor’s guilt, or the dissonance between his name—comfort—and the destruction he witnessed. The grapes he cultivated become his escape; his vineyard, his downfall. Drunk and exposed, Noach embodies the very tension of עצבון—the chasm between what is and what should be. The only righteous man, walking with God in a world of evil, is unable to live up to the role placed upon him.
And yet—hope remains. While one son, Canaan, takes advantage of his father’s vulnerability, his brothers Shem and Yefet quietly take a garment and cover him:
“וַיִּקַּח שֵׁם וָיֶפֶת אֶת־הַשִּׂמְלָה... וַיְכַסּוּ אֵת עֶרְוַת אֲבִיהֶם.”
“Shem and Japheth took a cloth, placed it across their shoulders, walked backward, and covered their father’s nakedness.” (Genesis 9:23)
After the first עצבון following Eden’s exile, Adam responds with grace, naming his wife Chava—life—where blame might have been easier (Genesis 3:20). After the second עצבון, Shem does the same: he covers his father’s shame with dignity, where exploitation was the other option.
Unlike his counterpart Chanoch, the only other man to “walk with God,” Noach does not receive the gift of a divine death. Instead, his life ends with the same refrain as so many before him—vayamat (“and he died,” Genesis 9:29). In the wake of destruction and all its lingering consequences, Noach cannot perceive the eternal footprints of God within his own existence. Yet the Torah shifts our gaze—from Noach’s frailty to the lineage of his son Shem, through whom divine blessing continues:
“בָּרוּךְ ה׳ אֱלֹקֵי שֵׁם.”“Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem.” (Genesis 9:26)
There are many ways to respond to the impermanence of life and the disappointment of humanity—through destruction, violence, or despair. But there is another way that God teaches us after the flood: covenantal love, and belief in the goodness of man despite his flaws.
The brit Noach reminds us that God never gave up on the world—and neither must we. Even in moments of עצבון—despair, disappointment, and rupture—we must, as the Ukrainian girl said, remember the “you” that still exists: the Chanochs and Noachs who walk with God, and the Shems and Yefets who respond to shame with dignity.
We are the descendants of Shem—the people who choose dignity and compassion even in a world mired in hate and grief. As long as we remain true to that legacy, we will find the courage to live—and rebuild—after destruction.
[1] Genesis 5:5, 8, 11, 14, 17, 20, 27, 31 (the repeated refrain in the genealogy of Adam’s descendants).