Parshat Noah

Parshat Noah
October 30, 2008/Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan 5769

When Noah and his family emerged from the Ark—they must have come out as deeply traumatized people.

How could they not have been-- they were eyewitnesses to the destruction of the world. They must have heard cries. They must have seen bodies. It must have been more than any human being could emotionally bear.

God offers them, and through them us, a remarkably psychologically insightful comfort. God says:

"For all the days of the Earth
Sowing and reaping,
Cool and warmth,
Summer and winter,
Day and night,
These things will never cease." (Gen 8:22)

On a simple level, God is promising never again to destroy the world. But on a deeper level, God is telling the survivors that they can count on the regularity of nature as they heal and rebuild. God acknowledges that while the work ahead of the will be extremely hard, they can rely and hold onto the unchanging cycles of life.

None of us can truly imagine the depth or breadth of Noah's trauma. Yet, I imagine that most of us have, at some point in our lives, experienced the feeling of the world crashing down around us. We have been lonely, we have been hurt, and we have grieved.

When we are in pain, there is something comforting about things that are regular and familiar. Even though our personal world feels broken, we know that the sun will set and the sun will rise, the seasons will change, and nature will go on in its way. We may be spinning wildly, but the ground below our feet remains rooted. We can grasp onto that fact and we can draw strength from it.

Jewish mourning practices are predicated in this basic idea, that people in pain require regularity and normalcy to help them return to life. The first thing a mourner is required to do, upon returning home from the cemetery, is to eat a meal. In that simple act, they are participating the basic human cycle of huger and eating, just as they have every day of their lives. Similarly, at the end of the seven days of shiva, the mourner must go out and take a walk. They have to see the sky and the sun and other people and growing things. They have to be reminded that world is continuing in its way, and so eventually will they. In its great wisdom, our tradition insists that ordinary things can help to facilitate healing.

I try to imagine the emotions that Noah and his family felt when they looked ahead at the momentous task of rebuilding their lives. They must have felt overwhelmed, terrified, confused. I hope that God's promise brought them some measure of peace.

When we are in pain, when we feel lost or overwhelmed, may we be blessed to be able to grasp hold of something solid—the cycles of the day, of the year, of our lives—and may we find in it the strength to face the challenges that lie ahead of us.