Noach
Genesis 6:9–11:32

By Jen Smith

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “The universe is not a finished product that we gaze upon; it is still being created.”  in Bereshit, we are reminded that to live a Jewish life today is to be a co-creator with God, to bring forth light in a sea of chaos, find meaning in the mundane, and to continue asking: What might God be creating through me?

Come, you and all your household, into the ark. (Genesis 7:1)

If Bereshit tells the story of creation, the Noach tells the story of preservation leaving us to struggle with the ultimate question: what does it mean to sustain holiness when the flood waters arise?

The Torah tells us that Noah was a righteous man who walked with God and describes him as “blameless” in his generation. (Genesis 6:9) And yet, Noah’s righteousness is complex. Our Talmudic rabbis famously debated this issue, ultimately wrestling with intention: was Noah was truly righteous, or was merely the most righteous of an un-righteous and corrupt generation (Genesis Rabbah 30:9).

Mystical tradition reads his story inwardly. The Baal Shem Tov taught that the word teva, or “ark,” also means “word.” When God says to Noah, Bo el ha’teva – come into the ark, it can also mean, “Enter into the words,” like the words of prayer, of Torah, of intention. In this reading, God is telling Noah (and us): when the waters of chaos rise and the world feels turbulent and uncertain, find shelter within sacred words and moments of mindfulness and meaning.

In our modern world, the flood we fear isn’t water, but rather, the noise: the flood of information, misinformation, anxiety, illness, and certain distraction that defines our age. To enter the ark today might mean closing the laptop, lighting the candles, and reclaiming sacred time. It can mean stepping into community, or simply into silence.

When the flood ends, God sets a Keshet – a rainbow – in the sky, as an eternal covenant. The mystics see the rainbow as divine light refracted through diversity. Just as pure light reveals its beauty through a spectrum of colors, the oneness of God is revealed through the multiplicity of human experience. Every culture, every soul, and every shade of faith reflects another ray of divine light.

In that sense, the rainbow becomes an ethical call, reminding us that unity does not require uniformity. The covenant after the flood is a promise that the sacred exists precisely within our differences, a testament that holiness is plural.

And God remembered Noah.  (Genesis 8:1)

Read together, Bereshit and Noach form a single spiritual arc from creation to covenant, and from chaos to renewal.

Creation begins, chaos returns, and life begins again. The Hasidic masters called this rhythm ratzo v’shov, or the ceaseless ebb and flow of divine energy outlining the pulse of the universe itself. We are constantly being created, undone, and created again.

Noah’s story reminds us that righteousness is about persistence, not perfection. Noah himself hesitated and doubted at first, and yet, though ridiculed and prodded, he endured. He built an ark, gathered what he could save, and stepped into an unknown world. In our own lives, we too build arks: small sanctuaries of meaning to which we hold fast to protect what is sacred: our families, our values, and our humanity.

But we are not meant to stay inside forever. The purpose of the ark is to preserve life until it is safe to reemerge, rebuild, reconnect, and renew. And even today, when the floodwaters of fear or despair recede, the rainbow awaits: God’s timeless covenant that reminds us that life will go on and creation will continue, but maybe even more importantly, that each of us is a powerful force in this divine partnership.

And behold, the smoke of the earth rose, and the rainbow appeared in the cloud. (paraphrased; Genesis 9:16)

Both Bereshit and Noach whisper the same invitation: time to begin again.

The covenant that extended across the post-flood sky still holds just as the light that shone at the dawn of creation still flickers within every human soul.  Each generation is called upon to continue to renew creation through action, empathy, and through faith that despite its darkest storms, the world is worth building again.

Every fall, as we begin the Torah anew, I’m struck by how Bereshit and Noach mirror the rhythm of our own lives: beginnings, breakdowns, and the courage to begin again. These stories aren’t ancient fables simply capturing the hero’s journey (so to speak). They are blueprints for resilience. We still create meaning out of chaos, build small arks of community and care, and search for the light that flickers below the surface of our everyday lives. In that sense, the Torah’s opening chapters about God’s creation of the world are a reminder of our responsibility in the proverbial Neverending Story to focus on creating a life infused with love and meaning.

As we journey from Bereshit to Noach, may we carry the same dual awareness of the purest transcendent light, and of the arks still being built. And may we uncover the Or HaGanuz, the hidden light in our lives, and add our color to the rainbow of creation.

And when we face chaos, whether of the world or the heart, may we be more like Noah, finding the courage to build our ark, trust in the covenant, and to step forward into the sunlight once more.

Shabbat Shalom!