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Dear TBZ Community,
There are moments when looking at the world around us, it is hard to imagine how things could possibly change, when the destruction feels so overwhelming and the possibility of finding solid ground seems so far away that we begin to wonder whether there is any point in trying. What does it mean to keep going when we do not know whether our efforts will make a difference, and when even the smallest signs of hope seem almost impossible to find?
Parashat Noach, the Torah portion we read this week, offers us a practice for these moments: keep trying, even when it feels impossible.
The Torah describes a world in which violence has filled the earth, and God sees how great human wickedness has become. The possibility of continuing as things are seems to have disappeared, and God decides to destroy the world through the flood. And yet, within this story of destruction, the Torah also introduces the possibility of beginning again. God sees something different in Noah, someone through whom life might continue and a different future might become possible.
Noah enters the teva, the ark, with his family and the animals, and for a long time their task is simply to survive. They cannot stop the flood or make the waters recede. They cannot repair the world from inside the ark. They have to wait, protected from the destruction outside, without knowing when or how the world might become habitable again.
And then, after the waters have covered the earth, Noah begins to look for signs that the world might be ready to receive life again. The Torah tells us:
וַיְהִי מִקֵּץ אַרְבָּעִים יוֹם וַיִּפְתַּח נֹחַ אֶת־חַלּוֹן הַתֵּבָה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה
At the end of forty days, Noah opened the window of the ark that he had made (Genesis 8:6).
Noah opens the window and begins to send birds out into the world. First he sends the raven and then he sends the dove to see whether the waters have receded. The story of the dove speaks to our own experience of going out into the world, looking for signs of change, and sometimes discovering that we are not yet able to find a place to land.
וַיְשַׁלַּח אֶת־הַיּוֹנָה מֵאִתּוֹ לִרְאוֹת הֲקַלּוּ הַמַּיִם מֵעַל פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה
Then he sent out the dove to see whether the waters had decreased from the surface of the ground (Genesis 8:8).
The Torah tells us what happens when the dove first goes out:
וְלֹא־מָצְאָה הַיּוֹנָה מָנוֹחַ לְכַף־רַגְלָהּ וַתָּשׁב אֵלָיו אֶל־הַתֵּבָה כִּי־מַיִם עַל־פְּנֵי כׇל־הָאָרֶץ וַיִּשְׁלַח יָדוֹ וַיִּקָּחֶהָ וַיָּבֵא אֹתָהּ אֵלָיו אֶל־הַתֵּבָה׃
But the dove could not find a resting place for its foot, and returned to him to the ark, for there was water over all the earth. So putting out his hand, he took it into the ark with him (Genesis 8:9)
The dove goes out into the world and discovers that the waters are still everywhere, with no place to rest and no solid ground on which to land. So it returns to the ark, where Noah receives it and brings it back inside.
I think of the dove as a metaphor for ourselves, and for the teva – the ark as the places of refuge we create and seek out in our own lives. Sometimes we need to retreat into a protected space, somewhere we can catch our breath, gather our strength, and be held by a community that reminds us that we do not have to face everything alone. There is nothing wrong with needing that shelter. In fact, without places where we can rest and recover, we may not have the strength to go out again.
But the ark cannot be the only place we live. The world outside is still flooded and we cannot pretend otherwise, but neither can we remain forever inside, waiting for the waters to disappear on their own. At some point, we have to open the window and try again.
The Torah tells us that Noah waits another seven days before sending the dove out a second time.
וַיָּחֶל עוֹד שִׁבְעַת יָמִים אֲחֵרִים וַיֹּסֶף שַׁלַּח אֶת־הַיּוֹנָה מִן־הַתֵּבָה
He waited another seven days, and again sent out the dove from the ark (Genesis 8:10)
This time, the dove comes back carrying something.
וַתָּבֹא אֵלָיו הַיּוֹנָה לְעֵת עֶרֶב וְהִנֵּה עֲלֵה־זַיִת טָרָף בְּפִיהָ וַיֵּדַע נֹחַ כִּי־קַלּוּ הַמַּיִם מֵעַל הָאָרֶץ׃
The dove came back to him toward evening, and there in its bill was a plucked-off olive leaf! Then Noah knew that the waters had decreased on the earth (Genesis 8:11).
The dove returns with an olive leaf, a small sign that life has survived, the waters are receding, and there may be a future beyond the flood. The world has not been restored, and there is still a long way to go before Noah and his family can leave the ark, but the leaf offers evidence that the flood is not the whole story.
I love the fact that the sign of hope is just one leaf. It is not a tree, a field, or a landscape transformed beyond recognition, but a single leaf carried in the beak of a bird returning from a world still largely covered by water. Sometimes, when we are overwhelmed by what is happening around us, we imagine that hope must arrive in the form of a major transformation, something powerful enough to convince us that everything is going to be all right. But hope can begin with something much smaller, something we discover when we are willing to go out again, even when we are not sure what we will find.
And the dove does not stop there. Noah waits another seven days and sends it out once more.
וַיִּיָּחֶל עוֹד שִׁבְעַת יָמִים אֲחֵרִים וַיְשַׁלַּח אֶת־הַיּוֹנָה וְלֹא־יָסְפָה שׁוּב־אֵלָיו עוֹד
He waited still another seven days and sent the dove forth; and it did not return to him anymore (Genesis 8:12).
This time, the dove does not return. We do not know exactly what the dove finds or where it lands, but its absence tells Noah something new. The world is becoming a place where the dove can live beyond the protection of the ark.
There is something important in the rhythm of these verses: Noah sends the dove out, it returns, he waits, and he sends it out again. He does not know when the world will be ready, but he does not give up after the first unsuccessful attempt. He waits, pays attention, and tries again.
Of course, Noah is not in control of the outcome. He cannot command the waters to recede, and he cannot guarantee that the dove will find a place to rest. What he can do is remain attentive to the world, recognize the signs of change when they appear, and continue to act in the midst of uncertainty.
One of the most important practices we can learn from Noah is how to continue trying without knowing whether or when our efforts will bear fruit. There are times when the work we are doing feels almost impossibly difficult, when the problems are so large that our own actions seem insignificant, and when the distance between the world as it is and the world we believe could exist feels too great to cross. We may need to return to the ark, to the people and places that give us shelter, and acknowledge that the world is not yet ready for what we hope to build. But we do not have to mistake the need to rest for a reason to give up, or the fact that we cannot yet see a way forward for evidence that no way forward exists.
Perhaps this is also what we learn from the beginning of the story. God sees the violence that has filled the earth and decides that the world cannot continue as it is, yet the story does not end with destruction. God makes room for the possibility of life continuing through Noah, and Noah participates in that possibility by caring for the life entrusted to him, opening the window, and sending the dove out again. Neither knows exactly what the future will bring, but the possibility of a different future remains.
We, too, need to find ways to keep opening the window, to keep looking beyond the immediate devastation, and to keep searching for the signs that life is still possible. We need places of refuge where we can rest and be sustained, but we also need the courage to leave those places and return to the work of the world, even when we cannot yet see the ground beneath the waters. And when we find an olive leaf, however small, we need to recognize it for what it is, not as proof that the work is finished, but as an invitation to continue, as a sign of hope, as a sign of possibility.
As we enter Shabbat, I hope we can give ourselves permission to rest in our own teva, to be held by the people and practices that sustain us, especially when the world outside feels overwhelming. And I hope that Shabbat can also give us the strength to return to the work of the world, even when we cannot yet see the ground beneath the waters, and to recognize the signs of life and possibility that help us continue.
May we learn from Noah and the dove that an unsuccessful first attempt does not have to be the end of the story, and that even a single olive leaf can help us imagine a future beyond the flood.
May we find the strength to rest when we need to, the courage to try again, and the faith to keep working toward a different future, even when we do not yet know what it will look like.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia