A profound reflection on Noah’s flawed heroism—how the Torah’s “ordinary man” became the timeless symbol of moral courage and faith under fire.
In an old Jewish anecdote, Henry Kissinger—the sharpest mind to walk global diplomacy—finds himself humbled not by presidents or premiers, but by a humble Israeli tailor. Across Italy, Paris, London, and Beijing, tailors told him he needed more material for his suit. Only in Tel Aviv did a Jewish tailor smile and say, “You actually need less.” When Kissinger asked why, the man replied:
“In Italy, you’re a big man; in Paris, even bigger; in London, a great man; in Beijing, a giant.
But here in Israel, you’re just a small man.”
This witty gem captures a deep Jewish truth: in the Land of Israel, even giants must measure up against the moral scale of the Torah.
And so it was with Noach—the man who built the Ark, saved civilization, yet remains the subject of debate. Was he a righteous saint or merely the best among the worst? The Torah calls him “a righteous man, wholesome in his generation.” The Talmud asks why specify “in his generation”—was that a compliment or a caveat?
Some Rabbis saw it as praise: If he was righteous among the wicked, imagine him among the holy. Others viewed it as critique: Compared to Abraham, he would fade into mediocrity.
But why tear down a man whom God Himself calls “tzaddik”—righteous before Me”?
Here lies a breathtaking insight from the Lubavitcher Rebbe (1964): the Sages weren’t belittling Noach—they were elevating us. They turned Noach’s ordinary humanity into divine inspiration.
Noach wasn’t a prophet, warrior, or visionary. He was a farmer—a “man of the earth.” He got drunk. He doubted. He stumbled. Yet, in an age drowning in corruption, he alone stood upright—and because of that, humanity endured.
That’s the Torah’s genius.
It doesn’t idolize perfection; it sanctifies perseverance. It doesn’t celebrate saints detached from struggle; it celebrates real people who fight moral decay with quiet courage.
Israel’s story, too, mirrors Noach’s. Against floods of lies, hatred, and distortion, Israel builds its Ark—preserving civilization, morality, and light in a darkening world.
When the nations mock or magnify us, Israel stands firm, a small country with a colossal soul. Like Noach, we build—not to boast, but to survive; not to conquer, but to sanctify life itself.
The lesson of Noach, echoing across millennia and reaffirmed in every Israeli heart, is simple yet seismic:
You don’t need to be perfect to change the world.
You just need the courage to do what’s right—when no one else will.
So be a Noach. Build your Ark. Save your world.
