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וישאר אך נח

Only Noach survived. (7:23)

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Noach did not leave the Ark immediately upon recession of the waters.  According to one Midrashic exposition, a lion struck him, injuring him.  Apparently, one time Noach brought the lion’s meal later than usual.  The hungry lion became agitated and attacked him, leaving Noach with a permanent limp.

At first glance, this punishment seems difficult to understand.  It hardly appears commensurate with a single instance of tardiness.  Clearly, something more significant about Noach’s delay warranted such a severe consequence.

For an entire year, Noach devoted himself to serving the needs of the animals aboard the Ark.  They depended on him for their survival, and he attended to each one’s unique needs with extraordinary dedication.  Could one isolated lapse justify such a harsh response?  Was a single delay sufficient to leave him limping for the rest of his life?

In fact, the incident may have conveyed a profound lesson.  One who accepts responsibility for the welfare of others must recognize that even a momentary lapse can have serious consequences.  Those who rely on him cannot distinguish between habitual neglect and an isolated oversight.  Leadership and responsibility demand unwavering vigilance.  The lion’s attack underscored the gravity of Noach’s sacred mission and the exacting standard to which Heaven held him.

Horav Avraham Kalmanowitz, zl, addressed this question at a meeting of the Vaad Hatzalah, Relief and Rescue Committee, dedicated to rescuing victims of the European Holocaust.  The Rosh Yeshivah suggested that those gathered take a moment to consider who these animals were and what they represented.  The world population – both human and animal – was gone.  Every creature aboard the Ark was irreplaceable.  With the world destroyed, “species” in the ordinary sense no longer existed.  If a cow was lost, no cows were left in existence.  Each animal was, therefore, not merely a member of a category, but a singular world unto itself.  As such, every “guest” in the Ark demanded the highest degree of care, dignity, and attentiveness.

Noach himself stood alone in his generation.  Entrusted with the survival of all living beings, he bore a responsibility without precedent: to sustain, nurture, and ensure the continuity of creation under the most extraordinary circumstances.  In such a reality, even a slight lapse in sensitivity toward a creature carried far greater significance.  A moment that might ordinarily be considered minor could not be dismissed lightly, for the animal before him represented not just an individual – but an entire future world.  This was no ordinary lion; it was, in effect, the last lion in existence.  It could not be ignored.

The Roshei Yeshivah and Rabbanim that they appointed as a committee were tasked with a critical responsibility.  Their mission did not allow for lapses.  It demanded total self-giving on behalf of those who were unable to save themselves.  They were brothers and sisters in the most profound sense, whose very lives –physical, spiritual and emotional — were dependent upon them.  To quote from Rav Kalmanowitz’s passionate speech: “We, too., have been fortunate to escape the great fire that is engulfing the region from which we came, rendering us doubly responsible to carry out our rescue activities.  We must realize that, with the pre-war Jewish world on the verge of extinction, every remnant of that world, aside from his inherent value as a human being and a Jew, is a rare and priceless repository of the hallowed traditions, values, and culture of the alte heim. Therefore, each can make a vital and perhaps unique contribution to the great task that looms ahead, raising and restoring the edifice of Torah and Judaism out of the ashes of the Holocaust.”

A number of Roshei Yeshivah, Rabbanim and lay people worked tirelessly to carry out the mission of the Vaad Hatzalah.  I will mention but a few of those who stood at the helm. Horav Aharon Kotler, zl, was the driving force behind Vaad Hatzalah in America.  Having escaped Europe in 1941, he did not rest.  He was devoted to Vaad Hatzalah, building Torah in the spiritual wasteland of America and establishing the largest yeshivah in this country. He traveled incessantly across the country, speaking in shuls, yeshivos and private homes, pleading for financial support.  He would often refuse to eat or rest until another meeting had been held.  When suggested that he put his head down for a few hours of rest, he replied, “How can I sleep when every minute a Jew may be dying?”

Horav Eliezer Silver, zl, was a worthy partner in the leadership of Vaad Hatzalah.  He practically lived on railroad trains, traveling from city to city raising funds. He would arrive in one community after an exhausting night on the train, speak at a luncheon, continue to another city for dinner, and then travel overnight to his next venue.  His fundraising efforts helped finance thousands of rescue certificates, food packages, and visas.  Rabbanim and lay people, all volunteers, many of whom held ordinary jobs by day, would devote their nights to rescue work.  After all, how can one sleep when Jews are dying?

One of the lay heroes of Vaad Hatzalah and Agudah Israel, one of the visionaries upon whose shoulders Orthodoxy in America stands, was Mike Tress, zl.  Although not a rabbi, he was referred to as “Reb Elimelech,” due to his extraordinary sacrifice for Klal Yisrael.  Indeed, he abandoned a successful business career to devote himself entirely to rescue work, youth outreach and building Torah life in America.  He neglected his health, business and personal comfort, because every dollar and every waking hour belonged to the rescue effort.  One tribute summarized his life, “He gave all of himself … so that the thousands who now crowd Williamsburg, Boro Park, Monsey, Bnei Brak and Yerushalayim would be saved.”

What impresses me the most about each one of these gedolim (I include Mike Tress) is that they never saw themselves as heroes; rather, they viewed themselves as one Jew responding to another Jew’s cry.  They did not care about the background of the Jew in need.  A brother or sister cries out – one must heed their cry and respond.

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