That feeling, that precarious balance between merit and grace, is at the heart of a fascinating discussion about Noah in Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis.

The verse in question, of course, is Genesis 6:8: "But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord." Seems straightforward, right? Noah was righteous, therefore God spared him. But hold on. The rabbis, never ones to shy away from a good theological wrestling match, dig a little deeper.

Rabbi Ḥanina of Anatot, in this particular passage of Bereshit Rabbah 29, makes a startling claim. He suggests that Noah had a mere onkia of virtue – that’s like, one ounce. Just a tiny sliver of goodness to his name. So how did he survive the flood?

The text then quotes Job 22:30: “He will rescue the unclean [i-naki], and he will escape by the pureness of Your hands.” Now, normally, that verse is interpreted as referring to someone who is innocent. But Rabbi Ḥanina flips it. He says the i-naki, the "unclean" one, is actually someone with only a minuscule amount of merit. In other words, God rescued Noah not because he earned it, but because of divine grace – "the pureness of Your hands."

Think about that for a second. We often assume that good things happen to good people, and bad things to bad people. But this passage challenges that assumption. It suggests that sometimes, just sometimes, we are saved not by our own righteousness, but by the sheer undeserved mercy of God.

And it gets even more provocative. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana takes it a step further, pointing to Genesis 6:7-8: “For I regret that I made them, and Noah…” Instead of reading ve-Noaḥ as "but Noah," he suggests reading it as "and Noah." God regretted creating even Noah! According to this reading, even Noah, the one who remained, wasn't particularly worthy. His salvation was pure, unadulterated grace. It wasn’t that he was inherently deserving; it was that “he found favor in the eyes of the Lord.”

So, what are we to make of this? Is it saying that Noah was secretly a terrible person? Not necessarily. It's more about highlighting the overwhelming power and mercy of God. It's a reminder that even when we fall short, even when we feel like we only have an onkia of virtue to our name, there's still a chance for redemption. There's still the possibility of finding favor.

The Midrash Rabbah, another key source of rabbinic teachings, is full of these kinds of challenging interpretations, forcing us to grapple with complex theological questions. As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, these stories aren't just about the past; they're about us, here and now.

Perhaps this is a comforting thought. Maybe, just maybe, we don't have to be perfect to be worthy of love, worthy of salvation, worthy of a second chance. Maybe all we need is a little bit of grace, a little bit of favor in the eyes of… well, someone, something, bigger than ourselves. What do you think?