Dear friends,
We return once again to our journey through Genesis—and yet, as so often happens in Scripture, what we have just read during Passover does not simply remain behind us, contained within its own portion, but continues to echo, to resonate, to flow almost imperceptibly into what comes next, as though the text itself refuses to let go of what it has already revealed.
The Bible, after all, does not move in isolated episodes, disconnected from one another, but rather in patterns and echoes, where themes reappear, deepen, and unfold—and sometimes, a single word, introduced almost quietly for the first time, becomes a thread that we are invited to follow, if only we are willing to slow down and notice.
This is exactly what happens in Genesis 6.
In the midst of a world described in the darkest possible terms—a world filled with corruption, violence, and moral collapse, where everything seems to be unraveling—we suddenly encounter a statement that feels almost out of place in its quietness, and yet precisely because of that, all the more striking:
“But Noah found grace in the eyes of the LORD.”
This is the first time the word grace appears in the Bible—and already, this alone should make us pause, to linger just a little longer over the text, to allow it to speak before we rush ahead.
Because at the very moment when we might expect the Torah to emphasize judgment, to prepare us for what is about to come, to speak in terms of wrath or punishment, it introduces something entirely different—not condemnation, not destruction, but grace.
It is as if, at the very threshold of the Flood, just before the narrative turns toward judgment, the text opens a small and almost hidden window, through which another reality begins to shine.
In Hebrew, the phrase is:
מָצָא חֵן בְּעֵינֵי יהוה
(matza chen be-eyney Adonai) — “he found grace in the eyes of the LORD.”
And what is so remarkable is that this expression, so weighty in this context, is at the same time deeply familiar, almost disarmingly simple, in everyday Hebrew, where we might say quite naturally: “Did he find grace in your eyes?”—meaning nothing more than, “Did you like him?”
And here, we may feel a certain hesitation.
Because can we really use the same expression for God?
Can divine grace be spoken of in terms that sound so human, so relational, so… ordinary?
Of course not.
And yet, the Torah does not hesitate to do exactly that—and perhaps it is precisely here, in this simplicity, that something deeper begins to reveal itself.
Because this phrase does not speak of an abstract theological concept, something distant and removed from human experience, but rather of relationship—of how one is seen, how one appears, how one is perceived in the eyes of another, and in this case, in the eyes of God.
But there is something else, something even more subtle, and yet deeply significant.
The verb is active.
Noah found grace.
The Torah does not say that grace simply descended upon him, or that he was passively chosen, as though without connection to his own life, but that he found it—and this small detail, almost easy to overlook, quietly transforms the entire picture.
Because to find something implies movement, direction, a kind of inner orientation, suggesting that Noah was not simply standing still in a corrupted world, waiting for events to unfold around him, but that he was, in some way, seeking, living, walking in a direction that made this finding possible.
And perhaps this is why, just a few verses later, the Torah tells us that Noah “walked with God”—not stood, not observed from a distance, but walked, step by step, in a life that unfolds in relationship.
And it is precisely here that another text begins to echo—one that we have just encountered during the Passover readings, and more specifically, in the reading for the intermediate Shabbat of Passover. You may remember that my previous post. was precisely about that chapter – Exodus 33.
In Exodus 33, after the sin of the golden calf, we find ourselves in a situation that feels strikingly similar, almost as though the same inner pattern is being revealed once again, only now within the story of Israel.
Once again, there is failure, and not a small one but a profound rupture, where the people turn away almost immediately after deliverance, creating and worshiping the golden calf, so that everything seems to stand on the edge of collapse, as though the relationship itself might not survive.
And yet, precisely there, in that moment of fracture, God says to Moses:
“You have found grace in My sight.”
The same language returns, the same expression reappears, and with it, the same quiet but astonishing truth—that grace does not wait for perfection, does not depend on a flawless reality, but emerges right in the midst of brokenness.
It is not spoken at a moment of spiritual success, not when everything is aligned and faithful, but when everything is shaken, uncertain, and fragile—and still, a human being stands before God and finds grace.
This cannot be accidental; it reveals a pattern that runs like a hidden thread through Scripture, reminding us that grace is not reserved for ideal moments, but appears precisely in the imperfect ones, meeting us not outside reality, but within it, in the very places where we might think it is least likely to be found.
And yet, in both of these stories, Noah and Moses are not merely passive recipients of this grace, as though it simply happens to them without their involvement.
They are participants.
Noah walks with God, choosing a different way of living in the midst of a corrupt generation, while Moses speaks with God, pleads, intercedes, and stands in the gap between God and the people, refusing to step aside even when everything seems lost.
In both cases, grace is found in the context of relationship—in the context of movement—in the context of a life that turns toward God, even when everything around it seems to be turning away.
And perhaps it is here that the text, almost imperceptibly, turns toward us.
Because these stories are not only about Noah, and not only about Moses—they are also about us, about the way we live, the way we respond, the way we choose in the midst of our own realities.
They remind us that even in a corrupted and broken world, we are not called to passive waiting, not invited to stand at a distance and simply observe the darkness, as though it had nothing to do with us, but rather to enter into something active—a way of living, a way of walking, a way of responding.
God desires that we would find grace in His eyes—not by accident, not by chance, but through a life that seeks Him, that aligns itself, again and again, with His ways, even when this alignment is not easy, even when it goes against the current of everything around us.
And this does not mean perfection.
Noah lived in a corrupt generation.
Moses stood among a people who had just fallen into idolatry.
And yet, in both cases, grace was found—which means that the presence of darkness does not prevent the possibility of grace, but rather makes it more visible, more necessary, more urgent.
So what, then, is the secret of finding grace in His eyes?
Perhaps it is not a secret in the usual sense, not something hidden away, accessible only to a few, but something deeply simple—and at the same time, deeply demanding.
Not waiting, but walking.
Not drifting, but choosing.
Not surrendering to the atmosphere of the world, but quietly, persistently, faithfully resisting it, and choosing, again and again, to align ourselves with God’s ways, to walk with Him even when the path is unclear, to turn toward Him even when everything around us pulls in a different direction.
Because grace, in this sense, is not only something we receive—it is something we step into, something we discover along the way, something we find as we walk.
And perhaps this is why the Torah places this word—this first mention of grace—exactly where it does, at the threshold of judgment, at the edge of destruction, at the moment when everything seems lost, because it is precisely there that we are reminded that even here, grace can be found, even now, the path remains open, and even in the darkest moments, we are still invited—to walk with God and to find grace in His eyes.
If you like the insights on this blog, you might enjoy my books, you can find them here: books. As always, I would be happy to provide more information (also, a teacher’s discount for new students) regarding our wonderful courses (juliab@eteachergroup.com)
