A Holy Obsession with Gratitude
Too often, we fully appreciate a gift only after it is gone. We become grateful for breath when it becomes difficult, for movement when our bodies struggle, and for someone’s presence when they are no longer beside us. Absence reveals the extraordinary value of what had come to feel ordinary. But Judaism does not want loss to be our only teacher.
The Talmud compares enjoying something without first reciting a brachah—a blessing—to stealing, even when we made or purchased it. Nothing reaches us through our efforts alone. A blessing acknowledges the gifts and many hands, seen and unseen, behind what we enjoy—transforming enjoyment into gratitude.
Jewish prayer expresses gratitude and awakens what we might miss. On some walks, nature’s magnificence captures my attention, filling my heart until tears come and words of blessing rise instinctively. Other days, lost in thought, I barely notice the same path. Then, a blessing calls me back: Look again. Pay attention. Receive this moment. Each pause attunes me to future moments of wonder.
Because gratitude does not always arise naturally, Judaism surrounds us with practices that awaken it—a holy obsession with giving thanks for life’s gifts, great and small. The Talmud calls for one hundred daily blessings—an audacious demand for attention. The goal is not repetition; each blessing interrupts inattention and renews appreciation for what we overlook.
That training begins before we rise in the morning. On my bedroom wall, a sign reads Modeh ani l’fanecha—“I give thanks before You.” Modeh—giving thanks—comes before ani—“I”: gratitude before the self. Whatever thoughts might greet us—I have so much to do, or What a horrible day; it’s pouring!—Judaism asks us first to acknowledge another day and let that expression of gratitude awaken us to its opportunities. So, I ask our second graders: How can we use the gifts God has given us—our amazing bodies, minds, and hearts—to bring more goodness into the world today?
Gratitude cannot end with words; it must shape how we use our gifts and care for others. That movement from gratitude to action has sustained me in some dark moments.
When pain—and feeling sorry for myself—threatened to consume my attention, I intentionally turned toward the love and goodness around me. Gratitude did not erase the pain; it softened the darkness and shifted my perspective. I expressed it by calling someone homebound, offering a kind word, or visiting someone ill. Turning toward others lightened my heart: I could still bring goodness into the world.
Gratitude is not reserved for Thanksgiving alone; Judaism calls us to practice it every day. This month, I invite you to begin—or deepen—a gratitude practice. Each morning, say, “Modeh Ani—I am grateful,” and name three things for which you are grateful. Then ask: What good will I do with what I have been given? Let gratitude move from intention to practice, from appreciation to generosity.
Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that “it is gratefulness which makes the soul great.” May we practice gratitude until noticing and responding to life’s gifts become our own holy obsession.
Rabbi Robyn Fisher