All my life, I’ve lived up north, but I had always heard about southern hospitality. This might not be a shock to you, but one thing I’ve learned this summer? It’s real! Wherever I shop or pick up a coffee, there’s a gracious “thank you” for the purchase. Two words, that’s all, nothing big.
But those two words speak volumes. Gratitude in small gestures reflects gratitude in large ones. This makes all the difference not only in how we interact with others, but in who we are.
This week, apropos for our Membership Appreciation this weekend, we read Parshat Eikev. We’re in the book of Deuteronomy and Moses is preaching to the stiff-necked people before they enter the Land of Promise, the Land that he will never see.
We read: “When you have eaten and been satisfied, and have built fine houses and lived in them, when your herds and flocks have grown abundant, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have has multiplied, your heart may become proud, forgetting Adonai your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery… You might be tempted to say to yourself, ‘My power, the strength of my own hand, has brought me this great wealth.’ But remember it is Adonai your God who gives you the power to do great things, upholding the covenant sworn to your ancestors…”
Soon, the Israelites would conquer Canaan and build successful fields and flocks. But this message at this moment was that the worst thing that could happen to them would be to stop being grateful to the Holy One of Blessing, to imagine that they had done all of this with their own hands. We not only bless our bread quickly before eating, we give lengthy praise and thanks after we are finished eating. This is key in Judaism. When we are full and satiated, we must be grateful for all we have been given.
Hakarat HaTov, gratitude. It can be hard to be grateful when we have so much. We can lose sight of how we got to where we are. Being thankful is an act of honesty, authenticity, and vulnerability.
There is a fascinating Midrash in Exodus 8 right as the plagues are beginning. The very first plague was what? That’s right. Dam. Blood. In our minds’ eye, we may see Moses lifting his staff to change the Nile to blood. But remember, It wasn’t Moses, was it? It was Aaron who struck the Nile with his staff. This surprised the rabbis. Why would this very first wonder be given to Moses’ brother?
Gratitude. As a baby, Moses was hidden in the reeds of the Nile, kept safely until he was found. He did not want to hurt the feelings of the Nile by striking it. Similarly, it was Aaron who struck the dust of the earth to bring forth the gnats which covered man and beast. Why? Moses did not want to offend the earth, for the earth had helped him by hiding the body of the taskmaster he killed.
Moses was quick to show gratitude and consideration to inanimate objects. We should be at least as quick to show concern and gratitude to those who help us, guide us, work for us, and care for us.
Let’s compare Moses to his nemesis, Pharaoh. Our rabbis teach that the “new Pharaoh who did not know Joseph” was not actually a different person. It was the same Pharaoh, but he had lost the gratitude he once felt towards Joseph, who had helped save the kingdom. He lost the ability to be reflective and honest with himself and the world around him. He came to believe that he was a demigod, more than human. His entitlement, stubbornness, and his lack of humanity ultimately doomed him and his kingdom.
Entitlement is a danger for all of us. It’s a brittle emotion that goes hand in hand with arrogance. In Judaism, we use the Hebrew word, middah or in the plural, middot to talk about personal moral qualities. A middah means a measurement, literally. At times, we all need to measure ourselves, we need to sculpt and perfect ourselves. We need to carve our best selves from the rough stone of ego.
How can we do this? How do we remember to show gratitude? Ask yourself this question: how often do I say “thank you?” Frequently or infrequently? In small things as well as large? Be honest with yourself. Words of thanks can be transformative. Even as a reflex, they remind us to be grateful.
Remember, everything—yes, everything—is a gift from God. Our wealth, our health, our families, our homes and cars. No one owes you anything, and therefore we must be grateful for everything lest we fall pray to sins of entitlement and rage.
Gratitude is such a simple thing. It is an outward sign of how we appreciate one another’s help, kindness, and effort on our behalf. And, looking inward, it is a reflection of how we hope to be treated by one another and ultimately by God.
I want to finish with a quick story from Rabbi Moshe Taragin, the Rosh Mesivta of Yeshivat Har Etzion in Gush Etzion.
Rabbi Yisrael Gustman was an eminent scholar and teacher who passed away in 1991. He was also a survivor of the Vilna ghetto. He was shot in the head and left for dead, but he pulled himself out of a pit of bodies. Later, his son was beaten to death in his arms, and both of them were shoved into a pile of manure. But he survived.
He buried his only son and went on, strong in his faith, reciting the final confession, the Vidui, hundreds of times during his ordeal. He, his wife, and their daughter all escaped the Vilna ghetto right before its liquidation and ended up becoming partisans in the nearby forests. He was a mountain of a man who killed Nazis with his bare hands.
Years went by. The war ended. Rabbi Gustman went from Europe to America and finally to Israel where he founded a yeshiva, “Netzah Yisrael” or the Eternity of Israel, in the middle of Jerusalem, one of the greatest Rosh Yeshivas of his day.
One day, before the yeshiva opened its doors in the morning, a young yeshiva bocher saw this esteemed and holy man holding a beaten up old watering can, tending to the shrubs and plants around the entrance.
Shocked, the young man asked, “Rabbi! Isn’t there a maintenance man or janitor to take care of this menial task?” Which, yes, of course there was. But the rabbi shook his head.
“These are the bushes that hid me in Poland,” he said. “They cared for me, and now I care for them.”
Gratitude. Such a simple thing. And so I say, thank you.
Shabbat Shalom.
Click here to watch this sermon.