Gratitude, Reverence, and Vulnerability

Gratitude is the fertile soil from which human nobility takes root.

The 11th-century Spanish philosopher Rabbi Bachya ibn Pakuda identified gratitude not merely as an admirable trait but the gateway to all moral behavior – both in our relationships with others and in our profound connection with G-d.

The Pharaoh of the Exodus from Egypt epitomized ingratitude. Despite our role in saving his country from a devastating famine through Joseph’s wisdom, Pharaoh chose to erase this history. The “new king” who arose, as some explain, was not a different ruler but the same one who willfully suppressed his gratitude toward Joseph and his descendants.

By fostering this cognitive dissonance, Pharaoh justified the persecution and enslavement of a people to whom Egypt owed its survival.

This stark example illustrates how ingratitude undermines interpersonal bonds and distorts our moral compass.

Gratitude in Adversity

Gratitude flows naturally when life is abundant, and blessings come in overwhelming waves. Yet, it is far more challenging – and profoundly transformative – to cultivate gratitude amidst the intricate dance of hardship and prosperity.

Leah named her fourth son “Yehuda,” which means thanks or praise, to express her gratitude. The Gemara notes that she was the first to thank Hashem, a claim that seems puzzling. Could it be that for over two millennia, no great figure had offered thanks to Hashem?

Evidently, Leah’s distinction lay not in the act of gratitude itself, but in her ability to feel deeply grateful despite her challenging circumstances.

By this point, Leah had come to terms with the painful reality that she would never be Yaakov’s chosen or beloved wife. Resigned to her role, she embraced her destiny as a mother of our nation, even if she could not hold a cherished place in her husband’s heart. Naming her fourth son Yehuda, she expressed gratitude not for an ideal life but for the opportunity to fulfill her purpose and become the most prolific matron of our nation, now realizing that she would bear the most of Yaakov’s 12 sons.

She pioneered the art of gratitude in adversity, teaching us that even when life is fraught with complexity, there is always room to appreciate Hashem’s gifts.

My Gratitude

With the serious injury our son sustained in Lebanon, our family has faced its own harrowing challenges. Yet, even in the shadow of hardship, I have tried to hold fast to gratitude. Here are the things for which I am profoundly grateful:

I am deeply grateful to Hashem. With His help and constant watching over our son Noam, we have begun the long and arduous road to his recovery. Though the journey ahead will demand resilience and faith, I know that with Hashem’s guidance, we will navigate it together.

As I have learned more about the attack our son endured and the intricate process of his medical treatment, I am overwhelmed by the countless moments in which Hashem protected him. Each detail reveals His guiding hand, shielding our son in ways I can scarcely comprehend.

I cannot fully understand why we have been granted these miracles, but I pray for the strength, clarity, and courage to prove myself worthy of this extraordinary gift.

As Milton wrote, “Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.” I have felt these moments of divine revelation and stand in reverence of Hashem’s kindness and presence in our lives.

Grateful for Israel

I am profoundly grateful to live in Israel and equally thankful for the decision I made decades ago to relocate our family here.

Some readers may find this sentiment surprising. After all, the cost of living in this land is high. Seven of our children and sons-in-law devoted much of their past year to serving and defending our country, including Noam, who was gravely injured.

The price of living in Israel is undeniably steep. Yet the cost of not living here is far greater.

This week, I felt the gaze of my grandparents upon our family, their spirits brimming with pride. What would they have given to witness a Jewish soldier standing guard over a sovereign Jewish state?

I know that by living here, we are making an investment in the grand narrative of Jewish history – a down payment on a future that, im yirtzeh Hashem, will yield dividends for generations to come.

I Have Become an Israeli

I am grateful to feel more connected to Israel than ever before, precisely because loss binds so many of us here.

Most Israelis, in some way, carry the weight of personal struggle. It is this very sacrifice that deepens our connection to this sacred land, as the more we give of ourselves, the more profoundly we possess it.

Chazal teach us that the Land of Israel is only acquired through hardship. During these two weeks, as I took fleeting strolls along the shores of Haifa, allowing the sea breeze to clear my mind, I felt an extraordinary sense of intimacy with the land. I touched the trees, inhaled the fragrant breezes, and listened to the rhythmic song of the ocean. The land embraced and caressed me, soothed my worries and comforted my fears, reminding me that even in the shadow of loss, the heartbeat of our homeland remains steady and strong.

Army and Ahavat Yisrael

I am deeply thankful for our army as a remarkable unifier of our people. It forges immediate bonds and unites our entire nation into one family.

This past Friday evening, as I sat by our son’s bedside, a soldier who had suffered a military accident was brought into the ICU. Though he was not religious, his parents and I immediately connected over our shared tragedy. We invited them to join our Shabbat meal – they declined because they were too preoccupied – but for the next 48 hours, we shared a bond that transcended religion.

On Sunday morning, a soldier who had been injured a month ago came to the ICU to thank the staff as he prepared to leave the hospital. He came by to cheer up our son, who had just awoken, and assured him that his road to recovery would be successful. Once again, I felt an immediate bond with his parents, whom I had never met. It turns out that he had served in Lebanon with my son-in-law, so we were connected in ways we hadn’t imagined at first.

Feeling unified with our people is not merely an abstract ideal of solidarity – it is the core of ahavat Yisrael, the unconditional love for every Jew and the commitment to a shared destiny, transcending ethnicity or religious observance.

People

I am profoundly thankful for the extraordinary people I have encountered on this still-unfolding odyssey.

Haifa, nestled in the north, serves a diverse community, including many Israeli Arabs, and on Shabbat, the medical staff is often composed of Arabs. During my time there, I met remarkable individuals who tended to our son with genuine love and extended to me boundless emotional support.

One man, an Arab whose son had unfortunately been in a car accident, shared weeks of anxiety and uncertainty with me. I celebrated his son’s recovery with him, just as he was overjoyed by our son’s healing.

We cannot afford to be naive – we live in a region where many ruthless and heartless individuals are constantly planning harm against us, and we must avoid any delusions. However, there are many good, ordinary people who desire to live alongside us in peace. We are divinely promised this land, and until those divine promises come true, we must share this land with those who accept our presence and our state. Nationalism must never devolve into bigotry.

Vulnerability

Finally, I am again grateful to Hashem for the vulnerability I experienced. I wish it hadn’t been born from the hardship we are enduring, but vulnerability is the source of human dignity and nobility.

This week, I tried to hold myself with dignity, compassion, and sensitivity, fully aware of how fragile my life is and how quickly it can be shattered. Success in life can sometimes lead us to arrogance, indifference, and neglect of the simple beauties of daily life and interactions. Yet, it is in our vulnerability that we are reminded of these small, precious moments.

We are all like Jacob’s ladder – dreaming of soaring to heaven, yet always remaining grounded on earth. Gratitude keeps us rooted, helping us appreciate the simple beauty that surrounds us.

This article was written in Rambam Hospital, Haifa, on December 1.