Later this month, on the civic calendar, we will join with other Americans in giving thanks for all the abundance and goodness that is ours. Thanksgiving’s history long predates 1863, when President Lincoln proclaimed it an official US Holiday, or even 1621 at Plymouth Rock. In fact, explorer Martin Frobisher held a ceremony of thanksgiving upon arriving in what is now Newfoundland in 1578--so our Pilgrim-focused T-Day narrative offends not only Native Americans, but Canadians as well!
It turns out that the Pilgrims--and for that matter the European farmers who for hundreds of years before Columbus held Fall Harvest celebrations of abundance and of thanks--actually based their practice on a holiday called Tabernacles (Auld English for "Sukkot"). They learned of this autumnal celebration from their Bibles, and in good fundamentalist style they practiced it right there on the shores of the Atlantic. So when we celebrate Thanksgiving this November 28th, let it be a reprise of our Sukkot celebration--not just a festival of thanksgiving but of acknowledging our own vulnerability, and of continuing the work of t’shuvah, of individual and communal betterment.
We in the Washington area know that sense of vulnerability far too well. As if last Sept. 11th and the anthrax scare weren’t enough, we’ve just lived through three weeks of collective fear and trauma due to a sniper, who reminded us of our vulnerability every day. It is precisely in moments like those that we most need to give Thanks. These last few weeks were awful and frightening, to be sure. And yet in context, more people were still killed in auto accidents in our area; in context, such random violence is the daily norm in most parts of the world, and through most of history. That’s small consolation to a fearful populace, of course. And the kind of security we’ve taken for granted until now, when it’s no longer there, should be extended to all people. Our prayers for safety are fervent, and deserving--and in at least one sense, thank God, appear to be "answered".
Yet our tradition reminds us that no amount of safety--or wealth, or beauty, or fame, or anything external--can bring us the meaningful life we desire. Eizeh hu ashir, asks Ben Zoma in Pirkei Avot: Who is truly rich? Hasameach b’chelko--the one who is happy with their lot. People living in huge mansions with complex security systems can be miserable; people living in poverty in urban ghettoes can be joyous. The lesson for us to learn is that even as we work for justice in the world, we must take the time to count the many blessings in our lives.
Thanksgiving is a moment when our entire society pauses to do just that-- count our blessings. May it be a meaningful and thorough counting, one that conclusively demonstrates the richness and fullness of our lot. And may it be a celebration not confined to the dinner table once a year, but part of our daily practice. So in this month of Thanksgiving, I bid us all to consider the second-to-last stanza of the daily Amidah, the "Modim anachnu lach":
"We give thanks to You, the all-Merciful our God, God of our ancestors, today and always... We acknowledge You, declare your praise, and thank you for our lives entrusted to Your hand, our souls placed in Your care, for your miracles that greet us every day, and for your wonders and the good things that are with us every hour: morning, noon, and night. Good One, whose kindness never stops; Kind One, whose loving acts have never failed--always have we placed our hope in You."
Even as we recognize how little is under our control, may we offer heartfelt thanks for the many wonders and goodnesses--such as nature, love, community, and even that measure of safety we still enjoy--that are with us at every moment.
Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb