The news is fresh and fragile, but it is real: a ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah, an end to the fighting in northern Israel and southern Lebanon, and the hope of an eventual homecoming for the displaced. There is so much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving Day weekend. Yet gratitude, as we know all too well, often comes into focus most sharply when we are intimately aware of the possibility of loss. The war continues in Gaza. Hostages remain hidden in tunnels beneath bombed-out cities, uncertain whether they will survive. Antisemitism has surged to unprecedented levels since October 7, 2023, and countless innocents have lost their lives. In such a fractured world, when peace and abundance feel so fragile, can we truly feel gratitude?
This week's Torah portion, Tol’dot, invites us to grapple with the delicate tension between gratitude and loss. It tells the story of Isaac’s and Rebecca’s sons, Jacob and Esau, whose struggle begins even before birth. From the start, they are locked in a “him or me” mentality. Esau emerges first, but Jacob follows close behind, grasping his heel, as though determined to claim what does not seem destined to be his.
Esau grows up secure in the knowledge that he will one day receive his father’s blessing. He takes it for granted or perhaps values it so little that he is willing to trade it to Jacob for a bowl of stew. Jacob, by contrast, grows up hungry—not for food but for what he believes will give him worth. Instead of appreciating what he has, Jacob fixates on what he lacks and schemes to obtain it by any means. Yet when he finally gains his father’s blessing, it doesn’t bring the happiness he envisioned. Instead, he is forced to flee his brother’s wrath, losing everything he loves—his home, family, and sense of security.
Jacob’s story raises a powerful question: What do we risk when we act from a place of scarcity, focused on all that is missing in our lives, rather than a place of gratitude for what is here now? Jacob’s hunger leads him to deception, but in his years of exile—stripped of all he once cherished—he begins to understand the true value of family, love, and forgiveness. His eventual reconciliation with Esau is not just the resolution of their conflict; it is a testament to the healing power of cherishing what we have instead of grasping for what we think we need. Far from encouraging complacency, however, let us be reminded that gratitude is not about ignoring what is broken, but about recognizing what is precious and worth fighting for. Perhaps gratitude is not the absence of sorrow and loss but a powerful response to it—a defiant act of hope in the face of grief, an affirmation that the fragility of existence makes each day we are given miraculous and worth cherishing. When peace feels fragile and we are faced with the possibility of loss at any moment, gratitude is not only possible—it is powerful.
With gratitude for our Temple Beth David family, I wish you all countless blessings and Shabbat Shalom!
Rebecca Abbate
