The Torah column is supported by a generous donation from Eve Gordon-Ramek in memory of Kenneth Gordon.
Tzav
Leviticus 6:1-8:36
After “shalom,” the next word that most beginning Hebrew students learn is “todah,” or “thank you.” What better way is there to become familiar and comfortable with a new language than with its most basic greeting and then the polite acknowledgement of a kindness done by another?
The “todah/thanksgiving” offering is first mentioned in this week’s Torah portion. It was part of the “zevach shelamim,” the sacrifices of well-being that affirmed the bearer’s debt to the Creator. The “todah” included, in addition to the primary sacrifice, “unleavened cakes with oil mixed in — unleavened wafers spread with oil — and cakes of choice flour with oil mixed in, well-soaked.” (Leviticus 7:12)
This buffet of rich delicacies sent a clear signal that the gratitude of the one bringing the offering was overflowing and abundant. Though the Torah provides detailed instructions for how, where and by whom the offering was chosen, eaten and shared, the intentions behind the offering remain unnamed.
After the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, the sages composed an endless array of formulae for people to speak praises to the Eternal One in any time and place. Blessings of gratitude are among the many ways we can still “bring sacrifices” without a central worship site and its attending priests. When we have something precious, in this case our words, and offer them up for holy purpose, we continue the tradition of the korbanot (sacrificial offerings) as we approach the Presence with modesty and honor.
A Jewish life is ideally saturated with “todah” moments. We are invited to start the day saying “modeh/modah ani,” or “I am thankful,” and continue that posture throughout the day, if we are fortunate. But there are certain times when giving voice to appreciation for life places everything else on hold.
Sometimes during a synagogue service, after the classic Mishebeirach prayer, which asks for success and blessing for a person called to the Torah and their entire family, there is a pause of intense power. The energy in the sanctuary undergoes a palpable shift, and the honoree, in the sight of the community and under the Eyes of the Holy One, offers the Birkat HaGomel, the Blessing of the Benefactor: “We praise the Creator, Sovereign of time and space, who bestows goodness upon us despite our imperfections, and has bestowed favor upon me.”
The public recitation of this humble and immensely personal blessing can be unlike any other moment in a synagogue. What makes it even more moving is the mandated response of the congregation: “May the One who has shown such favor to you continue to bestow all that is good upon you.” There is such a shared humanity in that exchange, when the call from the person who is “benching Gomel,” as the practice is known, is answered by the community in a collective expression of thanksgiving and relief.
The custom, and some say mandate, to offer the Birkat HaGomel, originates in the Babylonian Talmud (Berakhot 54b) and is based on phrases from the Psalms: “They strayed in the wilderness, the desolation of the road … hungry as well as thirsty, their spirit failed … in their adversity they cried out to the Eternal, and were rescued from their troubles.” (Psalm 107: 4-6) and Leviticus 7.
The rabbis, acknowledging the many perils of life, suggested that after certain dangerous situations, individuals should offer the Gomel declaration. Those most obligated to make the blessing are someone who was freed from jail, who traveled at sea, who traveled in the desert or who was sick and was healed.
Some rabbis insisted that anyone who was in near-mortal danger, such as one saved from a wall collapsing, a lion attack, a goring ox or a band of thieves at night, had to make the public blessing. A very common practice is for individuals who have recently given birth to “bench Gomel.” Dear friends who survived a near-fatal car crash once made the Gomel blessing in a room of weeping family and community members.
Customs vary among Ashkenazi and Sephardi communities, but the overwhelming, shared intention is for there to be a sacred space where fragile, resilient, amazed human beings can formally acknowledge the “close shaves” of life and pour out their joy at being delivered to a new day.
The concept of the Jewish people as one steeped in the need and ability to thank begins in Genesis.
Leah gives birth to her last child, and says, “Odeh et Adonai al kar’ah sh’mo yehudah,” or “I give thanks to the Eternal, and she therefore named him Judah.” (Genesis 29:35) Yes, we are known as the People of Israel, the ones who “wrestle with God,” but Judaism quite literally means “gratitude-ism.” It’s a stance we all can and should take more forcefully and with more grace.
Let’s pause for a moment. Look around you, at the people you love and the ones who love you. What gratitude can we offer? What holy gift can we bring as Passover begins that could equal the measure of good we have each been granted?
May our opportunities for giving thanks be without end, and our table of blessings overflow.