By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — “Thank you.” It is remarkable how two simple words carry the weight of our entire spiritual identity. Our tradition traces the origin of these words back to Leah, who first uttered odeh et Hashem (“This time I will thank Hashem) when her fourth son, Yehudah, was born.
She had expected only her share among Yaakov’s twelve sons; the fourth child felt like an unexpected, unearned blessing, and gratitude flowed from that recognition. From Yehudah comes our name, Yehudim, and at the heart of that name lies hoda’ah, gratitude. To be a Jew is to live with a mind and heart trained toward thankfulness.
As one who studies the inner life of the religious soul, I often ask: when did you last feel sincere gratitude, not a polite formula, not a passing thought, but a full-bodied awareness that something in your life is a gift? Many of us are fluent in asking through prayer and supplication for clarity, healing, livelihood. But how fluent are we in thanking? Leah’s moment reminds us that gratitude emerges most deeply when we recognize we are receiving more than we have ever demanded.
Chazal (ancient Jewish sages) elevate Leah’s declaration as the first true expression of thanks to the Ribbono shel Olam (Master of the Universe.) In that sense, she models an emotional and spiritual stance that defines our people. Even through loss, uncertainty, or persecution, the Jewish heart remains capable of saying, “Thank you, Hashem.” Gratitude is not a reaction; it is a posture, a way of perceiving the world.
This theme appears again in this week’s parsha. Jacob awakens from his dream, startled into awareness: “Hashem is in this place, and I did not know it.” So much of religious psychology is contained in that one sentence. How differently our lives would unfold if we truly believed from morning until night, that Hashem is present in every place we move through, in every conversation, every challenge, every breath.
Modern psychology has caught up to this ancient wisdom. Research shows that regular expressions of gratitude can reduce depression, strengthen relationships, and even improve physical health. But what fascinates me most is how gratitude reorients the self. When we express thanks, we step out of the illusion of control and into a posture of humility and connection. In that sense, gratitude is profoundly spiritual in that it teaches us to see ourselves as part of a larger story.
Our ancestors understood this deeply. In the parsha, Jacob reaches heavenward and says (as noted above), “Achein yesh Hashem bamakom hazeh, va’anochi lo yadati” (“Surely Hashem is in this place, and I did not know it.”) Jacob’s gratitude is for an awareness gained that holiness and blessing were already present, even when he didn’t recognize them. Thanksgiving, then, invites us to cultivate that same awareness: that Hashem’s presence, and the goodness of others, often surrounds us even when we overlook it.
Gratitude is only the beginning. The parsha goes further, teaching us the psychology of a balanced and spiritually grounded life, one that deepens our awareness of Hashem while also cultivating a strong work ethic. Jacob embodies this dual commitment when he tells his wives, “With all my strength I served your father.” The Torah does not portray spirituality as withdrawal from the world or neglect of responsibility. Instead, it insists that true spirituality is revealed in the way we live, with diligence, honesty, and responsibility. Rambam later reinforces this idea, ruling that a worker must give full presence and full effort, just as Jacob did, because honoring Hashem means upholding integrity in our labor.
Chazal illustrate this connection powerfully. When a teacher weakened himself by frequent fasting, Rav Yohanan told him he was forbidden to diminish his strength. If one cannot weaken oneself when serving a human employer, how much more so when serving Hashem. Spiritual life is not fueled by self-neglect; it is fueled by vitality, clarity, and strength. In psychological terms, our service of Hashem requires emotional resilience, physical energy, and mental presence. Mussar (Jewish ethical suggestions) applies both to how we treat others and to how we stand before Hashem.
Yet today, our spiritual sensitivity is often dulled by speed, noise, and technological overstimulation. Many people tell me they no longer feel a connection to the sacred because the modern world crowds it out. Here I often recall the simple story of the boy flying a kite so high that it disappeared into the clouds. When someone asked how he knew the kite was still there, the boy answered, “Because I can feel the tug.” Spiritual life is exactly that: learning to recognize the subtle pull, the gentle pressure on the soul that signals that Hashem is present. As R’ Mendel of Kotzk taught, “Hashem is wherever we let Him in.” The tug is always there; the question is whether our hearts are quiet enough to feel it.
We can strengthen this sensitivity through three practices that form the core of religious mental health: learning Torah, praying mindfully, and participating in community. When we learn, we open our minds; when we pray, we open our hearts; when we engage with community, we open our hands. These three together allow us to notice blessings that would otherwise pass us by. As my teacher, positive psychology creator Dr. Martin Seligman instructs, cultivating gratitude begins with a simple question: “What went well today?” In our tradition, this is the psychological dimension of avodah shebalev (service of the heart, i.e., prayer) shaping an inner world that perceives gifts rather than grievances.
Jacob’s ladder becomes a powerful metaphor for this work. Life is climbed one rung at a time, and every rung, pleasant or painful, can move us upward. What we often call “problems” may instead be Hashem’s redirection, gentle or firm, guiding us toward a better place. When we shift from “Why is this happening to me?” to “How is this happening for me?” we open ourselves to growth, resilience, and a deeper awareness of divine presence.
Jacob discovers that an ordinary patch of earth can suddenly become “the gate of heaven.” That is the essence of spirituality: transforming the familiar into the sacred by paying deeper attention. Even after hardship, Jacob concludes that Hashem is with him, guarding him, and guiding him. His journey teaches us that meaning is always available, if we are willing to see through the surface of events.
A dream, the tradition teaches, comes to wake us up. This Shabbat, coming on the heels of Thanksgiving, may we awaken to the countless moments that invite a quiet Shehecheyanu, a whispered “thank You” for life, for sustenance, and for the privilege of walking through the world accompanied by Hashem’s eternal presence. May we learn to feel His tug in every step, every challenge, and every blessing.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.