Parshas Vayetze: The First Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving today shows up as a big American feast, but the first Thanksgiving wasn’t a feast at all. The Pilgrims barely survived their first winter. There was no turkey, no stuffing, no pies. Just a group of people who were exhausted, shaken, hungry, and grateful simply because they were still alive. Gratitude not from abundance, but from fragility. From the humility of, “If we have bread tomorrow, that’s a blessing.”
That’s exactly where Vayetze begins.
Yaakov is running from his raging brother and falls asleep on a rock in the middle of nowhere. He dreams the most spectacular dream of his life, a ladder reaching heaven, angels rushing up and down, Hashem speaking directly to him.
That’s exactly where Vayetze begins.
Yaakov is running from his raging brother and falls asleep on a rock in the middle of nowhere. He dreams the most spectacular dream of his life, a ladder reaching heaven, angels rushing up and down, Hashem speaking directly to him.
It’s magnificent and overwhelming. But when Yaakov wakes up, he doesn’t ask for clarity or courage or safety. He isn’t inspired or excited. He’s scared for his life, and he asks for something as basic as it gets:
“…וְנָתַן לִי לֶחֶם לֶאֱכֹל וּבֶגֶד לִלְבֹּשׁ”
“…וְנָתַן לִי לֶחֶם לֶאֱכֹל וּבֶגֶד לִלְבֹּשׁ”
Hashem, just give me bread to eat and clothing to wear.
“…וְשַׁבְתִּי בְשָׁלוֹם אֶל בֵּית אָבִי”
“…וְשַׁבְתִּי בְשָׁלוֹם אֶל בֵּית אָבִי”
And let me return home in peace.
“…וְהָאֶבֶן הַזֹּאת… יִהְיֶה בֵּית אֱלֹקים”
“…וְהָאֶבֶן הַזֹּאת… יִהְיֶה בֵּית אֱלֹקים”
And if You carry me through this, I will turn this place into a house of God.
This is pure Pilgrim energy.
Not a feast. A request to survive the next day.
A Thanksgiving born from fear, not comfort.
——
But the parsha doesn’t stay in survival mode. It moves into something that looks much more like the Thanksgiving we know today.
Yaakov arrives at Uncle Lavan’s house, falls in love with Rachel, and for a moment everything feels simple. Then the family system pulls him into something far more complicated, a home full of emotion, unevenness, longing, confusion, hopes, disappointments, and shifting loyalties.
Rachel is in love but doesn’t have the children she longs for.
Leah has children but doesn’t have the love every wife dreams of.
Yaakov is doing his best to build a family inside a swirl he didn’t design.
And Lavan keeps changing the rules.
It’s a house where everyone is holding something they’re grateful for and something they’re hurting over. Blessings and wounds side by side. Nothing clean or symmetrical. Just real life.
And right in the middle of all that, something historic happens.
Leah, the sister pulled into a marriage she didn’t ask for, the woman who becomes a mother quickly but still doesn’t feel chosen or seen, has her fourth child. And in that moment of mixed blessing and pain, she says:
“.'הפעם אודה את ה”
This is pure Pilgrim energy.
Not a feast. A request to survive the next day.
A Thanksgiving born from fear, not comfort.
——
But the parsha doesn’t stay in survival mode. It moves into something that looks much more like the Thanksgiving we know today.
Yaakov arrives at Uncle Lavan’s house, falls in love with Rachel, and for a moment everything feels simple. Then the family system pulls him into something far more complicated, a home full of emotion, unevenness, longing, confusion, hopes, disappointments, and shifting loyalties.
Rachel is in love but doesn’t have the children she longs for.
Leah has children but doesn’t have the love every wife dreams of.
Yaakov is doing his best to build a family inside a swirl he didn’t design.
And Lavan keeps changing the rules.
It’s a house where everyone is holding something they’re grateful for and something they’re hurting over. Blessings and wounds side by side. Nothing clean or symmetrical. Just real life.
And right in the middle of all that, something historic happens.
Leah, the sister pulled into a marriage she didn’t ask for, the woman who becomes a mother quickly but still doesn’t feel chosen or seen, has her fourth child. And in that moment of mixed blessing and pain, she says:
“.'הפעם אודה את ה”
This time, I thank Hashem.
It’s the first time in any Pasuk in Torah that a person uses the word “thank.”
Avraham didn’t say it.
Yitzchak didn’t say it.
Yaakov didn’t say it.
Leah, whose life is far from perfect, becomes the first voice of gratitude in Jewish history.
Not because everything is good.
But because something is good.
It reminded me of something I wrote a few months ago, that sometimes all we get is just enough to say thank You.
This isn’t just family tension or awkward marriages.
This is where the Jewish people begin.
Right here.
In this complicated, uneven, aching house.
The twelve tribes start to appear.
The future of Am Yisrael starts taking shape.
A nation is born through these messy, human, imperfect beginnings.
——
As the parsha closes, Yaakov finally steps away from Lavan’s house. After all the strain and frustration, something becomes clear. The blessings aren’t hidden anymore. What began with a terrified request for bread and clothing ends with a life full of revealed good: wives, children, wealth, a future, and the sense that Hashem has been carrying him through the mess the entire time.
It’s the opposite of where he started.
He asked for survival.
He leaves with clarity.
He leaves as the father of a nation.
That, for me, is the thread of this week.
For a day like Thanksgiving, and really for every Jewish morning that opens with Modeh Ani, gratitude starts before anything else. Before success. Before clarity. Before the day has earned it. Just the fact that we woke up.
And from there, we can hope and pray for more — not only the hidden blessings, but the revealed ones too. The ones we can actually notice. The ones that make us stop and say, this came from Him.
All the way to the ultimate Thanksgiving, when this whole story reaches its fullness with Moshiach.
.אן קיין קונצן
No tricks. No excuses.
May it be now.
Good Shabbos!
It’s the first time in any Pasuk in Torah that a person uses the word “thank.”
Avraham didn’t say it.
Yitzchak didn’t say it.
Yaakov didn’t say it.
Leah, whose life is far from perfect, becomes the first voice of gratitude in Jewish history.
Not because everything is good.
But because something is good.
It reminded me of something I wrote a few months ago, that sometimes all we get is just enough to say thank You.
This isn’t just family tension or awkward marriages.
This is where the Jewish people begin.
Right here.
In this complicated, uneven, aching house.
The twelve tribes start to appear.
The future of Am Yisrael starts taking shape.
A nation is born through these messy, human, imperfect beginnings.
——
As the parsha closes, Yaakov finally steps away from Lavan’s house. After all the strain and frustration, something becomes clear. The blessings aren’t hidden anymore. What began with a terrified request for bread and clothing ends with a life full of revealed good: wives, children, wealth, a future, and the sense that Hashem has been carrying him through the mess the entire time.
It’s the opposite of where he started.
He asked for survival.
He leaves with clarity.
He leaves as the father of a nation.
That, for me, is the thread of this week.
For a day like Thanksgiving, and really for every Jewish morning that opens with Modeh Ani, gratitude starts before anything else. Before success. Before clarity. Before the day has earned it. Just the fact that we woke up.
And from there, we can hope and pray for more — not only the hidden blessings, but the revealed ones too. The ones we can actually notice. The ones that make us stop and say, this came from Him.
All the way to the ultimate Thanksgiving, when this whole story reaches its fullness with Moshiach.
.אן קיין קונצן
No tricks. No excuses.
May it be now.
Good Shabbos!
Berke
