Giving thanks. The first words we're taught to say each morning immediately on waking are

Modair, Ani. I give thanks, which means we thank before we think. Note that the normal word

order is inverted. We say Modé ani,, not animode. So that in Hebrew,

the thanks comes before the eye. Judaism is gratitude with attitude. And this according to recent

scientific research really is a life-enhancing idea. The source of the command to give thanks is to be found

in this week's Parasha. Among the sacrifices it itemizes is the Corban Toda, the Thanksgiving

offering. If he offers it as a Thanksgiving offering, then along with the Thanksgiving offering

is to offer unleavened

loaves mixed with oil, unleavened wafers spread with oil, and loaves have found fine flour

well-needed and mixed with oil. Though we have been without sacrifices for almost 2,000 years,

a trace of that Thanksgiving offering survives to this day in the form of the

blessing Hagomel, Haggommel of Chayovim Tovot, who bestows good things on the unworthy,

which we say in synagogue at the time of the reading of the Torah, and it's said by somebody

who has survived a hazardous situation,

defined by the sages as somebody who survived a sea crossing, or traveled across a desert,

or recovered from serious illness, or been released from captivity.

For me, the almost universal instinct to give thanks is one of the signals of transcendence in the human condition.

It isn't just the pilot we want to thank when we land safely after a hazardous flight.

Not just the surgeon when we survive an operation, not just the judge or politician when we're released from

prison or captivity.

It's as if some larger force was operative, as if the hand that moves the pieces on the

human chessboard were thinking of us, as if heaven itself had reached down and come to our aid.

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