The Essence of Judaism (Rosh HaShanah 5786)

The Essence of Judaism
Rabbi Lisa Rubin, Rosh HaShanah 5786

Judaism is notoriously difficult to summarize. There is no single creed we recite, no fixed dogma that every Jew must accept without question. Our tradition is not built like that. It is built with elasticity—with interpretation, with argument, with renewal. Across centuries, Jewish thinkers have brought forward some of the most transformative ideas the world has ever known. And yet, when we try to distill Judaism down to a single defining principle, the task quickly becomes complex.

Part of the challenge is that Judaism is not the legacy of a lone prophet or a single moment in history. It is the accumulated wisdom of generations—prophets, sages, poets, teachers—each adding their voice to the great and ongoing conversation. Still, many have asked, What is the beating heart of Judaism? What single idea has sustained our people across millennia of wandering, exile, and regeneration?

Some say the answer is monotheism. In a world once dominated by many gods, the radical insistence on One—formless, transcendent, yet intimately in relationship with us—was nothing short of revolutionary. Maimonides considered this the very foundation of Judaism, so central that ten of his famous Thirteen Principles of Faith are about God’s unity and nature.

Others point to Shabbat, equally innovative in its way. Instituted at the dawn of creation, it sanctifies rest, commands a pause in the relentless rhythm of work, and affirms the dignity of simply being. Shabbat has not only kept Jewish life alive, but vibrant. Abraham Joshua Heschel called Shabbat “a palace in time,” a sanctuary that has preserved the Jewish spirit when physical sanctuaries were destroyed.

Then there is the famous challenge posed to Rabbi Hillel by a potential convert: summarize the Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel’s reply? “That which is hateful to you, do not do to others. The rest is commentary.” Here, Judaism’s core is ethical decency: the way we treat others is the true measure of our faith. If you understand this, Hillel taught, the rest will indeed be commentary.

And still others highlight the Torah’s repeated command to ‘love the stranger for you were strangers.’ No mitzvah is emphasized more—thirty-six times! Fueled by empathy, the dignity of the outsider—the vulnerable, the powerless—defines our covenantal responsibility.

Each of these answers is profound. Any one of them could stand as the central pillar of Jewish life. But I want to suggest something else—less often named, but woven quietly into our prayers, our thoughts, and our daily rhythm. For me, it has become an anchor in years of turmoil and grief, as well as joy.

I notice it in small, ordinary moments: pausing before blessing my children on a Friday night, instinctively saying “thank God” when good news arrives, looking at a familiar face and feeling—for just a moment—grateful they are here. These are not grand gestures, but steady habits that shape the religious soul.

My candidate for Judaism’s heart is a practice we can lean on in both times of trouble and times of joy. It is a thread that runs through Jewish life, shaping how we see the world and how we respond to it. Our tradition calls it Hakarat HaTov—in Hebrew, “recognizing the good.” It is the discipline of gratitude, yes, but also something larger: training the heart and mind to notice and name what is good, even in the shadow of what is hard. This has shaped my own Jewish identity in profound ways.

Hakarat HaTov shapes the Jewish way of seeing. It teaches us that gratitude is not an ornament we add to life when things are going well. It is the foundation that allows us to endure when they are not.

Gratitude inspires justice: when we recognize the blessings we’ve been given, we want others to share in them too. Gratitude deepens compassion: when we acknowledge the good in others, we treat them with care. Gratitude strengthens covenant: when we remember God’s gifts to us, we renew our faithfulness to that relationship.

And this year, it feels especially urgent to speak about gratitude.

It has been another profoundly difficult year—for us as Jews, as Americans, as human beings. The news cycle is unrelentingly negative. Every headline pulls us toward fear, anger, and despair. Conversations—whether in person or online—often dwell on what is broken. Anger, sadness, and hostility seem to fill the air, from the Middle East to our own neighborhoods. And with so many platforms amplifying every crisis, it becomes harder and harder to quiet the noise. It is nearly impossible to hear the positive above the constant drumbeat of the world’s enormous problems.

And yet, every year, every day, Hakarat HaTov offers us a way forward.

It is not about ignoring pain, or pretending everything is fine. Judaism does not deal in denial. Gratitude does not erase hardship, but it cultivates resilience. And resilience is one of the most powerful forms of repair—for our spirits, our families, our communities, our world.

Even science affirms the power of gratitude. In the 1990s, researchers studying aging and Alzheimer’s disease examined autobiographies of American nuns that were written decades earlier.i These nuns, upon entering the convent, wrote autobiographical statements about their life. Sixty years later, the researchers were able to analyze their essays for positive and negative emotions and compare them to the nun’s current state of health in the convent in their 80’s and 90’s. In short, the researchers tested whether the nuns emotional state in 1930 had an effect on their health some sixty years later.

The results were astonishing. The nuns who expressed more positive emotions—contentment, hope, love, gratitude—lived significantly longer than those who expressed neutral or negative feelings. In some cases, the difference was seven years of life.

A grateful spirit, the data showed, is not only good for the soul. It is good for the body.

And since then, countless studies have confirmed it. Recognizing the good reduces toxic emotions like resentment and envy. It lowers the risk of depression. It steadies us in the face of negative experiences. It improves sleep. It strengthens relationships. Saying “thank you” makes friendships stronger, marriages more resilient, workplaces more humane. Gratitude even makes us more likely to help others.ⁱⁱ

What our sages taught thousands of years ago—that blessing follows from blessing, and joy from joy—modern psychology caught up to prove correct.

So how do we live Hakarat HaTov, not as a theory but as a practice?

Judaism offers many ways, but let me share three tangible ideas.

1. Begin the day with prayer or a mantra.
2. Focus on what we have.
3. Accept that we are part of something larger than ourselves.

1. Beginning the day with prayer or a mantra:

We can start each day with thankfulness, framing the hours ahead with openness to the good. The very first of our traditional morning blessings thanks God for “restoring our soul”—for the simple but profound gift of waking up again. Before we rise, still in bed, we say Modeh Ani Lefanecha—“I give thanks to You.”

We are by no means guaranteed to wake up each morning. And so when we do, the only fitting first words are thank you. How ironic, then, that our instinct is often to groan at the alarm clock. Judaism says: no—before complaint, before anxiety, before rushing into the day—say thank You.

And the Hebrew itself carries a lesson. Grammatically, it should read Ani modeh—“I thank.” But the prayer inverts the order: Modeh ani—“Thank You, I.” First comes gratitude. Only then comes the “I.”

The message is powerful. The ego should not be the center of the day. The foundation is gratitude. Thank You, God, for another chance. Thank You for another day.

And this is not accidental. The very name of our people, Yehudi, shares a root with Modeh—to give thanks. Our name itself is borne of gratitude. Leah, upon giving birth to her fourth son, Judah—Yehudah—says, “This time I will thank God.”ⁱⁱⁱ

What a definition: Jewishness as thankfulness!

And if we begin the day in that spirit, we can carry it outward—into how we greet those we love, how we notice small blessings, how we pause to say thank you for what we too easily take for granted. Gratitude is not just the way we start the day; it can be the melody that sustains the day.

2. Focusing on what we have:

Our tradition warns how easy it is to dwell on what is missing. Gratitude means naming what is already present. As Pirkei Avot asks: Who is rich? One who rejoices in their own portion.^iv There is only one way to have enough in life, and that is to value what we already have. There’s a reason this wisdom endures—it works.

There’s a classic Yiddish folktale about a poor man in a shtetl who lived in a cramped house with his wife and seven children. They were all constantly on top of each other. The kids would bicker all day, his wife would nag and shout, and the man felt like the walls were falling in on him. Desperate and miserable, he goes to his rabbi for advice.

“Do you have a goat?” the rabbi asks. “Yes…” the man replies.

“So, go home and bring that goat into the house,” the rabbi says. “Come back in a week and tell me how you’re doing.”

The man is perplexed but he trusts his rabbi so he does it.

It was the worst week of his family’s life. The goat wreaked havoc — chewed and soiled everything. The kids were hysterical and his wife was screaming even more. He returns to the rabbi: “The situation is dismal,” he reports.

“Alright,” the rabbi says, “Now go home, take the goat out of the house and come back in another week.”

When the man returns, he is practically dancing into the rabbi’s study.

“Rabbi!” the man says, “It’s a miracle! Now that the goat is gone, the house is clean and spacious and quiet and calm!”^v

Isn’t that true of life? Sometimes things need to get worse before we realize how good we already have it. Woven into thousands of years of Jewish thought is the overriding idea that taking time to recognize what you have in life is one of the uniquely beneficial rituals we can undertake — when we’re stressed or when we’re thriving.

The Hebrew phrase Gam ze ya’avor—“This too shall pass”—is usually applied to suffering. But it also applies to blessing. Hakarat HaTov means recognizing the good before it, too, passes.

Even in small ways, we can do this. In our Center for Exploring Judaism, we begin each class with simcha sharing. Every student names something joyful from the week. Sometimes the joys are small: a good meal, reconnecting with a friend, an easy commute. But the discipline of finding one good thing changes how the whole class unfolds.

Or think of Lou Gehrig, the Yankees first baseman. In 1939, facing a fatal illness, he stood before the crowd at Yankee Stadium and said: “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”^vi Gehrig was not lucky. At age 37, he was stricken with a fatal disease in the prime of his career. But he chose gratitude over pity, blessing over bitterness. And in that choice, he left the world not just a legacy of athletic greatness, but a legacy of spirit.

If we change the way we think, we change the way we feel. And if we change the way we feel, we change the way we live—and how we will be remembered.

3. Accept that we are part of something larger than ourselves.

Gratitude reminds us that we are not the sole authors of our blessings. Nothing in life is owed to us; everything good, in some way, is gift.

Moses warned the Israelites of the spiritual danger in forgetting this truth—not in Egypt, not in the wilderness, but in the Promised Land. When they had eaten and been satisfied, when their houses were strong and their herds were many, he warned: “Beware lest your heart grow proud and you forget the Lord your God.”^vii The real danger was not suffering, but abundance—the arrogance of thinking, My own power did this!

Success is real, but it is never ours alone.

We see this in small ways every day: when a child thanks a parent, when we acknowledge the worker who serves our food, when an athlete or an award-winner first names God or their mentors before speaking of themselves. Gratitude is how we resist the myth of self-sufficiency. It is how we remain grounded in humility and history.

These three practices are not abstractions. In the last year, I have needed them more than ever. Gratitude has not erased the chaos of this world, but it has kept despair at bay. It has given me perspective. To begin the day with thanks. To realize how much I still have. To remember that I am part of a larger story. These are not small things. They are lifelines.

And so I return to where I began: the essence of Hakarat HaTov, and to me, the essence of Judaism is to recognize the good, even when it would be easier not to. Gratitude anchors us in the conviction that alongside the grief, there is still blessing. Alongside what has been taken, there is still what has been given.

And so my prayer for us, as we enter this new year, is that gratitude becomes our compass. That we remind one another, again and again, that Jewish life itself is built on thankfulness. If we can do that, we will not only honor our tradition — we will also find the strength to face whatever comes. For generations before us, gratitude was the thread that held them fast. May it hold us, too.

Shana Tova.