The Thanksgiving Offering
Family Edition

The Summary

This is an abridged version of the essay The Thanksgiving Offering, written by Rabbi Sacks in 2009.

In Tzav we learn of the korban todah, the thanksgiving offering. Though we have been without sacrifices for almost two thousand years, a trace survives to this day, in the form of the blessing known as Hagomel: “Who bestows good things on the unworthy”, said in shul at the time of reading of the Torah, by one who has survived a hazardous situation.

What counts as a hazardous situation? Crossing the sea or desert, recovery from a serious illness, release from captivity, and some people nowadays include air travel as well. When we come through these things safely, we say Hagomel in gratitude.

There is nothing in nature that explains our ability to reframe painful situations in such a way that we can laugh at them; nor is there anything that can explain the human capacity to find meaning in the depths of suffering. These are not, in the classic sense, proofs of the existence of God, but they are experiential evidence. They tell us that our bodies may be products of nature, but our minds, our thoughts, our emotions - all that is meant by the word “soul” - are not. There is something within us that reaches out to something beyond us: the soul of the universe, the Divine “You” to which we speak in prayer, and to which our ancestors, when the Temple stood, made their offerings.

The desire to give thanks is a human instinct. When someone has done us a favour, given us a gift, comforted us, or rescued us from danger, we feel we owe them something. That “something” is todah, the Hebrew word that means both “acknowledgement” and “thanks”. But often we sense something more. It is not 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 are released from prison or captivity. It is 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.

Insurance companies tend to describe natural catastrophes as “acts of God”. Human emotion does the opposite. God is in the good news, the miraculous survival, the escape from catastrophe. That instinct - to offer thanks to a force, a presence, over and above natural circumstances and human intervention - is itself a signal of transcendence. That is what was once expressed in the thanksgiving offering, and still is, in the Hagomel prayer. But it is not just by saying Hagomel that we express our thanks.

On honeymoon with my wife, Elaine, I went swimming in a shallow patch of the sea but suddenly found myself in dangerous waters. There was no one nearby. After some time struggling, I feared I was drowning. Thankfully, someone saved me. From that day, I internalised the prayer of Modeh Ani in a new way: “I thank You, living and enduring God, for You have restored my life to me: great is Your faithfulness.” Anyone who has survived great danger knows what it is to feel, not just to be abstractly aware, that life is a gift of God, renewed daily.

The first word of this prayer, Modeh, comes from the same Hebrew root as Todah, “thanksgiving”. So too does the word Yehudi, “Jew” which comes from Leah, who named her fourth son Yehuda, saying, “This time I will thank God”.

To be a Jew is to offer thanks. That is the meaning of our name and the constitutive gesture of our faith. To be a Jew is to feel a sense of gratitude; to see life itself as a gift; to be able to live through suffering without being defined by it; to give hope the victory over fear. To be a Jew is to offer thanks.

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Gratitude is the fundamental essence of Jewish identity. In fact, the korban todah, (referenced in Tzav this week), has evolved into the modern Hagomel prayer, recited after surviving hazardous situations like sea voyages, desert crossings, serious illness, and captivity. 

In his book A Rumour of Angels, the American sociologist Peter Berger describes what he calls “signals of transcendence” - phenomena within the human situation that point to something beyond. Among them he includes humour and hope. There is nothing in nature that explains our ability to reframe painful situations in such a way that we can laugh at them, or the human capacity to find meaning even in the depths of suffering. The human instinct to give thanks is also a “signal of transcendence” - showing that we are more than biological entities, possessing souls that reach toward something beyond ourselves.

Ultimately, Judaism is fundamentally defined not by suffering but by gratitude. Even word “Yehudi” (Jew) shares linguistic roots with “todah” (thanksgiving). To be Jewish means seeing life as a gift, transcending suffering without being defined by it, and choosing hope over fear by offering thanks.

• What does it mean to “transcend suffering without being defined by it?” 
• How can you practice that concept in your own life?

Keith Segal rediscovered his soul’s anchor during 484 harrowing days of captivity in Gaza. Decades ago, he’d made a home in Israel, and the 65-year-old American-Israeli had gradually drifted from the traditions of his Conservative Jewish upbringing. But amid the terror and uncertainty of confinement, Keith found himself instinctively whispering the Shema, strands of memory threading a direct connection to God when he needed it most.

Despite surviving on little more than mouldy pitas, he stubbornly insisted on reciting the Hamotzei before each meagre meal. When he glimpsed an Israeli cooking show his captors had inadvertently revealed, he eagerly absorbed another blessing to add to his spiritual arsenal. Keith also created a gratitude ritual in those dark hours, asking fellow hostages to share what they were thankful for at the end of each day. 

Back in Israel, Keith’s daughter transformed this practice into a digital lifeline. Upon hearing how her father used gratitude as an element of faith in captivity, she invited supporters worldwide to post daily gratitudes on social media. Many embraced the idea.

When Keith was finally released, his family anticipated that his first request would be for comfort food. Instead, Keith simply asked for a kippah and kiddush cup for Shabbat—sacred vessels for a soul reborn through suffering.

• What are you grateful for?
• Has Keith’s story impacted your response?

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Jeremiah 7:21-8:3 and 9:22-23 (Ashkenazim and Sephardim)
Jeremiah 7:21-28 and 9:22-23 (Yemenites)

Shabbat Hagadol: Malachi 3:4-24

In this week’s passage from Isaiah, God reminds Israel that, despite their sins and neglect of true worship, He alone is their redeemer. He reproaches them for failing to call on Him and instead burdening Him with their iniquities. Yet, in His mercy, He promises to blot out their transgressions and calls them to remember His power.

In chapter 44, God reaffirms His sovereignty, declaring that He formed Israel and will bless them abundantly. He contrasts His eternal nature with the futility of idol worship, describing how people create idols from wood, yet they fail to see their deception. Finally, God calls Israel to rejoice, for He has redeemed them.  

In 7:21-8:3, God rejects the people’s sacrifices, stating that they have missed the point of worship. They continue to offer burnt offerings and incense, but their hearts remain corrupt and full of sin. God commands them to amend their ways, emphasising that He desires obedience over sacrifice. The people’s idolatry and disobedience lead to their downfall.

In 9:22-23, God laments the pride and folly of the people. He condemns those who boast in their wealth, power, or wisdom, as none of these matter. True understanding comes from knowing God, who exercises steadfast love, justice, and righteousness. These qualities should be the focus of the people’s lives, not worldly achievements.

In the Shabbat HaGadol portion, Malachi prophesies that the offerings of Judah and Jerusalem will once again be pleasing to God after He sends a messenger to purify the people. God will act as a refiner and a judge, cleansing the priests and condemning those who engage in sorcery, adultery, dishonesty, and oppression.

God calls the people to return to Him. He assures that the righteous will be rewarded and the wicked punished on the coming Day of the Lord. The faithful will be healed and rejoice, while the arrogant and evildoers will face destruction. The chapter concludes with a promise to send Elijah before this great day, encouraging the people to follow God’s law.

The Shabbat before Pesach is known as Shabbat HaGadol (“the Great Shabbat”). Many explanations have been offered for this designation. 

• The Jewish people left Egypt on 15th Nissan. Preparations for this began on 10th Nissan, which was a Shabbat when the people started to prepare the Pesach offering (Korban Pesach). So every year, on the Shabbat immediately before Pesach, we prepare spiritually, like the people did, and we also remember the great miracle of the Exodus.

• Instead of focusing on the miracles surrounding the Exodus, some rabbis see Shabbat HaGadol as the celebration of the Jewish people keeping their first communal mitzva.

• This Shabbat was seen as special in many communities, as it became traditional for the rabbi of the shul to deliver a special sermon concerning the laws of Pesach.

It should be noted that one of the reasons that we read this Haftara on this Shabbat is that Malachi is heralding the final redemption in a similar way to Moshe’s heralding the redemption from Egypt. 

ou may still be wondering why the name Shabbat HaGadol is used here. No-one is entirely sure, but the name dates back to the Middle Ages.  Here are the most likely reasons why: 

1) The Haftarah speaks of the “great day” of God on which the Messiah will appear. 

2) The extra-long sermon customarily given on this day meant that people usually got home late.

3) The end of the Haftara speaks of a day in the future that will be “gadol” - great or awesome - “Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Eternal.”

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Rabbi Sacks states that one of the hardest things to understand in the Torah is animal sacrifices. In a Covenant & Conversation essay on Tzav (‘Understanding Sacrifice’) he points out that Jeremiah is critical of sacrifices, as we can clearly see in our Haftara. This was not unique to Jeremiah, as you may have noticed from many of the other prophets already discussed in this series. However, as Rabbi Sacks notes, despite their misgivings, none of the prophets sought to abolish the practice of animal sacrifices. Why not? There must be some value in these hard-to-understand rituals, although they were often criticised by prophets and misused by the people. After all, they were commanded - in detail - in the Torah. 

Rabbi Sacks goes on to reframe our understanding of the purpose of sacrifices, in the following section:

“…in the biblical age, sacrifices were so important – not as they were in other faiths but precisely because at the beating heart of Judaism is love: ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.’ In other faiths the driving motive behind sacrifice was fear: fear of the anger and power of the gods. In Judaism it was love.” Once we truly understand that we were asked to give korbanot as a way to serve God with love, our entire perspective shifts.

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