Shalom!

Five millennia ago, our people fled the bondage of Egypt and moved toward a land "filled with milk and honey" that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. During our desert wandering, we listened to God's instruction [Leviticus 23:39-43] to build thatch-roofed huts. Decorating our huts with boughs of leafy trees and myrtle and willows of the brook, the people rested and gave thanks to God for their freedom. These former slaves envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of Canaan.

Once they reached the Land, the Israelites enjoyed its abundance and shared it, leaving the gleanings of their crops at the corners of their fields for the poor. Three times a year, they made pilgrimage to Jerusalem and brought thanksgiving offerings to God. And still today, in the Fall as the havest comes in, we Jews sit in thatch-roof huts, eating our meals under the stars, inviting guests into our Sukkah, and thank God for the abundance we enjoy.

Almost 390 years ago, pilgrims from Europe celebrated their first Thanksgiving here on the soil of America. They were expressing their gratitude for the survival of the Plymouth Colony during that first very difficult year. These pilgrims had wandered through their own wilderness. Fleeing from the bondage of religious oppression in Europe, they traveled towards a land that would offer them freedom and the opportunity to grow into a great nation. They too, envisioned a New World that they themselves would help to create on the soil of America.

Once the pilgrims had reached these shores, they too thanked God for the land's abundance and for the freedom to serve God as their hearts guided them. And each Fall, before the deep frost of winter descends upm us, the American people, some descendants of those first settlers, many others immigrants to our shores, give thanks for the continuing abundance and opportunities of this land.

As a Jew, I feel a profound connection between our Exodus from Egypt, Sukkot and Thanksgiving. Each emerges from a people's escape from oppression and journey toward freedom. Each is a people's way of thanking God for having given us life, sustained us and for having led us to a festive season of celebration.

I am painfully aware of the tragic and cruel irony that both the Israelite and European pilgrims entered their new lands by exploiting the indigenous inhabitants. The Israelites razed the homes of Canaanites, Jebusites and other peoples of the Land, took bounty and killed many (read the biblical Book of Joshua), and the European pilgrims seized the lands of Native Americans, displacing many, killing thousands and almost destroying entire cultures. In the midst of celebration, I mourn too and I must reflect on issues of justice, responsibility and even now, centuries later, possibilities of tikkun (repair and healing). The Thanksgiving holiday offers us time for reflection. And in some ways, words of Torah can guide us:

In Torah [Deuteronomy 11:13-21], we read that the quality of our relationship with God is directly linked to the quality of our connection to Nature. If we follow God's "commandments" (mitzvot), we are told, the rain will fall upon the Landf in its appointed time, enabling us to gather our corn, grapes and oil, and that if we heed the mitzvot, we will have feed for our cattle and ample food for ourselves. Life will be good.

These wordsw offer us two important lessons as we approach Thanksgiving:

First, we are reminded of our connection to an intricate and magnificent ecological system that depends equally on God's grace and on humans' respponsibility to care for the earth, keep it clean and help it replenish itself. We are taught that we are God's partners in the ongoing work of creation. If we follow God's mitzvot, those signposts for a good and godly life, that instruct us how to act towards God, our fellow humans and Nature, we will reap the benefits — rain in its time, food, shelter, love, abundance.

Like Sukkot, Thanksgiving is linked to an agricultural cycle, a time of harvesting and reaping the fruits of our labors. Even in the midst of the urban din in which most of us live, we pause on Thanksgiving and are a bit more conscious of the land from which our food comes. We remember that we are part of the land and that farms, farmers and fields are not so far away from us. We experience on Thanskgiving a renewal of our bond with Nature.

Second, we learn a lesson rooted in the soil of our spirits from these biblical verses. We are told that if our hearts are led astray and we do not heed God's commandments, "the heavens will close up, the rains will not fall and there will be drought and famine in our land," [Deuteronomy 11:16-17]. At first glance, we encounter here a stern and demanding God, a God of reward and punishment, demanding strict obedience. But if we look deeper, we discover a deeper aspect to the Holy One.

Consider the word mitzvah - usually translated as "commandment." Earlier, I defined mitzvot as "those signposts for a good and godly life, that instruct us how to act towards God, our fellow humans and Nature." I don't think of "commandments" as coming from a God who will punish me when I disobey and pat me on the head when I "obey." This may be Torah's language, but I am not certain that this was it's literal intent. I believe that with the mitzvot, we are offered guidance on how to act in ways that will enrich and enhance our relationship with God and other human beings. When we follow this guidance (the mitzvot), "the rain will come in its proper season" and we will be content.

One way to accept a mitzvah is to understand that we are not only God's partners in caring for our physical home, the Earth; we are also God's partners in nuring and caring for our spiritual homes, the "Land" of our own souls. When I am told that if my heart shall be led astray and I do not follow God's mitzvot, my "Land" will dry up and there will be drought and famine, I can also understand this as a metaphor for my own inner "Land," my soul, my heart drying up — I can experience an emotional and spiritual shut down. If I lose my way, if my soul does not remain in deep relationship with God, with other human beings, if my idealism gives way to cynicism, if my hope and optimism are overwhelmed by despair, then the "Land" that is my soul will indeed dry up - I will suffer a spiritual famine; my soul will hunger for the sustenance of a meaningful life and my heart will thirst for the refreshing waters of deep connections.

My thoughts return to Thanksgiving. On this day, I thank God for abundance, and connection. I rejoice in my connection to the Earth and the bounty of food I will enjoy on this day. . I rejoice in my bonds  of love and friendship with family and friends, I understand my interconnectedness with all beings — and I am resolved to find a way to help others, so that they, too, can feel these connections and have chances to give thanks. I feel deep gratitude — and I say "thank you" to God and to my fellow human beings. Life is indeed good.

Franna, Kayla and I send many blessings to each and every person in our community for a joyous Thanksgiving,

Rabbi Leila