Saying “thank you” to people to whom we are indebted is humbling – especially if we’ve been raised in a culture of entitlement.
To this very day, though it happened thousands of years ago, we Jews still confess to G-d that we are forever indebted to Him for having redeemed us from Egypt. We praise His name and with joyous hearts sing “Dayeinu” – proclaiming that even if G-d had just given us one gift, we would be forever indebted.
Ten days before his demise, My Rabbi, HaRav Meshulem HaLevi Jungreis, zt”l, asked to be taken outside. It was a cold, snowy January day. We tried to discourage him but he was adamant. We asked the doctors and they gave their consent – but only for three minutes.
I brought him his winter coat, hat, scarf and gloves. It was a painful sight. His coat just hung on him – this powerful man whom everyone knew as the “gentle giant” looked skeletal. At one point the coat fell to the ground. It was an agonizing sight. I tried to hold back my tears. My children wheeled him outside.
I was standing right next to him holding his hand when he began speaking. With tears rolling down his cheeks he whispered, “Master of the Universe, I thank You for the spectacular world You created and for the beautiful family with which You blessed me.” At that point he named every family member.
He continued: “I thank You for Your every kindness, Your mercy and compassion. I thank You for guiding me through the many turbulences of life. I thank You, I thank You…”
Bear in mind that this was a man who experienced firsthand the horrors of the Holocaust, who saw his entire family slaughtered. And yet this was a man who could, with all his remaining strength, thank G-d for all His blessings. A man who knew all about true gratitude.
That was My Rabbi, the man for whom those little ducks lined up in honor-guard formation as his body embarked on its last earthly journey and his soul ascended to Heaven.