24 Mar PARSHA IN PRACTICE: SKILLS FOR BETTER LIVING TZAV – TODAH LECHA, HASHEM

What can we possibly
be thankful for at a
time like this?
Parshas Tzav continues
the discussion of
korbanos that we began last week, and
it’s always nice to see a sequel that doesn’t
disappoint. One of the korbanos highlighted
in this week’s parsha is the korban todah – the
(non-turkey) thanksgiving offering.
The Gemara (Berachos 54b) identifies four
people who have a special obligation to thank
Hashem: someone who safely crossed the sea,
someone who survived a journey through the
desert, someone who recovered from serious
illness, and someone who was released from
prison.
Notice the common denominator. Each of
these individuals passed through a dangerous
and frightening experience and emerged
safely on the other side.
Of course, anyone could voluntarily bring a
korban todah to celebrate a joyous occasion
such as a wedding (Rabbeinu Bechaye,
Vayikra 6:2). But Chazal emphasize that
those who most urgently need to give thanks
are precisely those who endured danger and
survived.
Which raises a difficult question: What exactly
are they thanking Hashem for?

If someone was close to death in the desert,
or gravely ill, or imprisoned – why should the
appropriate response be gratitude? After all, it
was Hashem who allowed them to be placed
in that dangerous situation in the first place!
And the same question appears on a national
level. Every year at the Pesach Seder we raise
four cups of wine and thank Hashem for taking
us out of Egypt. But why are we thanking Him
for the redemption if He was the One who
placed us into slavery to begin with?
While we cannot fully understand the ways
of Hashem, we can recognize something
very true about human nature. When life
is comfortable and everything is running
smoothly, it is surprisingly easy to forget about
Hashem. We may say the right words in our
tefillos and express gratitude when things go
well, but when life feels stable and predictable,
our relationship with Hashem can easily fade
into the background.
But when we feel vulnerable – when we are
scared, trapped, or unsure how things will
end – something changes. In those moments
we instinctively turn toward Hashem with
a sincerity that is hard to replicate when
everything is calm.
Suddenly we remember how dependent we
really are.
Rabbeinu Bechaye (Shemos 14:10) writes

that when Hashem allows existential threats
to arise – whether in the form of a Pharaoh,
a Haman, or other crises throughout Jewish
history – it is often to awaken that dormant
relationship. Moments of danger force us to
confront the reality that we cannot navigate
life on our own.
Seen in that light, the korban todah begins to
make more sense.
When someone brings this offering after
surviving a dangerous ordeal, they are not
only thanking Hashem for the rescue at the
end of the story. They are also recognizing
something deeper: that the entire experience
– frightening as it was – brought them closer to
Hashem. The crisis itself awakened something
within them. In that sense, the gratitude is
directed at both parts of the story: the danger
that forced the person to reach out to Hashem,
and the salvation that followed.
This also explains the structure of the Seder.
The Mishnah (Pesachim 116a) teaches
that the story must begin with the negative
and conclude with praise (maschil b’gnus
u’mesayem b’shevach). We do not skip directly
to the miracles of redemption; we begin with
the bitterness of slavery.
The suffering of Egypt was not merely the
prelude to our relationship with Hashem –
in many ways it was the catalyst that created

it. Sometimes distance is what awakens
closeness.
And this idea carries an important message for
our own lives. When we experience difficult
moments – moments of fear, uncertainty, or
vulnerability – our instinct is often to ask,
“Why is this happening to me?”
The korban todah suggests that there may be
another question worth asking as well: What
is this moment drawing out of me?Is it causing
me to daven more honestly? To rely less on my
own sense of control? To remember that I am
not navigating life alone?
If those moments bring us closer to Hashem,
then even the frightening chapters of life are
not meaningless interruptions. They become
part of the story of a relationship that is
growing deeper.
And perhaps that is the deeper meaning of
gratitude.
The person who brings a korban todah is not
celebrating the danger itself. No one wishes
for illness, imprisonment, or peril. But looking
back, they recognize that those moments
forced them to rediscover something essential:
their dependence on Hashem and their
connection to Him.
For that renewed closeness, we all say todah
rabbah!