30 - A Hymn of Praise

Thanksgiving has always been my holiday. Since the time I married, 26 years ago, it was the holiday spent with my family. When my husband, Reid, began his medical residency and seemed always to be on call on Thanksgiving, the celebration moved to our house. My brother and his family come in from Buffalo, my sister and her husband come in from Boulder, and they bring Mom with them and converge on us, ready or not.

We share the day with special friends as well. Over the years, my responsibilities have waned, as my strength has diminished. Always a cooperative meal, now I am mostly in charge of two lemon meringue pies and general supervision. My mother is the stuffing maven. But I have forbidden her to change the recipe (though she complains I am boring, and some years sneaks in another variety as well.) Reid cooks the turkey, lately outdoors, and prepares the turkey stock. Our daughter fills out the pie rations, niece Emily arranges the relish dishes, and my sister and brother and sister-in-law and friends prepare the remainder of the meal.

I have an old photograph of my father, apron-wrapped, carving a Thanksgiving turkey. He has been gone 22 years, but he is always somehow seated at our table. I have memories of the year I was finishing chemotherapy, the year I was finishing radiation therapy, the year I was just home from the hospital, Thanksgivings filled with sharp reminders of what I was thankful for.

Asking friends, I wondered if they had Thanksgiving rituals. I found one family that does ask around the table what everyone is thankful for. Grandma Lori then tries to sing "We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing," but confesses that her grandchildren are more likely to sing Debbie Friedman’s song about being glad they aren’t turkeys on Thanksgiving Day.

Ellen hopes this year to "pray with her feet," and work at a shelter on Thanksgiving, but doesn’t know if her teenage kids will share her enthusiasm. And worries that if she goes the "same old, same old" route of turkey and cranberries at home that people will think less of her.

Bonnie’s mom died on Thanksgiving, so it is weird holiday for her, with a constantly changing cast at her table. As she puts it, "pie get us through." Nancy has moved away from extended family and has made a new family of friends. Her teenagers laugh at her attempts at to infuse the holiday with spirituality, but she tries anyway.

I am in charge of the "spiritual" part of Thanksgiving, psalmist-in-residence at home as well as at my shul.

We always say the traditional blessings over wine and over bread, kiddush and motzi. Here is something else we have read together. One year, I separated the parts (there were twelve at the table) so that each person read alone two lines, and we all read the italicized parts together. It was a musical beginning to the big meal, and a reminder of all our blessings.

Thirty

A Hymn of Praise

Give thanks to the Eternal!

Give thanks for the journey,
And for the destination;

Give thanks for the testing,
And for the completion.

Give thanks to the Eternal!

Give thanks for the rehearsal,
And for the performance;

Give thanks for the kneading,
And for the good sweet bread.

Set the path before us
As an adventure;

Make our steps sure
With Your kindness.

Give thanks to the Eternal!

Give thanks for the washing,
And for the folded clothes;

Give thanks for the sweeping,
And for the cleared stoop.

Give thanks to the Eternal!

Give thanks for the research,
And for the publication;

Give thanks for the scales,
And for the sonata.

Set the going as an ending
That we delight in our days;

Set the ending as a goal
That our lives reflect Your glory.