Thanksgiving has a way of opening a brief clearing in the noise of the year. It invites a pause that is neither dramatic nor performative, but simply human. It lets us see our lives with a kind of clarity that usually slips away in the swirl of obligations and pressures.

Yesterday I wrote about gratitude as responsibility.
Today I’m thinking about gratitude as a reset, the kind that quietly shifts how you see your life, your purpose, and the people who populate your world.

Resets matter because they let you step outside the relentless motion of the year. They help you recognize what has strengthened you and what has quietly drained you. They uncover the relationships that have carried you and the ones that have only taken. They allow you to reorder the inner landscape before it becomes too cluttered to navigate.

A real reset doesn’t simplify everything, but it makes everything more intelligible.
And that itself is a form of mercy.

This year, my reset emerged from a single comment.

I am often told that I am supposed to be retired. In many traditional ways, I am. I do not need the money or the stress. I do not need the endless swirl of drama that comes with being a public voice in an industry that reinvents itself every ten minutes. I could choose stillness, family, learning, and a quieter life without hesitation.

But someone said to me, very simply and with real sincerity:
“You need to stay. Your voice still matters here.”

That landed differently than I expected.
Not as flattery.
As responsibility.

Sometimes we remain in a space not because we seek it, but because others need the steadiness we bring. Sometimes we stay because people want honesty, memory, perspective, and a way of speaking that isn’t bent by fear or popularity. That kind of presence has value. And when others tell you so plainly, you listen.

So I stay.
Not for relevance.
Not for applause.
For the people who said the conversations are better, clearer, and more grounded when I am part of them.

And that brings me to something larger.

America is restless right now. Angry voices drown out reasonable ones. People talk past each other with a kind of casual hostility that would have shocked earlier generations. Some days the country feels pulled toward conflict instead of unity.

Yet even with all of this, we are living in a place of astonishing blessing.

As an openly ultra Orthodox Jew, I do not say that lightly. There are few countries, and even fewer centuries in our long history, where a person like me could live visibly, proudly, and fully as myself without compromising identity or safety. Here, even now, that freedom exists. I can participate in public life, raise a family in our ancient tradition, and speak openly without erasing anything sacred to me.

This is rare.
This is precious.
This is not something I take for granted.

In our tradition, gratitude is not a mood. It is a spiritual discipline.

The Gemara in Sotah 14a teaches a profound truth about character:

הַכּוֹפֵר בְּטוֹבָתוֹ שֶׁל חֲבֵרוֹ, סוֹפוֹ לִכְפּוֹר בְּטוֹבָתוֹ שֶׁל מָקוֹם
“One who denies the kindness of another will ultimately deny the kindness of the Holy One.”

Judaism insists that recognizing good is a foundational act of the soul.
Noticing blessings prevents bitterness from shaping your worldview.
Acknowledging gifts prevents cynicism from calcifying your heart.
Gratitude expands the inner world instead of shrinking it.

Thanksgiving, at its best, aligns beautifully with this ancient discipline:
to see what is good,
to honor what is true,
and to let that change how you live.

So on this Thanksgiving, I offer a blessing framed by tradition and shaped by experience:

May you see the good that has been waiting quietly for your attention.

May your heart find steadiness where there has been strain.

May your home be warmed by kindness, softened by understanding, and strengthened by purpose.

May the year ahead bring healing to what hurts and expansion to what has only begun to grow.

And may the discipline of gratitude open gates for you that effort alone could never unlock.

Stay Bold, Stay Curious, and Know More Than You Did Yesterday.

Rabbi Pesach Lattin
Editor, Publisher of ADOTAT