My first American Thanksgiving felt like stepping into someone else’s family reunion, sweet smells in the air, a television parade marching noisily in the background, and every person in the room insisting I take “just a little more.” Coming from a Jewish immigrant household, I wasn’t sure how to fit this new holiday alongside the ones I already knew. But the more years I’ve lived here, the more familiar it has begun to feel, not because of the menu, but because the values at the heart of Thanksgiving echo something deeply Jewish. Both America and Judaism ask us to pause and name our blessings. Both ask us to remember where we came from and who helped us get here. And both remind us that gratitude is not a luxury, it’s a discipline.

Thanksgiving and Torah Speak the Same Language

The Torah often returns to a simple idea: remember your blessings, and remember the journey that brought you to them.

One of the clearest examples appears in Deuteronomy 26. It asks farmers to bring their very first harvest to the Temple and declare:

“My father was a wandering Aramean…” (Deut. 26:5)

It’s the biblical version of saying, “I come from somewhere else.” The ritual tells a migration story before giving thanks. You acknowledge your ancestors were strangers, wanderers, people who struggled and you place your own arrival in that line of wanderings.As an immigrant, this feels astonishingly modern. Before you say thank you, you tell your truth about your path.

Later in the same ceremony, the Torah instructs:

“Then you shall rejoice in all the good that the LORD your G?D has given you.” (Deut. 26:11)

Rejoice not because everything is easy, but because you recognize what it took to arrive here.

Daily Gratitude: A Jewish Habit Long Before Turkey

My American friends grew up with one giant day of thanks each year. I grew up with a tradition that begins each morning with a whisper:

“Modah ani lefanecha…”
“I give thanks before You…”

The blessing is said before getting out of bed, before checking a phone, before facing the news. When I first moved to the U.S., that simple habit kept me anchored. No matter how unfamiliar my surroundings felt, I had a ritual that reminded me I belonged somewhere, even if I was still finding my way.

Giving Thanks Means Giving Back

The longer I’ve lived here, the more I’ve recognized that Thanksgiving is not just about gratitude, it’s about generosity. And that’s where Jewish teaching and American tradition overlap most naturally.

In the Torah, gratitude always spills outward:

Pe’ah , leaving the corners of the field unharvested (Leviticus 19:9–10).
A reminder that abundance is never ours alone.

Ma’aser , setting aside a tenth for those in need (Deut. 14:22–29).
Giving is stitched into the economic fabric of Jewish life.

Abraham’s hospitality (Genesis 18).
Running toward strangers, offering food and shelter before they even ask, is one of the oldest Jewish values.

As an immigrant, these teachings resonate powerfully. Gratitude for a new home only feels complete when it includes care for others who are still finding theirs.

Finding My Place at the Table

After many years and many Thanksgivings, there is still a moment, just before the meal begins, when the room grows quiet. Someone says a blessing, or simply speaks from the heart. And in that moment, the holiday feels unmistakably Jewish to me.

Thanksgiving invites us to do exactly what our tradition has taught for thousands of years:
remember where we came from, notice what we have, and share our abundance with open hands. This year, as I take my seat at the table, as an immigrant, a Jew, and someone still learning what it means to be both, I carry the Torah’s reminder with me:

You were once a stranger.
Now you give thanks.
Now you give.
That feels like home.