Gratitude and the Practice of Kvetching

With Thanksgiving approaching, I’m reminded of a venerable Jewish joke about gratitude – sort of.  It goes like this:

One summer day, in the old country, there was a decrepit old train slowly making its way across the Pale of Settlement. It was hot, dusty, and miserable.  But what made things even worse was an old man in the back of the train moaning “Oy, I’m so thirsty… I’m so thirsty!”  He repeated this over and over again, until finally, another passenger, said “Here, have some of my water – only, please stop moaning!” 

The old man took a drink, and sure enough, for a few minutes, he was quiet.  But then he moaned again, “Oy, I was so thirsty!”

I’ve told this joke in sermons, on meditation retreats, even at a bar mitzvah, and it always gets a laugh.  Speaking as a rabbi here, we Jews love to complain – to kvetch, in the perfect-sounding Yiddish – and if we can’t kvetch about something present, we can at least remember when we were kvetching in the past.

Perhaps surprisingly, I think the remembrance of kvetches past is an important part of cultivating gratitude generally, and Thanksgiving specifically.  Here are three examples.

1. Overcoming Negativity Bias

First, on the most straightforward level, remembering how we’ve suffered in the past helps us cultivate gratitude for the blessings we have right now.  Normally, most of us take for granted the blessings we enjoy every day – I certainly do.  In fact, we’re evolutionarily wired to do this: to notice that which is wrong more than that which is right.  

This propensity – what psychologists call negativity bias – served us well in primeval times. The homo sapiens who didn’t notice that wolf hiding in the woods… probably got eaten.  But nowadays, it often makes us miserable.  The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh once said that when you get over a toothache, you might experience relief for a day or two.  But how many of us woke up today grateful for not having a toothache? 

So, on Thanksgiving and throughout the year, it might be worth reflecting on the blessings that are present everyday, meditating on your non-toothache; counterbalancing negativity bias with mindfulness.

2. Solidarity

Second, cultivating gratitude should also lead to empathy and solidarity.  By remembering what it is like to suffer, either in my own life or in myths I share with my community, I recommit myself to ending oppression everywhere.  By recognizing the privilege and good fortune that I enjoy, I commit myself to lessening the suffering of others. 

In this way, cultivating gratitude expands beyond selfish appreciation and toward ethical responsibility.  The remembrance of kvetching is the beginning of morality.

That’s even true when our remembrance rituals are, themselves, deeply flawed – like Thanksgiving.  It’s a bitter irony, really, that a holiday about gratitude is also rooted in European colonialism and the genocide of Native Americans – even if the traditional Thanksgiving story is fictional, which it is.

So, if you choose to celebrate Thanksgiving (as I do), it offers an invitation to cultivate a more mature, ethical gratitude than just I’m #blessed, so everything is fine!  My good fortune is, in part, rooted in the founding injustices of the American experience.  What can I do to (slightly, partially, incrementally) remedy that? Ethical gratitude doesn’t end in narcissism; it inspires ethical action.

3. Especially This Year

All of this is especially true this year, when many of us are gathering with family and friends in ways we didn’t last Thanksgiving.  There is so much to be thankful for, as we (maybe) emerge from the worst of the pandemic: the astonishing advances of science, the shared sacrifices we made, the heroism of healthcare and other essential workers, and so much more.  

The fact is, we are all walking around traumatized by the pandemic.  We haven’t processed what we’ve been through, or the fact that, just as we thought we were done with it, we found out that we weren’t.  You may find it feels scary to reflect on the past and feel grateful for having survived it.  That is understandable.  Try it slowly, safely, perhaps in the company of friends.

This is especially important because the very things we have to be grateful for – science, communal responsibility, critical thinking – are also being attacked. Even at your own Thanksgiving gatherings, you may have to practice wise communication, careful speech, and attentive listening.  You may just need to take some deep breaths to stay calm.  Fortunately, mindfulness is right at the dinner table with you.

And there is still the possibility of connection.  All of us, regardless of our religious or political affiliations, are walking around traumatized by the past eighteen months.  Whatever our beliefs, we all have unprocessed grief, rage, and fear that is often too painful to touch.  Perhaps our vulnerability can bring us together.

This Thanksgiving can be a time for that shared reflection. Most of us made it, though many of us did not.  We were so thirsty, and now can take a drink.   Now is a time to give thanks, to grieve, and to recommit to the truths that sustain us.