Opening Teaching: Learning to See What is Already There
Over the past six weeks of this journey, we have been slowly building a foundation — learning to notice what is present, to stay with our experience rather than turning away, to come into right relationship with what is, to build supportive structures that can hold us, to clarify our intentions, and to reflect more deeply on how we are living. Each week has offered a different lens, a different middah, and a different set of practices — not as isolated exercises, but as interconnected steps in a larger process of awareness and growth.
Through this work, a quiet shift begins to take place. Not everything changes. But in this week, what we notice begins to intentionally change. The middah of Hakarat HaTov — recognizing the good — emerges from this shift in perception.
Gratitude, in this context, is not something we force. It is not something we perform. It is not something we use to deny the complexity or difficulty of our lives. It is something we begin to purposefully notice. It is something that we practice seeing. Hakarat HaTov literally means “recognizing the good.” Not creating it. Not inventing it. Not pretending it is everywhere. But learning to notice and highlight for ourselves what is already present — even when it exists alongside struggle, uncertainty, or pain.
This is not always easy. In fact, it can feel nearly impossible at first. The human mind is naturally drawn toward what is difficult, what is unresolved, what feels uncertain. After all, it is how generations have survived. We are wired to scan for what is wrong, what could hurt us, what needs fixing. And so, without intention, we can move through our days without noticing what is steady, what is supportive, what is quietly good.
Hakarat HaTov invites us to gently retrain our attention.
We see one expression of this in the story of Leah. Leah’s life is not simple. She longs to be seen and loved, and again and again, she experiences the pain of not being chosen in the way she hopes. Her early words reflect this longing — naming her children in ways that express her desire for connection and recognition.¹ And yet, over time, something shifts. When her fourth son is born, she says: “This time, I will give thanks.”² This moment is striking, not because her circumstances have fully changed, but because her orientation has. Leah does not deny her pain. She does not pretend that everything is as she wishes it to be. But in this moment, she begins to recognize something beyond what is missing, what is painful. She begins to turn her attention towards her blessings.
Leah’s gratitude is not immediate. It is not automatic. However, it is something that emerges over time. Leah teaches us that Hakarat HaTov can grow slowly; she shows us that even within lives that feel incomplete or imperfect, there can be a gradual widening of our vision. She shows us that even when experience pain, we can still embrace and be grateful for the good that comes into our lives.
We see a different expression of this middah in Miriam. Standing at the edge of the sea, after the Israelites have crossed to safety, Miriam takes up a timbrel and leads the people in song.³ Her gratitude is not quiet or gradual. It is expansive. It is embodied. It is shared. And yet, Miriam’s song emerges from a swirl of trauma and transformation, an intermixing of fear and enslavement with freedom and empowerment. Even in light of this challenging complexity, her gratitude is not naïve about what the future holds, either. The wilderness still lies ahead. The future is not yet secure. Despite the experiences of her past and the dangerous unknowns in her future, Miriam recognizes what has been given — and she gives its goodness and her gratitude for it, a voice.
As matriarchs within our Torah, Leah and Miriam offer us two pathways into Hakarat HaTov:
- Gratitude that grows slowly, within the complexity of everyday life
- Gratitude that rises up, in moments of clarity and transformation
Both are real. Both are meaningful. Both are a part of this practice for each of us.
Our minds are naturally attuned to what is threatening or unresolved — a pattern often referred to as the brain’s “negativity bias.” Without conscious attention, we are more likely to remember what went wrong than what went well. But research also suggests that when we intentionally notice and take in positive experiences — even small ones — we begin to shift our internal landscape. Over time, this practice can support greater resilience, connection, and emotional balance.
Hakarat HaTov, then, is not about ignoring what is difficult. It is about expanding our awareness to include what sustains us.
And yet, like all middot, Hakarat HaTov lives in a balance, on a spectrum of possibility. Too little attention to the good, and we may find ourselves feeling depleted, disconnected, or closed off from moments of meaning. We might find ourselves wallowing in pain or denying the wild or cultivated joy that it is possible to plant or encounter. On the other hand, too much insistence on the good, and we risk minimizing real pain, or pressuring ourselves into a version of gratitude that does not feel authentic.
The practice is to live in the space between. Hakarat HaTov lives between noticing what is good and honoring what is hard. As a result, at its core, Hakarat HaTov is an act of awareness. It asks us to pause, even briefly, and to ask: What is here, in this moment, that is sustaining me? And then to “scan for the good”, to notice what is good in our lives, without forcing, without exaggerating, without comparison.
Then over time, something within us begins to shift. We begin to see more. We open our hearts to noticing the good in our lives more and more. And we begin to recognize that even within lives that are complex, unfinished, and difficult — there is still goodness, quietly present, waiting to be seen.
Footnotes
- Genesis 29:31–34.
- Genesis 29:35.
- Exodus 15:20–21.
Week 7: Hakarat HaTov — Daily Journal Practice (Recognizing the Good)
Day 1 — Learning the First Side: Noticing the Good
Hakarat HaTov begins simply: by noticing.
Noticing not everything.
Noticing not only the big moments.
But noticing something.
Like Leah, this practice does not begin with perfection. It begins with a shift in attention.
Journal Prompts:
- What is one small thing from today that felt supportive, steady, or good?
- Where did I experience even a moment of ease, connection, or beauty?
- What did I notice today that I might usually overlook?
- How did it feel to pause and recognize this?
Day 2 — Learning the Balancing Side: Gratitude and Honesty
Hakarat HaTov is not about denying what is difficult.
We can hold both:
- what is hard
- and what is joy-filled
This balance is essential.
Journal Prompts:
- What felt difficult or heavy for me today?
- What, alongside that difficulty, still supported me?
- How can I acknowledge both truths without minimizing either?
- What does it feel like to hold complexity instead of choosing one side?
Day 3 — Experimenting with Practice: Taking in the Good
Today, try to pause when something good happens—even something small.
Stay with it for a few extra seconds.
Let yourself actually feel it.
This is the practice of taking in the good.
Journal Prompts:
- What moment did I pause with today?
- What did I notice when I stayed with it a little longer?
- Did this feel natural or unfamiliar?
- What helped me receive the moment more fully?
Day 4 — Trying a Different Angle: Relational Gratitude
Miriam’s song reminds us that gratitude can be shared.
Today, experiment with expressing appreciation outward:
- a kind word
- a message
- a moment of acknowledgment
Journal Prompts:
- Who or what am I grateful for today?
- Did I express that gratitude? What happened when I did?
- How did it feel to offer appreciation outward?
- What makes it easy or difficult for me to express gratitude to others?
Day 5 — Designing a Personal Practice: Building a Rhythm of Noticing
Hakarat HaTov grows through repetition—not force.
Choose a small, sustainable way to practice noticing:
- naming one good thing at the end of the day
- a moment of gratitude before sleep
- a quiet pause during a daily routine
Journal Prompts:
- What simple gratitude practice feels realistic for me?
- When will I engage in it?
- What might get in the way?
- How can I keep this practice gentle and sustainable?
Day 6 — Taking the First Step: Practicing Without Pressure
Today, try your practice.
Not perfectly.
Not forcefully.
Just with openness.
Hakarat HaTov is not about making yourself feel grateful.
It is about noticing what is already present.
Journal Prompts:
- What did I notice today when I practiced?
- Did anything feel different?
- Where did I resist this practice? Why?
- What did I learn about my relationship to gratitude?
Day 7 — Shabbat Meditation: Noticing the Good
Shabbat invites us to notice the goodness of existence.
In our sacred story,
In Book of Genesis,
Creation does not rush forward without noticing.
This is good.
Light and darkness —
This is good.
Sky and earth —
This is good.
The waters gathered, the dry land revealed —
This is good.
Plants reaching upward,
trees bearing fruit —
This is good.
Sun, moon, and stars set in their courses —
This is good.
Creatures of sea and sky,
beings that swim and soar —
This is good.
Animals of the earth,
and finally, humanity —
Very good.
Each stage is witnessed.
Each piece is blessed with attention.
This is good.
Now, gently turn that same gaze toward yourself.
Not as a project,
but as a creation.
Still unfolding.
Still becoming.
Can you allow yourself to hear it — Not as obligation, but as truth:
You are good.
Not perfect. Not finished. But good.
Let that settle.
Like the quiet of evening on Shabbat.
Like the world exhaling.
Reflection Prompts:
- How do feelings of “goodness” settle in me? Are they welcomed like Shabbat or do I feel resistance, like Garfield on a Monday?
- Where in my life might I practice saying “this is good” before I rush to improve or change it?
- What am I beginning to recognize as “good” in my life?
Write a few sentences beginning with:
“Something that is sustaining me right now is…”
Footnotes
- Dan P. McAdams, The Stories We Live By (New York: Guilford Press, 1993).
