Leah’s Thanksgiving That Forged a Nation

Dedication:

I would like to dedicate this shiur to the memory of our holy soldiers: Ephraim ben Liat v’Shmuel, Yosef Malachi ben Dina v’David, Eliyahu Moshe Shlomo ben Sarah v’Shimon, Yosef Chaim ben Rachel v’Eliyahu, Netanel ben Revital v’Elad, Yakir ben Chaya v’Yehoshua.

Hashem yikom damam, along with all the righteous soldiers who have fallen in this war, protecting Am Yisrael.

May their memory be a blessing, and may our Torah elevate their neshamot and give strength to their families.**

There is something about Leah’s story that lands heavy in the heart.

Every year, Parashat Vayetzeh opens that familiar ache again — the ache of a woman who wants to be loved, who tries again and again to earn closeness, who names her children with a hope that somehow the next birth will draw her husband toward her.

Leah’s story speaks directly to those who have known this specific pain — the pain of not being seen, not being chosen, not receiving the love that should have been natural and safe. The pain that settles in the heart when someone meant to love you — a parent, a spouse, a sibling — simply… cannot.

Leah’s tears, the Midrash tells us, began long before her marriage. Bereishit Rabbah 71:4 paints a picture of a woman whose inner world is tender, open, deeply affected: She is destined for a life she does not want, and she cries until her eyelashes fall out. These are tears of a young soul learning early that reality will not bend for her hopes.

And yet — out of all the people in the Torah — it is Leah who becomes the first human being in history to truly give thanks to God.

“מיום שברא הקדוש ברוך הוא את עולמו — לא היה אדם שהודה לה’ עד שבאת לֵאָה.” “From the day God created the world, no one thanked Hashem until Leah.” — Bereishit Rabbah 71:4

How does a woman who carries so much disappointment become the mother of gratitude?

How does a story built on longing suddenly open into thankfulness?

I know this question from the inside. For years I carried my own ache for love that did not come the way I longed for it — especially from my mother. There was a hollow place in me that kept waiting for a different story, a different version of her, a different ending. Only when I stopped waiting for that love to finally arrive in the form I imagined, and chose instead to live fully with what was actually in my life, did a strange thing happen: clarity came, and with it, real gratitude.

For a long time I did not understand why gratitude had become such a central gift in my life. Only when I took a deeper look at Leah did I realize I was walking, in my own small way, along her path. That is why I am inviting you to look more closely at her with me.

This is the transformation the Torah almost hides — the one we have to listen for between the lines.

Three Births, Three Hopes

Leah’s first three sons are named straight from her longing:

Reuven — “כִּי רָאָה ה׳ בְּעָנְיִי…” “Because Hashem has seen my suffering…”

Shimon — “כִּי שָׁמַע ה׳ כִּי שְׂנוּאָה אָנֹכִי…” “Because Hashem has heard that I am unloved…”

Levi — “עַתָּה הַפַּעַם יִלָּוֶה אִישִׁי אֵלַי…” “Now my husband will join me…”

These names are raw. She is longing to be seen, heard, and embraced by her husband.

And for anyone who knows the pain of rejection, you know how these wounds don’t fade quietly. Even the smallest hurt — an unanswered message, a forgotten invitation, a cold glance — can reopen the oldest ache.

After Levi, Something Shifts

A Turning Point the Torah Whispers, and the Soul Screams

Something becomes clear to Leah — a lightning strike of recognition. A shift erupts in her heart, unrepeatable and internal.

The hopes she has been carrying for years — that each child might finally bring Yaakov close — shatter in a single, searing moment of truth.

This is not a small realization. It is the breaking of an inner world.

She sees her life as it is.

She sees that Yaakov’s love — the love she wants like oxygen — is not coming in the form she hoped for.

She understands, with painful clarity, that another child will not fix this. No gesture, no effort, no act of devotion will draw the love she aches for.

And something extraordinary happens:

She stops living inside the hope that someone else’s choice will define her worth. She takes agency over her inner world.

Leah’s transformation unfolds on two intertwined levels. On the human level, she releases the struggle to win Yaakov’s love and chooses clarity, mission, and an inner life not dependent on his response. On the spiritual level, she steps into the story Hashem is writing through her — a story in which her pain, her tears, and her choices are part of a much larger destiny.

A new heart begins to rise.

We can view this moment through both the psychological breaking-and-rebuilding, and the cosmic, spiritual plan Hashem weaves through her pain.

“HaPa’am Odeh et Hashem”: A New Kind of Heart

(Leah’s personal journey of breaking to rebuilding)

When her fourth son is born, the text shifts tone:

“וַתֹּאמֶר הַפַּעַם אוֹדֶה אֶת ה׳” “This time I will thank Hashem.” — Bereishit 29:35

And the Midrash explains:

“הודתה לה’ על חלקה המיוחד.” “She thanked Hashem for her unique portion.” — Tanchuma Vayetzeh 12

This time, Leah names her child from truth — not longing. From inner strength that becomes certainty. From claiming her soul’s inheritance. From a choice rooted in heaven, not in human reply.

And Yehuda carries that truth inside his very name: הוד / תודה / יה־ — gratitude and God intertwined.

This is gratitude born of clarity — gratitude that emerges from acceptance, courage, and self-definition.

Leah’s Cosmic Role

(Leah tapping into God’s spiritual, cosmic plan)

The Zohar teaches that Rachel and Leah are not only two sisters — they are two cosmic dimensions of the Jewish nation and destiny.

Rachel represents the revealed world — what is seen, loved, obvious, desired, beautiful.

Leah represents the hidden world — the inner work, the tears no one sees, the spiritual depth that comes through struggle.

The Zohar (I:154a–b; I:159a) describes Leah as the Upper World of hiddenness — a soul-root that lives behind the curtain, shaping destiny from within.

For Leah to fulfill her cosmic role, she must inhabit hiddenness. She must live in the place where longing and pain become inner work. Where identity is formed not by the gaze of others but by the voice of God inside her.

After Levi, Leah understands: Rachel is the revealed world. Leah is the inner, unseen world. Both are necessary. Both birth the future of Am Yisrael.

Leah’s gratitude is not for what she received externally, but for the truth of who she is, for the spiritual territory that belongs only to her, and for her “חלק מיוחד”— her unique portion.

From Leah’s Gratitude to Yehuda and Mashiach

Only after this inner transformation does Yehuda enter the world — the child who carries God’s name inside his own.

Clarity births gratitude. Gratitude creates grounding. Grounding becomes courage. Courage becomes leadership.

This is why kingship comes from Leah. Because greatness begins in truth.

David’s songs of thanks. Mashiach’s humility. All are descendants of this moment.

Leah’s Gift to the World

Leah’s legacy is not sadness. It is strength.

She teaches us that even when the love we needed did not arrive in the way we hoped, our story is not over. We can stop waiting for someone else’s choice to prove our worth, and begin to choose ourselves — our truth, our path, our life.

On the outside, nothing may change. Yaakov is still Yaakov. The past is still the past. But inside, a different movement begins: we stand in our lives without illusion, we tell ourselves the truth about what is and what is not, and from that place we choose gratitude — not as denial, but as a clear, courageous response to reality.

At the same time, Leah reminds us that our inner work is never only psychological. Our pain, our healing, and our gratitude are also spiritual acts. They are part of the journey Hashem is asking of us, threads in a story we may not fully see. Like Leah, we can trust that the tears we cry, the truths we choose, and the thanks we give are all shaping a future far beyond what we can imagine.

Even if love did not come as you hoped, you can still choose your own heart. You can choose your own truth. And you can trust that your path — of pain, of healing, of gratitude — has a place in Hashem’s larger plan.

This is Leah’s gift to the world.

Sources

• Bereishit Rabbah 71:4

• Midrash Tanchuma, Vayetzei 12

• Zohar I:154a–b; I:159a

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