A most spiritual cleanse

As I write this, my living room is still cluttered with Purim masks, clown wigs, baskets of candy, and baked treats. There’s no sign that the holiday of our emancipation, zman chiruteinu, is fast approaching. Am I feeling the freedom? Not so much. My work schedule is packed solid until the day before Passover. I haven’t cleared away the Purim mess, nor started the task of ridding my home of chametz (leavened bread). To be brutally honest, I’m already exhausted. An attitude shift is certainly in order.

And then I remember.

I remember that I am part of a cherished, 5,785-year-old chain that merited liberation from the iron-clad borders of Egypt. The words ‘narrow,’ ‘constricted,’ ‘impassable’ are embedded in the Hebrew name for Egypt. We could not escape except for Divine intervention. How special are we, mere remnants of liberated Hebrew slaves? Only 20% of the imprisoned nation made it through that terrible night, beginning a 40-year trek toward the Promised Land. 80% of the Hebrew slaves remained, dissolving into a maelstrom of humanity that lost all connection to those chosen (or who chose) to leave. Gone. Extinguished.

We are a nation that remembers. We parse, question, study, argue and, in the end, accept that our fragile existence makes no sense, except for the grace of God. Nebuchadnezzar exiled us. Hellenization was imposed upon us.  The Romans outlawed Shabbat, circumcision, and Torah study. Add crushing taxation to the mix, along with inquisitions, forced conversions, pogroms, massacres, and the Crusades. Moving swiftly through history, we buckled under Islamic laws of dhimmi, the Ottoman conquest, and another period of slavery in Constantinople in the mid-to-late 1400s. Blood libels and expulsions followed.

Until the Hamas-driven massacre of October 7, 2023, the most recent and relatable example of Jew-loathing was the Nazi Holocaust. Such a ferocious expression of racism stood alone as a paradigm of man’s potential cruelty. Surely, the gentile world would revisit this chapter with humility, shame, and a renewed commitment to live in peace under their respective vines and fig trees with the world’s battered and maligned Jews. Right? Okay.  You can stop laughing now.

Come to think of it, I’m starting to feel psyched about the Passover preparations. Chametz is so much more than merely leavened bread. It represents our inflated egos, the arrogance that cripples and distances us from the purpose of our existence. There is no food less pretentious than matzah. In fact, it’s so unassuming that it allows us to connect with God without our egos taking center stage. Eating matzah on Pesach is fundamental. Figuratively, it humbles us.

Any Jew alive today is not here by accident. Whether born to a Jewish mother or opting into the tribe according to Jewish law, it is our responsibility to recognize that the word ‘chosen’ is not a term of chutzpah but one of recognition and humility. As we gather around the seder table, we have an opportunity to acknowledge that we are merely fragile shards of a holy, mysteriously selected 20% of a beleaguered nation. We can remain aghast about the improbability of our existence while, at the same time, ask God, “What is expected of me?”

Which is why I won’t complain, won’t bemoan, and won’t dread the preparations typically associated with Pesach. Instead, I will drape myself in gratitude, servitude, and loving curiosity as, again this year, I will do what Jews do best. 

I’ll remember.

Chag kasher v’sameach from Jerusalem!

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Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, April, 2025