Pesach Prep is Crazy – And That’s the Point
In the mid 1800's, in the height of the California Gold Rush, a young father bid his family in New York goodbye, to seek his fortune out west.
Months went by and he found nothing but dirt. Finally, fed up, he decided to come home. He calls the train station and asks when the next train will be. “It's a leaving in 4 weeks”, they tell him “And it'll be months after that before the next one arrives.”
“How much for a ticket?”, he asks. When he hears the reply, he's torn. It's a lot a money. Money that he hasn't made yet. “I'll call you back” he says.
A week before the train leaves, he calls again. The price has gone up. “Should we book it for you?” “No,” he responds.
A day before the train leaves, he calls again. This time he is told: “There are no more tickets to buy. But if you come to the station tomorrow, you may yet be able to get a seat.”
The next day, he wakes up early, packs his bags and leave for station. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. Weather, traffic, you name it.
The train is leaving at 12 noon. He gets to the station at 11:55am. Rushing through the throngs of people, he looks for the right platform. It's 11:58. He runs up the stairs, as he hears the train's whistle. It's 12 noon and the train is pulling out of station. Against his best judgement, he begins to run after the train. The conductor looks out of the window, and takes pity on him and he opens a door.
He calls out to the young man “Drop you bags and jump!” The whistle blows again. “Drop you baggage and jump!”
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The story of Pesach begins on Shabbos Hagadol with one simple question: Are we willing to drop the baggage and jump.
For our ancestors in Egypt, this meant taking an Egyptian deity, tying it to their bedposts, and preparing to slaughter it. The were asked to reject the gods of their host cultures – which they had grown to believe in.In each generation, the baggage is a little different, as is the jump, but it always follows the same basic rules, with the same intensity and lack of clarity.
Ultimately, the challenge crystallizes to one excruciating split second decision; because when we drop the baggage, we still have no idea how the jump will go. We don’t know how we will land, we don’t know one day we will look back and relish this moment, or perhaps resent it.
Despite the regular complaints and failures of Klal Yisrael in the Midbar, Hashem still loved us for the moment that we dropped our baggage and jumped. The Navi describes love: זָכַרְתִּי לָךְ חֶסֶד נְעוּרַיִךְ אַהֲבַת כְּלוּלֹתָיִךְ לֶכְתֵּךְ אַחֲרַי בַּמִּדְבָּר בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא זְרוּעָה – I remember the kindness of your youth, your love as a bride – How you followed Me in the desert, in a land not sown.
Every year, in the days leading up to Pesach, that Avoda returns to us. We are each invited and instructed to take stock of the baggage we’re holding onto, to seek out the Chametz in our lives and souls, and destroy it.
Rav Shlomo Twerski (מלכות שלמה שבת הגדול) explains that before we can decide what we want to become, we need to know what we don’t want to be. As we grow as people, our aspirations should naturally change as well. But knowing what we reject needs to be iron clad. Indeed, the beginning of all personal development is a conviction that “I don’t want to be this way any longer.”
The Torah codifies this commitment with the prohibition of returning to Egypt: לֹא תֹסִפוּן לָשׁוּב בַּדֶּרֶךְ הַזֶּה עוֹד – You must not go back that way again.
On this Pasuk, the Izbitzer (ליקוטי מי השלוח, ספר דברים, שופטים ב׳) explained that the way of Egypt is not simply a road or location, but a way of life:
The impurity of Egypt was in that it constrained and limited a person by surrounding them with everything they could want and need. And when a person is conditioned to certain luxuries and pleasures they are unwilling to give them up, even for the chance to become greater.
To the outsider, our cleaning, kashering and destroying of Chametz must seem insane. For a little more than a week, we act like crazy people; obsessing over every crumb, ensuring that no morsel of leaven survives our scrutiny.
But perhaps thats the whole point. It’s an annual proof to ourselves that we can, in fact, completely eradicate the baggage that’s holding us back. We can walk away from the luxuries of our vices and bad habits. We can abandon our negativity and cynicism, and make the jump to start becoming the people we want to be.
Preparing for Pesach gives us the confidence to know that if we we can live without bread, there is nothing that can hold us back from taking the next big leap in life.