Our Very Own Creation

On the first night of Pesach I walk outside to the freezer in the garage — yet again! — but this time in my Pesach dress and freshly washed sheitel. My steps are light and unhurried, unlike the frenzied pace of the previous week and a half.

Just as I had on those late nights, I search for the moon. As it shines down on me in its full radiance, I think: I made it! The nonstop cooking and cleaning have faded into the background now, the prelude to the climax about to come: the six of us entering our own world where we’d reexperience the bonds of slavery and the sweetness of redemption.

I hurry to get the chicken and kugel before I miss anything.

With the pillows positioned just right and bechers filled to the brim, Nosson smiles at the children. They look at him wide-eyed, Haggados open on the still spotless tablecloth. He breaks the middle matzah and, although his mother isn’t here this year, he carries on her tradition. Placing the afikomen bag over his shoulder, he says, “Misharotam tzirurot b’simlotam al shichmam — Their leftovers bound up in their garments upon their shoulders (Shemos 12:34).