Pesach Perspective

“Why is this night different from all other nights?” (Haggadah shel Pesach)

Picture a child who’s used to a fun, noisy Seder. Then he gets older, and he loses that spark. He sees the kids come to the Seder revved and refreshed from an Erev Pesach nap, while he’s exhausted. He wonders where the excitement has gone. He bought a brand-new Hagaddah hoping to find inspiration. He tries going to a shiur before Maariv. But he still feels he’s lacking a child’s enthusiasm. (Rav Itamar Schwartz, Bilvavi)

It’s the night before bedikas chometz. I’m six years old and it’s way past my bedtime, but I’m too excited to fall asleep. I sneak downstairs and tiptoe into the dining room, my breath catching at the covered breakfront, the seforim standing neatly at attention, and the table set with the special Pesach tablecloth.

More than the foil-covered kitchen and the Pesach dishes, this tablecloth symbolized Pesach. It was a simple white, its borders hand-embroidered with perfect stitches, made by my aunt’s mother and gifted to my mother. My heart beat faster in excitement as I stroked the soft cloth draped over the extended table. This tablecloth heralded our arrival, a testimony to weeks of hard work. We had made it. Pesach was almost here.

What’s the adult’s mistake? Superficial excitement only works for a child. As long as the child has a new suit and the food smells delicious, he “feels” Pesach. But these superficial trappings don’t help an adult “feel” Yom Tov. Biting into his matzah, it’s as dry and tasteless as he feels. To truly experience Yom Tov, the feelings have to come from a deeper source.

Last year, on a visit to my mother before Purim, she surprised me by dropping a wrapped package into my lap. Opening it almost reverently, I stroked the soft material, gently fingering the meticulous stitches. “For me?”

“You always appreciated it the most,” my mother said gently. “It’s too big for my table now. I’d like you to have it.”