Leaving Mitzrayim, then, was essentially about leaving the prison of materialism for spirituality

It was late Friday night of Shabbos Hagadol several years ago. It had been a long week of cleaning, and I was exhausted. I turned to put a salad bowl in the sink — then suddenly I couldn’t move. My back twisted into an excruciating cramp. A click, and I collapsed onto the floor in agony.
A neighbor in Hatzalah came and gave me a strong injection of pain medicine. Still, any movement was excruciating. I was helped into bed, and there I lay immobile.
Despite the pain killers my doctor prescribed, on Leil HaSeder I was still unable to do anything. My kids moved the couch next to the table and I lay on my back —not the best position to drink four cups of wine and eat matzah. Every bite was difficult. Lying below table level, my face felt like it was being coated with matzah dust, and I couldn’t even wipe it properly. I was floating in this surreal out-of-body plane of existence.
I was present at the Seder, but I wasn’t really there. Action was going on around me, but I was forced to stay completely still. I may have been at complete rest on the couch, but I certainly wasn’t free.
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