I've just discarded the last carton of matzah and swept away the last crunchy brown crumb into oblivion. I've stored the festive trays, dishes and platters that adorned our Passover table until the coming year. The pre-Passover weeks of tireless work of industrious cleaning, frenzied grocery shopping, cooking, serving and more cooking is now behind us.
Is there anything from the Festival of Freedom—other than the unwanted extra pounds from those multi-coursed late night meals—that should invigorate us for the remainder of the year and for the weeks ahead?
These are my thoughts on "the morning after" our more than week-long celebration. My reflection is broken by my three year old's demanding cry of "Mommy! Mommy!"
It's one of the many times in the day when my daughter is calling out to me for something.
Like most children, Sara Leah has been calling Mommy and Daddy since before her first birthday. Yet, unbeknown to her, encapsulated within those compact words is a universe of insight.
Mommy is not a mere word. It represents the essence of a deep, unbreakable relationship. It signifies protection, nurturance, support and warmth. It conveys the strength of a relationship built on trust, expectancy, dependence and the fulfillment of wants and needs. In its most absolute, rawest state, it means trust, unconditional love and unadulterated faith.
As every child cries out "Mommy" she doesn't actually comprehend how she is conveying these ideas. But nevertheless, as she expresses these words, she is deepening the bonds of this relationship.
Kabbalistically, the thoroughly compact matzah that we've just ingested represents the faith in our relationship with G‑d and the realization that everything in our world is from our Creator.
Kabbalistically, the matzah that we've just ingested in our eight day holiday represents emunah—the faith in our relationship with G‑d and the realization that everything in our world is from our Creator. The thoroughly compacted matzah represents the infinitely profound realization of our relationship as His children. It is a realization that extends way beyond our actual comprehension. But just like my child's cry, the eating of the matzah serves to fortify and nourish this relationship.
This is what the matzah represents—the unbreakable, deep bond in our relationship as the children of G‑d, our absolute trust and dependence on Him to nourish our physical and spiritual needs.
But to make this lofty, compact idea a part of our lives, to bring it down to our world, we need to work on strengthening the bonds of this relationship.
That is our job in the weeks ahead.
The matzah is gone, but its message remains. It has reminded us of this deep essential relationship, our inner belief and our hidden trust.
And now, it calls to us, to act upon this awareness.
