blogs/rabbi-huberman

Happy Pesach, everyone. So let me ask you a question.

“How is your quest for stray bread crumbs and rogue cheerios going?

Indeed, this is the time of the year, when we traditionally scour our kitchens, scrub our shelves and look at “best before” dates, as we prepare for Passover.

The festival feeds into our seasonal sense of renewal, as once again, we have survived another “long cold lonely winter.” And so much of it centers upon Matzah.

How interesting that Matzah—the bland flatbread we eat for eight days is also called “lechem ani,” the “poor person’s bread.” And, according to our Sages, this provides us with a clue to Passover’s deeper meaning.

This is a special Shabbat on the Jewish calendar, known as Shabbat HaGadol—the Great Shabbat. On this day, our Sages sought to focus Jews not just on cleaning, plagues and freedom, but also on encouraging us to look within.

According to some of our greatest Sages, chametz—leaven—can be found not only within the cracks of our kitchen, but also within the thoughts and behaviors of our lives.

It is known as the “Chametz of the Soul.”

Our Sages remind us that, while it is important that we rid our homes of leavened products, it is just as important to delve into our souls and ask, “What inner chametz are we carrying?”

We are living in difficult times. Passover begs us to consider if we have acquired spiritual bloat during the winter months.

Are we a bit more pessimistic or cynical than we were at the end of last summer?

Have we become a bit more stubborn—perhaps even more intolerant of others and the world around us?

Are we carrying a bit more physical and spiritual weight? Are we less hopeful? Are we harboring grudges and resentments? Are we keeping score?

So, over eight days of eating the “poor person’s bread,” in some ways flattening our souls, we remind ourselves of the importance or talking less, listening more and giving others the benefit of the doubt.

In the Talmud, Rabbi Alexandri taught that what prevents us from realizing our full potential is “the yeast in the dough.”

Later, Rabbi Yehudah Prero offered an interesting take on what that really means. He said, chametz represents “all of our character flaws such as haughtiness, jealousy, and unbridled passion…”

And so, in our passion to rid ourselves of the physical chametz hidden within the cracks of our homes, let us also consider spiritual leaven, which has, over the winter months, lodged itself within us.

For true freedom is more than completing physical acts.

Rather, true freedom comes from within.

My Father and the Potato

As many of you are aware, this is the first Pesach that our family will be observing the holiday without my parents who recently passed away.

Like many of you, I will be remembering my mother’s cooking—in particular her amazing knishes. And I will also miss her stories of how her parents, of blessed memory, although secular, would read the stories of the Haggadah with such feeling and purpose.

But most of all, as Passover approaches, I find myself recounting the story of my father and “the potato.”

About five years ago, my parents travelled from Canada to spend Pesach with us.

Patte and I often host a large traditional Seder on the first night, with more than 40 family members, congregants and friends attending.

That year, as I began placing the symbolic foods on the Seder plate, when it came time to place the parsley, my father barked at me:

“Why are you putting parsley there. It should be a potato.”

“Dad,” I replied. “You put parsley on the Seder plate as a sign of renewal. Look there’s even a picture of parsley on the Seder plate.”

“Well, they’re doing it wrong,” Dad grumbled.

That year, I ended up squeezing a potato in the parsley slot but my father was not completely satisfied.

“This is the Huberman tradition,” he muttered.

And then it occurred to me: In the area of Ukraine where his parents and grandparents once lived, there was no greenery in April. So, what did they put on the Seder plate?

A potato.

So this year, as I recall my father’s somewhat unwelcomed challenge, I will reflect with a smile and a tear.

How I wish I had Dad correcting me this year.

And it reminds me that whether its parsley, a potato, scallions, an orange, an olive, a coffee bean, or any other variation of the Passover rituals, these traditions become ours—unique as every Jewish family is.

It’s often the chametz of the soul that holds us back from trying new things or introducing new readings, or discussing new plagues, which we as Jews endure today.

But on this Pesach, as our family gathers quietly on the first night, I will—along with many of you—remember parents and grandparents of generations passed.

For it is our job on Passover to honor Seders past and to inspire present and future generations, who will one day represent the past.

So, like so many of you, I will recall rituals and melodies learned from past generations. But this year and for the future, I will give Dad the benefit of the doubt.

While there will be parsley around our Seder table, on my plate, no matter what the drawing says, there will be a sprig of parsley, and a boiled potato.

Perhaps it’s about letting go of our inner chametz.

Because for Dad, and now for me, it will always be a potato.

Shabbat shalom, Chag Sameach—Happy Pesach.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman