I have seen a few explanations of what we are supposed to learn from ridding our selves of chameitz for the week of Pesach, but none of them really "sang" to me... until this year, that is. To put it in context, though, consider my walk to shul on erev Pesach. It was still before dawn break, and quite cloudy (though warm... ahhh...). The clouds parted near the horizon and revealed a beautiful nearly full moon. Besides the beauty of the pre-dawn sky, I was also suddenly reminded that I hadn't yet had a chance to say kiddush levana (having been in cloudy Chicago since rosh chodesh). Fortunately, I have a siddur app on my smart phone; so I was able to recite kiddush levana there and then. As I finished aleinu, I looked back up to see the beautiful moon again, but the clouds had moved back and obscured my view once again.
Now, I enjoy hashgacha pratis stories as much as the next guy, but this was almost spooky. I walked the rest of the way to shul with that same feeling you have when siting a police car in the rear-view mirror. That slightly uneasy feeling of being watched stayed with me through davening, but I was finally able to shake it on the walk home. Of course, as soon as I "shook it", I wanted it back. I mean, that's that we are constantly striving to attain, right? Being able to actually feel HaShem's presence? We want that, right? Right?
In theory, of course, I absolutely do want to feel HaShem's presence; to turn belief and faith into knowledge and sensation. In practice, though, the feeling (the rare times I am able to achieve it) has a disconcerting dimension. I am not anywhere close to where I should be or even want to be. That feeling of closeness -- as much as I do truly desire it -- is not something that I can (yet) live with 24/7.
That's why we have Pesach. The difference between matzah and bread is really one thing: To make matzah, from the time the water hits the flour till the finished product is removed from the oven, it is never left alone. Every moment in matzah baking is active and involved. Bread? Mix ingredients, do some work, let it sit to do its thing, do more work, then let it sit to do its thing some more, then a bit more work, then in the oven to sit until baked. For one week a year, we imbibe hashgacha pratis with each bite.
What can we do to bring that into the rest of the year and slowly raise our awareness of HaShem's constant presence? I heard a wonderful thought on this from R' Naftali Kalter (now of Boca Raton, although he was in Chicago way back when) at N'ilas HeChag/Shalosh S'udos: Don't take this wondrous world for granted. When you grasp something with your hand, marvel at the incredible design that gives both strength and dexterity to your fingers. When the doctor explains your aches and pains, take a moment to reflect on they myriad of (not so) tiny miracles that keep you healthy and combat sickness.
Each year at Pesach we get a chance to experience a renewed closeness with HaShem, then the rest of the year is spent in retaining just a bit, so the next year can start just a bit higher, and from there to ... etc, etc, etc.
Now, I enjoy hashgacha pratis stories as much as the next guy, but this was almost spooky. I walked the rest of the way to shul with that same feeling you have when siting a police car in the rear-view mirror. That slightly uneasy feeling of being watched stayed with me through davening, but I was finally able to shake it on the walk home. Of course, as soon as I "shook it", I wanted it back. I mean, that's that we are constantly striving to attain, right? Being able to actually feel HaShem's presence? We want that, right? Right?
In theory, of course, I absolutely do want to feel HaShem's presence; to turn belief and faith into knowledge and sensation. In practice, though, the feeling (the rare times I am able to achieve it) has a disconcerting dimension. I am not anywhere close to where I should be or even want to be. That feeling of closeness -- as much as I do truly desire it -- is not something that I can (yet) live with 24/7.
That's why we have Pesach. The difference between matzah and bread is really one thing: To make matzah, from the time the water hits the flour till the finished product is removed from the oven, it is never left alone. Every moment in matzah baking is active and involved. Bread? Mix ingredients, do some work, let it sit to do its thing, do more work, then let it sit to do its thing some more, then a bit more work, then in the oven to sit until baked. For one week a year, we imbibe hashgacha pratis with each bite.
What can we do to bring that into the rest of the year and slowly raise our awareness of HaShem's constant presence? I heard a wonderful thought on this from R' Naftali Kalter (now of Boca Raton, although he was in Chicago way back when) at N'ilas HeChag/Shalosh S'udos: Don't take this wondrous world for granted. When you grasp something with your hand, marvel at the incredible design that gives both strength and dexterity to your fingers. When the doctor explains your aches and pains, take a moment to reflect on they myriad of (not so) tiny miracles that keep you healthy and combat sickness.
Each year at Pesach we get a chance to experience a renewed closeness with HaShem, then the rest of the year is spent in retaining just a bit, so the next year can start just a bit higher, and from there to ... etc, etc, etc.
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