A Bisl Torah (Passover edition)
So many crumbs
One of the purposes of the Passover holiday is to rid one’s house of crumbs. For days we engage in bedikat chametz, the searching out of leavened products. For Jewish parents everywhere, it’s the perfect excuse to turn over the couch cushions, flip the rug, look through the crevices in the car seats and vacuum every annoying Cheerio that threatens the hygiene of our homes. And finally Passover arrives, the house looks immaculate and this Jewish parent thing doesn’t seem so hard.
But how foolish. Because once Passover eve begins and the Seder unfolds, new crumbs appear.
Smaller crumbs. The worst crumbs of all: matza crumbs. Matza crumbs that inch their way into every room. Matza crumbs that are impossible to fully pick up. Matza crumbs that laugh at you when you try to clean the house at night. So many matza crumbs.
If Passover is meant to be a holiday in which we rid our homes of crumbs, what happens when the crumbs never fully go away? The question then becomes: which crumbs must be cleared out of homes and hearts and which crumbs just might be here to stay? Crumbs we probably just have to live with? Perhaps once we decipher between the two, the real meaning of Passover will be attained: feeling a sense of liberation in knowing the difference between what truly consumes our souls and what isn’t worth so much fuss.
Questioning one’s self-worth, a crumb worth contending. An abusive spouse—a crumb that must be confronted. A life that feels purposeless—crumbs that need removing. An annoying neighbor, a frustrating bedtime routine with kids that won’t go to sleep, to do lists that feel endless—crumbs, bothersome crumbs, manageable crumbs that are probably here for the time being.
And once that’s all figured out, suddenly a stray Cheerio doesn’t seem all that bad.
Good luck with your crumbs—the ones that need to go and the ones that might stick around for a little while longer.