Passover -- 5775

Crack! goes the matzah overhead.  Crumbs fall down like rain.

“This is the Bread of Affliction,” we announce to all who will hear, “which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.”  Matzah is a humble bread, the meal of those without resources of time or money.  It is the bread of those who make due.

Matzah is more than the food our ancestors ate in their anguish.  It is our suffering selves, too.

Crack! go our bones as we toil day in and out.

Pop! go our dreams as they’re ground down by life.

Sigh! go our hearts as another year goes by.

We, like the dry cracker, break under the stress of our lives.  We fear that we will crumble.  But all is not lost.

The matzah is broken and half is hidden away.  Then, once the story is told and the meal is eaten, the search is on.  Eager children scamper for a prize.

But the real prize isn’t a two-dollar bill or a chocolate bar.  Life’s real prize is making it through the tough spots.  Sharing the journey with good people.  Telling your own story.  Laughing through the tears.  

When the afikoman is found, it will be reunited with its missing piece.  The two halves will fit together and become whole once more, as can our battered and bruised selves.  There’s a reason Pesach comes at springtime – because after the discontented winters of our lives, we need the promise of green sprig and egg, reminders to hope.

What’s lost can be found.  What’s broken can be mended.  What hurts can be healed.  What’s bound can be freed.  This is the meaning of Pesach.