Bread of Affliction

Do you know what the problem with Passover is? I can never get totally full, after every meal, a short time later I find that my stomach is rumbling. That I cannot get that completely satisfied feeling that I so desire. Matzoth is called the bread of affliction, we eat it because once we were slaves in the land of Egypt and now we are free. We eat it to remind ourselves of that… and you know what? It does the trick.
I just can’t get full this week.

Go figure, bread, leaven bread, complex carbohydrates fill us up in a way that no other food seems to. You remember what your mother used to tell you when you went out to eat. Don’t fill up on bread…you won’t be able to eat your dinner. How wise Mommy appears now. Because without leaven bread I can’t get full, I can’t feel fully satisfied after and meal and after just a few short days that point really begins to hit home. Try as I may, I am not satisfied.

Sure I’ve still eaten well. My mother god bless her has gone to great lengths this year to make me feel comfortable eating at home over the holiday, the kitchen was cleaned, the bread moved out, sold to my non-Jewish father. I had the honor of leading my family as we recounted the Exodus story. I felt so alive as I recounted the story bringing down commentaries that inspired me. Trying to navigate the complexities of complicated past; afterward I stared at the yahrtzeit candles burning brightly into the night, a tribute to those who could not be with us that night. I thought of my grandfather Sydney and my Uncle Michael who used to lead us. What I did was about them, it was about keeping the fragile, beautiful chain alive though one more generation (Moshicah now!).

Easter dinner this year featured a kosher turkey and a whole side of the table devoid of chametz, the whole other side of the family couldn’t figure out why I didn’t have a place setting at the table, choosing instead to sit on the couch (no chametz contamination on my plate). It was above and beyond my expectations.

Yet I’m not satisfied this week, I know I won’t get that just right, completely full feeling until Thursday night or Friday morning when I cast aside the bread of affliction and grab a nice, fluffy, beautiful piece of the bread of freedom (did I just make that up?), so until then I’ll long for that feeling.

Funny last time this year I felt oversaturated to many months of yeshiva, to many months of immersion dulled my senses. I could not fully appreciate what was going on around me. Sure Pesach was magical in Jerusalem; I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. But I wasn’t into it. This year I felt starved immersing myself in the holiday, knowing I’m about to start living my own life once again has reinvigorated.

Once I was a slave in the land of Egypt, now I am free.

Shalom Aleichem.