As I have been checking off all my last minute chores before resting my feet for 10 minutes, I have been thinking and thinking about what one can say on such a terribly unusual Erev Pesach.
Where ever you live, I am quite certain that this year’s seder(s) is different than any you have ever experienced.
Of course, we are conditioned to notice the differences – mah nishtanah, right?
But the differences this year are so glaringly obvious that noticing them hardly takes any effort.
We aren’t with our extended families and friends. Our tables are smaller, maybe even set for one.
Our food may be more modest and our preparations may have been scaled back.
Some of us are plagued by a general anxiety — who will get sick? Will I get sick? Did I just touch my face?
Some, many, are mourning a very specific agony. I am so sorry for your loss.
But is it enough for us just to note these differences? Aren’t we supposed to learn from them, to use these differences as a way to tell our children (and ourselves!) about our collective history?
Goodness knows I am far from expert enough — neither scientifically nor spiritually — to draw those types of conclusions about the cosmic meaning of this very difficult time.
But I do hope that we can find comfort in our traditions, and in our perpetual search for meaning — even, and especially, amidst the vast differences this year.
Chag Kasher v’Sameach.
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