The final, fleeting hours of Passover are now upon us. With visions of garlic bagels, croissants and pizza slices dancing in our heads, we prepare to reenter the leavened realm, hopefully with a new appreciation of the role of bread in our lives and, more importantly, the great privilege of living in a free, open society.

I was honored recently by a request from Rabbi Ron Shulman of Chizuk Amuno Congregation to write a piece, to be sent out via the synagogue’s email list, on how I mentally, spiritually and emotionally prepare for Passover. Rabbi Shulman asks several congregants every year to share their reflections on how they get ready for Pesach.

I must confess, I don’t do as much as I should to prepare for the holiday. We’re all so busy, the holiday just seems to sneak up on us, without any warning. Wisely, Rabbi Shulman gently prods us into participating in this process, and I must say that it enhanced my Passover and forced me to really contemplate what it’s all about, from my perspective.

I’m not sure that I completely delivered the goods. After all, I never brought up Moses and the Children of Israel, Pharaoh, the seder, or even how (or if) I clean my house from top to bottom of chametz. But since I’ve received some good feedback from others on the piece, I decided to reprint my “Kavanah” here.

Passover may be just about over, but its essence is eternal.
Chag Samayach!

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Growing Young Again
by Alan Feiler

Years ago, I went with a close friend to a trendy coffee house where a rock band was performing. Not far from us, while we sat and enjoyed our joe, a young woman, dressed in a flowery dress and swaying beads, danced alone, uninhibited, like a child. She was either blissfully ignorant or utterly indifferent to the stares fixed in her direction.

My friend simply gazed at her, sighed and said to me, “Can you imagine being that free? How did we ever get so old?”

What a drag it is, to paraphrase an ancient sage. But is there a way to regain the sense of freedom we felt when we were younger, when such issues as family commitments, mortgages, bills and health concerns were merely something we overheard others talking about?

Passover forces us to revisit our concepts of freedom, from interior and exterior perspectives. To get mentally and spiritually prepared for the holiday, we have to reacquaint ourselves with the notions of freedom we enjoyed as young people. It was a freedom that filled us with the exhilaration for life, optimism for our future and what we could achieve in this world. (We once had the well-intentioned hubris to think we could make a difference.)

We’ve lost that elasticity in our lives, and it hurts. Deadlines and commitments prohibit our ability to do what we want to do. True, every adult must own up to this and grow up. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to reconnect with the joy that is life at its core.

Freedom will increasingly be in short supply. Things once taken for granted—our livelihoods, our homes, the “American Dream” itself, our children’s inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness—are now up for grabs. Thanks to the merchants of greed and self-indulgence (translation: us), it all now seems quite up in the air and fragile, flimsy and wispy, like a sheet of matzoh.

Faith is the key, not in human beings so much (for we too are fragile, flimsy and wispy) but in some kind of higher power, to direct us to our source for true freedom.

Is Passover only about cleaning our homes, obliterating all that pesky hametz, and cooking enough food to feed Cameroon? Is it only about avoiding all leavened products, just so we can say, “Well, I’m not much of a Jew, but at least I don’t eat bread on Pesach”?

It’s about recommitting to the sacred, and to what really matters to you. That means turning internally, to your past and your values system, and to looking externally at what freedom has meant, and continues to mean, for us as a people, as Jews and Americans.

It means, in many ways, to grow young again.