Now that the organized mayhem of Purim has come and gone, we are firmly within the gravitational pull of what to many of us is simply called “the P word.”  I walked into a supermarket today, and was amazed at how quickly the displays of Passover foods and accessories had sprouted as if out of nowhere.  To borrow a phrase from another tradition, “tis the season.”

Yes indeed, ’tis the season.   But the season for what?

The nickname “the P word” emanates from the dread that the mere thought of getting ready for Passover inspires in those who take it seriously and do it traditionally.  The physical labor involved is considerable, the cost- especially if you host seders, as my wife and I do- enormous, and the time required to do the necessary shopping, cleaning, kashering etc. simply overwhelming.  This is not a new lament, not by a long shot, but it never loses its power.  More than any other single holiday, Passover exacts a tremendous toll on those who honor its myriad and complicated requirements.

And yet, more people attend a seder than just about any other single Jewish  ritual.  Not only Jews, but also non-Jews of all stripes enjoy participating in the Passover seder, and invariably anticipate it as the quintessential Jewish celebration.  So beyond the inevitable expense and bother, there is obviously something timeless and compelling that underlies the rituals of the holiday and its iconic meal.

I think that the beginning of the answer is to be found in a few simple lines from the Haggadah.  Avadim hayinu l’phar’oh b’Mitzrayim, Atta B’nei Horin.  We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt; now we are free.  The message is freedom.  Or, to put it more in context, the message is enslavement and redemption: the appreciation of the sweetness of freedom that one can only taste when one has known the bitterness of redemption.

One of the central teachings of the Haggadah obliges us across the generations to see ourselves as if we personally had left Egypt.  Each and every year, as I look at my congregant synagogue, and at myself and my family, and I am made newly aware of just how daunting a challenge that is.  There are Holocaust survivors in our community who know more about enslavement and redemption than we could ever know, but their numbers are, sadly, dwindling.  Jewish refugees from the Arab countries of the Middle East and North Africa also have, in many instances, known what it means to be a stranger in a strange land, but as often as not, they tend to be gathered together in synagogues with each other.  African American, for obvious reasons, know all too well, the painful legacy of enslavement, and the ongoing work of redemption.

The truth is that most of us here in the Jewish community of America have come to feel at home in a way that our ancestors could only dream of.  We have grown up free, in a country that stands for freedom and has, for the most part, lived up to its press.  Genuine empathy with our ancestors is hard to come by, but the fundamental challenge remains nonetheless.  The Haggadah doesn’t say that only those who have known enslavement must identify with our Israelite ancestors.  It says that we all must.

How?

Ah, a good question.  And Passover is all about good questions that don’t necessarily have equally good answers.  But I think- always have- that good questions matter more than good answers, because at least you’re thinking about the important issues.

So, a modest proposal: instead of letting the physical preparations for Passover overwhelm us to the point of despair and lost focus, why not devote at least a good fraction of these coming weeks leading up to the holiday to concentrate on what matters just as much:  What does this holiday mean to me, and why do I celebrate it?  What eternal lessons speak to me even as I go through the rigorous preparations?  And what do I want to transmit to my children and grandchildren about these traditions and their meaning?

Like I said, good questions.  Think!