Rega Lifney Shabbat…
Shalom All,
My holiday, Our holiday. That's the whole story.
Chol Hamoed Pessach, and The Land is full. The hills are filled with hikers,
people walking and enjoying the spring flowers along the paths. Under every
tree you can find a bunch of families, the kids running around while their
parents are preparing the picnic BBQ, accompanied with Matzos. The city
streets are packed with shoppers, there are lines at the cafes, and you can
buy a Burger in a Matza-dough bun…
For the past two years, Pesach was something we celebrated within. In homes,
with wonderful friends, inside walls. There was no change in the atmosphere
around us, no signs in the streets. If you weren't directly involved, you
could have easily missed it. Very different from the outspread, well-shown
display of Christmas. A good friend once told me: Here, in the States,
Pessach is MY holiday. It's a personal decision, a family one. Kvod Hachag
Pnima – he said, the honor of the holiday is within, borrowing the
paraphrase usually used for women. You don't feel it if you don't look for
it.
As we were traveling through the hills of Jerusalem, David turned to me and
said: One thing is certain, here in Israel you just can't miss the holiday.
It's OUR holiday, you feel it in the air, on the streets, in the land. The
entire state is celebrating. That's part of the meaning of living in a
Jewish state. It's open, free, part of who we are. It's ours.
It's the difference between saying it's my holiday,
And living by - it's our holiday.
That's the whole story.
And, as we are commanded, we tell it to our children.
Shabbat Shalom
Liat