Burning the Inner Chametz: A Personal Reflection on Faith, Parenting, and the Meaning of the Seder Night

Last year, during the Seder night, in the middle of all the noise of the meal, the reclining, and the pressure of eating the required portions, I found myself already looking ahead to the following year. Yes, even then something inside me signaled that next Passover would be different. I decided that together with the physical chametz, I would also remove certain inner habits that usually accompany me every Pesach.

People often say that the real chametz is what we clean from the heart and from our character traits. I try to do that every year, but somehow I clean it, put it in the cupboard, sell it to a non-Jew, and after the holiday bring it all back. This time, I want to truly burn it away. There are things that do not belong with me next year. I can already recognize these “chametz products” in the dark corners of the cupboard. Hopefully, with the light of faith, they will not exist next year at least not in their inflated and fermented form.

The Chametz of Stringencies

The first is the chametz of excessive stringencies. Sometimes they come from a good place and help me grow, connect, and understand that this is a path toward spiritual light of Shabbat, festivals, and everyday halachah. But when life becomes complex and unclear, these stringencies can take on a less pleasant side, especially toward the people around me.

This year I decided to organize my approach: What do I choose to be strict about personally, and what do I demand from others? Perhaps there is a small child inside me trying to prove to the world that he is “super religious” and above everyone else. Many people returning to observance experience this phase, but the real challenge is learning how to step down from it gently. Stringencies can sometimes come from pride: I am cleaner, more careful, more righteous. But is that really true?

The Chametz of Anger

One of the companions of excessive stringency especially around Passover is anger. It is a trait in which I have not yet found a balanced middle, and perhaps it belongs directly in the category of chametz that must be burned.

There is no such thing as a little anger. It is either present or absent. Rabbi Nachman suggests that if anger must be shown, one can present it externally while remaining inwardly calm and loving. In other words, not truly becoming angry. Anger is another form of chametz, rooted in pride and a desire for control. When my faith weakens and I seek control over reality, anger appears. When reality does not respond according to my expectations, especially when children behave differently than I hoped, anger grows, swells, and erupts at exactly the wrong moment. That is the real “fermentation.”

This year I will allow myself to speak about anger, to acknowledge it, to bring it before God but I will try not to live inside it. This too goes from the cupboard straight to the fire. Enough. It is time to create order.

The True Goal of Pesach: Giving

Another theme that has accompanied me for years is the precise goal of Pesach. The central commandment is “You shall tell your child on that day.” If I want to tell my children the story, I must internalize that the Seder night is about giving. I move into a mode of generosity.

Unlike Shabbat, when children’s movement during Kiddush and the meal sometimes conflicts with adult intentions of deep spirituality, this night belongs to them. They should be excited. My task is to engage them to tell, to demonstrate, even to act out the story.

In previous years I focused on seeing myself as if I personally left Egypt. Later I focused more inwardly on my own experience. This year I want to focus on giving to my children. The light of faith shines especially strongly on this night, and I want it to pass on to them.

I plan to recline on soft pillows and beanbags, holding a simple illustrated Haggadah filled with drawings rather than complex commentary. A children’s Seder should be simple, warm, and penetrating to the soul.

A Childhood Memory and a Lesson

One vague childhood memory from my Iraqi grandfather’s Seder was a feeling of disappointment. While children elsewhere searched for a hidden afikoman, our custom was different: we would attach it to the back of one child like a travel bag.

Only years later did I understand. That child would slip outside, knock on the door, and pretend to be a Jew just leaving Egypt. The children gathered around, asking questions, and he would answer that he had come from Egypt on his way to the Land of Israel. Suddenly the Haggadah came alive as a living character in the room.

Turning the Seder into a Living Story

This year I am putting my ego aside and choosing a more updated, playful style for today’s children. I prepared a robe, a bag full of props and small gifts, and other accessories. I will try to use every acting skill I have to make the night meaningful for them. Even my own desire simply to receive and enjoy goes into the “chametz burning” department.

As I write, more items from that inner cupboard come to mind, but the principle is clear. I will take this page with me to the Seder as a reminder of what I intended beforehand. With God’s help, the light of faith will inspire the children to want to stay, to believe that when we cry out and pray, redemption is possible.

Sometimes goals that feel simple and down to earth bring us closer to Heaven than anything else. I will look for an illustrated Haggadah and think of stories to weave between the text, because stories reach straight into the heart. That is the goal and the challenge. After all, your child is not naive; he wants a story with meaning, depth, and feeling. It is his night and theirs. And even the small child within me is waiting for it.

Wishing everyone success and may we merit to tell the story of the Exodus all night long.