Three weeks' ago, I was cleaning my house like an OCD lunatic; two weeks ago, I got some nasty virus thing that had me coughing my guts up all night for a few days; just over one week ago, I was cooking up a storm and preparing for seder night.
Then, last week, the week of Pesach itself, I was running around Israel like a crazed tour guide, shlepping my kids here and there so they'd feel like their Pesach break was 'shavei' (Hebrew for 'worth it').
Pesach ended motzae shabbat, and I tried to cram two weeks' worth of 'real life' stuff into the next two days, to try and get myself at least half back on track, plus turn my kitchen back over to normal use, so I could unpack the three packs of chametz I'd stuffed under my daughter's bed.
Sometimes, I ponder the Jewish holidays and I wonder what's really meant to be going on with them all.
I have had years where I felt more spiritually-uplifted, particularly around Succot time, but Pesach routinely bombs for me, spiritual-uplift-wise, every single year.
It's just so busy and frantic and stressful. How am I meant to find my soul in all that craziness?
That said, I did have a few illuminating moments, which God-willing, I'll share in another post. But it's like panning for gold: I get one teeny-tiny, spiritual sliver in a whole slew of mud and mess.
Maybe I'm missing something, I don't know.
Maybe, it's just a whole big lesson in 'stop trying to control the world, because you can't.' Maybe that's why it sometimes chafes so much.
In the meantime, I seriously need a holiday…