The rabbanim teach us that it is important to do hachanos (preparations) before undertaking a mitzva. Last year, as Pesach approached, I was reluctant to admit that, in addition to all the rooms in my house, there were many areas of my life that could also benefit from my attention. I figured I could surely combine it with the chametz-free theme of Pesach and cleanse myself of both physical and spiritual demons. Dramatic? Yes. Inspiring? Apparently, not so much.
As I scoured the oven and scrubbed the floors, I decided that my first personal goal would be to lose the five pounds that I had gained during the previous Yom Tov. After a few days, I assessed the situation and saw that things were progressing nicely. Not only was I getting extra exercise while ridding my home of chametz but the weight loss was also going well since there wasn’t a thing in my house that I could eat.
My new found optimism lasted until the first night of Pesach, when I had a dream. Now, this wasn’t the kind of dream where I changed the lives of the downtrodden, nor was it the type of dream where a tzadik appeared before me to impart sage advice. No, this was a dream about a donut. Actually, make that two donuts. Yes, a mere three hours after the seder I was having donut anxiety. You see, not only was I dreaming about eating donuts, but in the dream I actually realized it was occurring during Pesach. The mortification of this subconscious chametz-laden aveira (sin) made me realize that I had to act immediately.
I decided to fight fire with fire or, in this case, chametz with potato starch. I realized that the source of my dream must be that there was something lacking within me. On a simple level, I figured it must be dessert. On a deeper level, well, frankly, who cares? Anyway, I got up and went down to the kitchen. The fact that it was four in the morning did not deter me. In fact, it inspired me. I mean, who else was up at this hour fighting their inner carbohydrates? Fortunately, we had left the oven on over Yom Tov, which I took as a good sign. Unfortunately, it was the first and the last such sign, or so I thought. Although my heart was in the right place, my potato starch wasn’t. You see, at four in the morning it’s really hard to read the small, detailed steps of a brownie recipe that is printed on a cylindrical container. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I mixed in the bowl that night. In the end, it didn’t matter because, at four in the morning, it’s also really hard to stay awake. Despite my best efforts to prove to myself that Pesach desserts can be just as fulfilling as food from the “dark side,” let’s just say, this time I was wrong.
Upon waking up to the aroma of burnt brownies wafting through air, I raced into the kitchen. After removing the concoction, I dumped it unceremoniously on the counter and closed the oven door with a sigh (and a bang). After disposing of the carnage, I eyed the clock and noticed that it was now six hours since I had last eaten meat. Energized by this discovery, I anxiously scanned the kitchen until I saw a sign from above. There it was, peacefully waiting on a shelf in my Pesach cabinet. It said “Schmerling.” I quickly reached up, opened the door a little wider, grabbed the chocolate and ran out of the kitchen.
As anyone who’s been through challenging times knows, when one door closes another one opens.
