year . The biblical prohibition against even owning ( let alone eating ) chametz on Pesach is so strict that the Talmudic sages forbade the use of this kind of chametz for all time . The rabbi was also hinting at a common trope in Rabbinic and later Hasidic literature . It compares the overly fastidious , arrogant , and angry sides of our personalities – the parts of us that are “ puffed up with pride ” - to leavened , risen bread . On Pesach , we try to free ourselves from the “ spiritual Egypt ” of our anger and arrogance , to achieve the humility-that-shuns-harshness symbolized by the lowly , unleavened matzah . Some Talmudic and Hasidic teachings often go even further , shunning all anger at all times of the year .
Our teacher was telling his young guest : “ Your fastidious religious piety isn ’ t pious ; it isn ’ t even religious . You ’ re busy being so holy and angrily judging everyone in my family about chametz . Can ’ t you see what the chametz of your anger is doing to you and to the rest of us ? You think you ’ re celebrating Pesach ? Nonsense ! You ’ re stuck in Egypt , now and year-round .”
Angry quibbling over rituals is incomparable with life-and-death conflict . Still , this story speaks to us as we celebrate our first Pesach after October 7 . Israel was severely traumatized by the toxic , religiously fueled hatred , and rage of Hamas . Our people rightly responded with a rage born of deep vulnerability and a steadfast refusal to let such barbarity go unpunished . Yet , to paraphrase Robert Frost , “ rage leads onto rage .” So much suffering and destruction fueled
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