Let's talk about selling chametz. It's such a peculiar thing to do--selling material we either don't think exists, or else that we know perfectly well exists but which we have no real intention of parting with, to people who we would faint if they ever actually showed up to take possession of their new property for a sum of money that we pay ouy them to purchase it (instead of insisting that they pay us.) It's one of those peculiar Jewish rituals that we don't stress in interfaith forums, that you just can't explain to people on the outside looking in, that most of us don't even try to explain to our kids. And yet...I do it every year. I like doing it, actually. Something about it appeals to me...and not solely because I tend to enjoy theater of the absurd.

The nobility inherent in the whole undertaking of cleaning for Pesach lies in its impossibility. Can you really get every crumb out of every cupboard? Can we be absolutely certain no chametz molecules are still floating around in our space no matter how diligently we attempt to prepare for the holiday? Is anyone ever really sure? Still...we do our best. We really do clean our kitchens. We eradicate our chametz. What we don't eradicate, we burn. What we don't burn, we sell. What we don't sell, we declare to be "as the dust of the earth" to us--in other words, to exist so inconsequentially as not to be worth even noticing, let alone taking into account seriously. It seems like a lot of effort for a few bread crumbs.

But our tradition understands something deeper and more meaningful here...because chametz is taken to represent the negative character traits that feel as impossible to eradicate from our personalities as chametz is to eradicate from our living space.

In the end, none of us can really hope to become perfect people. As a result, we will always be works in progress, always somewhere on the journey to becoming the kind of men and women we know we could be, or we think we ought be. The trick is not to use that thought as an excuse for stepping away from the whole enterprise of spending a lifetime striving to be better, kinder, more decent and thoughtful human beings. So we do what we can with those crumbs. We get rid of what we find. What we don't find, we sell. What we don't sell, we curse with irrelevance. We know it's not really possible to finish the job, not really...but we do our best. And that is how we should live our lives as well...doing our best to overcome even those aspects of ourselves we think of as so deeply engrained as to be basically impossible to eradicate completely. We may never finish...but we can still do our best!

If you've never done it before, let me help you sell your chametz. The easiest way is to come to shul on Monday morning, April 2, for minyan. After minyan, I will be pleased to purchase your chametz. And after the chametz is sold, there will be breakfast. (I can also facilitate the sale of chametz any time next week by appointment, or after minyan any morning.)

Many people use the occasion to offer gifts of charity to the poor. This year, as in previous years, I'm encouraging people to give to Mazon, the Jewish response to hunger. It is a very worthy organization that Joan and I have supported for many years and on the eve of a festival so devoted to eating well, it seems reasonable to think of the needy in our midst and to do what we can to allieviate their hunger.

Sincerely,

Rabbi Martin S. Cohen