One day this week she had a quiet evening conversation in the cozy house where I live.
A young woman, 16 and a half years old, talked about her Passover experiences and memories.
Since this is a girl who also knows how to formulate a memory and tell a story, it was a fascinating and colorful conversation, even exciting.
Holiday experiences are burned into the consciousness and the human mind sets aside a room of their own, it turns out.
From stories and specifications a wonderful world is suddenly created.
Adolescence already provides an adequate amount of holidays and years of remembrance, but during a conversation I noticed an interesting thing: my girl talks and tells mostly about the Passover holidays we celebrated in our house or family home.
That is, in the first place, as with all of them probably - Pesach 5764, three people sit alone around the table, celebrate the beautiful Seder night in their lives, and also go out to sing with the rest of the corona isolators "what has changed"; but also the next places in the experiential memory Captured very homely experiences: changing the utensils for the Passover utensil, known as the juice squeezing in Nehama's yard, checking the chametz and Seder night.
This is interesting, because this girl has already celebrated Passover and Seder nights in half the world.
Since her father wrapped up his life in the lives of religious vacationers, we have already been to Austria and Croatia, Greece and Azerbaijan, the Dead Sea and Crete, Tiberias, and even Netanya.
Every such Passover is full of tiring experiences: the preparations for the trip, the shopping and planning, the trip and stay, the trips, the entertainment and the shopping.
We really had a great time and enjoyed every moment, but then, when the father thinks full of satisfaction about the happy fate he has given his daughter - she cuddles up to the tears in her eyes from scratching the root back on a grater at the family home in Kfar Chabad.
Say, are you crazy?
And what about that water park in Kaprun?
And the color of the water in Mali Lucin?
And that round shop in Rhodes?
Horseradish root, is that what you remember?
The sweet and slightly sad answer is yes, that's what she remembers.
The trip can also be traveled in the summer and great experiences can be accumulated everywhere, but there is something electrifying in family home experiences, that when it meets the electricity that already exists in the holiday, its contents and atmosphere, it becomes synergistic and produces a great life experience.
Her father has also seen some beautiful things on Pesach here and Pesach there, and yet he also tries in vain to recreate some unknown and ancient Pesach in his grandparents' house, with the toolboxes coming down with cheers and shouts from the upper warehouse, changing chametz dishes, meticulously kept matzah boxes, lettuce salad And in garlic (that no food in the world will resemble or compare to it), and the melody of "Eliminate the Passover Siddur", which even at this moment really brings tears to my eyes.
It's good and it's right and that's what it takes.
And if for one moment I feared that I might not have been able to pass on these experiences to the next generation, and that most postcards for a good life will soon forget the home and family Passover redemption - I heard it miss and was filled with happiness and joy.
In a week we will sit together in a hotel in Greece, sing "We were slaves" and "She who stood", hug her tight and be happy for my part.
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