April 12, 2023
Author(s): Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz,
Pesach Day 7
April 12, 2023 — 21 Nissan 5783
The Things We Do For Love
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
For those of you hearty enough to come to shul on the seventh day of Pesach, I want to share with you a love story—in fact a Pesach double love story. But to appreciate this double love story, we need first to talk about halakha, Jewish law. When was the last time that happened in a sermon?
The Torah commands us to have no chametz in our possession during the holiday of Pesach. Chametz is defined as five species of grain: wheat, barley, spelt, rye, and oats. It is not just that we can’t eat chametz. It is also that we cannot have chametz, cannot own chametz. Our homes have to be chametz-free.
Now we have all had the experience, when cleaning our house for Pesach, of finding in the back of the food pantry a stale box of crackers with the expiration date of February 2020. We happily dispose of the stale crackers grateful for the impetus Pesach gives us to do a deep cleaning of our kitchen once a year.
But what do we do with all the chametz that is fresh, the fresh boxes of pasta and crackers? It would be wasteful to throw out perfectly good food. So our tradition has evolved this legal fiction called mechirat chametz, selling our chametz to a gentile, to a person who is not commanded to have no chametz in their home. Dan loves this mitzvah. Starting around Thanksgiving, he will announce that it is time to start selling our chametz for Pesach. This year Dan sold our chametz to our wonderful receptionist Rhiannon. Since she is not Jewish, she is allowed to own as much chametz as she wants. She owns the chametz of the members of Temple Emanuel who empowered Dan to sell to her. Theoretically Rhiannon is legally allowed to enter your home, go to your basement, eat your crackers and pretzels, drink your beer, imbibe your scotch. But it is a legal fiction. It would never happen. The point of this legal fiction is to gesture towards two competing values. One, no chametz during Pesach. Two, don’t waste food. When the holiday is over tomorrow night, Dan will buy back your chametz from Rhiannon. As a result of this legal maneuver, you did not own any chametz on Pesach, and you did not waste perfectly good food.
What does this dry legalism have to do with a love story? Last week the Journal had a story about the halachic problems posed by observant dog owners during Pesach. Dog food is rife with chametz. It is made of forbidden grains. It is true of course that we don’t eat dog food. But the legal prohibition is not just not to eat it, but also not to have it in our possession. Feeding our beloved dog Rover means having chametz in our homes. What is an observant dog owner to do?
As this Journal article tells this riveting story, there are three options. One is to sell the dog to a gentile, along with the dog’s chametz food, along with our chametz food. We are already selling other chametz; we just add Rover and his food supply to this list; and now Rover can eat his chametz dog food in our home, and we technically have not violated any rules because dog and dog food are covered by the legal fiction. The con is that emotionally it feels challenging to sell our beloved dog during this holiday season. Dog owners love their dogs. We don’t want someone else to own our dogs, even technically, even as a legal fiction, even for eight days.
Which led to a second option. The Journal told the story of a couple in Chicago, Gabriel and Lena Prero, who love their 70-pound Labrador named Bucky. They were in a pickle. On the one hand, they were observant. They did not want Bucky’s chametz in their home on Pesach. On the other hand, they loved Bucky and did not want to sell Bucky to a gentile for these 8 days. So they decided to change Bucky’s diet for Pesach, to give him new food, which would be legitimately kosher for Pesach. The problem was that this chametz-free new dog food gave Bucky major gastrointestinal distress—which was a problem both for Bucky and for Bucky’s owners.
Which led to the third option: the creation of a new and improved kosher for Pesach food that would not give dogs stomach problems and, because it is chametz free, we don’t have to sell Rover out of our family for these 8 days. A couple named Holly and Joel Sher bought a dog-food company called Evanger’s and then spotted a business opportunity: to make high quality kosher for Pesach dog food. They worked with the Chicago Rabbinical Council to certify that their chametz-free canned dog food is kosher for Pesach. When they bought the company, it had 10 employees. As a result of the increase in kosher dog food business occasioned by Pesach, they now have 70 employees.
Families who are scrupulous about no chametz on Pesach, and who love their dogs too much to sell them for the eight days, now have a healthy, nutritious, kosher solution. No legal fiction required. And no canine intestinal distress.
At first blush it might seem like this odd story would only resonate with the somewhat limited universe of people who are highly observant Jews who deeply love their dogs. But I want to step back from this story and suggest that that it has a lesson for us all.
This is a double love story. The families affected by it, the families who buy Evanger’s kosher for Pesach dog food, have two loves. They love Judaism and Pesach and the holiday laws and rituals. And they love their dogs.
Here is the thing about love. Love means doing things that make perfectly good sense to you that the rest of the world does not understand. Love means doing things that, to the person who feels the love, makes intuitive sense, but to the person who does not feel the love makes no sense. The person who does not get Pesach would say, why would you ever sell your dog for eight days? What is that? Just feed your dog proper dog food. What kind of religion would ever care about dog food? It’s dog food, after all. The person who does not get dogs would say, just sell your dog for eight days. It’s a legal fiction. It doesn’t make any difference to the dog. Why bother getting a dog kosher for Passover dog food? It’s a dog, after all. Dogs aren’t Jewish.
The rest of the world does not get it and would never get it. But if you love Pesach, and if you love your dog, you get it. What seems crazy to the rest of the world makes good sense to you. For eight days, you will pay a lot more for dog food, and your universe will be good.
The things we do for love.
When your kids come home for Pesach, and they have an early flight, and you insist on getting up at 4:30 in the morning to drive them to Logan, so that they can make their 6:00 am flight, even though they could easily take an Uber, that is a thing we do for love.
When you shlep your teen-age hockey player to an ice rink at 5:00 am because that is when they can get ice time, and you stay there, freezing, for a good hour until you shlep them back, and you do that every week, that is a thing we do for love.
When you get on a plane to visit your elderly loved one who does not even know you are there, who can no longer communicate, but you know you are there, that is a thing we do for love.
What do you do for love, that other people would never get? What do you do for love, that other people would never get, that fills your life with the deepest meaning, purpose and blessing?
Tomorrow is Yizkor. Part of the poignancy of Yizkor is that we mourn the loss of people who loved us so much that they would go beyond for us. They would shlep us around at all hours. They would cook meals for us when they had no energy left. They cared about the details of our day. They hurt when we hurt. They rejoiced when we rejoiced. Our dreams were their dreams. Most of the world is big and cold and does not get us and does not care about us. There is a very limited universe of people who get us, who care about us, who love us, and who would do anything for us, including the things that other people would never understand. We shed tears on Yizkor because no matter how many years later, it hurts that somebody who loved us that much is no longer with us.
That poignancy is real. But here is the good news. The measure of a life is love. The measure of a life is relationship. The measure of a life is doing crazy favors for people we love because we love them so much. And because we love them so much, it is not crazy to us. It makes perfect sense. The quantum of that kind of love is not fixed. The quantum of that kind of love can increase.
Whom do we love, and what do we love, that inspires us to go beyond? And how can we do more of it? Beyond is where the deepest joy of life is found. Chag sameakh!