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The last of the boxes have been packed away. Whereas I still refuse to eat off my bathroom floor, I admit that the surface there, as well as the surfaces in the rest of my home, Baruch Hashem, has been made to look shiny and clean.

Both Shabbat Ha Gadol and Hag Rishon Pesach have passed. The kids, when otherwise not occupied with their rotation, for an outing with their temporarily vacationing Abba, are sitting, for the most part, contently, on one of the sofas in the salon, reading the "afikoman prizes" awarded to them collectively. (This year they did not hide all of the matzah to prevent the grownups from using a substitute afikoman [ask your local rabbi about those laws], and this year we grownups did not surreptitiously pass that special half of a matzah from lap to lap, to thwart their search efforts. Rather, all of our antics were tamer this time.)

More accurately, most of the children are lounging on the sofas. The rest are visiting friends or are indulging in that great teenage pastime of sleeping in.

Meanwhile, Baruch Hashem, our home is populated with people. Friends come and go for meals or for shorter visits, and the phone rings with a greater than ordinary frequency since it's easier to coordinate connections, even from across the world, when everyone's off from work and school.

Before, after, and inbetween these comings and goings, my husband and I reconnect. There is no more preparing the house for Pesach, for this year. There is no rushing to pay bills, to write articles, to solve software problems, to teach classes, to fly around the world to troubleshoot algorithms, or to do anything else that is mundane, except, perhaps, to take out the trash and to put the shemittah leftovers in the proper rubbish bin.

My family takes advantage of picnicking (a great way to organize a meal with friends whose holiday koshrut standards are different from your own), of disposable cutlery and serving ware, of mornings without commuter or carpool deadlines, and of the warm, softly breezy weather.

As we stare at each other and out the window, we ease back to ourselves. My husband and I talk together. We walk together. We rediscover yet again why we agreed to marry each other.

Outside, the little birdies sing and do whatever it is that small avians do during the springtime. I suppose that they are resting in anticipation of their hatchlings. If consulted, I would advise them to do as such.

Though we can't touch the flowers or otherwise harvest the patio herbs during this sabbatical year of the earth, we can still take delight in sitting on our merpesset and enjoying the fragrance and beauty of all of that green goodness.

Notwithstanding our children's threats to push unruly hedgehogs and siblings off of our porch's ledge, unless we give them five minutes of attention, Computer Cowboy and I, doze under the Nisan sun. While we cannot directly, from our rooftop, watch any fields of barley ripen, we can continue to observe the development of the little grains which have sprouted into teenagers.

This year, BH, they gave my husband and me a list of zimrot which they wanted to sing at the Seder. This year, with supervision, they cleaned the car's interior, the cracks in the diningroom table, and the inside of the refrigerator. This year, they reminded me that live concerts were not part of our family's Mo'ed customs.

During this holy week, when our people's freedom is remembered and celebrated, say a few words of gratitude to The Boss. As my husband reminded me during one especially tumultuous moment of readying for the holiday, perspective is key to making the most, not only of this period, but of the longer span, as well. BH, b'li eyen hora, he prompted, the two of us have: life, Yiddishkeit, each other, our children, and we have our home in Jerusalem. Everything else is a degree of detail.

Enjoy your holiday!

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Response to Readers:

Sylvia of Australia, writing in response to "To be a Writer, Part II," before your response I was not aware of the works of Jacque Ellul. I have since come to understand that his body of writings were concerned with the types of coercions used by social institutions, i.e. governments or media, to "pull the wool over the eyes" of the masses. This prolific philosopher, in some ways, typified the response to scientific knowledge given over by his educated contemporaries. More specifically, in the past century, give or take a few decades, inquiring minds have sought and have (ironically) established their own social legitimization visa via examinations of functional assumptions popular among empowered (sometimes academic, but not always) individuals. The "fashion" of deconstruction, among philosophers, rhetoricians, and kindred intelligentsia, was one product of this trend.

Although I am not versed in the contributions of Ellul, I can appreciate, at least superficially, writings which challenge the trumping of human authority over Divine Authority and which bring to the fore questions about why our civilization is willingly exchanging our freedoms for fleeting delights. Not only is that problem evident in Europe, from where Ellul harked, but sadly, the problem seems also to be growing here, in the Middle East.

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Little Smile I:
As told to me by a friend;

An ambitious ozeret called my otherwise Pesach-beleaguered friend to cancel her appointment to help. It was not so much that someone else had offered my friend's cleaning lady more money per hour than had my friend (don't laugh; these stories abound this time of year), as it was that the ozeret realized that she had to clean her own home and had left no time in her schedule to do so.

Little Smile II:
As experienced by me with a friend;

All of us have our moments when we are less than direct, because we are unclear, because we are unsure about sharing, or because we have nothing upon which to focus, needing more than the content of a communication the opportunity to connect with a friend. The following conversation, which took place just days before the start of Pesach, a time when most people, including Yours Truly, are mentally warped from processing more than the ordinary amount of responsibilities, had me flummoxed (given the time of year, although I had received the call, I could just have well had been making it).

Me: "Hello?"

Her: "Hi!"

Me: "How can I help you? It's nice to her your voice."

Her: "I just wanted to talk."

Me: "It's not such a great time for me to chat."

Her: "I have time, I'm on a bus from Point A to Point B."

Me: "You caught me in the midst of things."

Her: But I need to talk.

Me: "I have five minutes now and more time tonight. Sorry."

Her: "But I need to get support, now!"

Me: "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Her "I don't know."