Descended as I am from a long line of Hungarian balabustas (homemakers), I was brought up to believe that Pesach cleaning, when taken seriously, should always begin in December. Throughout my childhood, my mother, without fail, would begin a programme of industriously emptying out cupboards around about Chanukah time, and my grandmother still does the same - even though she’s 90 and hasn’t spent Pesach at home for years. So, when I got married and approached ‘making Pesach’ for the first time, I treated it much like preparation for an A Level. There was a timetable, colour-coded of course, beginning with some light cleaning in early January (that was the rebel in me), increasing in small increments of intensity until the really heavy duty labour hit shortly after Purim, which is when ‘do Pesach shop’ appeared, overlaid with bright yellow highlighter, on the schedule.
Nearly a quarter of a century later, I’m happy to say, and I have more or less vanquished my Hungarian alter-ego. I’ve got my Pesach cleaning routine down to such a fine art that it need occupy no more than three weeks of my life. This is thanks, in no small part, to a small army of cleaners who can tackle the kitchen while I’m at work, and a lot of Sellotape to seal up potentially-chametz infested cupboards elsewhere in the house. (My reputation, alas, still precedes me and every year around mid-January one of my oldest friends takes great pleasure in asking me if I’ve Pesach-cleaned my bathroom cabinet yet - yes, the timetable, much to my current shame and then pride, was shared among my peer group.)
Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that – this year, making Pesach is going to be a lot different for all of us. I had planned to cut things down to the wire even more than usual, shopping for my Pesach goods just days before yom tov and starting the cooking on erev chag. Instead, like everyone else, I’ve found myself trying to work out how to do it with an extra guest trying to sneak in the door along with Eliyahu Hanavi – I’m talking to you, Coronavirus.
The first whiff of the idea that I might want to change my modus operandi came when I read the JC article that advised shoppers to think about getting their Pesach shopping in early this year, in case of shortages. A frisson of fear wormed its way into my heart. How would I manage that if I hadn’t yet cleaned out the cupboards, fridge and freezer to put the purchased food into? Dry goods, I reasoned, could be stored in boxes in the spare room, but the fresh and frozen items would just have to wait.
Within days though, the situation had taken on a life of its own. Less than a week after Purim, on the day after my office had closed its doors for the purposes of encouraging social distancing, I visited one of the larger supermarkets in the wee hours of the morning to do my Shabbat shop – how clever I thought I was, getting in early! – only to find queues snaking around the block. If the lurgy hadn’t got you before you entered the doors of this hallowed establishment, it certainly had a jolly good chance of infiltrating after spending over an hour cheek by jowl with the great and the good of Golders Green, fighting over the cheese portions in Aisle 6.
And so, we begin to acclimatise to the ‘new normal’. I was fortunate that I managed to get half of my Pesach shop done the very day before my husband came down with a fever and fatigue and we all went into self-isolation. As for the other half, I’m just praying that the rare-as-hens-teeth online slot I succeeded in snaffling at another kosher supermarket will turn up with the goods next week as promised. Otherwise I’m going to have to get very creative with the ground almonds currently residing in my son’s former bedroom.
Quarantine, of course, also means no extra cleaning help – but on the plus side, school is out and my daughter is at that magic age where she’s just old enough to make herself useful and just young enough to think vacuum cleaning is fun.
Cooking and cleaning aside, preparing for Pesach in what is beginning to feel like an extended episode of Doctor Who, has helped me contemplate what this sometimes stressful chag is really all about. Is there any point in outfitting my daughter with a new dress and shoes for yom tov if no-one but her parents will get to see them? Well yes, actually, if the point of buying them is to honour the festival as opposed to the fashion parade in shul. ‘Freedom’ this Pesach may not mean the ability to take chol hamoed outings, or even spend time with friends and family who are visiting from overseas
. But witnessing the plethora of volunteering efforts, neighbourliness and togetherness-even-while-apart that this horrible pandemic has triggered, brings with it its own sense of expansiveness. Nobody knows what the coming weeks and months have in store for us, and Pesach is likely to be but a distant memory by the time we once again venture forth into whatever the post-Corona world looks like. But in the meantime, may this ‘zman cheiruteinu’ (time of our freedom) bring us inner liberty, along with good health, serenity and all the necessary ingredients for a beautiful chag.
