I thought that going away for Pesach meant I would not have to do any Pesach cleaning. I thought wrong. In fact, not only am I using up as much chametz as possible (including dried pasta well past its expiration date), kashering the oven and emptying cabinets to make room for Pesach cookware, I am also spiffing up the place as if I’m getting ready for guests to move right in. Because that’s what’s about to happen. Ergo, cleaning for Pesach even when we won’t be here.
When we realized that our home was an attractive setting for another family coming to town for the holiday, we made a deal with them. Almost immediately, I began eyeing our home as if every room would be shown on an Airbnb listing. How many stars would we get?
Well before we were paid for the rental, I began buying nice new things to bulk up my imaginary star ratings: fluffy towels and matching bathmat sets. A few bits of fresh décor. A new Pesach tablecloth. My Amazon cart was piled high with fancier soaps and shampoos than our normal brands, a blue whale bath spout cover for the children, and a few new toys. I cast threatening glances at our aging houseplants. They would have cost me at least one star so I mercilessly tossed them into the green yard waste bin. This was no time for sentimentality. Three days before we leave, I’ll take my fading “statement” orchid to Pac 8 Orchids for a beautiful new one. When our guests arrive and see it prominently placed, it will remind them of arriving in a nice hotel lobby. But it will be more like arriving at a Best Western, not L’Hermitage.
Of course, guests need closet and drawer space, so we stuffed several bags with giveaway clothes. We could have just shoved them to the deep, dark recesses of the closets, but it was high time to say, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled, faded, and too-snug masses yearning to breathe free.” After filling the bags, the looming spaces in the closets looked kind of forlorn, so I bought a big set of new cedar hangers, too. They are so pretty. I bet you could find them at a Radisson. Or even a Hilton.
My Jewish DNA carries a robust Pesach-preparation reflex that vrooms into gear the day after Purim and drives me to feats of dusting, polishing, and Marie Kondoing that otherwise lie dormant all winter.
I have learned from this experience that guests or no guests, Pesach would not be Pesach if I weren’t working to earn it physically (and also spending a lot of money). My Jewish DNA carries a robust Pesach-preparation reflex that vrooms into gear the day after Purim and drives me to feats of dusting, polishing, and Marie Kondoing that otherwise lie dormant all winter. I like to muscle out any hint of grime with the business side of a sponge; wrestle my vacuum attachment to the hinterlands behind the couches; and climb up on my stepladder to clean above the soffits. Why, I just climbed down from having cleaned the inside frosted glass of our dining room lamp, and if I say so myself it’s so much brighter here already! Miriam had her tambourine; I have my Swiffer and my Spotify.
After all, as Hillel used to say, “If I do not do spring clean for myself, who will spring clean for me?” (Or something like that.) And while yes, the cleaning gets tiring, it is a privilege to make our home lovely and welcoming for Pesach. This year, it is a novel and welcome feeling to prepare our house — where my family has celebrated Pesach for twenty-three years — for another family.
I picture them arriving and being pleased by my efforts. I hope they will sleep comfortably in our beds, enjoy the new soap, shampoo, cedar hangers, and the beautiful orchid. (If you can remember to give it three ice cubes every ten days that would be great — I left a note about that.) More than anything, I hope they will experience a five-star spirit of the Festival of Freedom throughout the house!
Judy Gruen’s latest book is “The Skeptic and the Rabbi: Falling in Love With Faith.”
