During the Pesach seder each year we sing Dayeinu “enough for us” as a song of thanks and praise for the many miracles and gifts that G-d has given us. One verse says:
אִלּוּ קָרַע לָנוּ אֶת־הַיָּם וְלֹא הֶעֱבִירָנוּ בְּתוֹכוֹ בֶּחָרָבָה, דַּיֵּנוּ. If He had split the Sea for us and had not taken us through it on dry land; [it would have been] enough for us.
This song goes on and on, each verse like a rung on a ladder, building to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. There ends the song, but not our lives. We remember the things G-d did for our ancestors, but what about the things that are happening now? It seems like there is a lot of discontent in the world; people tend to seek out the new, the exciting, the upgrade, or anything that they think will make them happy. This is not always a bad thing. I am currently upgrading a number of pieces from my personal gear kit, and in doing so hope to improve my experiences and achieve new goals. With that comes an price: each goal that is met is replaced with another. Joe Simpson, the well-known mountaineer and author said,
If you succeed with one dream...it's not long before you're conjuring up another, slightly harder, a bit more ambitious, a bit more dangerous.
Is it possible for us to reset our interpretation of our lives, our positions, and our goals, in order to make the most of where we are and what we have? Is it possible for us to say dayeinu while still being successful, climbing ladders at work, and acheiving goals at home?
I believe Pesach is a time that helps us do just that. In fact, all fast days and many mitzvot also serve as mechanisms to recalibrate our minds, hearts, and souls to what is important in life, to what is sufficient, and to what improvements we could make in ourselves and in our lives (whether that's painting the living room a new color or applying for a different job). Take bread for example—I know I’ve said something about “good bread” at some point, but after a week of matzah as the only bread, with no pizza (unless it's made with matzah), no lasagna (expect matzah-lasagna!), and no sandwich unless it’s made with two nice crispy crumbly pieces of matzah…suddenly even the most common of breads seems decadent, and a 99¢ box of pasta is worthy of a candlelit dinner for two.
When I was a teenager, I spent more than few nights sleeping by a campfire with a sleeping bag or a blanket right on the dirt. I think back on how simple it was and how natural. I didn’t need a bed, I thought, not even a pad! I had everything I needed. But, I know that if I did it today, my back would be so stiff in the morning I wouldn’t walk well for three days. I haven’t lost appreciation for the earth that supports all life and the gift of gravity that allows us to lay down at night to rest, but I have grown in my appreciation of my own body, what I am capable of doing, and how my actions today affect my tomorrow. As we age, we grow and our needs change.
Life is a journey and if we only see it through the lens of Dayeinu, we’d never take another step. However, if we never stopped to appreciate the views and say, “even if I only had this view, this experience, this dinner with friends around a campfire, the trip would be worth it,” wouldn’t we arrive at the end and have nothing to say?
If G-d had split the sea, and no one had walked through it, the story would have ended there.