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t the turn of the previous century, my great-grandmother, Bubby Mina, would begin Pesach preparations right before Chanukah. Bubby, who lived in a little town near Minsk, would shoo everyone out of the house at daybreak and then begin her labors. Her first task was to take the two geese she had lovingly fattened over the course of the year to the local shochet.

As soon as their animal souls were dispatched back to their Maker, she’d painstakingly pluck their fluffy feathers. These feathers were deposited in the cloth bag that contained several years’ worth of feathers. These gossamer treasures were part of her daughter’s dowry and would, one day, with Hashem’s help, merit to rest under the heads of the chassan and kallah.

But now the kallah-to-be was only six years old, and there was much work to complete before dark. Bubby Mina scrubbed the table, covered it with a wooden board, and then with a white cloth. Voilà! Her kitchen was kashered, ready and waiting to prepare the schmaltz they would need for Pesach.

After the schmaltz was cooked, cooled, and stored in jars, she exiled the delicacy to the cellar. Bubby didn’t have a refrigerator or freezer — no one did — her deep freezer was the cold Russian winter.

On Chanukah, the family celebrated with the delicacies Bubby prepared from the geese.

Like my great-grandmother from Minsk, I too begin my Pesach preparations at Chanukah time, albeit, in deference to my dietician, without the schmaltz. I prepare lists and make inventories. Since my husband does not sell chometz on Pesach, I have to get rid of all the chometz we own. In another tradition passed down from my great-grandmother, we never throw out food.

Therefore, from Chanukah onward, I begin the countdown of months until Pesach and carefully purchase only those items that we will be able to consume before the Yom Tov arrives. Even though bread crumbs are on sale for two plus two, will we be able to finish four big bags? That goes for the soup powder, too. Will all the bags of chicken, onion, and mushroom bouillon be consumed by the deadline?

At least Tu B’Shevat is a holiday of fruit. By then I am well into my last trimester of preparations and am heading toward my last month, beginning with Purim, with both joy and trepidation. My whole apartment is Pesachdig not long after Purim, aside from parts of the kitchen and dining room. If I send the children and grandchildren home with all the nosh and leftovers, will we be left with not too much and not too little?

As Seder night nears, I eagerly anticipate commemorating our miraculous delivery from bondage. Finally, the great night arrives. This evening marks the birth of our nation! Red wine is poured in abundance, the bag of freshly grated horseradish is perforated, and the sharp smell attacks our nostrils. The children dance like frogs, adults sing like young children, and the cacophony of noise and scents is pierced by the moments of silence as we crunch our dry matzos down in less than four minutes.

The echoes of the Seder night last throughout Chol Hamoed only to again rise to new heights on the Seventh Day of Pesach as we cross the sea.

And then, it’s all over. Why does it have to end so soon? I lament. We worked so hard and for so long! Why doesn’t Pesach stay for at least another week?

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 640)