On the Jewish holiday of Passover (Pesach), Jews do something that seems backwards at first glance. To celebrate freedom, Jews do not have the most succulent of food available. Jews greatly constrict their dietary options by cutting out leavened products made from wheat, barley, rye, oats, or spelt. The term for these leavened products is chametz. Instead of eating these leavened products on Passover, Jews eat an unleavened bread called matzah. It is flat, dry, one or two steps above eating cardboard. It is a peculiar choice for celebrating freedom. It fulfills some of the roles of bread without feeling filling. Matzah is many things, but it is far from luxurious.
An article from Rabbi David Kasher at Yeshivat Hadar about matzah touches on this point. R. Kasher said that matzah is almost an anti-bread, something that is not supposed to be enjoyable. My past experiences with matzah corroborate that there is some truth in that insight. R. Kasher also emphasizes that matzah is eaten because it is commandment (a mitzvah) and even links the word matzah to mitzvah.
From this perspective, the focus is on obedience and symbolic meaning rather than enjoyment. While that framing captures part of the experience, it also presents a false choice: either eat the bread that is meaningful or the bread that is pleasurable. In fact, matzah can be both, but not because it denies pleasure altogether.
Bread Without the Hype
Chametz is bread with ambition. It rises, it fills, and it projects abundance. It is, in a sense, a metaphor for ego: it amplifies our sense of fullness, of richness, of our sense of self. Passover throws us out of that paradigm. Matzah is flat, dense, and unpretentious. You can eat a lot and still feel hungry, or at least not overstuffed. By limiting ourselves to matzah for a week, we are recalibrating. We taste the difference between substance and show, between satisfaction and the false fullness of indulgence. We learn to enjoy without needing to swell, impress, or flatter the ego.
The Ego Problem, Not the Appetite
R. Kasher's take of "matzah is not meant to be enjoyable" or that we do it because it is a commandment is not unique to him. It is one I have come across in the Jewish community numerous times. I found it to be problematic when he created a false dichotomy between doing mitzvahs or enjoying life. Judaism does not ask Jews to reject pleasure the same way you would find in some other world religions. It asks us to discipline it, to refine it, to sharpen it. Matzah reminds us that by temporarily limiting ourselves, we cultivate awareness, discernment, and depth. True freedom is not about mindless or frivolous indulgences, but the ability to make meaningful choices.
The Joy of Enough
In Jewish tradition, another name of matzah is lechem oni (לחם עוני), which means the "bread of affliction" or the "poor man's bread." It sounds bleak at first, doesn't it? However, upon further examination, I believe it asks us a question about what richness is. We live in a world where material wealth, a prestigious and/or lucrative career, and fame are highly valued. The Sages (Pirke Avot 4:1) put it plainly: "Who is rich? The one who is satisfied with their lot." In a world that constantly sends us the message that we are lacking, whether through social comparison, advertisements, or the rat race, matzah reminds us that wealth is not about accumulation, but rather awareness and connection.
This lesson is not unique to Passover. Last Sukkot, I wrote about how sitting in the sukkah teaches a similar truth: simplicity can liberate us. Without distraction, we can learn what really matters: humility, gratitude, connection, and meaning. Matzah does not extract that pleasure. It teaches us to recognize and bask in the richness already in front of us, and to do so while the ego takes a back seat.
Conclusion
Passover is a reminder that pleasure is not something to suppress or ignore, but to refine. Chametz, the bread of abundance, has its place the rest of the year. It fuels our bodies, satisfies cravings, and reflects the world of fullness in which we live. For a few days of the year, matzah asks of ourselves whether we can enjoy life without inflating the ego. It asks us to recalibrate our appetites and our awareness. And when Jews return to eating chametz, it is with a renewed sense of appreciation for chametz. In that respect, matzah becomes a portal in which pleasure can be enjoyed more fully and wisely.
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