We once left Egypt in haste--and this is now being written in haste.

But how can I leave Egypt? I am in the midst of writing a new book. I have pages to edit; I'm racing deadlines--where am I going?

Is this my own personal Egypt--being chained to my work? And I don't want to leave it, not now, not just yet. Dare to take me out, set me on the road to freedom and I might protest, complain quite a lot, just as our ancestors did.

How is it possible for me to leave Egypt? I have doctor appointments and medications to lay out. Can I take all of them with me on the road? Are there drug stores along the way, or are there herbalists in the camp? Can I even cross the dry bed on foot and then walk through the desert for 40 years--without a full body transplant? How did our disabled ancestors do it?

I am not even discussing the kosher cakes and kosher candies for Pesach, which we at least ordered early on. Will everything arrive on time? There are only 24 hours left.

The search for hametz? Hunting down the last crumbs of hametz with a match is far beyond me. My happy little plan? We'll be boarding up all the cabinets, taping them shut, keeping only a modest stash of food at home, dining out with others who are young and healthy enough to Do It All.

I am also chained to my body. My own personal Egypt. How to break free? As has been said, we are "spiritual beings" merely visiting our earthly bodies.

But History is waiting. A nation is being born. A people are about to be freed.

Thus, leave I must. My son and daughter-in-law, our grandchildren are expecting us. Cousins and my dearest friend will be joining us. We have a salad and a Sephardic haroset to bring.

I wish you, one and all, a safe journey across the sea; a safe landing on the other side; the taste of onions and garlic and savory meats in your manna; and, eventually, an ultimate redemption.

Next year, in Jerusalem!

Blessings,

Chag Pesach Sameach,

Phyllis