All our kids were home for Pesach, thank G-d, a real treat that doesn’t happen very often. The last time was six months ago!
Having a big family means that with everyone home comes plenty of noise and chaos. But overriding that is a sense of completeness that makes it all worthwhile.
Yom Tov was wonderful. Good food, interesting guests, some fighting, lots of laughter.
Then came Chol Hamoed. And in our family, Chol Hamoed trips always follow a very precise path: Wake up. Go daven. Learn something. Then I say, “Okay, everyone in the car, let’s go!” And everything falls apart.
“Where are we going?” they demand.
I say my classic line: “How about the zoo?” And there is an immediate and unanimous outcry. “Boring! We’ve been there a million times!”
So I turn to ChatGPT for ideas, and it delivers enough suggestions for a three-volume tourist guide. American Dream Mall. Boating. Museums. Hiking. Tourist attractions. Ideas for days.
But for every idea, half the kids are in, half the kids are out, and inevitably someone is personally offended that I even suggested it.
At this point, it’s 2:00 PM, and I pull out my last remaining parenting strategy: “Everyone get in the car, I’m taking you somewhere fun and I’m not telling you where.”
The younger ones come but the older ones look at me like, “Nice try. We’ve seen this trick before.”
But we go, we come back, and it’s fine. Repeat annually.
Trying to avoid a repeat, I came prepared this year. Three days of Chol Hamoed, three days of activities: Ziplining. Horseback riding. Maybe a shooting range.
The first day, I walked in confidently. “Everyone ready? We’re going ziplining.”
Silence.
Then one kid piped up, “I don’t want to go.” Then another and another. “I’m not going.” “Not interested.” “Sounds scary.” “Sounds boring.”
No problem, I thought, I’ll substitute tomorrow’s plan.
“Okay! Backup plan—horseback riding!” I announced.
Same response. “No.” “Nope.” “Absolutely not.”
So I go back to my old reliable option, the zoo, and predictably, am met with a perfect choir of nos.
And now, despite my best efforts and pre-planning, we’re back where we always are: 1:00 PM Chol Hamoed with no consensus and no direction. Ideas are being thrown around rapid fire and being shot down just as quickly.
After going in circles for two hours, one kid says, “Why don’t we just go back to the place we went last year?”
Chelsea Piers, bowling, laser tag. It wasn’t new or exciting, but it elicited the most interest of any suggestion thus far.
So we went. We bowled. We played laser tag—boys vs. girls. (It was very competitive. I will not disclose the results for the sake of shalom bayit.)
Then, later that night, we went to an escape room. Also not new. Also something we did last year. Also amazing.
The next morning, we were back at it. “What are we doing today?” I braced myself for the onslaught. But then one of the kids said, “Why don’t we just go back?” So we did. And the next day as well.
Three days of bowling and laser tag at Chelsea Piers.
We live in a world obsessed with new. New trips. New experiences. New thrills. We think if it’s not new—it’s not exciting or important or valuable.
But these three days taught me something I didn’t expect: Joy doesn’t come from newness, it comes from presence. We did the same things each day, but the experience was different each time.
And I realized there’s an important lesson from my experience. We all agree that it’s important to be constantly growing and learning and increasing in our Jewish observance. But sometimes that translates to the assumption that we need to keep piling on new practices, which quickly becomes overwhelming and hard to sustain.
But there is value in repetition. Instead of committing to davening shacharit, mincha, and maariv every day, and then crashing after a week and dropping it all, commit to one—whichever one you feel you can sustain—for 30 days. Then increase it for another 30 days, and so on, until it becomes ingrained.
Or take a mitzvah you already do, and add more intention and spirituality to it. Say you already pray shacharit every morning, but you’re racing through the words mindlessly with your head already in your first meeting of the day. Instead of piling on more practices or prayers, slow down and focus on the words you’re already saying. It may feel less exciting, but that’s where the real growth and peace of mind happen.