Last week, I reflected on the transition out of Pesach, the struggles and the strengths.
And a week later, I am still grappling with it.
I found some consolation and meaning in the fact that Rosh Chodesh Iyar falls this week, on Friday and Shabbat.
The very first Rosh Chodesh Iyar, the first time the Jewish people marked this new month after Yetziat Mitzrayim, also occurred on Friday and Shabbat.
At that moment, Bnei Yisrael were encamped in a place called Marah.
Marah, mar, means bitter.
Just one week earlier, they had witnessed the splitting of the sea, the most elevating, collective moment.
Water had been miraculous.
And now?
They are in the desert, and the only water they find is bitter, undrinkable.
From the highest highs… to something very difficult.
They complain. Moshe cries out.
And then something interesting happens.
The Almighty shows Moshe a piece of wood, and Moshe casts it into the water, making it sweet.
G-d could have made the water sweet instantly. But He didn’t.
Moshe had to act. And then Moshe taught the people chukim, laws which they could not understand.
This moment feels very familiar.
We come out of Pesach with meaning, connection, even inspiration.
And then we return to real life.
Sometimes it even feels like a drop.
From something elevated… into something more complicated, a little more bitter.
We are also now in the time of the Omer, a season that should be agricultural, full of growth and anticipation.
And yet events in our history transformed this into a period of mourning. Bittersweet.
We observed Yom HaShoah this week, Holocaust Memorial Day, a time to sink into the lowest lows as we commemorate our most bitter chapters.
So the question is:
What turns bitterness into sweetness?
At Marah, it was not automatic.
It required action.
And it required structure, even when things did not and could not fully make sense.
As we enter the month of Iyar, this becomes even more meaningful.
Next week we observe Yom HaZikaron, a day of remembrance for those who have fallen in the establishment and defense of the State of Israel. All of Israel, and Jews around the world, share in this collective pain.
And then, as the day of bitter mourning ends, we transition directly into Yom HaAtzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, filled with the sweetest rejoicing.
The immediacy of that transition, made both physically and emotionally, is shocking, exhausting, and right.
“Iyar” is actually a Babylonian name.
The Torah simply calls it the second month, because everything begins with Nissan.
But it is also called Ziv, radiance. A softer glow. Radiant, but not overwhelming. A more balanced joy.
And in the Targum, it is called Nitzan, bud, the beginning of something not yet fully formed.
We may arrive here feeling a bit like Marah.
But this is a month of potential.
Not because everything is already sweet, but because we have the ability to make it so.
Through what we do.
Through how we think.
Through the choices we make, whether we fully understand them or not.
Three small steps away from bitterness:
1.Notice the “Marah” moment. Where does something feel a little bitter right now?
Name it. Not to fix it yet. Just to see it clearly.
2. Do one small act anyway. Choose one action that brings goodness into your life or your relationships.
Even if it feels small.
Even if you don’t fully understand its impact.
3. Create a moment of sweetness. A phone call. A kind word. A moment with a grandchild.
Not waiting for things to feel better, but actively making them so.
This is how bitterness begins to shift.
Not all at once. But slowly, intentionally…
Into something sweeter.
Wishing you a Chodesh Tov, a month of radiance, growth, and gentle beginnings,
Rabbanit Sharona Hassan
Founder of Grand Plan
Did you listen to the Connecting Jewish Grandparents: The Grand Plan Podcast this week?
Spotify: bit.ly/JewishPodcast
Apple: bit.ly/JewishGrandApple
