Making Pesach, Making Me
I’ve been making Pesach, thank G-d, for over twenty-five years—which, at my age, doesn’t seem possible unless you started at eleven years old like I did.
Most people don’t reach this milestone until well into adulthood. Most people grow into Pesach, watching their mothers turn over the kitchen, inheriting traditions and gradually taking on responsibility.
I didn’t have that advantage.
At eleven years old, I made my first Pesach.
And I don’t mean I helped my mother clean.
That year, I became frum.
It wasn’t gradual.
It wasn’t because my family was becoming religious.
It was something that ignited inside me—a neshamah pull so strong that I couldn’t ignore it.
I fell in love with the depth of Torah, the rhythm of mitzvos, the sense of something bigger than myself. But choosing this path meant stepping into a world I hadn’t grown up in.
While my friends wiped down cabinets and set the Seder table, calling it “making Pesach,” I was actually making Pesach.
I kashered the kitchen.
I turned over the kitchen.
I even led the Seder.
I learned the halachos, double- and triple- checking, making sure I got everything right. I remember standing there, staring at everything that needed to be done, feeling the full weight of how impossible it all seemed.
Because how is an eleven-year-old supposed to make Pesach?
I wasn’t ready.
I was overwhelmed.
I was exhausted.
I was just a child.
But I did it anyway.
Not because I had it all figured out.
Not because I wasn’t scared.
Not because I felt capable.
Because Hashem carried me through it.
There’s a concept in Chazal:
“Haba letaher, mesayin oso”—When you take the first step toward something holy, Hashem helps you.
I wasn’t alone in that kitchen. I didn’t do it in a vacuum.
Hashem gave me strength.
Hashem carried me through it . . . every year.
I just had to start.
Pesach wasn’t just about cleaning—it was about becoming.
Adina Forouzan lives in Cleveland, Ohio. She is CEO and founder of Master My Space, Cleveland’s premier luxury home organizing company.