I have a pretty early memory of sitting at lunch in preschool and wanting someone else’s snack. Something about it looked more appealing than my own, probably for no other reason than it was something I did not have. And as I got older, the feeling remained consistent but the desired item progressed. I moved on to cool knapsacks, tales of awesome Chol Hamoed trips, and even better grades. To sum it up, it was jealousy. As kids, our middot lessons generally came from our teachers and parents in the form of the positives. We are certainly more educated with the idea of sameach b’chelko, or being happy with your allotted portion, while also being encouraged to suppress kina (jealousy), but maybe some jealousy is inevitable.

As a young child, this is a difficult set of concepts to comprehend. How can I be told that I can’t even want another item that someone has? It’s a feeling that almost can’t be controlled. Before one reaches adulthood, it can get harder. There is always going to be that kid in school who taunts the other kids by sneaking in his or her new Chanukah present or the one who goes on and on and on about a family vacation. If you grew up with siblings, then it’s inevitable that most of your sibling rivalry was rooted in jealousy.

When the idea of jealousy first taints our minds, it can really be a mind-over-matter thing, because the things we desire are generally material items or even experiences that will likely not substantially improve our lives. As we mature, that may not be the case. It likely can manifest itself in an academic circumstance when we would notice students in our classes get better grades, when they seem to have the same study habits as we do. Or athletic abilities or a beautiful singing voice that will get them on to sports teams or school productions. And that’s where it begins to get tricky. Probably up until that point, our perspective is that all items come from our parents. But once we get into the world of physical attributes, we then recognize that those are clearly given by Hashem and we begin to question why one person has a specific attribute or skill and not others. What makes this more difficult to process is that seemingly these are more substantial differences between people. In theory, as we grow older, desiring that which we see in someone else should be making us a better person; it’s no longer about the cool kid who brought fruit wrinkles for snack every day.

There must have been a certain point in my high school and college years when I assumed I would outgrow jealousy, as I would inevitably be more in control of my finances and be able to buy myself whatever I wanted, or I would be mature enough to accept my God-given skills and characteristics in order to be a productive and happy member of society.

I’m still not there. Considering it is one of the Aseret Hadibrot (Ten Commandments) to not feel jealous, it might be something I should spend more time focusing on and figuring out while I’m still not fully there with this explicit commandment. The upside is that it doesn’t seem like most of my contemporaries in a similar age bracket have outgrown this either. In the weeks preceding Pesach, opportunities to experience jealousy are everywhere. We can be jealous of how much other friends’ kids help out with the cleaning preparations, or whose parents take them someplace exotic for Yom Tov, or that their menu seems way more organized and delectable than anything you could possibly imagine. If you think about it, we’re adults. At this point we should be able to accept the idea that everything we have—be it materialistic or not—are all gifts from Hashem. Then we all have these moments when someone comes up to us and says, “OMG. I’m so jealous of your [insert bizarre new experience or new item here].” From the outside, this person might seem to be so much more blessed, in so many different ways than me, so the thought of the other person being jealous of anything is completely mind-boggling.

But still, we have to face facts: What we have is what Hashem decided we need.

That’s all easier said than done at any stage in life. While yes, with the change of the seasons, there will be some friends who are buying a whole new wardrobe and she (maybe he too, but likely more she) might even be bragging about it. We can also be jealous of someone’s ability to stay calm during the Pesach prep storm or even someone’s ability to wake up with ample time to daven—and dare I say exercise—each morning. In the case of those examples, we can probably dig deep to find a way to not be so jealous of the materialism.

But then we can find ourselves jealous of someone’s ability to navigate life with more ease and spirituality. Shouldn’t that be something we should be allowed to desire for our own lives? What if we’re jealous of someone else’s seemingly healthy relationships with their family? Is it really wrong for someone single or childless to be jealous of a friend who seems to have a beautiful, nachat-flowing family?

A couple of years ago, a close friend had a new designer handbag that retailed for about $1,400. I am close enough with this person that I felt comfortable asking if the bag was a gift in honor of any significant occasion. She simply responded that her friend’s daughter found a knock-off version on Amazon for $40. Ten days later (because it was not an Amazon Prime item), I had my very own. I got so many compliments and looks of confusion, considering at that time I was going through incredibly difficult financial struggles.

So much of what we believe about other people’s success or happiness is how we choose to perceive it based on our very own opinions and calculations. The only person who can determine what is emet (truth) and what is sheker (deception) is oneself. We live in a social media-influenced world and I’m the first to admit that I’m incredibly influenced by what I see. I always was jealous of designer apparel and accessories (and even home furnishings), but up until a couple of days ago, I never thought I could be jealous of staircases. Sure enough, through a tag on a post that led to another tag that led to another post, I was drooling over magnificent staircases in a complete stranger’s home for absolutely no productive reason. This is something I can work on. But maybe the experience of jealousy is not what Hashem had in mind when He determined that this make it into the 10 fundamental mitzvot of our faith. But then what is the purpose of these emotions?

As Jews, our holidays can elicit intense feelings and emotions. While Pesach is so closely associated with spring, it’s generally associated with renewal. The essential mitzvah associated with this holiday is retelling the story of Bnei Yisrael’s redemption from slavery in Mitzrayim. We say the words in V’hi She’amda and we remind ourselves of our redemptions throughout history from as far back as the Crusades to just about 70 years ago when the State of Israel was back in our hands. As a nation, we look at these moments as rebirths for our great nation. As individuals, the feeling of freedom may not resonate as much as we hope for.

Over the past couple of months, there’s this new concept of “self care” that’s been batted around. It seems to be tied in with “living in the moment.” I’m sure if everyone had time for real self care during these hectic weeks, maybe the stress would be alleviated and it would be easier to feel genuine sameach b’chelko. That seems to make so much sense, but there’s one technicality. Self care is expensive and time consuming. Who has extra funds or time just lying around Erev Yom Tov?

I imagine for many of us who have faced any challenge that we are trying to overcome, we think so many times the end is in sight and we have hope that we will come out stronger. I imagine being in the 100th row behind Nachshon Ben Aminadav, the first person to step into the waters of the Red Sea, which parted only after he almost fully immersed.

But what if you’re standing at the 100th row and you never seem to make it past the Yam Suf? You seem to be standing and looking at all those in front of you with a sense of hope that soon you will get to experience the same thing they are. Are you jealous or are you hopeful? When standing at the edge of the sea, the tefillot of our nation must have been so intense because they were davening for something they knew were about to have. So while it was still full of bakasha (request), there was an element of shevach (praise). We all know someone who’s standing at that 100th row who’s not making it to the edge of the water. The mitzvah of sippur yetzias Mitzrayim (retelling the story of the Exodus), to feel as if you were there and a sense of redemption is virtually impossible when facing a set of personal challenges that leave you feeling captured. And then faced with the constant mitzvah to not feel jealous? Seriously, how’s that supposed to really work when we just want a refuah for a loved one or a yeshua for this strenuous nisayon? Can it be that there’s a tinge of jealousy within my authentic sense of hope?

But that’s OK. It is another year at the Seder that is sure to leave me with more questions than just the four we will recite. This is part of who I am and who we are as a people. I will end the Seder with l’shana haba’ah b’Yerushalayim (next year in Jerusalem) as we all will, and continue to daven for the ultimate geula of Mashiach’s arrival. And if Hashem decides that it’s just not the right time yet, let me just daven for a fraction of the brachot that klal Yisrael so desperately needs, so we too can feel as if we’re right alongside Nachshon Ben Aminadav on our way to reaffirm our acceptance of the Torah in a mere seven weeks.

Rachel Zamist has lived in the Passaic community for the past 32 years and has watched it grow and transition. She is the beaming mother of Mimi, a seventh-grade student at Rachel’s own alma mater, YBH.