Do you know how beauty smells? How does it smell? How would you describe the infinite world of aromas that brings back our most beautiful memories? Think about it, attempt a fleeting journey into the past by way of scents, of the aromas in the midst of which we grew up. The aroma of a good meal, of a good wine, of the perfume of some girlfriend or of the first boyfriend; those things are never forgotten. The aroma of the first flower someone gave us, which we keep pressed between the leaves of a book; the smell of an old book, unopened for many years… So many things…

I remember the smell of Pesach, the odor of Yontev, that unmistakable smell of gefilte fish in my mother’s house. You just had to enter, actually just come up in the elevator, and you could already inhale the holiday’s aromas. Besides, some years ago it was the sum of gefilte fish scent of all the Jewish families who lived in the building. Some have left us, others have made Aliyah, and still others visit their children’s homes. And in their children’s homes it is no longer the same, it is something else, they are a different generation. I am a child of that generation, and I don’t know if you will agree with me, but it is no longer the same.

God also receives good aromas with joy. We now begin reading Va-yikra, third book of the Torah, which begins with an account of each korbanot, vegetable and animal offerings given at some time in the Jewish history by the people of Israel, through the Cohen, in his name and on behalf of the people. The Torah repeats over and over again the phrase isheh reach nikoach la Ado-nay, “And Aaron's sons shall make it smoke on the altar upon the burnt-offering… it is an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto HaShem.” The book of Bereshit shows us a similar scene when Noach makes a sacrifice to God, once the flood has ended. Says the Torah: Vayarach Ado-nay et reach hanikoach…, “And HaShem smelled the sweet savour”. The Torah expresses itself thus to show us the divine satisfaction for this constant search to approach God, different ways of approaching God throughout the times.

Vayarach Ado-nay et reach hanikoach. God inhaled, breathed deeply those pleasant aromas delivered by men, the same as us, the same as me going up in the elevator on erev yontev, deeply inhaling in order to keep the memory of that holiday aroma, that Piyyut shel hag. I love that story. “Piyyut Shel Hag”. “The Poetry of the Holiday”. The smell of the festivity. Does anyone know the story?

During all the years that Aaron Mirkin lived in the great city he had the habit of traveling, once a year for Jag Hapesach, to his hometown, to his father’s house, to “savor the real Piyyut shel Hag”.

After the death of his parents, he tried to look for acquaintances’ homes wherein the Seder was celebrated Pesach evening. Rarely did he find any. Most of his acquaintances were children of the new generation, who did not celebrate holidays or who observed them only partially. Chametz along with matze.

Even the few who celebrated the Seder were not able to imbue it with even a little of that Piyyut shel Hag he so yearned for.

“This is a Seder,” he used to mock, “where kneidale are more important than the Haggadah?” Only after meeting a woman with similar beliefs did Aaron hope to again savor the true taste of Hag Hapesach.

His young wife was the daughter of a small town Rabbi; although she had moved to the city many years before and did not keep all the mitzvot, the feeling of religious fervor had not yet disappeared from her heart. Thus, she joyously agreed with her husband’s proposal to celebrate Pesach according to the rules: “like in my father’s house”.

To make it a true Seder, Aaron began the Passover preparations several days before the holiday. He went to the synagogue to pray on Pesach evening, while his wife Esther prepared the table according to all the customs she remembered.

When he came back from the temple, he found a beautifully set table. Upon it, the keara with charoset, karpas, kindled candles. Everything sparkled. For just a moment, Aaron’s face lighted up, but then he immediately felt that something essential was still missing.

Everything had the festive aroma, but lacked the Piyyut shel Hag. He didn’t say anything. A sparkle of hope still burnt in his heart… that the Piyyut would soon come out from its hiding place and reveal itself to him.

He took the Siddur and read the Kiddush out loud, with his father’s melody. After drinking the wine, he searched all the corners of the room; perhaps the yearned-for Piyyut would appear somewhere, but no, it was not there…

He read the Haggadah with the traditional melody, imitating also all of his father’s gestures; perhaps the Piyyut his soul so yearned for would emerge, but in vain. Later, he ate the festive meal, praised his young wife who had cooked so many Pesach victuals, and read the second part of the Haggadah in a hurry, not until midnight, as he had previously planned. After the Seder, they went for a walk. The moon shone brightly in the night. It was early, and people were still having dinner. The couple walked slowly, each one engrossed in their thoughts. Aaron Mirkin thought: “the Piyyut is not something that can be achieved artificially, but rather something zealously guarded in the Jewish heart, and it is this that makes it radiate unto the Seder. But the heart of this young generation is hollow, and I don’t see how this emptiness can be filled.”

Esther, as if she perceived her husband’s feelings, said to him: “You know, Aaron, I have thought of something. Next year we can travel for Pesach to my father’s house. The Seder is prettier there. Don’t you think so?”

One year later, Aaron and his wife traveled to her father’s house, the small town Rabbi. They arrived on Pesach eve, in the afternoon.

As soon as he entered, the Pesach aroma enveloped him. He felt as if his childhood days had returned to him. The night of the Seder, as soon as they came back from the temple, he looked around and saw the yearned-for Piyyut in every corner of the house, in each wrinkle of that old man’s face, in each word that came out of his mouth. Aaron observed his wife, seated before him. Her eyes were focused on the Haggadah, her lips whispering her father’s words. He felt that she was also enveloped in the Piyyut.

Many years since, since the time when Aaron celebrated the Seder at his parents’ house, he had not savored the true flavor of the festivity as on this night.

He saw himself as if a heavy everyday load, which for many days had oppressed him, had finally lifted, and he felt comforted. After the Seder, he once again went for a walk with his wife. It was past midnight. Outside silence reigned; there were almost no people about. Only the full moon accompanied the couple, who walked in deep silence.

He had just one thought in his mind and in his heart: “We, children of this generation, we still have the possibility of getting together in the house of our fathers, who preserved in their souls treasures of warmth and holiness. But our children… will they find the Piyyut in our homes? Where will they go when the cold floods their souls?”

Where will we go when the cold floods our souls? Let us safeguard the aroma of the holiday, let us safeguard those aromas so that the next generations, not really next because they are already here, may feel the Piyyut shel hag, may breathe deeply and feel those pleasant aromas that fill us with memories. Let us recover, in each corner of our homes, those tastes flooded with memories of the traditions with which we grew up, so that our children and our children’s children may find, along with us, the aroma of the festivity.

I ask you again: do you know how beauty smells?