When I was a child, pekalach were pure magic. On Simchat Torah I’d stand on tiptoes, stretching my small hands toward the dancing men, waiting for the crinkling bag of candy to finally land in my palm. At bar mitzvahs they rained down from the women’s gallery and each piece of taffy or licorice felt like a secret prize. Pekalach meant sweetness, excitement, and the simple joy of running home to count and trade.
But somewhere along the way, the meaning of the word changed. Adults used it differently. “Everyone has their pekalach,” they’d say, and they weren’t talking about candy but of something far heavier. The private bundles of worry we each carry. Responsibilities, old fears and scars from past disappointments or broken relationships.
The same word morphed from childish sweetness to an adult weight. And for a while, I thought that was the whole story: that growing up meant swapping candy bags for burdens.
But then, slowly, something shifted. With time and perspective, I began to see that the heavier pekalach were not punishments. Our sages understood this long before I did. The Ramban on the Akeidat Yitzchak explains that G-d only tests a person in ways they can grow from because the entire reason for the test is to bring out the best version of that person, from potential to actuality.
Each one is a blessing in disguise, gifts crafted by a G-d who knows what each soul needs to grow. The challenges we think would break us are the ones that teach courage, empathy and faith.
And so, I realized: from childhood to adulthood, the word never changed, only I did.