Who Said Chol Hamoed Needs a Trip?

By Chana Mochkin

Chol Hamoed. The holy days between the holy days. A time for meaningful family connection, spiritual elevation… and, apparently, sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic en route to a trampoline park packed with 500 other frum families who all had the exact same brilliant idea.

This year, we made a bold choice: we stayed home.

No overpriced petting zoos, no frantic bag-packing, no Googling whether it’s possible to kasher a Nespresso machine in a motel bathroom. Just us, our house, our kids, and everything we needed to get through until next Pesach.

And honestly? It was incredible.

Somewhere along the way, “Simchas Yom Tov” quietly morphed into “How Many Attractions Can You Cram Between Shacharis and Mincha.” And don’t get me wrong—Chol Hamoed trips can be beautiful. For some families, they’re exactly what’s needed. But when every outing turns into a high-stakes production, when the pressure to perform seeps into the one time we’re supposed to just be with our families… that’s when it’s worth pausing and asking: who are we really doing this for?

The Rebbe often spoke about the holiness of time—kedushas hazman—and how Yom Tov is meant to strengthen the home. Not just by being physically present, but emotionally and spiritually grounded. In one sicha, the Rebbe explained that the deepest simcha doesn’t come from exotic animals or roller coasters, but from investing in your family’s chinuch, from creating a home that radiates warmth and light. He didn’t say the ikar of Chol Hamoed is a bounce house (though, to be fair, even bounce houses have a tafkid).

So what did we actually do?

We davened together. Made Pesach pancakes. Pulled out the dusty board games. Had a dramatic retelling of Yetziyas Mitzrayim featuring sock puppets and someone in a towel as Pharaoh. Played a competitive round of “Who Can Make the Most Creative Use of Leftover Kugel.” And yes, at one point, we just sat around and stared at the ceiling, full and happy.

There was zero traffic. Zero admission fees. Zero frantic chases after a toddler who’s sprinting through a crowded public space wearing one shoe and no socks.

That’s a win in my book.

Do trips have their place? Absolutely. A well-planned outing can be a beautiful way to connect, to enjoy the world Hashem created, to make memories that last beyond the crumbs in the car. For some families, those outings are energizing and meaningful—and that’s wonderful.

But they’re not the only way to experience simchas Yom Tov.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is stay put. To be present, not just physically, but with your whole self. To lean into the quiet moments, the messy ones, the silly ones. To turn your home into the kind of place your kids want to come back to—not because it has the biggest rides or flashiest activities, but because it feels safe and warm and full of love.

My kids? Sure, they asked why their friends were at Six Flags while we were playing Uno in pajamas. But they were also calmer. Happier. More grounded. They weren’t being herded from one thing to the next like the animals we didn’t go see. They felt seen. Heard. Loved.

And I wasn’t shouting, “Back in the car! We’re late for the next Chol Hamoed experience!” That, to me, felt like the real freedom of Pesach.

If you’re heading out for a trip—amazing. Pack snacks. Take pictures. Make memories. But if you’re not? If you’re just home, in slippers, singing “Dayenu” for the 14th time while explaining (again) why we don’t eat gebrokts?

You’re not missing out. You’re tuning in.

Because in the end, the most memorable Chol Hamoed might be the one where nothing was scheduled—except time together.

And if the house is full of laughter, no one’s sunburned or carsick, and you still have enough matzah to get you through the week?

Dayenu.

Wishing you a continued Chag Sameach, filled with the kind of moments that last—whether you’re on the go or simply gathered at home with the people who matter most.

Thoughts? I’d love to hear them: [email protected]