As Jews around the world prepare to gather at the seder table, this year’s Passover unfolds in the midst of war and rising antisemitism.
In Israel, families will recount the story of liberation while sheltering from missiles and rockets. Across the Diaspora, Jewish communities will celebrate under increased security and with a heightened awareness of threat. The ancient ritual feels less distant and more immediate.
Passover is a story of memory. But it is not only memory. It is recognition.
The Exodus narrative tells of a people enslaved and oppressed, yet determined and resilient. Pharaoh’s fear of the Israelites—and his decision to scapegoat and persecute them—stands as the earliest and most enduring expression of antisemitism. The details change. The pattern does not.
That hatred adapts to circumstance, recasts itself in political language and resurfaces in new forms. Today, it appears in slogans, in movements that seek to isolate Israel, and in rhetoric that crosses the line from criticism into incitement.
That is why the Passover story continues to speak across millennia. It does not describe only the distant past. It reflects a pattern that continues to unfold in different forms, in different generations, including our own.
This year, that recognition carries particular force. Israel remains engaged in an ongoing confrontation with the Iranian regime and its proxies, facing sustained missile and drone attacks as it works to degrade the regime’s military capabilities.
In this moment, the partnership between the United States and Israel proves indispensable.
American and Israeli forces operate in close coordination, striking military targets and defending civilians from sustained attack. This cooperation reflects more than shared interests. It rests on a shared understanding: Iran and its proxies continue to destabilize the region, threaten Israel and pose a broader challenge to American interests and global security.
The Exodus is not only a story of deliverance. It is a story of responsibility. A people called to act, to move forward in uncertainty and to take ownership of their future.
Even after the plagues and even after the moment of release, the Israelites did not step into immediate safety. They stood at the edge of the Red Sea, facing uncertainty and forced to act before the outcome was clear. Courage came before certainty.
And the journey did not end there. Freedom unfolds over time through wandering, doubt, conflict and change. It demands discipline. It demands responsibility.
Today, the Jewish people navigate a world marked by instability and threat. The security of Israel remains intertwined with the well-being of Jewish communities everywhere. Across continents, Jews face harassment, intimidation and violence at levels that would have been unthinkable only a few years ago. At the same time, internal divisions strain the cohesion that has long sustained Jewish life.
Passover offers no illusions about the ease of freedom. It reminds us that freedom is fragile, that it requires vigilance and that it is sustained not by rhetoric, but by action.
At the seder table, we declare, “Next year in Jerusalem.” The phrase is aspirational, but it is also a statement of peoplehood. It affirms a shared destiny that binds Jews in Israel and the Diaspora into a single, if diverse, nation. That bond, especially now, requires reinforcement.
If the Exodus teaches anything, it is that survival and renewal depend on a combination of memory and resolve. We must remember who we are, and we must act accordingly.
This Passover, as we retell the story handed down across generations, we should resist the temptation to treat it as a distant parable. It is a living text—one that calls on us to confront the realities of our moment with honesty and resolve.
The journey from bondage to freedom is never complete. It demands vigilance, courage and unity in every generation. That responsibility now rests with us.
