- Jeffrey Lasday
Senior Chief of External Affairs
Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia

In every generation, we are commanded as part of the traditional Passover Seder (festive meal) to retell the story of going out from Egypt. It's a compelling story that focuses on going out from being slaves to becoming a free nation. It's such a powerful story that it has become the symbol for many freedom movements around the world for generations. 

Until recently, Jews in the United States have been able to take this concept of living in freedom for granted. Jewish religious freedom in America could be compared to having air to breathe, something that surrounded us, was plentiful and could be taken for granted. With our Jewish struggle for freedom having been assumed as won, we used our story as a platform for allyship and solidarity, having Freedom Seders focused on other minorities and ethnic groups and their struggles for freedom. 

However, today with the rampant rise of antisemitism, our sense of freedom, the security to practice as Jews feels under threat. How is it that this sense of security, this sense of freedom dissipated so quickly?

In Israel, the Passover theme of freedom is captured in the national anthem "Hatikvah" in the line "To be a free nation in our land" or לִהְיוֹת עַם חָפְשִׁי בְּאַרְצֵנוּ. However, similarly to Jews at home, after 75 years of living in our homeland, this sense of freedom was also taken for granted. 

That was until October 7. 

How is it that the country that was established in order to provide Jews a safe haven, a nation in which to be free to practice as Jews, witnessed the most horrific pogrom against the Jewish people since the Holocaust?

I continue to think about one central image captured in the story of Passover – where Moses defiantly marches up to Pharaoh and demands: "Let my people go!" Today, Mose's cry of "Let my people go" sadly reverberates across the generations with renewed urgency for the 134 hostages still held in captivity as we say: “Hamas, let our people go!”    

Passover is a time for asking questions and searching for answers. This year, I feel that our festival will be filled with many more troubling questions than answers.

But through this tsuris (problems or worry) both at home and in our Jewish homeland, we look to our community for strength. If we cannot recline for freedom, we will instead lean on each other. And as we set a place for the Prophet Elijah at our Passover table, I will also set another for the hostages who lost their freedom to symbolize that we, their community, have not forgotten them as we continue to demand for their return. 

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