The conflicting emotions of Passover 2024

Our Jewish history recounted at seder tables this year is less joyous with current suffering and moral questioning.

In the Ten Commandments, Moses tells Pharaoh to “let my people go”

This year I celebrated Passover with a few of my closest friends, all of whom are non-Jewish. Two of them visited me while I was working in Israel and now consider themselves Jew-ish, celebrating the major Jewish holidays with me, along with an occasional Shabbat. Another friend's young daughter attends a Jewish preschool and melted our hearts with possibly the cutest re-enactment of Moses telling Pharaoh to 'Let my people go.' Although 'The Ten Commandments' is my favorite movie, which I watch every year at Passover, her performance was exactly what I needed.

The Seder lasted just ten minutes over chocolate matzoh and hand puppets representing the ten plagues, but it was perfect. Like many Jews this year, I wasn’t feeling it, and was tempted to let Passover, well… pass over.

Passover traditionally symbolizes the triumph of freedom over oppression, commemorating the ancient Israelites' escape from Egyptian slavery. Yet, this year, the festival is imbued with starkly conflicting emotions. While families worldwide gather to recount the story of Exodus, many do so under the shadow of recent escalations in the Israel-Gaza conflict and a disturbing surge in antisemitism. These events stir a complex mix of solidarity, fear, and mourning that resonates deeply within the global Jewish community, challenging the joyous essence of Passover with a backdrop of modern-day adversity and strife.

This year's Passover forces personal and communal introspection that goes beyond religious rituals. As a journalist and a Jew, intertwining my professional detachment and personal feelings has never been more challenging. The pain of seeing Israel under attack, the anguish over the humanitarian disaster in Gaza, and the distressing rise in antisemitism across my home country and around the world compel a confrontation with my Jewish identity in ways I have never had to before. These reflections are not just mine but echo across countless Jewish households, where the narratives of freedom now mingle with debates and dilemmas about justice, security, and human rights.

In every glass of wine sipped at the Seder table, and every story told of past plagues and hardships, there is now a parallel narrative of current suffering and moral questioning. The humanitarian crisis in Gaza and the ongoing violence in Israel challenge us to consider the profound costs of conflict. Families in Israel face the heartbreak of empty chairs at their Seder tables—symbols of loved ones lost or held hostage. The festival's traditional themes of liberation and deliverance are thus painfully contrasted with the realities of war, captivity, and loss, prompting difficult conversations about responsibility, empathy, and the path to peace.

Outside Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's residence, the protests that burned a symbolic Passover table starkly symbolize Israel's internal conflicts and societal divisions. These public demonstrations reflect deep-seated frustrations and a plea for leadership accountability amidst ongoing hostilities. Simultaneously, Netanyahu's Passover address, invoking biblical themes to rally national unity behind Israeli military operations, underscores the complex juxtaposition of religious commemoration and political exigency facing the nation.

The rise in global antisemitism has found a resonant echo in the academic corridors of institutions like Columbia University. Here, studies have been disrupted by ideological battles that mirror the geopolitical divisions over the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The transition to hybrid classes in response to security threats, protests, and counter-protests all signify a broader, disturbing trend of increased hostility towards Jewish students and scholars.

This situation is not unique to Columbia; it is a reflection of broader societal unrest, where academic spaces frequently become arenas for intense political conflict and expressions of ethnic and nationalistic tensions. At Columbia and campuses across the country, Jewish groups are openly conflicted, demonstrating the broader global Jewish community's struggle with these complex issues.

Around the world, as Jewish families sit down to their Seder meals, there is a shared grappling with these heavy complexities. From Los Angeles to London, and from Sydney to São Paulo, Jewish communities are reflecting on what it means to be celebrating freedom while witnessing oppression, be it through the war in Gaza or the rise of antisemitism in their own countries.

The traditional Passover Seder, which celebrates unity and communal storytelling, is facing unprecedented strain. Families and communities find themselves divided, not just by geography but by deeply divergent views on the conflict. In some circles, there is strong support for Israel's right to defend itself, while others are vocally critical of the actions leading to civilian suffering in Gaza.

This Passover week will be particularly somber when I attend a memorial tonorrow for seven World Central Kitchen workers killed in Gaza by an Israeli airstrike. The event starkly highlights the ongoing humanitarian disaster in the region. For my friends who work at WCK, the pain is palpable and personal. But the loss extends beyond the immediate victims, affecting global humanitarian efforts and challenging our consciences during a time meant for solemn remembrance and hopeful liberation.

Jews worldwide are attempting to reconcile these intense global events with the themes of Passover. As we mourn the loss of life from both recent conflicts and ongoing oppression, the Jewish principle of "tikkun olam" (repairing the world) feels more immediate and necessary. Many are advocating for increased humanitarian aid and a reassessment of how we support those in dire need without exacerbating conflicts. The stories of Passover, with their themes of deliverance from suffering, prompt us to consider our roles in addressing modern plights and injustices.

As we navigate this year's Passover, the challenge is to hold onto the spirit of the holiday while confronting the realities that complicate its observance. This means striving for a balance between celebrating the freedoms we have attained and recognizing the freedoms that remain elusive for others. In doing so, we must also guard against the erosion of compassion and humanity, ensuring that our responses to conflict and our commemorations of freedom are reflective of the values we cherish as a community.

Ultimately, Passover 2024 calls us to reflect on liberation not just from historical bondage but from the contemporary chains of conflict, hate, and misunderstanding that still bind too many around the world.