Passover and the Enduring Meaning of Freedom

As Passover begins this week, Jewish families gather around their tables to retell one of the oldest stories in human history - the journey from slavery to freedom. It is a story that has been told, without interruption, for thousands of years. While many Americans may know it in broad terms - Moses, Pharaoh, the Exodus - its core message reaches far beyond any one community. At its heart, Passover is about a simple but demanding truth: freedom is never automatic. It must be valued, protected, and passed on, generation after generation.

That message feels especially relevant this year. The United States and Israel remain at war with Iran and its proxies, and the weight of that reality is not distant—it is personal, affecting families and communities in real time, both at home and abroad. At the same time, some Israeli hostages who were held in captivity are now home, and for those families, this will be the first Passover celebrated in freedom. It reminds us that the themes of the Exodus - captivity, deliverance, resilience - are not confined to ancient history. They continue to play out in ways that are immediate and real.

Here in the United States, there has also been a shift in awareness. Rising antisemitism has made clear that even in a country defined by religious liberty, no community can take its security for granted. Incidents that once might have seemed unthinkable are now part of the national conversation. And yet, what has stood out is not just the challenge, but the response. Across the country, people have shown a willingness to speak out, to stand alongside their Jewish neighbors, and to treat antisemitism not as a niche issue, but as a broader test of our shared values. This is one theme that was discussed on several panels at CPAC this past weekend.

That response reflects something essential about the American experiment. The strength of this country comes from individuals and communities who are willing to live their beliefs openly and without apology, and from a society that protects that right. Religious freedom is not sustained by words alone—it depends on a culture that takes it seriously and defends it when it is tested.

This year, many Jewish families will sit at their tables with a mix of emotions—gratitude for those who are home, concern for those who are still in harm’s way, and a renewed awareness of how fragile freedom can be. But they will also do something else: they will tell the story, pass it on, and reaffirm their commitment to the values it represents.

For a broader American audience, there is something meaningful in that example. The fight against hatred—whether directed at Jews, Christians, or any other group—is strongest when it is shared. It is about recognizing that a threat to one community’s freedom is, ultimately, a threat to the integrity of the society as a whole.

Passover does not end with hardship. It ends with hope. With the belief that things can be better, that freedom can endure, and that people of faith—across different traditions but with shared commitments—can stand together in defense of it. That is a message worth carrying beyond this week, and one that speaks directly to the kind of country Americans continue to strive to build.

Chag Pesach Sameach—and to all who are reflecting on the meaning of freedom in their own way, a meaningful and hopeful season.