Every year on Passover, we set a table big enough to hold our entire story. We gather family, friends, and generations of memories around this table. We place matzah and maror on the Seder plate. We remember bitterness and resilience. We open the door for Elijah and leave a chair waiting for the future redemption we still believe will come. Passover is a holiday about freedom. But it is also a holiday about something quieter and just as powerful. It is about who gets a seat at the table.
Early in the Haggadah we make a bold declaration: “Let all who are hungry come and eat; let all who are in need come and celebrate Passover.” The Haggadah begins this way for a reason. Before we even tell the story of the Exodus, we define the kind of community we want to build. A community that makes space. A community that opens its doors. Our tradition reminds us that belonging does not happen by accident. The sage Hillel teaches in Pirkei Avot, “In a place where there are no people, strive to be a person.” Hillel challenges us to step forward when something is missing and to help create the kind of community we hope to find. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks later put it this way: “A good society is one in which people feel responsible for one another.” Jewish life is not just about identity. It is about responsibility. It is about choosing, again and again, to build communities where people know they belong.
I have seen what that responsibility can look like through USY. Across our movement, Jewish teens are constantly pulling up chairs for one another. At conventions, in youth lounges, in late night conversations, and in Shabbat services, I have watched people walk into a room unsure of where they belong and leave knowing they are part of something bigger. I know I am a part of something bigger. I have seen people from different cities, different backgrounds, and different experiences be accepted fully for who they are. In those moments, you can feel something powerful happening. You can see what it looks like when a community chooses belonging. Sometimes I think this is what the Promised Land is supposed to feel like. A place where people are seen, where they are valued, and where they know they belong. And once you experience that kind of community, once you have seen the Promised Land, you cannot go back.
Those moments may seem small, but they are deeply Jewish. Passover reminds us that freedom is not just about escaping Egypt. Freedom is about what we build once we leave. Do we create communities where people feel welcome? Do we make space for voices that have not yet been heard? Do we build tables where everyone has a place? The Jewish story is not meant to be told alone. It moves from generation to generation, voice to voice across the table. And the table is never supposed to be full. There is always room for another chair.
So this year, as we gather for Passover and retell our ancient story of liberation, I hope we remember the responsibility that comes with it. Freedom gives us the power to build the communities we want to see in the world. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simple. Pull up another chair.
