This year, as I prepare for Passover, it feels different. Not just a time to retell our story, but a moment to recognize how close the story of Pharaoh and Moses feels to the world we’re living in now. 

We are not enslaved. But many of us feel unsettled. Uncertain. Not yet free. 

It’s as if we’re in the wilderness again—no longer in Egypt, but not yet sure what freedom asks of us now, or how we’ll carry it forward together. 

And while so much still feels uncertain, one thing remains certain: being Jewish isn’t just about the issues we debate or the causes we support. It’s about how we show up for one another—and how we stay in community, even when we disagree. 

Some in our community feel proud and resolved. Others are hurting, questioning, or disillusioned. Many are unsure how to talk about what’s happening—or whether it’s even safe to try. But if we want to be a strong, resilient Jewish community, we must make room for one another. Especially now.

For many, Zionism is a deeply personal connection to peoplehood, safety, and the belief that we—like all peoples—deserve the right to self-determination in our ancestral homeland. For others, it’s political. And for some, it doesn’t resonate at all.

We don’t all experience Zionism the same way. But for many, it’s a meaningful part of Jewish identity. So, when we’re made to feel that belonging requires hiding or apologizing for that part of ourselves, it cuts deep. 

Last week at our Jewish Community Relations Council (JCRC) Annual Meeting, Jake Powers, a senior at the University of Cincinnati, shared a powerful story. Someone broke into his apartment, tore down his mezuzah—and defecated in the space. He wasn’t targeted for speaking out. He was targeted for being visibly Jewish. For identifying as a Zionist. 

His story is horrifying—and not isolated. Across the country, Jewish students are under pressure to hide who they are. Some tuck away their Jewish star. Others feel they can’t speak openly about their connection to Israel. And even in our own community, those who don’t identify with Zionism worry they’ll be cast out for saying so. 

We are a people with strong opinions—that’s part of our strength. But we’re also bound by shared history and deep responsibility. The way we speak to one another—and the way we disagree—matters.

Passover reminds us that the journey to freedom didn’t end at the sea. It continued in the wilderness—with confusion, struggle, and the slow work of becoming a people. Every year, we’re commanded not just to retell that story, but to see ourselves in it.

This year, I see us standing at that same threshold: trying to understand what freedom means in a fractured world. What it means to speak with integrity—and to listen. What it means to belong, even when we don’t see things the same way.

This isn’t a call for false unity. It’s a call for courage—to stay in relationship, to speak honestly, to be curious instead of certain, and to resist the urge to define one another by a single belief.

Because this year, more than ever, staying in community is how we find our way through the wilderness—still uncertain, still searching, but committed to walking this path together.

Chag Pesach Sameach, 

Danielle V. Minson
CEO
Jewish Federation of Cincinnati
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