My First Pesach: A Celebration of Freedom with a heavy heart

 

This year, I celebrated Pesach for the first time in Haifa with my family and neighbors. I was visiting their home for the Seder, not fully knowing what to expect, but open to the experience.

The table was beautifully set. There was matzah, wine, hard-boiled eggs and symbols I was just beginning to understand. We sang songs that felt ancient and alive at the same time. The atmosphere was warm, welcoming - filled with tradition, laughter, and something deeper I couldn’t quite name.

But even in this moment of togetherness, there was also silence - not from lack of words, but from what everyone was holding in their hearts.

Pesach is called the holiday of freedom. Yet, as we celebrated, I couldn’t stop thinking about those who are not free. The hostages still being held in Gaza. The families who couldn’t celebrate properly, who left chairs empty at their tables, still waiting, still hoping.

It felt strange - to celebrate freedom while knowing others are still in captivity. But maybe that’s what Pesach is meant to do: to remind us that the story of liberation isn’t just a memory, it’s a mission. We’re not fully free until everyone is.

My first Pesach taught me a lot - about history, tradition, and community. But most of all, it reminded me how fragile and precious freedom really is.

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