It’s hard not to feel the heaviness of it all at once.

There are moments when the calendar feels almost too on-the-nose.

As Pesach approaches – a festival of courage and resilience – our Toronto community reels from recent synagogue shootings, rising antisemitism, and anxieties about unrest in Israel, Gaza, Iran, and beyond. It’s hard not to feel the heaviness of it all at once.

Many of you have shared your exhaustion: worrying about news headlines, explaining (and explaining again) antisemitism to others, and feeling the world is less safe for Jews. Together we hold grief, fear for loved ones, and hope for a more secure future.

And yet, Passover is quickly approaching.

Pesach begins not in triumph, but in fear: a people unsure of what will happen, packing in the dark, feeling uncertain that freedom is near. The Haggadah asks us to tell this story, gather with others, and intentionally choose hope and connection, even when the world feels unmoored.

Recently, my rabbinic colleagues were discussing leading sedarim (seders) in challenging times. One rabbi was uneasy about making political statements. Others offered ideas for the seder itself: removing wine drops to remember and empathize with our enemies, offering a unifying peace prayer, and adding a symbolic fourth piece of matzah for those still in ‘narrow places’. One colleague wrote, ”There are many people in the world who face the narrow straits of Mitzrayim (Egypt). I would consider setting aside a fourth matzah for them, including Israelis in bomb shelters, Palestinians, Ukrainians, the people of Venezuela and Cuba, immigrants in America, etc.”

What struck me was not the specifics but the tone. Each of my colleagues sought to broaden the table rather than argue over who would be offered a seat. After all, there is a line in the Maggid section of the Haggadah that reads “כָּל דִכְפִין יֵיתֵי וְיֵיכֹל/Let all who are hungry come and eat.

This matters now. The world shouts, but the seder invites us to gather around a table in community. When pressured to take sides, the seder urges listening, questioning, and embracing uncertainty and diverse perspectives (think: The Four Children).

So what can be done? As we prepare for Pesach, I want to invite us all to consider what we can add to our seder tables this year. Maybe it is a moment of silence before we begin – simply pausing together at the table. Invite everyone, if they wish, to voice their thoughts, formally recognizing the fear and grief many carry. Maybe it means being more intentional as we remove the wine drops from our cups. We remember that the story of our liberation must never blind us to others’ suffering. Maybe it is setting aside an empty chair or an extra piece of matzah. Let it be a symbol for all who are still waiting for safety and freedom, Jewish and non-Jewish. Maybe it is asking a new question around the table. In addition to “Why is this night different?” suggest: “What kind of world do we wish to help create after tonight?” Encourage each participant to respond if they wish.

The Jewish story has never promised easy hope. Ours is hope that endures exile, fear, and hatred. Ours is a hope that survives, even in darkness, even amid haters and those who may wish us harm. This year, gathering for Pesach is an act of courage. Telling our story is a show of fortitude. Singing our songs together expresses faith in one another.

May the holiday of Pesach give us strength.

May it remind us we are not alone.

May it deepen our compassion and keep our hearts open.

May the hope we share at our seder tables echo outward into the world, carrying resiliency and courage far beyond where we gather.

Kein Yehi Ratzon / So may it be God’s will