Susan Hornfeldt remembers the crowded table stretching from wall to wall at the Passover Seders her grandparents used to host in their Brooklyn apartment when she was growing up.
As her family drove down the Long Island Expressway, the now 78-year-old imagined then that every car on the road was headed for her grandparents’ home. It was a yearly chance to see the extended family and connect over a millennia-old ritual. For around a decade, she’s carried on the Passover tradition — albeit, with a smaller crowd — at her son’s home in the suburbs of Boston, joining his wife, his in-laws, and Hornfeldt’s grandchildren.
But, Hornfeldt said, with Passover slated to begin Monday evening, at a time when Israel is engaged in a war that began with the brutal Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel and has left more than 30,000 Gazans dead and untold more enduring hunger and famine, this year’s celebration is “just not the same for me.”
“I love Passover. I love it. But what can I say?” Hornfeldt said. “I think so many Jews are outraged by [Gaza], and when they say ‘not in my name,’ they mean not in anybody’s.”
Passover commemorates the story of the Hebrew people’s liberation from slavery in Egypt. Observers hold a Seder, a ritual meal prominently featuring foods designed to recall components of the Passover story. For many, the Seder is an opportunity to connect with family, friends, and strangers, engaging in a thoughtful dialogue about themes such as freedom, oppression, and homeland.
But some Jews across Massachusetts worry this year’s celebration may be marred by a war in the Middle East that shows little sign of slowing down, spikes in antisemitism across the state and nation, and rifts within the American Jewish community, and within families themselves over how — or whether — to stand by Israel. Many are grappling with how to facilitate conversations around the Seder table that honor the painful complexity of the war and the profundity of the holiday, without causing conflict or alienating loved ones.
Hornfedlt, who said she was “devoted to Israel for 75 percent of my life,” is outspoken in her calls for an immediate cease-fire. Some days, she stands in protest, holding a handwritten sign that reads “Another Jewish mother against the slaughter of Palestinian children” on the sidewalks of Coolidge Corner. But she plans to avoid bringing up Gaza at the Seder table, even when the Seder itself calls for moments of reflection.
“I’m really going to try not to make waves,” Hornfeldt said. “I am to be on my best behavior, which means keep my mouth shut. Which I will do for the sake of family, but it isn’t easy.”
She said advocating for a cease-fire and for those in Gaza is the second-most important thing in her life.
“The first-most important thing is my son and my family,” she said.
Others see this year’s Passover as a time to reaffirm their commitment to Judaism and to Israel — and they consider the two inseparable, especially in the face of rising antisemitism.
“There’s no question that we’re in a very difficult time,” said Mendy Uminer, rabbi at the Chabad Center of Chestnut Hill. “But not just in Israel; it’s a difficult time in America and throughout the world, seeing antisemitism.”
In the more than six months since Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack, which left around 1,200 dead, Jews in New England and across the country have seen a surge in antisemitism at home. More than half of American Jews reported feeling less safe than they did a year ago, a February survey found. That comes amid increased scrutiny of the relationship between Zionism and Judaism and debates over when criticism of Israel crosses the line into antisemitism.
The Anti-Defamation League reported 351 instances of assault, harassment, and vandalism across Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont taking place after Oct. 7 in its annual audit, released Tuesday. All told, 2023 saw a 205 percent increase compared with the previous year, and Massachusetts saw the fifth highest number of incidents nationally.
Uminer said this year’s celebration will be a time to proudly and openly reaffirm his commitment as a Jew to Israel.
“Passover is the birth of our nation,” he said, about a week before the holiday. “At Seder night, we might mourn the loss and the challenge on October 7, but we’re also going to celebrate that anti-fragile[ness], that resiliency that every person has shown in the Jewish community.”
Several supporters of Israel and its stake in the war declined to be interviewed for this story, some expressing fears that being publicly identified could leave them vulnerable. One woman, who declined to be interviewed, said she worries “Seders are soft targets” this year.
Uminer said the majority of families in his community plan to continue with relatively unchanged Seder plans, though some are trying to be thoughtful with how, if at all, they broach the ongoing war. But other rabbis who spoke with the Globe said they have received question after question from congregants about how to broach — or diffuse — references to current events at the Seder table.
It can be difficult for some to uncouple the holiday from current events, especially since there are several points during which the Seder calls for discussion about the holiday and the Passover story’s meaning, according to Rabbi Jeremy Fineberg of Temple Israel in Sharon.
“It’s always meant to be this really intense, thoughtful, engaging dialogue and conversation about stuff that matters,” Fineberg said. “The Seder is meant to be practice, also, for the rest of your life, which is about the appropriateness of asking questions.”
Fineberg said he offered a class on “what it means to sit at the table at this time” in the days leading up to Passover. Around two dozen people came.
He noted that Passover is among the most widely observed Jewish holidays, but unlike some others, “Passover is almost exclusively at home.” The rabbi said that means he can offer guidance ahead of the holiday and compassion afterward, but he can not help congregants navigate what may become an emotionally charged Seder in the moment.
Daniel Landau, a congregant at Temple Aliyah in Needham, said he went to a similar discussion at his synagogue.
“As Jews, we are capable of holding multiple opinions on things, and a lot of these opinions are at crosscurrents,” Landau said. “To some extent, it would derail the Seder if it turned into a discussion of current events. Having said that, we can’t ignore it.”
Landau said Passover, with its focus on liberation, as told in Exodus, feels especially resonant as hostages — which number more than 100, according to the Associated Press — remain in captivity in Gaza.
The Passover story is “this national mythology about how we became free people, and at this time we are not free people,” Landau said.
He also pointed to the story of the 10 plagues, which were inflicted upon the entire Egyptian people according to the biblical account, in response to Pharaoh’s repeated refusal to free the Hebrew people.
“The Egyptian civilians suffer horrifically for something that you could strongly argue isn’t their fault,” he said. “For decisions being made by Pharaoh, by political leadership, and they are caught in the crossfire. So it’s hard to ignore that parallel as well.”
That parallel resonates deeply with R. Korkodilos, a 25-year-old Brookline resident and an organizer with Jewish Voice for Peace. Korkodilos, who uses they/them pronouns, said Passover has always been one of their favorite holidays “because of the emphasis on liberation.” This year, they aim to reframe the holiday to focus on the plight of Palestinians.
While they said celebrating Passover during times of strife and oppression is far from new, this year feels heightened by the human costs in Gaza.
“It’s so challenging to celebrate one’s own liberation [with]everything that’s happening in Gaza and Palestine,” Korkodilos said. “I wish I had a better sense of how I’m feeling.”
Daniel Kool can be reached at daniel.kool@globe.com. Follow him @dekool01.