Last weekend, millions of Americans took to the streets, assembled around this unapologetic rallying cry. In that simple message, one can find a myriad of pressing concerns: attacks on freedom of speech and of the press, massive federal layoffs, sweeping cuts across the government and environmental policies with potentially catastrophic consequences around the globe, tariffs poised to cripple the economy, the expulsion of asylum seekers, and the rise of authoritarianism, to name a few. Regardless of their background, specific concerns, or political party, the crowds gathered at about 1,400 locations across the 50 states were straightforward and unified in their message: Hands off our freedoms. Hands off our voices. Hands off our dignity. Pass over.
Is it a coincidence that this happened so close to Passover? Passover, which we all know is not just the story of ancient Israelites walking out of Egypt... It is not only the tale of Moses demanding freedom from Pharaoh. Passover is a yearly invitation—a summons, even—to reflect on what it means to live in freedom, and to recognize the forces that continue to enslave.
Every year, we are reminded that slavery is not just about chains or taskmasters. Slavery can wear many masks: fear, silence, apathy, greed, or unchecked power. It can look like laws that strip away human dignity. It can sound like voices silenced in the press or in the streets. It can feel like despair when justice seems far off.
The Haggadah tells us that in every generation, each person is obligated to see themselves as if they personally had come out of Egypt. Why? Perhaps because, in every generation, there is a new Egypt? A new Pharaoh? New forces that seek to reduce, control, and enslave?
When people cry “Hands off,” it is not only a political statement—it is a sacred one. It is the echo of Moses's cry to Pharaoh: “Let my people go!” It is a modern Exodus cry, declaring that human beings are not commodities, and freedom is not optional. It is a call to remember that liberation is an ongoing act, and we are all participants in the work.
As we have often heard, freedom is never free. The road out of Egypt was hard and uncertain. The wilderness was long. The cost of resistance has always been high. But the cost of silence? Even higher.
As we dip our parsley into salt water this week, remembering tears shed long ago, let us also remember the tears still being shed. The voices still waiting to be heard. The chains—visible and invisible—that still need breaking.
This Passover, may we recommit to resisting all forms of slavery. May we recognize the sacred in every cry for justice. And may we, too, have the courage to say, with conviction and clarity: Hands off.
Let my people go.
Shabbat Shalom!
