May 12, 2025

In the days after Passover, the story still lingers. We have just finished retelling our journey from bondage to freedom, not just as a historical account but as a call to conscience. The Exodus narrative is not a seasonal ritual. It is a perennial mandate. It teaches us that liberation is not handed down from power. It is demanded by those who refuse to be silent.

At the heart of the story is a moral clarity: to protect the vulnerable, to confront injustice, and to build a society rooted in fairness, law, and human dignity.

But too often in today’s political landscape, Jews are not treated as full participants in that struggle. We are invoked, not heard. We are used. Our trauma, our fears, even our identities are leveraged by political forces that claim to defend us but rarely listen to us.

Sometimes we are the scapegoat. Sometimes we are the shield. Either way, we are not the authors of the narrative.

In recent months, there has been a troubling trend. Government agencies have invoked Jewish safety to justify actions that raise serious civil liberties concerns. These include surveillance of activists and the detention of individuals without clear explanation or meaningful transparency. The public is left with unanswered questions about the legal basis and process for these actions, and those targeted are often left in legal and emotional limbo. Regardless of the specifics of each case, due process must be upheld. If we accept silence or secrecy when the justification is our safety, we risk trading away justice in our name.

This is not a defense of Jews. It is the exploitation of us.

Using antisemitism as a political tool does not make Jews safer. It cheapens our suffering and casts doubt on our legitimate concerns. Worst of all, it gives antisemites a powerful talking point. They claim Jews hold disproportionate influence and use it to suppress others. This is not just cynical. It is dangerous.

This problem is not limited to one side of the political spectrum. On the left, many still minimize or deny antisemitism, especially when it emerges from within their own communities. That too is a betrayal.

To be Jewish is not to be a pawn in someone else’s ideological war. It is to carry forward a tradition of resistance, of questioning power, and of standing on principle even when it is inconvenient.

When we say at Passover, “In every generation, each person must see themselves as if they personally came out of Egypt,” it is not a metaphor for comfort. It is a call to moral action. It is a reminder that freedom is fragile and demands vigilance, not alliances of convenience.

At Shalom Alliance, we stand in that tradition. We fight real antisemitism on campuses, in politics, and in our communities. We do so without compromising civil rights or democratic values. We reject being used as a justification for injustice. We insist that safety and freedom go hand in hand.

Now more than ever, we must reclaim the narrative. Not just for ourselves, but for all who are fighting for dignity, fairness, and the right to speak without fear.