12-04-2025
This Passover I'm holding on to my Jewish story and making space for yours
Imagine being told that to stand for justice, you need to leave part of yourself behind. That's what many Jews are hearing right now − that being proudly Jewish, or identifying as a Zionist, disqualifies us from participating in movements for justice and inclusion.
It's a painful message. But for Jews, it's also familiar. Across our history, we've known what it feels like to be othered − to be asked to choose between belonging and being ourselves. That's why Passover − a holiday that retells our journey from oppression to freedom and calls us to use that freedom with purpose − feels especially relevant this year.
In some circles, Zionism is treated as a slur − shorthand for injustice. We understand the pain of others. We also know Zionism has been used in ways that others experience as harmful. But that's not the full story. For most Jews, Zionism is deeply personal. It connects us to peoplehood, safety, and the belief that we − like all peoples − deserve the right to self-determination in our ancestral homeland. It's not about exclusion or domination but about survival, community, and the ability to live openly and without fear.
More: I'm a Zionist. That shouldn't prevent me from speaking at a rally against Nazis. | Opinion
We heard this firsthand at our Jewish Community Relations Council (JCRC) Annual Meeting when Jake Powers, a senior at the University of Cincinnati and president of Bearcats for Israel, bravely shared what happened to him. Someone broke into his apartment, tore down his mezuzah − and defecated in the space. He wasn't targeted for speaking out or leading a protest. He was targeted simply for being visibly Jewish. For identifying as a Zionist.
His story is horrifying. And sadly, not isolated. Across the country, Jewish students are facing pressure to hide who they are − not just from extremists but even in communities and causes where they once felt safe.
And online, the pressure is even more intense. Disinformation campaigns − led by humans and bots − are flooding conversations about Israel and Zionism, distorting dialogue and drowning out authentic voices. One recent study found that nearly one in four posts attacking Israel or Zionism on social media are generated by fake accounts. Even well-intentioned people can get swept up in that noise. Some in our community have shared that when they respond to antisemitic content − to correct falsehoods or offer a different point of view − their replies are quietly deleted. That kind of silencing doesn't just stifle debate − it pushes people out of conversations they care deeply about and have every right to be part of.
The story of Passover doesn't end with liberation. It continues in the wilderness − with uncertainty, disagreement, and the challenge of building something better together. That's where real freedom exists. It's not about always seeing eye-to-eye, but in choosing to stay in conversation − even when it's complicated.
More: Antisemitism concerns push more American Jews to hide their faith | Opinion
This moment isn't easy − for any of us. The way forward isn't always clear; I feel that, too. But I believe we can start by making more room for each other. Room for questions. For listening. For conversations that don't fit neatly into "right" and "wrong." What I'm asking for isn't certainty − it's nuance. A little more space for curiosity. A little more courage to stay in dialogue, even when it's hard.
Maybe the most meaningful thing we can offer this Passover is not just our story but space for someone else's, too.
To my Muslim friends, I wish you a blessed Eid. To my Christian family and friends, a joyful Easter. And to my Jewish family, a meaningful and peaceful Pesach.
Danielle V. Minson is CEO of the Jewish Federation of Cincinnati.
This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: This Passover I'm holding tight to my Jewish identity | Opinion
