Passover began as it always has, with an ornate, often hours-long Seder meal unfolding in homes, synagogues and community centers across Brookline.
The rhythm and ritual of each Seder is as varied as the Jewish diaspora, at its core a celebration of freedom and a time of family and gathering, historically a retelling of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.
But freedom, in a time of mounting global conflict and local antisemitism, means something different to everyone. For some, freedom is personal; for others, political. For many, it is both.
In the years following Oct. 7, those discussions have taken on new urgency. References to millennia of persecution surfaced alongside concerns about the recent surge of antisemitic attacks in more than one Haggadah, or text recited at Seder.
“Exodus from Egypt is this paradigm,” said Rabbi Jim Morgan from Center Communities of Brookline. “It matches so many different historical situations.”
Morgan added that every Passover is a new response to the unique challenges of its time. Brookline.News visited three community Seders to hear what each gathering had to say.
Center Communities of Brookline

On the tenth floor of Center Communities of Brookline, an independent senior living home, a gathering of over 100 people faced a problem. There was no shank bone, Rabbi Morgan announced. The local Butcherie and the center’s partners were all out of the symbolic Seder plate lamb.
Someone suggested they use a carrot. Surrounding guests murmured their approval, and Morgan declared the carrot would have to do. He carried on with the Haggadah.
The rest of the evening held an equally relaxed adherence to tradition, more a symbolic night of song and gathering than religious detail. As residents celebrated and reminisced over Passovers of their past, threaded through conversations was a quiet, immediate concern: what it means to feel safe, and to live freely, as a Jew today.
For Sheila Taymore, that question has become unavoidable. A substitute teacher, she said the rise in antisemitic incidents has reshaped her daily life. She worries when she goes to synagogue, at work, even walking outside. At one point, she considered removing her mezuzah, a protective scroll Jews hang on doorposts, out of fear of being targeted.
“You really don’t want to hide your reality and life as far as being Jewish,” said her husband, Frank Boyland. “But sometimes you have to.”

Within the gathering, that instinct to conceal was lifted. As musicians played familiar Passover melodies “Dayenu,” “Miriam’s Song,” “Ten Plagues of Egypt Land,” Taymore said she felt a sense of pride, something close to what she feels when she hears the Pledge of Allegiance.
While some held a less patriotic view, others at the table described freedom as the ability to assemble and express themselves.
“I’m thankful for all the freedom that we have in this world to be able to have Passover together,” said Taymore.
Chabad Center of Brookline
That same evening Chabad Center of Brookline, an Orthodox synagogue, held its own Seder, where a carrot was not going to pass for a lamb bone. There, a multi-course meal was accompanied with handmade matzah shipped from Brooklyn, New York.
Joshua Peled, a Seder guest and owner of Za’tar restaurant in Brookline, could remember making his own matzah as a school boy in Israel.
At his table, discussion and banter flowed as freely as the wine, stretching past midnight.
“It’s not a Jewish dinner if there isn’t an argument,” said author and consultant Eugene Kogan, drawing laughter around him.
“There’s a saying,” added Peled. “Two Jews, three opinions.”
The debates, participants emphasized, were part of the tradition itself. Central to the evening were the Four Questions beginning with “Why is this night different from all other nights?”, traditionally asked by the youngest in the room. The questions are meant to spark inquiry, not resolve it.
Still, some questions carried particular weight this year. In the Haggadah read by Rabbi Morgan, a line read “Now we are here; next year we will be in the land of Israel,” a wish reflected heavily at the Chabad Center’s Seder.
Chanie Lerner, the wife of Rabbi Shayke Lerner, addressed the room, where many had loved ones in Israel living with fear and instability.
“Are we really free,” she asked, “when our sons are at war and not at the table for Seder?”
Others named family and friends far from home, as each table spoke a blessing one by one. Lerner closed her remarks with the traditional refrain: “Next year in Jerusalem.”
Liberation Seder

Just down the street, at a community “Liberation Seder” organized by the activist group IfNotNow, traditional lines were adapted to fit the group’s aim to shift Jewish American support away from Israel. Participants at this Seder amended “Next year in Jerusalem” to “Next year wherever we live.”
Noe Caplan, a field organizer for IfNotNow Boston, said he grew up attending Orthodox Seders, in a community that held Israel as a Jewish homeland. That evening, the Seder aimed to readress the meaning of liberation in light of allegations of genocide on Palestinians by Israel.
“I’ve had multiple conversations where people cry,” he said, describing a struggle to reconcile a sense of connection to Israel and the realities of ongoing violence affecting both Israelis and Palestinians.

In a breakout discussion, poet and playwright Monica Raymond visibly shook with anger at the mention of Israel. “We need to get away from this idea of homeland,” she said. “I don’t think it helps us.”
Symbolism carried that message forward. When participants broke the matzah, representing a fractured world, it became a prompt for reflection.
“The broken piece in our hands is a question,” read Lia Eggleston, quoting a zine writer, Felipe Ventura. “What are we doing, with our hands, with our neighbors, with our city, to stop the breaking?”
This story is part of a partnership between Brookline.News and the Boston University Department of Journalism.
Correction: A previous version of this article misidentified the name of the Orthodox synagogue at which one of the Seders took place. The synagogue is called Chabad Center of Brookline.











