On the Eve of the Seder, Maryland’s Jews Are Carrying a Weight the Rest of Us Need to Understand
Tomorrow night, Jewish families across Maryland will sit down for the Seder — a ritual meal built around memory, liberation, and the obligation to tell the story of a people who survived the worst the world could throw at them. But this year, the story at the table won’t just be ancient. It will be painfully current. Every Jewish Marylander I’ve spoken with says the same thing: security is the first thing on their mind.
And they’re not imagining it. Maryland has seen a dramatic surge in antisemitic incidents — 356 in 2024 alone, a 227% jump from the previous year, placing us fifth per capita in the nation. Statewide, religious‑based hate incidents tripled from 2022 to 2023, and Jews — just 4% of the population — made up 28% of the victims.
That’s not an abstraction. That’s parents worrying every time their kid is out of eyesight. That’s congregations hiring guards, installing cameras, and running drills just to pray or gather for a holiday meal. It’s a level of vigilance that no community in Maryland should have to normalize.
The Political Climate Isn’t Helping
Maryland’s Jewish community is also navigating a political environment that feels less stable than it did even a decade ago. The legislature is debating bills targeting Israel — including pension divestment and restrictions on nonprofits — that many Jewish Marylanders see as crossing the line from policy debate into something more pointed and unsettling. Critics argue these measures risk creating an atmosphere where antisemitic sentiment can grow under the cover of “legitimate criticism.”
At the same time, the state is spending $10 million to harden security at faith‑based institutions — a necessary step, but also a stark acknowledgment of the danger Jewish communities are facing.
Maryland is making progress — the ADL rates us as a “progressing state” with strong policy foundations, including expanded hate‑crime laws and mandated antisemitism training in schools. But we still lack a statewide antisemitism strategy, a task force, and several key protections. In other words: we’re doing better, but not enough.
Why This Feels Worse Now
For many Jewish Marylanders, the fear isn’t just about the numbers. It’s about the cultural permission structure that has shifted around them.
The war in Gaza, the political rhetoric around Israel, and the rise of online radicalization have created a moment where antisemitic ideas — sometimes dressed up as anti‑Zionism, sometimes as “decolonization” language — circulate more freely and more aggressively than before. Jewish Marylanders tell me they feel the ground moving under their feet: conversations that used to be fringe are now mainstream on campuses, in activist circles, and on social media.
And while criticism of any government is fair game, the line between criticizing Israel and targeting Jews as a people is being crossed more often, more casually, and with less pushback. That’s what makes this moment feel different — and more dangerous — than 2012 or even the early Trump years.
A Broader Anxiety: Global Tensions, Local Impact
The end of the Gaza war hasn’t brought calm. Instead, new geopolitical tensions — including the rising profile of Iran — have added another layer of anxiety. Jewish Marylanders aren’t worried about their Persian neighbors; they’re worried about how global conflict fuels domestic extremism. We’ve already seen how individuals radicalized online can turn violent, whether they’re white Christian nationalists or foreign‑born extremists acting alone. The point isn’t ethnicity or nationality — it’s the way global crises echo inside our borders.
This Isn’t Just a Jewish Issue — It’s a Maryland Issue
Non‑Jewish readers need to understand something essential: antisemitism isn’t a “Jewish problem.” It’s a societal warning sign. When a community that makes up 2% of the U.S. population is the target of 70% of religion‑based hate crimes, something is deeply off‑balance.
And when Maryland parents — your neighbors, coworkers, friends — are afraid to let their kids walk into Hebrew school without an armed guard, that’s not a niche concern. That’s a Maryland concern.
On the Eve of the Seder
The Seder is built around a simple command: In every generation, each person must see themselves as if they personally came out of Egypt. It’s a ritual of remembering what it means to be vulnerable — and what it means to be free.
This year, Maryland’s Jewish families will sit down to that table carrying a weight they didn’t choose. They’ll talk about liberation while worrying about security. They’ll talk about resilience while wondering why they need so much of it. And they’ll talk about hope — because hope is part of the ritual, too — but it will be a hope tempered by the reality of the world outside their doors.
As a Christian and as a Marylander, I want them to know this: you’re not carrying that weight alone. Your fear is real. Your vigilance is justified. And your neighbors — including those of us who don’t share your faith — have a responsibility to stand with you, speak up with you, and make it clear that antisemitism has no place in this state.
Not in our politics.
Not in our schools.
Not in our streets.
Not in our hearts.
Tomorrow night, as you gather for the Seder, may you feel not just the burden of history — but the solidarity of your fellow Marylanders who refuse to let history repeat itself.