As Pesach approaches, I find myself sitting with a question that is both deeply personal and, I suspect, not mine alone.

Each year, we gather around our Seder tables and recite “Ha Lachma Anya” — “Let all who are hungry come and eat; let all who are in need come and celebrate Passover.” These are beautiful words. They are central to who we are. They remind us that no one should be left out, that freedom and belonging are meant to be shared.

And yet, I am writing this because I don’t know where I belong.

I am an older single person. I don’t have a husband. I don’t have siblings. I don’t have children. I don’t have a home where I can host or create a space of my own. When a holiday like Pesach comes, I feel not just alone, but invisible — like a third wheel in a world built around families.

I don’t say this with anger, but with sadness and confusion. Where do I go? If the community does not take me in, who will? If the words we recite are not meant for people like me, then who are they for?

I know that many people assume others have somewhere to be. That invitations are extended within circles that feel natural and familiar. But there are those of us who live outside those circles — not by choice, but by circumstance.

If you are going with your family to a Pesach program and have the means to do so, why not also extend an invitation to widows, divorcees, and singles?

If you have the means to make Pesach, why not teach your children the greatest lesson of all — making room in your heart and in your home for others who are less fortunate?

Pesach is the story of going from isolation to belonging, from oppression to dignity. It is the story of not being left behind.

So I am asking, gently but honestly: can we live those words a little more fully?

Can we look around and notice who might not have a seat at a table?
Can we stretch just a bit beyond what is comfortable or familiar?
Can we make space not just in theory, but in practice?

Because for someone like me, one invitation is not just a meal. It is a reminder that I matter, that I am seen, that I am part of something.

I share this not to place blame, but to open a door — for awareness, for compassion, for action.

This Pesach, I hope that “Let all who are in need come and celebrate” becomes more than words we recite. I hope it becomes something we live.

With sincerity,

D.W.

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