As Passover approaches, many of us prepare for the familiar traditions of the Seder: the matzah, the wine, the storytelling, and of course—the Four Questions. But what if I told you that most people, including Google, get one of the most fundamental parts of the Seder wrong?
Let’s start with a seemingly simple question: Who asks the Four Questions at the Passover Seder? Ask Google, and it will confidently tell you: The youngest child. You might agree and feel sure about that answer. But as with so many aspects of Jewish tradition, the full picture is more nuanced. And understanding this detail unlocks a much deeper conversation—not just about Passover, but about freedom itself.
So, Who Really Asks the Four Questions?
According to Jewish tradition, the youngest child at the Seder asks the Four Questions. But what if there is no child present? What then?
The Mishnah, one of Judaism’s earliest legal texts, addresses exactly that. In the traditional setting where a man leads the Seder, and if there are no children, the man’s wife asks the questions. Still no wife? Then the Seder leader must ask the questions himself. And in the case where there are two scholars—two talmidei chachamim—who know all the laws of Passover and could recite the answers in their sleep? They still ask each other the Four Questions.
But why?
If they already know all the answers, what’s the point? This is where the tradition reveals something deeper. Asking questions is not simply a ritual—it’s a form of freedom. Slaves cannot question authority. Slaves are told what to do, how to think, and when to act. Freedom means having the ability to ask “why?” And not just to ask, but to expect a thoughtful answer.
So even the most knowledgeable people ask the questions—not because they don’t know the answers, but because asking is an act of liberation.
The Connection Between Passover and Free Speech
This brings us to a broader and vital topic: free speech. Passover is the holiday of liberation, of freedom. But in our society today, we need to ask: What does freedom really mean? And just as important—what are its limits?
I’m a rabbi. And not just any rabbi, but one who, like many of my colleagues, benefits from a tradition called freedom of the pulpit. It means that I have the right to speak my truth from the bimah, even if it makes some congregants uncomfortable. And I don’t take that freedom lightly.
But freedom of speech doesn’t mean freedom from accountability.
We all know that you can’t yell “fire” in a crowded theater when there is none. That’s not protected speech—it’s a danger to others. And yet, in the wider public discourse, we’ve stretched the boundaries of what free speech means. Sometimes too far.
Let’s take a controversial and complex example: Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission (2010). In this landmark Supreme Court case, the Court ruled that corporations and unions could spend unlimited money on political campaigns, equating money with speech.
But is spending millions on political influence truly what the Founding Fathers had in mind when they wrote the First Amendment? Personally, I think not. I’m not a constitutional lawyer, but I do believe the core intention of freedom of speech has been distorted—used as a shield rather than as a tool of genuine expression.
Speech Has Limits—And Consequences
Let’s talk about what free speech is not.
Drawing a swastika on a synagogue or a sidewalk is not free speech. It’s vandalism. It’s intimidation. It’s a deliberate act of hate. Chanting at Jews to “go back to Poland” or “go back to Europe” is not a legitimate expression of opinion. It’s harassment and incitement.
This leads to a highly charged situation involving Mahmud Khalili, a recent protest organizer at Columbia University who has become a symbol, a supposed martyr, for free speech. Many claim that his right to protest is being suppressed. But let’s step back.
Freedom to protest is part of the First Amendment—but it must be peaceful and lawful. Public protests often require permits. On university campuses, they must be sanctioned by the administration. The protests in question, including Khalili’s actions, were not lawful. More importantly, they were not peaceful. Jewish students were harassed, blocked from classrooms, and in some cases, physically assaulted.
So while Khalili may be receiving widespread attention as a free speech champion, we must ask: Was his speech protected, or did it cross the line into something else? In my view, his actions do not represent the kind of speech our laws were designed to protect. His rights may have been violated in terms of due process—but the focus on free speech is misplaced. Freedom of speech is not freedom to harm.
Freedom Is a Double-Edged Sword
As Americans, we revere the First Amendment. It’s the first for a reason. But we’ve turned it into something of a sacred cow, placing it on a pedestal without examining its actual meaning and scope. Few people can even name the other amendments, and yet we brandish the First Amendment in arguments about everything from social media bans to workplace terminations.
But speech has consequences. Always.
If someone is fired for something they said publicly, it may not be a violation of their free speech rights—it may simply be an example of accountability. Your employer doesn’t have to agree with or support what you say publicly, especially if it reflects poorly on the organization.
This is something we need to understand more deeply. Free speech isn’t carte blanche to say anything, anywhere, without consequences. Just like at the Seder table, where the goal is not just to ask any question, but to ask a meaningful one—the same applies to our public discourse. We must speak thoughtfully, responsibly, and truthfully.
Passover’s Real Message: Ask Bold Questions
Which brings us back to Passover.
This holiday isn’t just about matzah or ancient miracles. It’s about our capacity to ask, to challenge, to seek truth and liberation in every generation.
At my Seder table, I encourage everyone—children and adults alike—to ask bold questions. Challenge me. Push back. Make the conversation real.
And among the Four Children of the Seder, my favorite has always been the wicked child. Yes, that’s right. Because at least the wicked child is engaged. At least he’s asking. He might be challenging authority, he might even be skeptical—but he’s participating in the conversation.
Asking is holy.
Even when we know the answers, we ask again. Because the act of asking is a declaration of freedom. The act of speaking truthfully, with care and courage, is a sacred responsibility.
In Conclusion: Let’s Be Free—But Also Accountable
Passover is a time to remember our journey from slavery to freedom. And part of that freedom is the ability to question, to speak, to challenge, and to reflect. But just as we remember that we were once slaves, we must also remember what it means to be truly free.
True freedom is not doing whatever you want. True freedom is doing what is right.
So this year, as you gather around your Seder table, I invite you to:
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Ask better questions.
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Reflect on the limits and power of free speech.
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Speak your truth—but with accountability and empathy.
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Teach your children (and yourselves) that freedom is precious because it requires responsibility.
And most of all, remember this:
Not everything is free speech. But everything you say matters. Speak wisely. Speak freely. Speak kindly.