Yesterday, we had the honor of catering the pre-reception for a talk by Natalie Sanandaji, who came to our community to speak about October 7th. Natalie, a Persian Jew, shared her personal experiences and perspective in a way that brought together so many different parts of our community.
As always, we are grateful to play even a small role in moments like these—where food becomes part of something bigger. Catering events like this isn’t just about what’s on the table, but about creating space for people to gather, connect, and support one another.
It was especially meaningful to see such a cross-section of our community come together—not only to hear Natalie’s story, but to stand with her. There is something powerful about showing up, listening, and being present for one another in times that are complex and often painful.
During the event, a young woman came up to me, visibly excited when she saw the babaganoush and other Middle Eastern dishes on our grazing table. Her face lit up in a way that immediately stood out. She shared that she had left Iran just three years ago to come to school, and how much she missed these foods—how surprised and comforted she was to see them here.
She spoke about how she cannot travel to Israel with her current passport, and how deeply she hopes for a day when that changes. She talked about wanting to visit, to experience it for herself, and to feel connected to something she has only heard about from afar.
What struck me most was how excited she was to connect—not just to the food, but to the speaker, to the culture, and to the people around her. She shared that meeting another Iranian, especially one who is Jewish, meant something to her. It wasn’t about differences—it was about shared roots, shared history, and a moment of recognition.
We spoke briefly about the Jewish community in Iran, and she expressed sadness and concern for how they are treated—acknowledging that their situation is often even more difficult.
As Passover approaches, we are reminded of our own story—of oppression, resilience, and ultimately, freedom. It is a time when we reflect not only on our past, but on the present. The themes of Passover are not just historical—they are ongoing, relevant, and deeply human.
In that same light, we cannot ignore the realities that so many people continue to face today. The Iranian regime has oppressed its own people for generations, and continues to do so, directly and through its proxies.
And yet, in a moment over a table of food, we were reminded of something just as powerful: connection. Humanity. The ability to see one another beyond politics, beyond borders, beyond labels.
As we head into Passover, may we all hold onto that.
May we continue to show up for one another.
And may we work—together—for a world of greater peace, equality, and freedom for all.
