A Passover Message from Joe Alterman

As a jazz musician, I’ve long been drawn to the idea of freedom. Improvisation, after all, is a kind of musical exodus—moment by moment, note by note. It’s about letting go of control, stepping into the unknown, and trusting that what comes out will be true. For me, that’s what jazz is all about: being fully, unapologetically yourself.

But I haven’t always felt free to be myself.

For many years, I lived with obsessive-compulsive disorder. It wasn’t always obvious from the outside, but internally, it could be incredibly limiting. OCD thrives on fear and doubt—on the idea that if you just think a little harder, try a little harder, control a little more, maybe then you’ll feel safe. Maybe then you’ll get it “right.” But that mindset is the opposite of freedom. It’s a kind of internal Egypt—a narrow, confining space that tells you you’re only allowed out once you’ve earned it.

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Passover teaches us that liberation isn’t just something that happened once, long ago. In every generation, we’re invited to see ourselves as if we came out of Egypt. That means freedom is an ongoing journey, not a fixed destination. It’s something we step into again and again, sometimes slowly, sometimes through struggle, sometimes—if we’re lucky—with the help of music.

Looking back, I realize that jazz offered me a path out long before I even knew I needed one. When I played, I could breathe. I didn’t have to overthink or explain. I could just be. Jazz didn’t ask for perfection—it asked for presence. And over time, it taught me to trust myself in a way OCD never allowed.

Some of my greatest teachers—Ramsey Lewis, Les McCann, Ahmad Jamal—modeled that kind of trust. Their music wasn’t about showing off or proving anything. It was about telling the truth. They played with humility, joy, and conviction. Being around them reminded me that the goal wasn’t to become anyone else—it was to become more deeply myself.

Passover is filled with reminders that the journey from slavery to freedom is a personal one. At a seder some years ago, someone asked, “What’s your own Egypt?” And I remember thinking back to the years when I felt trapped inside my own mind. That was my Egypt. And while I’m grateful to have moved through that chapter, I carry the lessons from it with me.

Because here’s what I’ve learned: real freedom isn’t about being fearless. It’s about knowing who you are beneath the fear. It’s not about always feeling at peace—it’s about having a place, like music, that brings you back to yourself. Jazz gave me that. And in many ways, so did the tradition I grew up in—the stories, the rituals, the melodies at the seder table that connected me to something bigger, older, and wiser than my own anxious mind.

This year, as I sit at the seder table with new memories behind me and new ones ahead, I’ll be thinking about how far I’ve come. And how the journey continues. I’ll be thinking about the power of story, of music, and of sacred imperfection. And I’ll be grateful—for the Egypt I once knew, for the freedom I now feel, and for the chance, year after year, to tell the story again.

Because in the end, that’s what both jazz and Judaism have taught me: that our stories, even the difficult ones, don’t hold us back—they’re what set us free.

Joe Alterman is a pianist, journalist, and the Executive Director of Neranenah who has been praised by legends like Ahmad Jamal as “a very special artist,” Ramsey Lewis as “an inspiration” whose playing is “a joy to behold,” Les McCann as a “bad MF” and Dick Cavett as a “first class entertainer.”