When the sun sets tonight (in the Jewish year 5769) my family and I, along with millions of Jewish families, will sit at a Seder table in celebration of Passover.

More of a traditional Jew, not necessarily obeying all laws as they are written but engaging in the traditions and symbolism of Jewry, I welcome the eight-day holiday commemorating the liberation of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery.

Rich with tradition, the Seder, a solemn yet festive occasion, is an invitation to express “freedom” in your own life.

When I was growing up in Brooklyn, Passover was strictly a family event with aunts, uncles and cousins sitting in prearranged fashion at Aunt Anna and Uncle Jack’s house in Richmond Hill.

My home will host an ecumenical mix of friends and neighbors who worship differently than my family does, but who will have a place at our table and be free to sit wherever they wish. Who are they? They are a couple who fled Cuba, a gentleman from the Philippines and his one-quarter Cheyenne Indian wife, a woman born in Santo Domingo who is Muslim, two Christian couples transplanted from Long Island and Oregon to Holly Springs and Fuquay-Varina respectively, one man hailing from Buffalo, N.Y. and a black man from Durham.

This year I will once again prepare the meal, a variety of food that requires an array of china. And speaking of dishes, not to mention silver and glassware — I will be mixing and matching to create a set table for my company.

The six-course affair does not include what some might refer to as the hors d’śuvres before the meal. What do I mean by that? Well, they will be certain not to find cocktail shrimp or potato puffs to nibble on before the meal is served. Rather, when the reading of the Haggadah (the book of the story of Passover) begins, my husband Henry will instruct the gathered to partake of the rituals, if they wish. He will clue them as to when wine may be sipped and when they can sample the six symbolic foods from the Seder plate representing tears, bitter times, forced labor, re-birthing, hope and spring all before the official feasting begins.

Henry, as leader, will conduct the reading of the story of Passover, told each year and revealing the details by answering four questions posed by the youngest male child in attendance: ”Why is this night different?” Henry will stop every once in a while offering commentary and explanation to our ecumenical roster.

The honor of asking the four questions will go to my son, Lance.

Although not a child, he will be the only other man among the seated who can read the Hebrew.

Before all of this happens, I have a ritual of my own, initiated many years ago. I welcome each guest, asking them to expound, of their own free will, on what “freedom” means to them. Often they reveal a broad spectrum of thoughts running the gamut from personal and financial freedom to gratitude for being able to live in the United States.

Someone may reflect on a past situation that kept them imprisoned and how they were brought to their present state.

This year will be no exception. I will begin by telling the assembled that I am now free to breathe easy and thankful to be able to enjoy the pleasure of seeing my daughter Suzanne rescued and returned to life, having four months ago suffered the ravages of an incarcerated diaphragmatic hernia. Then, through what I imagine will be tears of joy spilling over, I will wipe my eyes and motion to the person sitting to my left that the floor is his. And so it will go until each who wishes to share will have their moment.

Then the formal telling of the story of the exodus commences without pressure for anyone to don a yarmulke (skullcap), partake of the responsive reading or taste the diverse and somewhat unfamiliar foods, from eggs in salt water to matzo balls and gefilte fish.

Of course everyone will want to sample matzo, the unleavened bread of affliction that sticks to your ribs. Who wouldn’t want to dip it, fry it or crunch it up? No one, though, will be able to spread butter (Jewish law does not allow the mixing of dairy and meat) on it on this special night. It is indeed special for me to be surrounded by my beloved Henry, Lance and Suzanne, our friends and neighbors.

From my heart to yours and no matter the holiday you celebrate —may you know only that which brings the joy of freedom to your life.