Except for a quick mention in the “Ten Commandments” and the “Prince of Egypt,” Broadway never saw anything like this. Off with Broadway! Showbiz is on the opposite side of the world from this true- life climax of the Exodus, playing continuously in Jewish hearts and prayers over the centuries.

After eluding their Egyptian pursuers by crossing the Red Sea during the Exodus, Moses and all of Israel broke out in a joyous chorus and lively tempo.

Israel’s elaborate and moving cantata is followed by two staccato verses: “Miriam the Prophetess took the tambourine in her hand, and the women followed her with tambourines and cymbals. Miriam said to them: Sing to G-d...” (Exodus 15)

But why highlight Miriam’s one-line stanza that just repeats Moses? Why single her out from all of Israel singing in unison?

The entire Jewish nation converged on Jerusalem from all corners of the ancient world to celebrate Passover in the Holy City. Some lived nearby, and had a comparatively easy journey; some came from neighboring lands and others traveled great distances, even from as far away as Rome. The pilgrims came in caravans, numbering hundreds and sometimes even thousands of participants. Each group brought the obligatory "half-shekel" donation to the Temple treasury, on behalf of their respective constituency.

The prophet says, “As in the days of your going out of Egypt, I will show [the people] wondrous things” (Michah 7:15). This means that the exodus from Egypt is a paradigm for the future redemption by Moshiach. 

Based on this teaching, we can look to the Torah's discussion on the Exodus for guidance on how to hasten Moshiach's arrival.   

After building the world’s most secure zoo, the architect and contractor are astonished to discover that the kangaroo is able to get out of his enclosure every night.  To stop the kangaroo from hopping out they redesign and build a new 19 foot fence. 

However, the next morning they still find him hopping about the grounds.

And so, a 20 foot fence is put up, followed by a 30, and even a 40 foot fence, all to no avail. 

A bystander camel in the next enclosure turns to the kangaroo, and asks, “Hey Joey, how high do you think they will go? “

 “Uh, I’d guess about 1000 feet … or until they remember to lock the gate at night!”

Matsah is the centerpiece of the Pesach experience.  Much ink has been spilled touting the great spiritual benefits of this miraculous bread.  The Zohar, chief book of Jewish Mysticism, calls Matsah both the “bread of healing” and the “bread of faith”.  One mystic said that to eat Matsah is to “eat” G-dliness.

And the accolades go on and on for the Jewish flatbread.  Yet, in a break from this long list of praises, the Haggadah itself calls Matsah the “Bread of Affliction”.  Why would we call the bread that symbolizes the freedom of the Jewish People, with all that this implies – bread of suffering and poverty?

Time is a tyrant. It plants a "One Way Only" sign on the road of life, another dictating "No Stopping, No Standing", and mercilessly enforces both rules without equivocation. It wrenches us away from our past and holds off our future behind a wall of ignorance, making compost of our most treasured moments and a mockery of our predictions.

We might overthrow political dictators, cure diseases, overcome poverty; but if we want to be free, we must conquer time. For of what use would it all be, if we remain imprisoned within a sliver of present, sliced so thin that anything we have and everything we are already was or hasn't yet been?

That is why Passover, the festival of freedom, is predicated upon the power of remembering.

The first days of Pesach emphasize the exodus from Egypt, Israel’s first redemption. The last days of Pesach emphasize the ultimate redemption by Moshiach.

The latter can be seen from the Torah-reading of the seventh day of Pesach, when we read the shirah (song) which was sung by Israel after they crossed the sea. The shirah refers to the ultimate redemption in both its beginning and its conclusion.

It begins “az yashir” (Beshalach 15:1), which, grammatically, is a future tense: “Then will sing.” This is an allusion to the Messianic era when the dead shall be resurrected, for then Moses and the Israelites will sing once again. And in its conclusion the shirah speaks of “The Sanctuary, which Your hands, G-d, have established” (Beshalach 15:17). This refers essentially to the Third Beit Hamikdash: it, unlike the first two, is built by the Almighty Himself-for the Messianic era, which is described by the next verse as the time when “G-d will reign forever and ever.”

Likewise the haftarah of the seventh day of Pesach is the “Song of King David” (II Samuel, ch.22) from whom Moshiach is descended and with whom Moshiach is identified. The haftarah of the eighth day of Pesach-Isaiah, ch. 11-has the most explicit description of both Moshiach and the utopian conditions of the Messianic Era.

In truth, however, the first days of Pesach also relate to the ultimate redemption.

Will it ever end?

We seem to be forever waging wars. There are, of course, the “real” wars, fought with armed troops and increasingly sophisticated weaponry, wars in which a nation rallies against an enemy who threatens its “vital interests” or its very existence. But even in times of political peace, we are constantly battling the demons which menace our material and moral well-being: we wage wars against crime, against drugs, against disease, against illiteracy. Within, we fight our personal battles, be it a battle against one’s own selfishness or laziness, against an addiction to tobacco or a tendency to overeat.

Today, it is a very common idea that the world is progressing, and that everything is becoming better, more highly developed, and more perfect - and will, therefore, ultimately merit redemption.

The concept of a world that will be redeemed in the "End of Days" was carried over from Judaism and - mediated by Christianity and Islam - has become one of the foundation stones of modern thinking.  It is so powerful that it has been integrated into non-theological "religions":  The ideology of Communism assured its followers that the Revolution (like the Messiah) might tarry, but it (like him) would surely come.

We can also see this way of thinking in the theory of evolution, which has - through a subtle shift in meaning - turned from a theory that explains how organisms adapt to their environments to a description of how creation improves with each generation.  According to this view, if we let nature run its course and don't interfere, society will evolve toward perfection.  Advances made in science and technology are held up as alleged proofs that the world is improving, based on the false assumption that whatever is more sophisticated (and more artificial) is better.

This optimistic view, as appealing as it may be, is considered by many to be naïve, unrealistic, and empty. The Jewish view of world history is optimistic, but it is an optimism with substance and meaning.

It seems that whenever things are not going well, we Jews express the hope that Moshiach must come to make things better.

So when tragedy strikes, or when a loved one is lost, we sigh and somberly declare, "things are so bad, we really need Moshiach!"

Is that what Moshiach is all about? Is he a mere saviour from tzoris?

[Q&A] Sometimes I shudder at the thought of Moshiach and the Day of Judgment that is mentioned in the bible. Who wants to be held up to that type of scrutiny by a judge who cannot be fooled?