Weekly Dvar Torah: The Journey from Pesach to Moshiach
There’s something magical about Pesach. You can feel it in the air—from the crackle of burning chametz to the rustle of white tablecloths on Seder night. It’s a time of freedom, of flight, of fire. A time when the soul stretches her wings and remembers who she really is.
On the first nights of Pesach, we lean back like royalty and tell the story of how G-d Himself took us out of Egypt with signs and wonders, with love and fury, with open miracles that shattered the chains of history. We eat Matza like the food of kings. We drink four cups of wine. We lift our voices and declare: “This is the bread of affliction”—and this is the night of freedom!
And then, with full hearts, we say Shehechiyanu—because this miracle really happened. We’re not dreaming. We were there. We were slaves, and now we are free. We say, “Blessed are You, Hashem… Who has kept us alive and brought us to this moment!”
But here’s the twist. As Pesach rolls on, something deep and wondrous begins to shift.
The focus moves.
The lens widens.
Suddenly, we’re no longer just celebrating what was.
We start leaning into what will be.
Because the last days of Pesach aren’t just “more of the same.” Oh no. They are a portal. A window into destiny. The Baal Shem Tov opened our eyes to this secret: the final days of Pesach are vibrating with the light of the future redemption—with the coming of Moshiach.
And how do we celebrate it? With another feast.
Seudas Moshiach!
Once more, we eat Matza. Once more, we raise four cups of wine. But this time, something’s different.
This time, we’re not telling the story of a redemption that already happened—we’re tasting a redemption that is still on its way.
It’s real. It’s close. We can feel it in our bones.
But it hasn’t happened yet.
And that’s why—listen closely—we do not say Shehechiyanu during the last days of Pesach.
Because how can you say “Thank You for bringing me here”… when you’re still waiting at the door?
How can you declare “We’ve arrived”, when the whole world is still yearning for that final sunrise?
You see, Shehechiyanu is for miracles past. But these days are about the miracle ahead.
They are about hope.
About longing.
About standing on the edge of forever, eyes fixed on the horizon, Matza in hand, wine in our goblet, soul on fire, whispering, “Come, Moshiach! We’re ready!!!”
And oh—what joy! What wild, holy joy!
Because this isn’t a vague hope. This isn’t a maybe.
This is a promise. This is the final chapter Hashem Himself wrote into the story.
The same G-d Who split the sea and smashed the might of Pharaoh has promised us:
¬“Just as I took you out of Egypt, I will bring you to the ultimate Geulah.”
So no—we don’t say Shehechiyanu on the last days of Pesach.
Not yet.
But that not yet is pulsing with purpose. It’s alive with anticipation.
And when the day finally comes—when the shofar sounds, when the world turns gold with G-dliness, when every exile melts into light—we will say Shehechiyanu.
And oh, what a Shehechiyanu it will be.
But until then, we sit down at the Seudas Moshiach, we smile through our yearning, and we lift our cups with laughter and faith and fiery joy.
Because we’re not just remembering what was.
We’re celebrating what’s coming.
And it’s coming fast.
Have a Futuristic Redemption of a Yomtov,
Gut Shabbos, Gut Yomtov
Rabbi Yosef Katzman
