Pesach in the Times of the Bet HaMiqdash

Pesach was one of the most joyful and spiritually intense holidays in the life of Bene Israel during the era of the Bet HaMiqdash. It was one of the three Shalosh Regalim — the pilgrimage festivals — alongside Shavuot and Sukkot, when every Jewish man was commanded by the Torah to appear before HaShem in Yerushalayim. The result was a massive, magnificent gathering: hundreds of thousands of Jews — and according to some ancient sources, perhaps over a million — would make their way on foot from every corner of the Land of Israel, and even from distant communities throughout the diaspora, all converging on the holy city, ready to fulfill one of the most sacred commandments: bringing the Qorban Pesach.

The Journey to Yerushalayim

The roads leading to Yerushalayim would fill with pilgrims days before the holiday. Families and communities traveled together, singing songs of ascent — the Shir HaMa’alot psalms (Tehillim 120–134) — as they climbed toward the city. The atmosphere was festive and electric. The Mishna (Pesahim) and other sources describe the city swelling far beyond its normal capacity during these days.

Those who came from outside Yerushalayim stayed with relatives, acquaintances, or often in the homes of complete strangers. Hospitality was not merely customary — it was considered a sacred obligation. According to the Talmud Yerushalmi, no one in Yerushalayim ever said to a visitor, “I have no room for you.” The city was regarded as belonging to all of Israel, and homeowners were not permitted to charge rent for lodging during the festival. When a house was truly full and could take no more guests, a red cloth or sign would be hung above the door — a silent, respectful signal to those still searching for a place to rest.

The Haburot — Communal Groups for the Qorban

People gathered into family and communal groups called Haburot (singular: Habura), each of which would share a single Qorban Pesach. The Mishna in Pesahim discusses the laws governing these groups in considerable detail. A Habura could range from a small family unit to a large gathering of fifty, sixty, or even up to one hundred people — provided that there was enough of the lamb for everyone to eat at least a kazait (an olive-sized portion).

On the afternoon of the fourteenth of Nisan — Erev Pesach — one or two representatives from each Habura would bring their lamb to the Bet HaMiqdash. The Mishna describes how the courtyard was divided into three shifts (כיתות, kittot) to accommodate the enormous number of sacrifices. Each shift would enter the Temple court, the great doors would be shut, the Leviyim would sing Hallel, and the Kohanim would stand in rows holding golden and silver basins to catch the blood of the sacrifices and pass them in a continuous chain to be sprinkled on the altar. The atmosphere was at once solemn and jubilant — a sacred choreography involving thousands of people acting as one.

After the sacrifice, the animal was brought home and roasted whole — including its head, legs, and inner organs — on a pomegranate-wood spit, as prescribed by the Torah. It could not be boiled or cooked in any other way, and not a single bone could be broken.

The Seder Night

That night — the fifteenth of Nisan — Bene Israel celebrated the Seder, in many ways much as we do today. They reclined on cushions and pillows in the manner of free people, of noblemen and aristocrats, because on this night we are not slaves but a redeemed nation. The obligation to recline (hasiba) was universal — men, women, and children alike participated in the spirit of freedom.

The Haggadah was recited, the Ma Nishtana was asked by the children, and the story of the Exodus was told and retold. The meal was abundant. In addition to the Qorban Pesach, families also brought the Qorban Hagiga — a festive peace-offering eaten earlier in the meal — along with Matsa and Maror. The Maror in Temple times was a biblical commandment of the Torah, not merely a rabbinic enactment as it is today. Four cups of wine were drunk to celebrate the four expressions of redemption promised by HaShem in the Book of Shemot: vehotzeiti, vehitzalti, vega’alti, and velaqahti — I will bring you out, I will rescue you, I will redeem you, and I will take you as My people.

The Afiqoman — The Qorban Pesach as the Final Taste

Before midnight, the Qorban Pesach was eaten as the final food of the evening — what we call the Afiqoman. It was essential that it be eaten when people were already satisfied, not out of hunger but as a gesture of completion and sanctity. Every member of the Habura was obligated to eat at least a kazait of the roasted lamb. After the Qorban Pesach was consumed, nothing else could be eaten — its taste was to remain in the mouth through the night. This is the origin of our custom today: the piece of Matsa we call Afiqoman is eaten last, and nothing is eaten afterward, in direct remembrance of the Qorban Pesach.

Following the meal, the Habura recited Birkat HaMazon, thanking ה׳ for the food and for the Land.

The Hallel at Midnight — A Million Voices

Then came one of the most breathtaking moments of the entire Jewish year. Around midnight, the people of Yerushalayim — together with all the pilgrims who had filled the city — would ascend to the rooftops and terraces. From there, looking out over the illuminated Bet HaMiqdash — gleaming white and gold under the light of the full moon of Nisan — the entire Jewish People would sing the Hallel together: Psalms 113–118, the great hymn of gratitude to ה׳ for having taken us out of Egypt.

The Talmud (Pesahim 85b) records that the voices of the crowds singing Hallel were so powerful and so unified that the terraces of Yerushalayim seemed to tremble and shake. Imagine: a million or more voices, rising as one, in the still night air of the Judean hills — a sound that must have been unlike anything else in human history.

How We Preserve the Memory Today

After the destruction of the Bet HaMiqdash, our Sages instituted customs to keep the memory of the Qorban Pesach alive in our Seder night.

• The shank bone (zero’a) — or among Ashkenazim, a chicken neck or wing — is placed on the Ke’ara (Seder plate) as a visual reminder of the Qorban Pesach. Sephardic communities traditionally use a roasted lamb shank, as close as possible to the original.
• The Afiqoman — a piece of Matsa eaten at the end of the meal — commemorates the Qorban Pesach. When we eat it, we say: Zeher leQorban Pesach ha’ne’ehal al hasova — “In remembrance of the Qorban Pesach, which was eaten when one was already satisfied.”
• The Hallel is recited twice: once in the synagogue, recalling the communal Hallel of the entire nation, and once again at home after Birkat HaMazon, recalling the Hallel sung on the terraces of Yerushalayim at midnight.

A Lost Tradition — Hallel While Baking the Matsot

There is one more beautiful custom — practiced today by only a tiny number of Jewish communities — that connects the living moment of preparation to the sacred past.

Do you know when the ideal time to bake the Matsot for the Seder is? The afternoon of the fourteenth of Nisan — Erev Pesach — exactly the same time that the Qorban Pesach was being sacrificed in the Bet HaMiqdash. This timing mirrors the way Challot are ideally prepared on Friday afternoon, in honor of Shabbat. The Matsot, baked at the very hour of the sacrifice, become part of the same sacred moment.

And while baking those Matsot, people would sing the Hallel.

This extraordinary custom — joining the act of preparing the Matsa with the song of redemption, at the exact hour of the Qorban — survived for centuries in certain communities. Today it has been almost entirely lost, preserved only among a handful of Jewish communities in Yemen and Kurdistan. It is a living thread connecting us to a world we can barely imagine.

יהי רצון שנזכה לחגוג את חג הפסח בבנין בית תפארתינו, במהרה בימינו, אמן!

One of the most helpful and practical ideas for the Seder is to prepare a list of questions at different levels.

The adult leading the Seder — the MC of the Seder — should keep these questions at hand, together with a bag of prizes.

Whenever it is time to regain attention, start a new stage of the Seder, or energize the table, the MC can ask a question and show the prize.

Children connect to this immediately.

If there are guests who are very knowledgeable and always answer correctly, the MC can decide who answers first, so the same person does not always win.

Save the best prizes for the end.

Below are 35 questions divided by level.

🟢 Beginner Level

1. In which Hebrew month does Pesach begin?

2. How many days is Pesach celebrated outside of Israel?

3. What do we celebrate on the seventh day of Pesach?

4. Who led the Bene Israel out of Egypt?

5. Who were the brother and sister of Moshe?

6. What were the names of Moshe’s parents?

7. What food do we eat at the Seder to remember the bread of the Exodus?

8. What bitter food do we eat to remember the bitterness of slavery?

9. What sweet food on the Seder plate reminds us of the bricks made by the Bene Israel in Egypt?

10. What are the four cups of wine part of?

11. Who are the four sons mentioned in the Haggadah?

12. What question begins Ma Nishtana?

🟡 Intermediate Level

13. On what day of the month of Nisan does Pesach begin?

14. Why were the Bene Israel commanded to mark their doorposts on the night of the Exodus?

15. What are the five grains that can become chametz?

16. What three elements are necessary for something to become chametz?

17. What is Bedikat Chametz?

18. What is Bitul Chametz?

19. What is the difference between regular matza and Shemura matza?

20. What two blessings do we say before eating matza at the Seder?

21. What is Yachatz during the Seder?

22. What is the Afikoman, and when do we eat it?

23. What does dipping karpas in salt water symbolize?

24. How many years did the Bene Israel live in Egypt?

🔴 Advanced Level

25. What amount of chametz makes a food forbidden on Pesach?

26. How do we make an oven kosher for Pesach?

27. What does the abbreviation דצ״ך עד״ש באח״ב represent?

28. What is the meaning of the text Vehi She’amda in the Haggadah?

29. Name five things for which we thank HaShem in Dayenu.

30. What special handwashing do we perform during the Seder that we normally do not do at other meals?

31. How and when do we recline during the Seder, and why?

32. What foods must be eaten while reclining?

33. What is charoset, and what does it represent?

34. Do we need to check whether soap or shampoo are kosher for Pesach? Why?

35. What were the Ten Plagues that struck Egypt before the Exodus?

וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֶל מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר מַרְבִּים הָעָם לְהָבִיא מִדֵּי הָעֲבֹדָה לַמְּלָאכָה

Perhpas late… but not too late….

I think it was when I had my third child that I learned one of the most valuable lessons in the education of the little ones: how to “read” their drawings. All children draw. Without exception, our children need us to appreciate and admire their art. Mainly when the artwork is dedicated to us: parents! Nobody taught me how to read and admire a drawing… and before I learned this valuable lesson, all I did, intuitively,  was look at the drawing for a few seconds and say: “What a beautiful drawing!” or “What a work of art!” and that’s it. A short phrase with enthusiasm – sometimes deliberately overenthusiastic – was my way of showing admiration for my children’s drawings.

Then, I learned that this was not enough. The art that our children dedicate to us must be “read and appreciated” carefully, looking at the details as we comment on them aloud, following with our index all the minor details we find. “How many windows this house has?  And the curtains…they are so beautiful!  What are they made of? Velvet? This door is very similar to our door! And you also draw the Mezuza!!!  What a lovely tree! And those beautiful red fruits, what are they? They look like yummy apples … What a beautiful chimney. How many bricks does it have? Let’s cunt them … one, two, three, four, … and the smoke: it reaches the clouds. “

By commenting on the details we identify in the drawing, we recreate the drawing process of the young artists for our little ones. And the more details we can identify, the less indifferent we will be to our children’s work of art, and the more love we will transmit to them. Because, as someone very intelligently said: “The opposite of love is not hatred but indifference“. The less indifference, the more the love. Understood?

If we learn this great lesson in “parenting,” we will better understand this week’s Parasha.

The text of the Tora that we will be reading tomorrow can become frustrating if we do not have this idea in mind. Because the Tora repeats too many details about the Mishkan (the Tabernacle), and as some commentators indicated, it would have been sufficient for the Tora to describe the whole process with two lines: “And the children of Israel built the Mishkan, just as God had ordered it.”  Why was it necessary to abound in so much detail?  Unless we understand that the Mishkan was to our Creator what our children’s drawing is to us  …

What was the Mishkan?  The Mishkan (literally: “residence” or “house”) was the Sanctuary that we Jews dedicated to HaShem. A meeting point between us and Him. A residence that permanently reminded us of the presence of God among us.  Similar to what a Synagogue represents today. The Mishkan was built by “volunteers,” not by slaves. And there were no forced taxes imposed on the people. The materials came from voluntary donations by ordinary Israelites in the desert. It was an act of love from the people of Israel to the Creator, who rescued them from slavery.  And these innumerable demonstrations of our affection did not go unnoticed by the Creator.

The Tora expresses God’s appreciation for the love we Jews showed in building the Mishkan by mentioning every object, artifact, and material used to build this “House,” like a parent who looks carefully and lovingly at his child’s drawing and enthusiastically mentions each one of its little details.

Our Parasha begins with a reminder about the observance of Shabbat, indicating that even the construction of the Tabernacle, or Mishkan, must be suspended on the seventh day. Then the Tora continues with the description of the building of the Mishkan, implying that the people have been forgiven by God for the sin of the Golden calf thanks to the intervention of Moshe. The Tora lists all the materials needed to build the Tabernacle and mentions all the materials, artifacts, and sections of the Tabernacle, and the priestly garments that were to be made.

Men and women donated generously all the materials and labor that Moshe had requested. Moshe announces that God has chosen, and inspired, Betzalel and Aholiab to serve as the head artisans of the Tabernacle construction project, and he transfers all the donated materials to them. The people continue to donate generously, until the artisans informed Moshe that the materials they already had, were more than enough to complete the assigned task. Moshe asks the people to stop donating materials. The workers start their work: the curtains, panels, sockets, the covering of the entrance to the main Sanctuary which separated the Qodesh –where the Menora, the Table of offerings (non-animals) and the Altar of Incense were- and the Qodesh haQodashim where is the Ark of the covenant that contains the Tablets of the Law was. The Tora now describes the construction of the Menorah (the candelabrum) and the Altar of Incense. The anointing oil and incense are also prepared. The description of the Tabernacle continues with the construction of the outer Altar – where animal sacrifices are performed – the copper fountain where the Cohanim would wash their feet and hands: the curtains of the Tabernacle and the beams and hooks that supported them.

The Tora gives an accurate account of the sums and quantities of gold, silver and copper donated for the construction of the Tabernacle, as well as the list of elements and construction materials used. The Tora then describes the ephod,  an inverted vest, worn by the Cohen Gadol, and its suspenders, fixed with precious stones, the Choshen Mishpat that the High Priest wears on his chest, with its four rows of three precious stones per row. On each of these stones the names of one of the 12 Tribes of Israel is engraved. Priestly robes also include the Me’il,  a purple cloak with gold bells worn by the High Priest, and the Tzitz, or band of gold, that he wears on his forehead. The Tora also describes the garments that regular priests wore: robes, turbans, a belt and pants. The construction of the Tabernacle is completed.

The artisans bring everything to Moshe for a final inspection. Moshe inspects the entire work and confirms that it was done exactly according to Divine instructions. Moshe blesses the artisans and workers. God indicates to Moshe that he should erect the Mishkan on the first of Nisan. God also indicates that all the elements, artifacts and objects of the Tabernacle must be taken to their appropriate places and must be anointed with oil to consecrate them as objects of Divine worship. Moshe must also clothe his brother Aharon and his sons in priestly robes, and anoint them with oil.

When Moshe finished all the work, a Cloud of Glory, indicating the Divine Presence, manifested in the Tabernacle. This same cloud also served as a guide for the Jews during their journey in the desert: when the cloud moved, the people followed it. When the cloud stopped  the people set up their camp until the cloud moved again.

It is impossible and even inadvisable not to think about money when one lacks the essentials—food, warmth, shelter from the rain, or access to medicine.

But what happens when a person already has enough to cover his or her basic needs and still can’t stop thinking about money—because they want more?

Most people reading these lines on their computers or phones live in a historically privileged society, as described in Superabundance—a book I consider required reading to appreciate that we live in an incredibly generous reality.

In times of superabundance, our relationship with material things can become complicated. If we suffer from the syndrome of King Achashverosh, we’ll find it impossible to feel satisfied, even when nothing is lacking. Whether consciously or not, having more—and showing that we have more than our neighbor—becomes normalized as a need.

We’ve grown so used to this accumulation mentality that it has become part of our lifestyle. And even when we wish to disconnect mentally from work and money, we often find ourselves unable to do so.

Our Parasha, Vayaqhel, addresses this issue subtly yet unmistakably. The verse introducing Shabbat resembles the one from the Ten Commandments: “For six days you shall work…” (ta’ase melakha).

But our Parasha introduces a subtle yet beautiful difference: by modifying just a vowel, the text shifts into the passive voice: “For six days, work shall be done” (te’ase melakha)—as if to say, it is done, finished, completed, there is nothing else for you to do. When you enter Shabbat mode, you must assume and feel your work has been taken care of—and you must stop thinking about it.

Abstaining from financial worry is one of the most elevated forms of spirituality: the ability to focus on what transcends this world and outlives earthly life. As Borges writes in Seven Nights, after our 120 years in this world, one of the most painful experiences in the Olam HaBa will be longing for material needs. That is why we need to train ourselves to mentally disconnect from work and money, at least during Shabbat—which is me’en Olam HaBa, a sample of the World to Come.

by @GiladNoamHadari

There is something about Israel that disturbs people — and it isn’t exactly what they say.

They will talk about policies, settlements, borders, and wars.
But if you scratch just beneath the surface of the anger, you find something deeper.

The discomfort is not because of what Israel does — but because of what it represents.

A nation this small should not be this strong. Period.

Israel has no oil.
No special natural resources.
Its population is barely the size of an average American city.

Around it are enemies.
Hatred in the United Nations.
A target for terrorism.
Condemnations from celebrities.
Boycotts, slander, and attacks.

And yet — it thrives as if there were no tomorrow.

In the military.
In medicine.
In technology.
In agriculture.
In intelligence.
In security.
And above all — in spirit and unbreakable determination.

They turned desert into farmland.
They produce water from the air.
They intercept missiles in mid-flight.

They rescue hostages right under the noses of the world’s most brutal regimes.

They survive wars that everyone thought would erase them from the map —
and they win them.

The world looks on — and cannot understand.

And when a person encounters strength he cannot explain, he looks for another explanation:

Maybe it’s American aid.
Maybe it’s an international lobby.
Maybe oppression.
Maybe theft.
Maybe some dark trick that gave the Jews such power.

Because heaven forbid it’s the truth.
Heaven forbid it’s real.
Heaven forbid they deserve it.

And perhaps worst of all — that it comes from above.

The Jewish people were supposed to disappear long ago.

That is usually how the story ends for peoples who were persecuted, exiled, and enslaved.

But the Jews did not disappear.

They returned to their land.
They rebuilt it.
They revived their ancient language.
And they brought their past back to life — in memory, identity, and strength.

This is not just politics.

It is almost biblical.

There is no cheat code that explains how a people returns to its homeland after two thousand years.

There is no logical path from gas chambers to global influence.

There is no historical precedent for surviving the Babylonians, the Romans, the Crusaders, the Inquisition, the pogroms, and the Holocaust —
and still showing up to work on Monday morning in Tel Aviv.

Israel is not only logic.

Unless you believe there is something greater than logic.

And that is what unsettles the world.

Because if Israel is real —
if this small ancient nation is still alive, protected, and flourishing —
then maybe…

God is not a myth.

Maybe He is still part of the story.

Maybe history is not random.

Maybe evil does not have the last word.

Maybe the Jews are not just a people…

but a testimony.

And that is what the world cannot bear.

Because the moment you admit that Israel’s survival is not only impressive — but perhaps divine — everything changes.

The moral compass shifts.
Assumptions about power, history, and justice collapse.

And then you realize this is not the end of an empire —

but the beginning of something eternal.

That is why they deny it.
That is why they smear it.
That is why they attack with rage.

Because it is far easier to call a miracle “a fraud”

than to face the possibility

that God really keeps His promises.

And does so… quietly.

The giving of the Torah took place on the sixth day of Sivan, at Ma‘amad Har Sinai, the extraordinary event when the covenant between God and the people of Israel was forged. During the following forty days, Moses remained on Mount Sinai. Exodus 24:18 states: “Moses entered the cloud, went up on the mountain, and stayed there for forty days and forty nights.” Debarim 9:9 also describes this period: “I went up on the mountain to receive the tablets of stone, the tablets of the covenant that the Lord had made with you, and I stayed on the mountain forty days and forty nights. I ate no bread and drank no water.”

According to the traditional chronology, this period began the day after the giving of the Torah, on the 7th of Sivan, and ended on the 16th of Tamuz. The following day, Moses descended from the mountain with the Tablets of the Covenant. Debarim 9:11 states: “At the end of the forty days and forty nights, HaShem gave me the two stone tablets, the tablets of the covenant.” By that time, however, the people of Israel had already made the Golden Calf, which had been completed the day before, on the 16th of Tamuz.

Exodus 32:5 describes the moment: “When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it and proclaimed, ‘Tomorrow shall be a festival to HaShem.’” When Moses descended from the mountain on the 17th of Tamuz and saw the calf and the dancing, he broke the Tablets of the Covenant. This event is one of the reasons why we mourn this date every year.

After destroying and burning the Golden Calf, Moses prayed and pleaded before HaShem for forty days and forty nights on behalf of the people of Israel. This period began on the 18th of Tamuz and ended on the 28th of Av. Debarim 9:18 describes this time: “Then once again I fell prostrate before HaShem for forty days and forty nights; I ate no bread and drank no water, because of all the sin you had committed, doing what was evil in HaShem’s sight and so provoking His anger.”

Moses then ascended Mount Sinai once again to receive the second tablets of the Covenant. This third period began the day after the previous one—on the 29th of Av—and lasted forty days, until the 9th of Tishri, the day before Yom Kippur. This final ascent was a time of divine compassion and forgiveness, as described in Debarim chapter 10.

These dates are traditionally understood as a period of teshuva, a time of human repentance and divine forgiveness. For this reason, Jewish tradition associates this season with repentance, beginning in the month of Elul, when we begin reciting Selichot and listening to the shofar, calling us to return to God.

At the end of this period, Moses descended from Mount Sinai with the second Tablets of the Covenant on the 10th of Tishri—the day we commemorate as Yom Kippur, the day of forgiveness.