Spiritual Plateaus and New Horizons

Zevachim – Daf 61

Our Gemara on amud beis discusses the status of sacrificial food which becomes invalidated if it leaves the confines of the courtyard. What if the partitions of the courtyard are taken down or dismantled, such as when the Mishkan would prepare for travel? So long as the altar was still in place, the removal of the partitions did not render the food no longer considered within the boundaries of the courtyard. The Gemara provides a proof text: “‘Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel’ (Bamidbar 2:17). This verse indicates that even though it traveled, it is still considered the Tent of Meeting.” The courtyard of the Mishkan had a quality of being symbolically still erect even when not actually so.

Rashi quotes a Midrash (Shemos 39:33) that the beams of the Mishkan were too heavy to erect and the Jews turned to Moshe for help. This was by design, so that Moshe would have a role in the building of the Mishkan. When faced with this task, Moshe asked G-d, “How is it possible for one person to do it?” G-d told him, “You just do what is in your ability,” and gave him a miraculous ability to assemble it by himself. The Yerushalmi (Yoma 1:1) tells us that during the seven days of inauguration of the Mishkan, Moshe would erect and dismantle the Mishkan each day.

The Klei Chemda (Pikudei) interprets Rashi differently based on redundancies in his language, the Yerushalmi, and our Gemara. Moshe was able to assemble and dismantle the Mishkan by himself during the seven days of the inauguration. On the eighth day, when the Mishkan was finally to be active with sacrifices, Moshe asked G-d, “How can a mere human erect a structure that could have the spiritual power to be considered standing even when not?” To answer this, Hashem told Moshe, “You do your part, and I will do the rest.”

There are a number of variations on the tradition about Moshe assembling and dismantling the Mishkan, in addition to the Yerushalmi above. Midrash Tanchuma (Pekudei 11:8) reports that Moshe assembled and dismantled it twice a day during the seven days of inauguration, while another opinion cited mentions three times a day.

What is the significance of this repetitive assembly and dismantling? Ohr HaMeir (Naso 7) explains that this is a lesson about spiritual achievement and plateaus. After completing the Mishkan, it is understandable to feel that the work is complete. What could be a greater achievement than assembling a place that will allow the Shechinah to dwell? And, indeed, even though that was a spiritual zenith, Moshe was not satisfied. The next day, he began the project all over again, presumably from an even higher spiritual vantage point.

Ohr HaMeir does not explain the difference between the opinion of once-a-day assembly, twice a day, and three times. However, I suggest that once a day is simply the idea of daily spiritual achievement, and realizing that each new day is a new opportunity to attain higher spiritual levels, even with the very same mitzvos. Twice a day represents morning and evening, challenging the person to renew himself each night and day. Finally, three times a day represents the thrice-daily prayer service, challenging the person to renew himself during each of the three daily prayers.

Ashes of Sacrificed Self

Our Gemara on amud aleph describes the process by which the returnees from Exile who were building the Second Temple determined the location of the altar. According to Rabbi Yitzḥak Nappacha, they saw a vision of the ashes of Yitzchak that had been placed in that location. (According to tradition, the Akeidah took place in the same spot as the future altar.)

There is one glaring problem with this aggadah. What are Yitzchak’s ashes? He was never sacrificed and certainly not burned on the altar! As the verse states (Bereishis 22:12), “Do not send your hand out against the lad, and do not do a thing to him.” Of course, the simple answer is this is a metaphor, and really refers to the ashes of the ram brought in Yitzchak’s place. Even so, why write it that way? It would be easier to accept if the words were something like “the sacrifice of Yitzchak.” But ashes are evocative of a specific message within the metaphor, which begs an answer.

The ashes represent Yitzchak’s (and Avraham’s) willingness to completely eliminate their egos in service and recognition of G-d. When that level of self-obliteration is accomplished, no physical sacrifice is necessary. In actuality, the ashes aren’t a metaphor for the ram; rather the ram is a metaphor for the ashes. Ashes also are the minimal leftover material from something that was utterly consumed. They are the material that cannot be burned further – whatever is left of self after the utter willingness to give oneself over to G-d. This residue of what Yitzchak and Avraham could not further give over remained as a legacy for their descendants to continue.

The altar for future generations will continue the task of redemption and elevation of matter – the sacrifices of life, real and metaphoric. They saw the ashes – that is, they saw what was left for them to continue in the process of man’s sacrifice to G-d – and therefore “knew” the right place for the altar.

In The Most Hidden of the Most Hidden

Our Gemara on amud aleph discusses an unlikely scenario where the Temple courtyard is under siege by invaders, and the Kohanim are forced to take shelter in the Temple. In such a case, they are permitted to eat the sacrificial meat in the sanctuary, and even in the Holy of Holies (Ramban, Bamidbar 18:10).

Imagine this doomsday scene: the remnants of a massacred group, hiding in the Temple and somehow reverently eating from the sacrifices. The paradox of human psychology is that times of great deprivation and suffering, though they ought to be the times of greatest anger and alienation, bring certain people even closer to G-d.

I thought it meaningful to reflect on this and how it corresponds to a number of reports from our holy hostages of October 7, which I am quoting from a recent Jerusalem Post article by Sivan Rahav-Meir:

“Eitan Horn of Kibbutz Nir Oz, who returned from captivity, shared that it was specifically in Gaza that he fasted on Yom Kippur. He is 37 years old, and there, for the first time in his life, he observed the holy day properly.

“Segev Kalfon recounted that when he saw all the Hamas men on stage in Gaza, all he wanted was to climb onto the stage and shout: ‘Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad’ – Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One. Now he is home, able to say Shema Yisrael freely, with everyone around him.

“Bar Kuperstein said that the song that strengthened him most, and that he sang to himself over and over again, was: “Ve’afilu behastara shebetoch hahastara, bevadai gam sham nimtza Hashem Yitbarach” – Even in the darkest places, when you don’t feel G-d, when it seems He is hiding, He is still there, present with you. Rebbe Nachman of Breslov wrote those words 200 years ago. They took on new meaning in the Hamas tunnels.

“Rom Braslavski shared that the terrorists offered to convert him to Islam, promising him more food and better conditions if he agreed. But he kept telling them, over and over: ‘I am a strong Jew!’ Now, facing the cameras, he said: “I want people to understand that they are Jews, that they should do more mitzvot. Hamas did this to me only because I am a Jew. A Jew must know that he comes from greatness, that he’s not like everyone else.’

“Eliya Cohen, who returned from captivity several months ago, told how much he missed his tefillin. While held hostage by Hamas, he invented something both creative and moving: ‘Every morning I would go to one side of the room and imagine putting on my tefillin. I would go through the whole process, step by step, in my imagination. Sometimes, I could actually feel the tefillin on me.’

“Omer Shem Tov said this week how much he misses the connection he felt with G-d while he was in captivity – the closeness, the sense that he was speaking and that G-d was with him, listening. He described trying to rediscover that elevated feeling since his return.”

Imagine that – Omer misses feeling as close to G-d as he was when he was a captive. How can anyone read these accounts and not weep with sadness and joy? The sadness of the suffering and the joy of the triumphant Jewish spirit in its connection to G-d in the darkest of moments.

Disassociation and Sin

Our Gemara on amud beis describes the process of slaughtering the Olah bird offering. One difference between the Olah bird offering and the Chattas bird offering is that the head of the Olah is fully severed, while the Chattas bird’s head is not fully separated.

Shem Mishmuel (Vayikra 6) offers a compelling psychological explanation for this difference between the Chattas bird and the Olah. We have a tradition that the function of the Olah is to atone for improper thoughts. Shem Mishmuel asks rhetorically: How can we be held responsible for our thoughts that are numerous like the “raging sea which can never be quieted”? G-d does not make tyrannical demands. Therefore, Shem Mishmuel asserts that we are not responsible for the thoughts as they come up. However, if we let them enter our hearts, then we are responsible – meaning if they move from intellectual contemplation to a visceral emotional state. The way I understand this is that a person can think about something that makes him angry, but feeling emotionally angry is the next step. Or a person can intellectually note, “Oh, that is an attractive woman,” but entering into a state of lust is the emotional next step of allowing it into the heart.

The Olah sacrifice involves completely separating the head to symbolically achieve the proper boundary between the head and heart. The person cannot control seemingly random thoughts that pop into his head, but he must not dwell on them and enter into an emotional state, i.e., allow them into the heart.

(This is similar to a ruling by Ezer MiKodesh, EH 23:3, who says one only violates the prohibition against forbidden thoughts if he deliberately dwells on them, not if they merely flit by his thoughts.)

The Chattas, on the other hand, is most typically brought for sins committed out of a negligent lack of awareness. In this respect, the opposite is true: The head is not connected enough to the heart and the person is acting without thinking enough. Therefore, the Chattas bird’s head is not fully severed so as to symbolize and correct the disconnection between the head and the heart.