Zevachim – Daf 83
The Gemara on amud aleph teaches: Certain unfit items, once they have been placed on the altar, are nevertheless sacrificed and not to be removed. The Mishna teaches: The altar sanctifies only items that are suited to it. The Tanna’im disagree as to the definition of “suited for the altar.”
Rabbi Yehoshua says: Any item that is suited to be consumed by the fire (ishim) on the altar, e.g., burnt offerings and the sacrificial portions of other offerings, which are burned on the altar, if it ascended upon the altar, even if it is disqualified from being sacrificed ab initio, it shall not descend.
Rabban Gamliel says: With regard to any item that is suited to ascend upon the altar – even if it is not typically consumed – if it ascended, it shall not descend, even if it is disqualified from being sacrificed ab initio.
The Mishna comments: The difference between the statement of Rabban Gamliel and the statement of Rabbi Yehoshua is only with regard to disqualified blood and disqualified libations, which are not consumed by the fire but do ascend upon the altar, as Rabban Gamliel says: They shall not descend, as they are fit to ascend upon the altar, and Rabbi Yehoshua says: They shall descend, as they are not burned on the altar.
Ben Poras Yosef (Derush L’Shabbos HaGadol) interprets the words of the Mishna allegorically. Who is fit to remain on the altar as he ascends? Meaning: Who will retain his status as he rises spiritually? The one who remains “fit for the altar” – that is, one who stays humble. The verse prohibits steps on the altar (Shemos 20:23): it is prohibited to be arrogant and leap ahead of the personality and character traits necessary to merit sustaining spiritual status.
Yet we also have another teaching: Any item that is suited to be consumed by the fire (ishim) on the altar shall not descend. A person who attains a position of leadership – a play on the word ishim, which can also connote a prestigious person – may allow some degree of honor and bearing in order to maintain authority, provided he is pure and sincere in his motives.
Ben Poras Yosef adds that this distinction – between the practical necessity for dignity and authority in a leader versus the restraint expected from a private individual – explains a contradiction in Rambam. In Hilchos De’os (1:3-4), Rambam prescribes that a person conduct himself in a balanced manner. Whatever the character trait, one should avoid extremes: be neither too miserly nor wasteful, neither self-denying to the point of harming the body nor a glutton or hedonist. Rambam also gives as an example that one should not be too proud or extremely self-negating. Yet in chapter 2 (article 3), he seems to contradict himself, stating that in matters of arrogance versus humility, and anger versus patience, one must go all the way to the extreme and be excessively humble and forgiving.
There are various answers to this famous contradiction. Ben Poras Yosef says the answer is that Rambam is distinguishing between the individual personality and the leadership personality. The private individual must always pursue excessive humility, but the leader sometimes must employ the trappings of power and authority – such as displays of wealth and honor – in order to inspire and lead.
There are other explanations for this Rambam as well, and the one that I was zoche to develop is that there might be a difference between experiencing an emotion on an intellectual level versus on a visceral level. For example, there are times when a person knows he is angry, but the anger has not yet entered his body. He understands his feelings, but they have not taken over. And then there is anger that is glandular – the heart races and adrenaline pumps. So too with arrogance: One can intellectually recognize a sense of pride with distance and awareness, or one can experience it physically, hormonally, such that it becomes overwhelming and animalistic.
Rambam advocates balance when it comes to recognizing and understanding the factors in life that could lead to anger or pride. Psychologically speaking, the most dangerous people are those who pretend they are not angry when, in fact, they are. Generally, when they deny the feelings that they’re acting upon, it’s worse than at least acknowledging that they are under the sway of their emotions. A degree of pride and a degree of aggression are necessary and healthy to maintain a human being. However, those emotions cannot be allowed to manifest strongly in the body, or they will take over, and we will be no different than animals. In this sense, Rambam urges that we go to the extreme and distance ourselves from the embodied forms of those traits.
Returning to Ben Poras Yosef’s answer, we might say that it is not only about the conventional leader, but about leadership. All of us occupy roles of leadership at various times in our lives. A parent is a leader to his children. A teacher is a leader to his students. A contractor may be a leader in the realm of his vision and the service he provides for those who need repairs or construction. The idea that a leader must allow for a certain pride is not just about a king or a rabbi, but about anyone who must step into responsibility. Whenever one of us must occupy leadership in a particular aspect or role, that is when we allow a certain degree of pride or aggression – not to indulge the ego, but to maintain the dignity and authority of the role.
Once In Holiness, Always in Reach
Daf 84
Our Gemara on amud aleph discusses Rabbi Shimon’s position that an invalidated sacrifice, such as one that was slaughtered at night, is not taken off the altar if it was erroneously put on, because it only became disqualified once it was already in a sanctified place – that is, once its service and worship function had already begun. This is in contradistinction to a disqualification that occurred prior to the sacrifice being brought, such as an animal that was set aside for idolatry before it was pledged for a sacrifice. In that case, even after it was put on the altar, it still would be taken down. Rabbi Shimon’s rule, succinctly stated, is: “Any unfit offering whose disqualification occurred in sanctity – if it ascended onto the altar, it shall not descend.”
Beis Yisrael (Tzav 5711) interprets this metaphorically: If a person becomes disqualified because of his sins, so long as some part of him still remains attached to holiness, he will not be totally lost and he can return.
I suggest a small adjustment. To be more faithful to the text of the rabbinic statement, it is not “so long as he still remains attached to holiness,” but rather “so long as he was initially attached to holiness,” even if he later became disqualified. Interpreting it this way introduces a nuance: The individual does not even need to be attached to holiness right now – so long as he once authentically was attached to holiness – before straying from the path – that will serve as an anchor and allow for his eventual return.
Aside from being more correct in terms of the text, intuitively this version also rings true. We have seen people whose foundations in religion were authentic and deep – sometimes granted through strong and healthy family attachment to religion – and they are more likely to return. However, if the original foundation was not pure – if it was built on unhealthy assumptions or practices – then they may never return.
The Echo of the Ram’s Horn
Daf 85
Continuing our deliberations of the past few dappim regarding what gets placed on the altar and what can remain there, the Gemara discusses the status of lesser body parts such as tendons, horns, and hooves: “The tendons and the horns and the hooves among those items that are sacrificed on the altar are brought along with the sacrifice, but only when attached.”
We see that the horns of a typical Olah sacrifice will be burned on the altar. Rashi (Shemos 19:13), quoting Pirkei de’Rabbi Eliezer (31), informs us that the ram’s horn that was sounded on Mount Sinai came from the ram that was sacrificed in place of Yitzchak as an Olah. Ramban (ibid.) raises a question based on our Gemara: Since the proper protocol is to sacrifice the horns along with the ram, presumably the horn of Yitzchak’s Olah sacrifice was burned along with the ram – so how could it have been available later for Mount Sinai?
Ramban answers: “This aggadah contains a secret. Thus, they have said that this Voice [heard on Mount Sinai, as stated in Verse 16] was that of Pachad Yitzchak (the Fear of Isaac). It is for this reason that Scripture says: ‘And all the people that were in the camp trembled.’ At this manifestation of Gevurah, they did not grasp the commandment itself but only a voice.”
What is this secret to which Ramban refers? Let us examine the elements so that we can deduce an impression that brings us closer to his thinking:
- Ramban says the ram’s horn is a metaphor and not an actual horn, which links the Akeidah to Mount Sinai.
- The manifestation of G-d linked to fear is called Pachad Yitzchak, the way Yaakov refers to his father’s mode of relating to G-d (Bereishis 31:42).
- Ramban states that the Jews at Mount Sinai had a nonverbal experience of the middah of Gevurah. Kabbalistically, Gevurah is the manifestation of G-d that induces fear and serves as the counterbalance to Chesed. Chesed parallels Avraham; Gevurah parallels Yitzchak.
- Ramban (Shemos 25:1) speaks of another secret: both the Mishkan and the revelation at Mount Sinai are processes that bring about the presence of the Shechinah, as hinted by the word anan. An anan – literally a cloud – is a metaphor for a partly physical, partly spiritual manifestation. This is why anan is a metaphor for the Shechinah as well, which is a way in which G-d takes on a more physical experience, but is obviously not really physical.
How do we put these elements together to approach the secret referred to by Ramban? My guess is as follows: When Avraham – the quintessential symbol of chesed (kindness) – went through the ordeal of the Akeidah, he came to terms with the other aspect of G-d: Gevurah (fear).
Let us allow ourselves the liberty of imagining what Avraham’s experience was: He discovered a personal G-d who is omnipotent, and emulated Him by showing generosity and kindness to anybody and everybody. He realized he doesn’t own anything and that all people are G-d’s children. This is love with no strings attached. There aren’t even any rules other than just “Be generous and decent” (the anti-Sodom, if you will). Yet, for religion to survive in this world, it needs laws and rules. You can’t just trust people to love without any structure. As much as we hate parking tickets, if there weren’t parking tickets, eventually people would park wherever they wanted whenever they wanted, double-parked, and triple-parked.
When Avraham was able to integrate and combine both fear and love, he entered a relationship with G-d that ultimately culminated in his descendants receiving the Torah. The Torah itself represents a harmonization of kindness and fear: the boundless, loving giving of G-d, coupled with the necessity of boundaries and law that structure religious life.
In this world, we need both elements in order to create a vessel capable of containing and perceiving the presence of the Shechinah.
The piercing call of the ram’s horn summons this clarifying effect. It is the echo that begins with Avraham’s sacrifice – the reining in of his boundless kindness to create the structure necessary for civilization – and continues through Mount Sinai, and then onward through the ongoing service and meditations that resulted in the Mishkan and ultimately the Beis HaMikdash.