The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

The first section of Parashat Acharei-Mot (chapter 16) describes the avodat Yom Ha-kippurim – the ritual service performed by the kohen gadol each year on Yom Kippur. Among the prominent features of this service is the ceremony involving the sa'ir le-azazel, often translated as the "scapegoat." The kohen gadol would cast lots upon two goats, one of which would be offered as a sin-offering to God, its blood sprinkled in the kodesh kodashim (innermost sanctum), whereas the other would be sent away to a remote desert location, where it would be thrown from a cliff. (Food for thought: note the similarity between this ritual and the metzora's purification ceremony, which, as we discussed yesterday, involves two birds, one slaughtered as an offering, and the other sent away.)

In describing this ritual, the Torah writes that the kohen gadol would "lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins… and he would send it off to the wilderness through a designated man" (16:21).

The "designated man," assigned with the task of bringing the goat to the wilderness, is referred to in the Torah as "ish iti." The commentators generally associate the word iti with the word et, or time, though this association is applied in several different ways. The Rashbam (and Ibn Ezra, according to one approach suggested) explains that the individual charged with this role was somebody who is frequently sent to travel the Jerusalem-wilderness route, and was thus well acquainted with the road. Thus, iti refers to frequency and regularity. This is the definition adopted by the Radak, in his famous Biblical dictionary.

Rashi, however, based on Torat Kohanim, explains ish iti to mean that the person had been designated for this position already before Yom Kippur. (Obviously, this is the approach we took in our citation, where we translated ish iti as "designated man.") How does this relate to the concept of "time," as indicated by the term iti? Rav David Pardo, in his Maskil Le-David, explains that according to Rashi, the term ish iti evolves from the expression, me-et le-et, which means a 24-hr. period. The Torah here speaks of a person who had been assigned this job already a full twenty-four hours before the time for sending the goat into the wilderness. The Maharal, by contrast, in his Gur Aryeh, explains that the individual was designated for a specific time – the time when the goat must be brought into the wilderness, and for this reason he was known as the ish iti.

The question, however, arises, why is designation such an important factor in this ritual? Why is it necessary for the ish iti to be assigned ahead of time, and why does the Torah emphasize this point?

One answer perhaps emerges from Abarbanel's symbolic approach to the Yom Kippur goat ritual, which sees the two goats as representative of two opposite conditions of Benei Yisrael. Depending on their observance, Benei Yisrael resemble either a sa'ir le-Hashem – the goat offered to God in the Temple – or a sa'ir le-azazel – the goat driven far from the Temple, into a barren wasteland. When the nation serves the Almighty obediently, they can remain close to Him and continue serving Him with total devotion, as symbolized by the sa'ir le-Hashem. But when they disobey, He expels them from His presence and sends them away into the wilderness – through an ish iti. Abarbanel sees the ish iti as symbolic of Nevukhadnetzar, the Babylonian emperor who destroyed the First Temple and drove Benei Yisrael from their land. The two goats thus serve to graphically demonstrate the two options available to Benei Yisrael.

Herein, perhaps, lies the significance of the designation and appointment of the ish iti. The Torah emphasizes that when an enemy comes along to oppress and exile Benei Yisrael, it will appear as if he had been assigned to that role from the outset. God orchestrates historical events such that it often seems that everything had been set in place long before they actually occur. Therefore, one can never look around at current circumstances and conclude that divine retribution is impossible under such conditions. Should we choose the path of le-azazel rather than le-Hashem, we will, Heaven forbid, discover that an ish iti had been assigned long ago to take us on this path. It behooves us, then, to constantly recommit ourselves to the path of le-Hashem, of complete and absolute devotion to the Almighty's service.

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As we discussed yesterday, the Torah describes in the first section of Parashat Acharei-Mot the special service performed on Yom Kippur, which included – among other features – the offering of two goats, whose fates were determined by a lottery cast by the high priest. One goat became known as the sa'ir le-Hashem – the goat offered to God – as it was offered as a sacrifice in the Temple, its blood sprinkled in the kodesh ha-kodashim – the most sacred chamber of the Temple. The second goat, called the sa'ir le-azazel or sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach, was sent away from the Temple, into the wilderness, where it was cast from a cliff, symbolizing the elimination of Benei Yisrael's sins.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary, notes that on several occasions in the verses describing this procedure, the Torah refers to the sa'ir le-azazel as the sa'ir he-chai – "the live goat": "the goat designated by lot for azazel shall be left standing alive before the Lord (16:10); "When he has finished…the live goat shall be brought forward. Aharon shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat" (16:20-21). On the simple level, this designation is used simply to distinguish between this goat, which is destined to be led into the wilderness, and its counterpart, which is slaughtered earlier in the Yom Kippur service. On a deeper level, however, Rav Hirsch suggests that the image of the goat "standing alive before the Lord" serves as an expression of the root cause underlying the nation's transgressions, for which this goat is intended to earn atonement. All sins, Rav Hirsch contends, are rooted in the tendency of man to stand "alive" – to insist on his own, independent life of enjoyment and gratification – "before the Lord," in opposition to God's will. The scene of one goat offered as a sacrifice to God and its blood brought into the most sacred chamber, while the other remains alive outside the Sanctuary, brings to mind the contrast between sacrifice and devotion on the one hand, and persistent selfishness, on the other. As Rav Hirsch eloquently describes, "Placed at the threshold of the Sanctuary of His Torah to make the decision, we fight shy of giving up our selfish living for our own pleasure, and, repulsed by, and afraid of, the demands of God's laws of morality, we hold ourselves stubbornly against Him as sa'ir chai [a 'live' goat]." We often refuse to make the necessary sacrifices for the Almighty because we demand our own "lives," our independence and freedom from external burdens and impositions. Like the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach, we "stand before the Lord" but refuse to give of ourselves to draw close to Him, preferring instead to retain our complete independence.

The Torah describes the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach as the "live goat" because its insistent preservation of its independent "life" signifies the primary challenge and responsibility of the process of repentance. We are bidden to overcome the selfish instinct, the innate drive to pursue personal gratification, and to instead sacrifice of ourselves on behalf of God, through devotion to the laws and values He legislated.

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Over the last two days we have discussed the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach – the goat sent away to the wilderness as part of the Yom Kippur ritual in the Mikdash, as described in Parashat Acharei-Mot. In English, this goat is generally referred to as the "scapegoat," and is the origin of the colloquial usage of this term, to mean a person who accepts (willingly or otherwise) the guilt of others. Indeed, a cursory reading of the verses appears to indicate that this is precisely the role of the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach – to bear Benei Yisrael's sins, thus providing expiation: "Aharon shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites…putting them on the head of the goat… The goat shall carry on it all their iniquities to an inaccessible region (16:21-22). Seemingly, the kohen gadol somehow transfers all of the nation's wrongs onto the condemned goat, thereby extricating them from the heavy burden of iniquity.

But such a notion seems very difficult to accept according to Jewish thought. For one thing, Judaism believes in personal accountability; one bears full responsibility for his actions and cannot dissociate himself from it by magically transferring them onto someone or something else. In addition, the Rambam, in the third section of his Moreh Nevukhim, attributes many of the Torah's mitzvot to the interest in negating and opposing pagan beliefs and practices that were prevalent in the pagan world, and to which Benei Yisrael had been exposed. Here, however, Benei Yisrael are instructed to perform a ritual which appears, at first glance, very similar to pagan worship. Later in Parashat Acharei-Mot, the Torah introduces the prohibition against offering sacrifices anywhere other than the Mishkan, and it provides the following explanation for this rule: "in order that the Israelites may bring the sacrifices which they have been making in the open – that they may bring them before the Lord…and that they will no longer offer their sacrifices to the se'irim [spirits] after whom they stray" (Vayikra 17:5-7). Pagan cultures would bring sacrifices to spirits believed to live and roam in uninhabited wastelands; to counter this practice, God mandated bringing sacrifices only to the Mishkan, and later the Temple, which was situated in the center of the country, in its capital city and major metropolis. Yet, on Yom Kippur, Benei Yisrael are required to send a goat away into the barren wilderness, seemingly bringing to mind the pagan ritual of sacrifice in the desert.

For this reason, most traditional Jewish thinkers have approached the ritual of the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach symbolically. The Rambam, in Moreh Nevukhim (3:46), explains, "these ceremonies are of a symbolic character…as if to say, we have freed ourselves of our previous deeds, have cast them behind our backs, and removed them from us as far as possible." The goat's banishment from the city and condemnation to death in a remote desert location symbolize the perspective on sin and repentance that one must contemplate as part of the Yom Kippur observance. Teshuva requires not only verbal confession and genuine remorse, but also driving away the forbidden act from one's orientation. The violator must transform his outlook and perspective on the transgression to restore the mental barrier that began crumbling with his violation. Repentance entails sending the sin away from one's range of accessible activities, just as the sa'ir is driven far away from human habitation, and is condemned to perish in a remote wasteland.

It turns out, then, that the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach is not a "scapegoat" at all. Quite to the contrary, it emphasizes the fallacy of magical or mechanical means of atonement, and the need for fundamental transformation as part of the teshuva process.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary, draws proof to the symbolic nature of the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach ritual from the halakha mentioned in the Gemara (Yoma 40b), that the nation's atonement does not hinge on the goat's banishment. So long as the kohen gadol designated the sa'ir ha-mishtalei'ach and declared verbal confession over it on the nation's behalf, atonement is attainable, even if, for whatever reason, the goat is not taken to the wilderness. Such a provision, Rav Hirsch argues, can be understood only if we perceive this ritual as didactic and instructive, rather than a mechanical means of atonement. If the goat's death in the desert effectuates – rather than symbolizes – the destruction of sin, it would be indispensable for expiation. The fact that Benei Yisrael's atonement does not hinge on the proper execution of this ritual clearly demonstrates that it is symbolic in nature, aimed at inspiring Benei Yisrael to cleanse themselves of their iniquity, and drive from their inner beings the tendency to sin.

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Parashat Acharei-Mot introduces the obligation of kisui ha-dam – to cover the blood produced from slaughtering birds or non-domesticated animals for consumption: "And if any Israelite…who hunts down an animal or a bird that may be eaten, he shall pour out its blood and cover it with earth" (17:13). Today we will present three approaches taken in understanding the underlying reason behind this obligation.

The Rambam, in his Moreh Nevukhim (3:46), consistent with his general approach to mitzvot as intended to negate the pagan practices and beliefs of the ancients, explains the obligation of kisui ha-dam on the basis of the blood rituals reportedly practiced by the ancient pagans. As the Rambam describes, the pagans considered blood food of the spirits, and therefore some sects would, after killing a beast, collect the blood in a receptacle and eat the animal's meat while sitting around the blood. As the Rambam describes,

The prevalence of this practice, according to the Rambam, gave rise to the Torah prohibition against eating blood, as well as to the prominent role of blood-sprinkling in the sacrificial process, which precluded the possibility of ritual gatherings around animal blood. The blood of birds and non-domesticated beasts, which, by and large, were not offered as sacrifices, therefore had to be covered, so as to prevent ceremonial "spirit assemblies" near the site of spilt blood.

The Sefer Ha-chinukh (187) explains this obligation as aimed at preserving the refined and gentle character of the people. Should one grow accustomed to slaughtering an animal and immediately proceeding to partake of its meat as the blood lay exposed on the ground, he may develop a violent, heartless tendency. The Torah therefore required covering the blood as a measure of self-respect and dignity.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch follows his general approach of viewing the commandments as symbols of the general values and ideals the Torah seeks to promote. In his view, the prohibition against eating blood, and the obligation to cover animals' blood, represent the need to distance the animalistic essence from the human being. The killing of animals for food runs the risk of blurring the lines between humans and animals, of relegating the human being into little more than a sophisticated animal participating in the ongoing struggle for survival. In order to reinforce the qualitative difference between the human and animal species in a carnivorous world, the Torah required refraining from and even concealing the slaughtered animal's blood. The Torah writes in this context, "For the life of all flesh – its blood is its life. Therefore I say to the Israelite people: You shall not partake of the blood of any flesh" (17:14). Rav Hirsch explains that in animals, the blood signifies the "life" – the essential component of the organism's being. Regarding the creation of the human being, by contrast, we are told that the Almighty "blew into his nostrils the breath of life" (Bereishit 2:7). The "life" – the essence – of the human being is the divine spirit infused within him at the time of creation, and, as such, it stands fundamentally apart from the essence of all other living creatures. God therefore mandated that when the animal body becomes part of the human body – when a human being consumes the meat of animals – the "life" of the animal, represented by the blood, be distanced from the "life" – the internal soul – of the human being. The blood is mixed with earth, symbolic of its belonging to the same class as the earth – the source of the physical component of man ("The Lord God formed man from the dust of the earth" – Bereishit 2:7). The human being is thus reminded that the animal's essence ranks together with the human's external, physical being, for only the human being possesses a unique divine image that raises him above the rest of creation.

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Yesterday, we looked at several of the possible reasons underlying the obligation of kisui ha-dam – covering the spilt blood after slaughtering certain animals and birds – which the Torah introduces in Parashat Acharei-Mot. Today we will discuss one aspect of the halakhic definition of this mitzva, namely, the conceptual relationship between this obligation and the mitzva of shechita – proper slaughtering of the animal. Meaning, to what extent should we view the covering of the blood as the completion of the shechita process? Are these mitzvot conceptually unrelated, and come together only incidentally, as the kisui obligation can obviously arise only after shechita, or, are they intrinsically related, constituting two components of a single halakhic process?

Rav Asher Zelig Weiss, in his Minchat Asher, addresses this question and observes that it appears to underlie a debate among the Rishonim concerning the recitation of the berakha over kisui ha-dam. The Rosh (Chulin 6:6) cites the position of the Behag mandating the recitation of this berakha only after the covering. Although berakhot over mitzvot are generally recited before the mitzva's performance, this berakha cannot be recited before the covering, since it will then occur in the middle of the performance of the mitzva. Since slaughtering and covering form a single halakhic continuum, it cannot be interrupted by a berakha over the covering of blood; hence, we have no choice but to deviate from standard procedure and recite the berakha upon the completion of the process, after covering the blood.

The Rosh adds, "But people do not follow this practice, because they consider the covering an independent mitzva." Prevalent practice, the Rosh observes, is to recite the berakha before the kisui. Apparently, according to the accepted Halakha, there is no reason to avoid interruptions between the shechita and the covering of the blood, since, as the Rosh explains, these two acts comprise fundamentally separate and independent obligations. Thus, the Behag and the Rosh debate this very point regarding the conceptual relationship between slaughtering and covering.

By extension, this debate would yield ramifications as well for other potential "interruptions" between the shechita and the kisui. The Rema (Y.D. 19:4) rules, "It is permitted to speak in between slaughtering and covering, but it is nevertheless preferable not to speak." The Taz (5) explains that the Rema sides with the view that kisui does not constitute the second stage of shechita, and should rather be seen as an independent obligation, yet he recommends satisfying the position that indeed acknowledges a connection between the two. Once again, this fundamental question will affect the rules governing the procedure of shechita and kisui ha-dam.

Another relevant source, as Rav Weiss notes, is a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Beitza, 1) that permits performing kisui after slaughtering an animal on Yom Tov. Halakha permits performing melakha (forbidden activity) on Yom Tov for purposes of food preparation, and thus shechita is allowed on Yom Tov. The Yerushalmi writes that in such a case, one covers the blood, as well, "for since he began the mitzva, we say to him: Complete!" Clearly, the Yerushalmi recognized an inherent relationship between these two mitzvot, to the extent that after performing the mitzva of shechita one should be encouraged to "complete" the mitzva process by proceeding with the kisui.

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The final section of Parashat Acharei-Mot (chapter 18) introduces the prohibitions known as arayot – involving forbidden sexual relations. The list presented here deals primarily with forbidden incestuous relationships, but includes as well other offenses, such as homosexuality and relations with a nidda (woman rendered impure due to the onset of her menstrual cycle). Today we will look at some of the reasons offered for these prohibitions, specifically the arayot of family relatives.

The Rambam, amidst his discussion of the reasons underlying the mitzvot in his Moreh Nevukhim, devotes a chapter (3:49) to the laws of forbidden relationships. He explains the prohibition against marrying or engaging in relations with a family relative as follows:

According to the Rambam, the Torah proscribed intimate relations – including marriage – with close relatives because of the regularity of contact with them. Had the Torah permitted relations with relatives, people would engage excessively in intercourse, and, as the Rambam writes earlier, the Torah seeks "to inculcate the lesson that we ought to limit sexual intercourse altogether, hold it in contempt, and desire it very rarely." To this end, the Torah proscribed relations with those who would otherwise be available for this purpose at all times. And the Torah forbade marriage with these relatives, too, in order to render these relatives entirely and permanently forbidden, such that relations with them would not be desired at all.

The Akeidat Yitzchak dismisses the Rambam's approach, claiming that the natural revulsion towards intercourse with relatives is innate, rather than a result of the Torah's strict prohibitions. He observes that there is hardly a nation on earth among whom such conduct has become standard. We might draw evidence from the disturbing incident recorded in the Gemara (Sanhedrin 103b) of Amon, the wicked king of Yehuda, who engaged in relations with his mother. She asked him, "Do you receive enjoyment from the place from where you left?" Her son responded, "Am I doing this for any reason other than to anger my Creator?" This conversation would suggest that such relationships are naturally repulsive, even for those who have cast from themselves the yoke of the divine command.

As the Akeidat Yitzchak himself notes, the verses towards the end of this section of Parashat Acharei-Mot explicitly indicate that the Canaanite peoples indeed engaged in such conduct: "Do not defile yourselves in any of those ways, for it is by such that the nations that I am casting out before you defiled themselves. Thus the land became defiled; and I called it to account for its iniquity, and the land spewed out its inhabitants" (18:24-25). The Akeida thus explains that the Canaanite peoples suffered from some mental disturbance that resulted in this unnatural conduct.

Returning to the Rambam, he later proceeds to introduce a second, more esoteric, explanation of these prohibitions, which we will simply present for the reader's consideration, without elaborating any further: "But according to my opinion the prohibition serves another object, namely, to inculcate chastity into our hearts. Licence between the root and the branch, between a man and his mother, or his daughter, is outrageous." The Torah forbade intercourse with relatives because it denounces "intercourse between one and the same person on the one side and root and branch on the other." He does not explain, however, wherein precisely lies the "outrageousness" of relations between "root" and "branch."

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The Netziv, in the introduction to his commentary on the Haggada entitled Imrei Shefer, establishes a general principle concerning the entire nature of the seder and its rituals, and proceeds to apply this principle in explaining several otherwise difficult features of the seder.

We will introduce his principle by first noting a famous question posed by the Taz (O.C. 473) regarding the practice of washing our hands before karpas. This hand-washing is generally understood as fulfilling the requirement to wash one's hands before partaking of food moistened by a liquid, such as water (or, in this instance, saltwater). The reason behind this obligation involves the intricate laws of tum'a (ritual impurity). Chazal ordained that unwashed hands have the de facto status of sheniyot le-tum'a ("secondary impurity"), and a separate rabbinic enactment mandates that liquids coming in contact with a sheni le-tum'a becomes a rishon le-tum'a ("primary impurity"). Thus, the water on the food, which, when touched by unwashed hands, become sheniyot, will then render the food a rishon le-tum'a. Since certain foods – teruma and kodashim – had to be eaten in a state of tahara (ritual purity), Chazal ordained washing one's hands before eating moist foods. As the Taz notes, however, this halakha is not practiced nowadays, when the laws of tum'a and tahara for the most part have no practical application. Why, then, do we suddenly make a point of observing this rule on the night of Pesach?

The Netziv explains that on this night, Chazal required that we conduct ourselves in a manner resembling the real Pesach observance – during the times of the Mikdash, when the prominent feature of the seder was the partaking of the korban pesach (paschal offering). Although in the Temple's absence we obviously cannot replicate this ritual, the Sages nevertheless found ways of tailoring the seder observances in a manner resembling the seder as it was conducted in the time of the Mikdash. For this reason, on this night we suddenly show concern for guidelines concerning maintaining a state of ritual purity. Just as a state of tahara was indispensable for the consumption of the korban pesach, so do we act as if we require tahara for our Pesach seders nowadays. (We might add that Rav Chayim Brisker proposed a similar theory to explain the custom to hide the afikoman. During the time of the Mikdash, the meat of the korban pesach, which was eaten at the conclusion of the meal, was stored in a safe location throughout the meal so that it would not come in contact with tum'a. In commemoration, we hide the afikoman – which represents the meat of the korban pesach – as if protecting it from ritual impurity.)

The Netziv extends this notion to explain the common custom to wear a kittel at the seder. The partaking of sacrificial meat required a degree of serenity and nobility, and participants in sacrificial feasts had to dress in their finest clothing. Therefore, we, too, wear the garment reserved for special occasions of spiritual intensity (the High Holidays, weddings) when conducting our own seders.

Finally, the Netziv asserts that this theory affects the entire nature of the meal eaten during the seder. Eating this meal, more so than standard Shabbat or Yom Tov meals, constitutes a sacred act, commemorating the consumption of the korban pesach. The Netziv suggests that the Sages alluded to this unique quality by dividing the hallel recitation at the seder. The first paragraphs of hallel are recited at the conclusion of maggid, just prior to the beginning of the meal, while we recite the rest of hallel immediately following birkat ha-mazon. Chazal arranged the hallel recitation in this way, the Netziv suggests, in order to firmly embed the meal within a mitzva framework, to demonstrate that the meal must be considered equivalent in religious importance to hallel. This special distinction is due to the commemorative quality of the seder in its entirety, in which we attempt to reenact the seder as it is truly intended to be observed – in Jerusalem, focused on the korban pesach, and celebrating complete and total redemption and freedom.