Daf Ditty Pesachim 97 Korbanot

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If someone selects a female animal as his paschal lamb, or a male that is two years old, it must
graze until it becomes defective; it can then be sold and the proceeds donated to the Temple. If
someone selects an animal but dies his surviving son may not offer it as a paschal lamb, but
[may offer it] as a peace-offering.

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Mishnah 7 deals with two different situations. The first situation is somewhat similar to that
described in mishnah 6. The Torah [Exodus 12:5] makes two stipulations concerning the paschal
lamb: it must be male and it must be a yearling. If someone selects as his paschal lamb an animal
that does not meet those requirements (i.e. is female and/or is older than one year) it shares the
same destiny as that described for the animal in the previous mishnah: the lucky animal must be
allowed to graze in peace until it becomes disqualified by some injury or other. Once it is not fit
for sacrifice it may be sold and the proceeds offered to the Bet Mikdash as a donation.

The other situation described in mishnah 7 is when someone has selected their paschal lamb but
dies before Nisan 14th. There are two possibilities here. It is possible that there were other people
already subscribed to this lamb; in such a case one of the subscribers may offer it as the paschal
lamb of the group. However, if there were as yet no other subscribers when this person died or
when his son and heir was not subscribed to this lamb, the son does not inherit his father's
subscription rights. Another animal should be selected as the paschal offering and the one already
chosen should become a peace-offering.

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MISHNA: In the case of one who separates a female animal for his Paschal lamb although the
Torah requires a male, or a male that is in its second year although a Paschal lamb must be an
animal that is in its first year, the animal is left to graze until it develops a blemish and becomes
unfit, and it is then sold and its money is used for free-will offerings or peace-offerings.

With regard to one who separates his Paschal lamb and then dies, his son may not bring it after
him for the purpose of a Paschal lamb because it may no longer be used for that purpose after
its owner has died. Rather, it is brought for the purpose of a peace-offering.

RASHI

Steinzaltz

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Kessef Mishneh on Mishneh Torah, Paschal Offering 4:4:1

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GEMARA: Rav Huna, son of Rav Yehoshua, said: Conclude three halakhot from this mishna,
concerning one who separates an unfit sheep as a Paschal lamb: Conclude from it that living
things can be permanently deferred; not only is a sacrifice that has already been slaughtered
permanently deferred, but so is a living animal that has been separated as a sacrifice for which it
is unfit. This is clear from the fact that a female animal separated as a Paschal lamb is not offered
as a peace-offering, but rather redeemed for money, which is then used for free-will offerings. This
mishna clearly supports one side of a dispute on this issue in tractate Yoma 63b.

And furthermore, conclude from this that deferral at the outset, when the lamb is first
consecrated, is considered a permanent deferral; even though the female animal was never fit for
use as a Paschal lamb and therefore one might have thought that it should be brought as a peace-
offering, the fact that it may not be brought as a peace-offering indicates that it has been completely
deferred. (See tractate Sukka 33b for an opposing view.)

And conclude from this that there is deferral not only with regard to the offering itself, but also
with regard to the money of that offering, as the proceeds from the sale of the offering are used
for free-will offerings rather than peace-offerings (Rabbeinu Ḥananel).

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The mishna states that if one who separates his Paschal lamb dies, his son may not sacrifice that
animal as a Paschal lamb. Similarly, the Sages taught in the Tosefta: With regard to one who
separates his Paschal lamb and dies, if his son is registered with him for that Paschal lamb, his
son brings it for the purpose of a Paschal lamb, because if only one of the individuals registered
for a Paschal lamb dies, the offering does not become entirely unfit. However, if his son is not
registered with him, his son should bring it for the purpose of a peace-offering on the
sixteenth of Nisan. The Gemara infers that on the sixteenth, yes, the son may sacrifice the
offering, but on the fifteenth, which is the Festival day, no, he may not. This indicates that
the tanna of this baraita holds that animals brought in order to fulfill vows and free-will
offerings are not offered on a Festival; rather, only offerings that must be brought on the Festival
are sacrificed on that day.

The Gemara seeks to clarify the intent of the Tosefta: When did the father die? If we say the
father died before midday on the fourteenth, how is it possible to understand the continuation of
the Tosefta, which states that if his son is registered with him, the son should bring it for the
purpose of a Paschal lamb? Acute mourning applies to the son from the outset, before the
Paschal lamb could be sacrificed, and an acute mourner may not sacrifice the Paschal lamb.

Rather, can one say that he died after midday? But the continuation of the Tosefta says that if his
son is not registered with him, the son should bring it for the purpose of a peace-offering; but
midday established it as a Paschal lamb, in which case it should have the status of a Paschal lamb
that was fit and then deferred, since the father was the sole registered participant. Such an animal
is left to graze until it develops a blemish; it is then sold, and its proceeds are used for free-will
offerings. It may not be sacrificed as a peace-offering.

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RAMBAM

If one set aside a female animal for his Paschal sacrifice or a male animal in its second or third
year of life, it should be allowed to pasture until it contracts a disqualifying blemish. Then it should
be sold and a Paschal sacrifice brought with the proceeds of the sale. If it did not contract a
blemish until after he offered his Paschal sacrifice, he should bring a peace-offering with the
proceeds of the sale.

When The Lamb Does Not Meet The Criteria1

Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:2

The Torah gives clear parameters for the animal that is to be brought as the korban Pesah. It must
be a male that is one year old (see Ex12:5). What if an animal is set aside as a korban Pesah and
it does not meet those basic criteria?

Mishna: In the case of one who separates a female animal for his Paschal lamb although the
Torah requires a male, or a male that is in its second year although a Paschal lamb must be an
animal that is in its first year, the animal is left to graze until it develops a blemish and becomes
unfit, and it is then sold and its money is used for free-will offerings or peace-offerings.

What is left unclear in the Mishna is what is to be done with the proceeds. The Mishna appears to
offer two contradictory rulings. According to the standard text the money should be used for a
nedava (a voluntary offering), a Shelamim. Actually there are variant readings of the Mishna.
The Jerusalem Talmud reads that the money should be used as a nedava. Many other sources say
that the money should be used for a Shelamim, the standard use of a korban Pesah that was not
sacrificed.

1
Unlocking the Torah Text: Leviticus, [Gefen Publishing House & OU Press, Jerusalem, Israel, 2013], pp. 3—12
2
https://steinsaltz.org/daf/pesahim97/

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In his commentary to the Mishna, the Rambam explains – like the Yerushalmi – that a korban
nedeva should be brought with the money. According to Rashi’s reading of the Mishna, the money
should be used for a Shelamim.

The Rambam in his Mishneh Torah agrees with that ruling, but only under certain circumstances.
According to the Rambam, once we realize that this animal cannot be brought as a korban Pesah,
we set it out to pasture, hoping that it will develop a mum – a physical blemish that will make it
unfit for sacrifice. At that time, it can be sold and with the proceeds an animal appropriate for
a korban Pesah can be brought. If, however, the animal does not develop a blemish until after that
time, a different animal will have to be purchased with other monies, and when this animal
develops a blemish a korban Shelamim will be bought with the proceeds.

CONFRONTING KORBANOT

RABBI SHMUEL GOLDIN WRITES:3

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https://www.myjli.com/why/index.php/2016/11/02/confronting-korbanot/

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With the opening of the Book of Vayikra, we enter the world of korbanot.[1] In chapter upon
chapter of text, God commands the newly formed Jewish nation, encamped at the foot of Mount
Sinai, concerning the rituals that will define the sacrificial rite in the Sanctuary.

Questions

The very existence of korbanot creates a powerful quandary. On the one hand, no area of Torah
law seems more alien to modern sensibilities than that of korbanot. As we confront the Torah’s
sacrificial rites, we find ourselves at a total loss, unable to relate to these seemingly primitive
rituals, wondering why an all-powerful, incorporeal God would demand the offering of animals
and grain in His worship. On the other hand, we cannot deny that the sacrificial rites are an integral
part of Jewish law. Not only are substantial portions of Torah text dedicated to detailed descriptions
of korbanot, but these rituals apparently remain, to this day, a critical component of our national
aspirations and dreams. Jewish liturgy is replete with prayers seeking the rebuilding of the Temple
and the reinstatement of the sacrifices. An honest approach towards the Torah text demands that
we not ignore the existence of korbanot. The questions raised by these puzzling rituals must be
dealt with head-on. Why does God demand offerings of animals and grain as part of His worship?
An all-powerful, transcendent God certainly has no need for physical gifts from man. Do the
Torah-mandated sacrificial rites speak to us, on any level, today? Can any relevant lessons be
learned from these seemingly archaic rituals? Do we really desire a return to the practice
of korbanot?

Approaches

1. Historical Development

Our analysis begins, as it should, at the beginning, with a brief review of the historical development
of korbanot as described in the Torah. This review reveals a number of surprising and significant
points.

A The first textually recorded physical offering to God is brought during the second generation of
man’s existence by Kayin, the eldest son of Adam and Chava. Kayin is promptly followed in this
act by his brother, Hevel.[2]

The Torah’s testimony concerning God’s selective acceptance of these offerings is particularly
telling: “And God turned to Hevel and to his offering, but to Kayin and to his offering He did not
turn.”[3] The language seems superfluous. The Torah could have made its point by simply stating,
“And God turned to Hevel’s offering while to Kayin’s offering He did not turn.” Why specify that
God turns to “Hevel and to his offering” but not to “Kayin and to his offering”? Apparently, with
the very advent of man’s physical offerings to the Divine, God wants to establish that He will not
consider these rituals in a vacuum. God does not “accept” or “reject” korbanot or, for that matter,
any ritual observance, arbitrarily. He bases His judgments upon the motivations and actions of the
supplicant. While the Torah is not clear why, something in Hevel’s behavior moves God to accept
him and his offering. Conversely, Kayin’s conduct apparently merits divine rejection. Kayin is

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unable or unwilling to appreciate the ramifications of this rejection. Paralyzed in the face of the
divine demand for personal introspection and behavioral change, he instead lashes out against his
brother, with tragic consequences.

With the first appearance of ritual worship in the Torah, God immediately places such worship in
its proper context. Through a seemingly simple turn of phrase, He communicates that He does not
seek meaningless, arbitrary acts from man, but, instead, thought-filled, meaningful religious
devotion (see Gen 3).

B Another telling, continuing pattern is initiated in the Torah with the offerings of Kayin and
Hevel. From this point on, until the birth of the Jewish nation with the Exodus from
Egypt, all korbanot emerge in the Torah as man-initiated events. Driven by a desire to
communicate with an unfathomable God, early man, of his own accord, develops a sacrificial rite.
Noach, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov each voluntarily bring offerings to God. At no point does
God demand any of these sacrifices. The only two possible exceptions to this rule prove, upon
analysis, not to be exceptions at all.

1. During the Brit bein Habetarim, the Covenant between the Pieces, God commands
Avraham to slaughter a series of animals and divide each animal into two. “Passing
through” the pieces, God then reveals to Avraham a prophetic vision of the Israelites’
eventual descent into bondage and their ultimate redemption.[4]

On a level of pshat, however, the scholars maintain that the animals used in this ritual are not
offerings in the classical sense. Rashi, for example, explains that, as God enacts a covenant with
Avraham, He employs symbolism common to the society of the time. “It was the custom of those
involved in a covenant to divide animals and to pass through them.”[5]

2. During Avraham’s most dramatic test, Akeidat Yitzchak (the aborted sacrifice of Yitzchak),
God commands the patriarch to “raise” his son as an offering on the summit of Mount Moriah.
This “offering,” however, never takes place. Avraham is stopped at the last moment by a heavenly
angel.[6]

While the true purpose of the Akeida remains an ongoing subject of discussion (see Gen: Vayeira
4), one aspect of the event remains unchallenged. The only offering actually brought on the summit
of Mount Moriah occurs after Yitzchak is spared. At that point Avraham, of his own initiative,
offers a ram “in place of his son.”[7] Once again, the korban actually offered is not commanded
by God. C Everything changes, however, centuries later, on the eve of the Exodus from Egypt. As
the Egyptians brace for the final, devastating plague, the Israelites retreat, upon God’s command,
to their homes. There, in separate family meals, they participate in the first God-commanded
sacrifice recorded in the Torah: the Korban Pesach.[8] Simultaneous with the birth of the Jewish
nation, a divinely ordained sacrificial rite is “born.” Beginning with that event, korbanot became
an integral part of Jewish tradition. Why do things change so dramatically with the birth of the
Jewish nation? Why, at this point, are korbanot transformed from man-initiated to God-
commanded rituals? Why does God now desire korbanot? Answers to these questions are
suggested in the deliberations of the rabbis.

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 1. Philosophical Approaches

A Two separate approaches proposed by the Rambam are central to the rabbinic discussion of
korbanot.

1. In his halachic magnum opus, the Mishneh Torah, the Rambam categorizes korbanot as
chukim, mitzvot for which no reason is given in the Torah. While one is encouraged to seek
meaning in such mitzvot, says the Rambam, God’s true reasoning may well remain elusive.
Shrouded in mystery, chukim such as korbanot emerge as a true test of our loyalty to God’s
will.[9]
2. In his Guide to the Perplexed, however, the Rambam offers a vastly different, rational
approach to the inclusion of korbanot in Jewish law.

Many phenomena in the Torah, he maintains, are based upon the principle that abrupt major change
in human behavior is impossible. Man simply cannot journey immediately “from one extreme to
the other”. God cannot expect the Israelites, reared in idolatrous surroundings replete with
sacrificial rite, to totally reject rituals that they have come to see as necessary for communion with
the Divine. He therefore commands his chosen people to sanctify the profane by adapting aspects
of the prevailing sacrificial rite to His worship within the Sanctuary. From this
perspective, korbanot emerge as a divine concession to man’s need. The Israelites’ difficult
transition to their newfound faith is eased through the incorporation of a familiar ritual
path.[10] While the Rambam’s rational explanation for korbanot in the Guide to the
Perplexed sets off a firestorm of controversy among his contemporaries and later scholars (see
below), his observations may not be as revolutionary as they seem. The Rambam’s theories,
according to some authorities,[11] are actually foreshadowed in an earlier Midrashic source
recorded in Vayikra Rabba: Rabbi Pinchas said in the name of Rabbi Levi: The matter [of
sacrifices] can be compared to the story of a prince whose haughtiness leads him to the
consumption of despicable substances. The king determines: “Let my son attend my table regularly
and he will abstain [from his evil doing] of his own accord.”

Similarly, because the Israelites were drawn to idolatrous practices in Egypt and regularly
sacrificed to pagan deities, the Holy One Blessed Be He declared: “Let them offer their sacrifices
before Me at all times in the Sanctuary and they will separate themselves from idolatry.”[12] Even
the Torah text itself seems to lend credence to the Rambam’s approach with the following
commandment concerning the centrality of the Temple service: “And they shall bring [their
offerings] to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting to the Kohen . . . and they shall no longer slaughter
their offerings to the demons after whom they stray. . . .”[13]

Finally, the Rambam’s suggestions also find support in the earlier described historical
development of korbanot in the Torah. Sacrifices emerge as man, of his own initiative, determines
a mode of communication with the Divine (see above). With the birth of the Jewish nation, God
recognizes the Israelites’ continuing need for such symbolic communication and allows for the
retention of the sacrificial rite in his newly given law.

B Many authorities defend the Rambam’s rational explanation for the existence of korbanot in
Jewish law.[14] Numerous other scholars, however, remain severely critical of the Rambam’s

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approach, unwilling to categorize the Torah’s extensive, detailed sacrificial rite as a concession to
human frailties. After dismissing the Rambam’s proposals as “empty words which address a deep
concern in superficial fashion,”[15] the Ramban quotes an alternative approach for those seeking
a rational foundation for korbanot (the Ramban himself prefers a mystical approach). Sacrifices
are offered, he notes, in large measure as a response to man’s failure and sin. God, therefore,
designs the steps of the sacrificial rite to correspond to the three components of human activity
through which sin occurs: thought, words and deeds. Sins committed through deed are addressed
through the ritual of smicha, whereby the individual bringing the korban “lays his hands” upon the
animal prior to its slaughter. Sins committed through speech are reflected in the vidui, the verbal
confession offered by each supplicant. Finally, the sinful thoughts and desires that have coursed
through the supplicant’s heart and soul are referenced through the animal’s consumption in the fire
of the altar and through the sprinkling of its blood. As an individual witnesses and participates in
these graphic rituals, he is forced to recognize the extent of his own sinfulness and culpability.
Were it not for God’s merciful acceptance of this korban “in his stead,” the petitioner himself
would have merited a place upon the altar.[16]

C Numerous additional approaches to the concept of korbanot are offered within traditional
Jewish literature. Following are several of them. Rav Saadia Gaon maintains that the sacrificial
rite enables the Israelites to demonstrate the depth of their dedication to God by offering of the
“best of their possessions.”[17] The Ba’al Hachinuch remains true to his general postulate that a
person’s thoughts and sentiments are shaped, in great measure, by his concrete actions. The
performance of symbolic mitzvot is thus critical to the process of attitude formation. A sinner
cannot purify his heart simply through a passive confession “between himself and the wall.” Such
confession requires no real effort and, therefore, has minimal effect. If, however, the individual is
forced to act—if he becomes obligated in a demanding series of atoning rituals; if he must select
from his flock, bring his offerings to the Sanctuary and participate in the detailed sacrificial rite—
he will then become acutely aware of the extent of his sin and he will avoid such failure in the
future. The Ba’al Hachinuch also suggests that the very act of offering a korban reminds man of
the tenuous nature of his own superiority over the beasts of the field. Man’s distinctiveness lies in
his ability to reason. When an individual’s reasoning fails and he consequently sins, that individual
loses his status as a man and becomes no different from the animal.

The Torah, therefore, commands the sinner to offer a korban in the Sanctuary. The slaughter of
the animal and the consumption of its remains upon the altar graphically demonstrate that a
“reasonless” being is valueless and ultimately destined to destruction. The depth of the supplicant’s
failure and the toll of that failure upon his soul are thus underscored.[18] For his part, the Maharal
of Prague perceives the sacrificial rite, with its intimations of mortality, as a fundamental reflection
of the inconsequentiality of all creatures in the face of God’s greatness. Nothing exists in the world
except as a result of God’s kindness and munificence.[19] Finally, numerous commentaries move
beyond general explanations for the phenomenon of korbanot and painstakingly analyze the
symbolic significance of each detail of the Temple ritual. We will encounter some of their
observations in our continued analysis of the book of Vayikra.

D Perhaps the most telling aspect of the Torah’s sacrificial rite, however, is the most obvious: the
vast majority of korbanot are simply not “sacrifices” in the commonly accepted sense. With
singular exceptions (such as the Olah, the burnt offering, which is consumed in its entirety upon

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the altar), portions of every korban are designated as food for the Kohanim, their dependents
and/or the individuals bringing the offering to the Temple. Even more, the very first
obligatory korban recorded in the Torah, the Korban Pesach of the Exodus, was, in its entirety, a
family meal (see above, I, Approaches C). No altar was present, no Temple service involved. The
Israelites were, instead, commanded, on the eve of the Exodus, to physically consume the Paschal
Lamb within the sanctity of their homes and to burn the remainder in the morning. What then,
defines the Paschal Lamb as a korban? How does this puzzling, seminal ritual set the stage for the
entire sacrificial rite to follow? Why were portions of so many of the later korbanot designated as
food? Shouldn’t each korban have been a true offering to God, consumed entirely in flames upon
the altar? We are forced, it would seem, to reexamine our understanding of korbanot. In contrast
to classical “sacrifices,” consumed entirely on the altar, korbanot were, in large measure, shared
meals with God. Faced with the naturally developing distance between man and his Creator, forced
to address the separation from God that results from sin, the Torah proposes a path, astoundingly
profound in its simplicity: invite God to your table. A korban, deriving from the root word karov,
“to draw near” (see Vayikra 1, note 1), is the mechanism through which an individual can begin
to repair and reestablish his relationship with a personal God. Just as, in the human realm, a shared
meal is a powerful relational tool, so too, a meal consumed with God’s symbolic participation can
begin to address His estrangement from our lives. Consumed with pomp and circumstance in the
very shadow of the Holy Temple—with some portions placed upon the altar and others shared
with the priests and, often, with the supplicants themselves—each korban became a potentially
powerful rehabilitative tool. God’s presence as an invited, honored guest was palpable and
concrete. To the participants these observances were far from meaningless rituals. They were,
instead, shared meals with God, the first steps back to a fuller awareness of the Divine in their
lives.

E What, however, of the future? Do we truly anticipate a return to sacrifices, as maintained in our
prayers? Or, is the sacrificial rite rooted in a past from which our nation has moved on? The vast
majority of classical Jewish thinkers insist that our final redemption will feature not only the
rebuilding of the Temple but a full return to the sacrificial rite. Particularly noteworthy is the
position of the Rambam. In spite of this scholar’s willingness to postulate the origin of korbanot as
a concession to man’s limitations he gives no indication that this earthly origin limits the future
applicability of these rituals. After dedicating major portions of his Mishneh Torah, his practical
compendium of laws, to the strictures surrounding korbanot, the Rambam clearly states towards
the end of that work:

The Messianic king is destined to rise in the future and reestablish the Kingdom of David, to build
the Temple and to gather the dispersed of Israel. In his day, all the laws will return to their original
state. Korbanot will be offered [my italics], the Shmita and Yovel years will be observed. . . .

Anyone who does not believe this, or does not await his [the Mashiach’s] arrival, not only denies
the words of the prophets but denies the Torah and Moshe, our teacher.[20] A solitary alternative
position is raised by the first chief rabbi of the State of Israel, Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Hacohen
Kook. After first maintaining that “with regard to sacrifices it is correct to believe that all aspects
will be restored to their place,” Rav Kook builds on kabbalistic literature and envisions a “distant
time” when all aspects of the world will be elevated.

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At that time, he states, humans will no longer need to take the lives of animals for their physical,
moral or spiritual needs. The prophet Malachi perhaps references this future period when he states,
“Then the grain offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to God as in the days of old and
as in former years.”[21] Strikingly absent from Malachi’s vision is the reinstatement of animal
offerings. The Midrash seems to go even further with the startling prediction “All sacrifices will
be nullified in the future.”[22] To further strengthen his position, Kook identifies a series of clues
within the Torah itself which he claims reflect the secondary status of animal sacrifices. These
offerings remain appropriate as long as man makes use of animals for other needs, such as food
and clothing. The time will come, however, when man, reaching his highest state of refinement,
will no longer feel the need to take animal life for any purpose. At that point, only grain sacrifices
will be offered in the Temple.[23]

Points to Ponder A number of years ago I fielded a strange phone call in my synagogue office. “I
represent,” the caller said, “a group of Korean Christian ministers who, in the interest of studying
comparative religions, would very much like to visit your synagogue during a Sabbath morning
service.” I was immediately struck by two concerns. Firstly, I wondered how my congregation
would react when a group of Korean Christian ministers walked in, en masse, without warning one
Shabbat morning.

Secondly, and more importantly, I wondered what the ministers themselves, absent prior
preparation, would make of our service. They would not understand the language; the rituals would
be alien and difficult to follow; and, to top matters off, the apparent lack of decorum would be
startling (this was before our synagogue’s successful efforts at decorum improvement). How
would these ministers respond, for example, to children running up and down the aisles, to groups
of adults talking at various points and on various topics during the service? The entire prospect
carried, it seemed to me, potential for disaster. I therefore made a stipulation. The group would be
welcome, I said, as long as they were willing to come to the synagogue beforehand for a private
briefing with me. At that time, I would explain the various symbols within the sanctuary, the nature
of our service and our approach to prayer. We would then schedule and announce their Shabbat
visit to the community, thus preparing my congregation for their appearance. The caller readily
agreed and the date was set for my preliminary meeting with the group at the synagogue. Having
spoken before to groups of other faiths about Judaism, I knew that I had to be prepared for the
unexpected during the question period that would inevitably follow my presentation. It is always
difficult, and at the same time refreshing, to view our traditions through the eyes of total outsiders.

On one such previous occasion, for example, the first question raised by a group of Catholic
schoolchildren was, “What is the significance of the different colored skullcaps that you wear? Do
they represent a hierarchy within your tradition?” Armed by this time with years of experience,
however, I felt prepared for whatever might come my way. Early on a Thursday morning,
therefore, I found myself in conversation with a group of roughly twenty Korean Christian
ministers in the main sanctuary of my synagogue.

After reviewing some of the philosophical and practical particulars of our Shabbat service and
after showing them various ritual items such as the Torah scroll, the aron kodesh and the ner tamid,
I opened the floor for questions. There was a moment of silence , , , Suddenly a hand shot up:
“Rabbi, where do you do the animal sacrifices?” “What?” I stammered, caught completely off

15
guard. “Where do you do the animal sacrifices?” Regaining my composure, I began to explain that
animal sacrifices were indeed a part of our tradition but that they had been suspended since the
destruction of the Temple.

My visitors, however, would not let go. For forty-five minutes they continued to pepper me with
educated questions concerning animal sacrifices, convinced that somewhere, somehow, I was
hiding a goat or cow in the basement of the synagogue. Halfway through the session, I began to
realize what was really happening. The assumptions of my guests actually said more about the
foundations of their own faith tradition than about mine. Fundamentalist Christians, these ministers
were driven by a simple developmental equation. Man, tainted with sin, cannot relate to God
directly. To address this basic problem, the “Old Testament,” therefore, prescribes a Temple rite
in which offerings of animals and grain enable man to gain atonement and approach an
unfathomable God. These sacrifices serve as “substitutes” upon the altar, taking the place of the
sinners themselves and redeeming them from sin.

Upon entering the world stage, however, Christianity moves past the “primitive” Temple rite by
substituting the death of Jesus for the sacrifices. When Jesus “dies for the sins of man,” he replaces
the animals on the altar and becomes the essential intermediary between limited man and a
limitless God. The possibility that Judaism could be practiced without sacrifices was, therefore, to
the minds of my guests, simply unthinkable.

Given our lack of belief in Jesus, how else could we relate to an unreachable God? Only a Judaism
incorporating sacrifices as intermediaries between man and the Divine could serve as a precursor
to their own faith system. No amount of persuasion on my part could, therefore, convince my
guests of Judaism’s fundamental belief in a direct relationship with God without intermediary. No
explanation of the sacrificial rite as symbolic or educational in purpose could sway them from their
firm assumptions. While my guests and I parted ways agreeing to disagree, and while their Shabbat
visit to my congregation a few weeks later went without a hitch, their powerfully mistaken
assumptions concerning korbanot have haunted me for years. Not because they need to know the
truth, but because we do.

I find myself wondering. . . . How many of my students or congregants would have been able to
respond to the questions raised by the ministers who visited my synagogue those many years ago?
How many Jews today give even a second thought to the purpose and significance of the sacrificial
rite within our tradition? We understandably avoid confrontation with elements of our tradition
which, like korbanot, are difficult to comprehend and uncomfortable to encounter. Such evasion,
however, cedes the intellectual high ground to those who would challenge our beliefs and question
our traditions.

As our brief study of korbanot has demonstrated, every element of the Torah is filled with relevant
meaning and message. We avoid the discovery and study of those messages to our own detriment
and at our own risk.

Notes

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 [1] The term korban is usually translated as “sacrifice” or “offering.” As will become clear in this study, however, these
translations do not do the concept justice. The root of the term korban literally means “to draw near.” Korbanot are, therefore,
rituals through which the supplicant attempts to “draw near” to an unfathomable God. For want of a better alternative, however,
we will initially use the popular translations in our text.
[2] Gen 4:3–4. While the Talmud does maintain that Adam offered korbanot (Talmud Bavli Avoda Zara 8a) we will limit our
discussion to the evidence of textual pshat (straightforward explanation of the Torah text).
[3] Gen 4:4–5.
[4] Ibid., 15:9–16.
[5] Rashi, Gen 15:10.
[6] Gen 22:1–12.
[7] Ibid., 22:13.
[8] Shmot 12:3–28.
[9] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Meila 8:8; Hilchot Temura 4:13.
[10] Rambam, Moreh Nevuchim 30:32.
[11] Abravanel, introduction to Vayikra, chapter 4. Note: Other authorities maintain that this Midrash does not support the
Rambam’s views but only suggests that involvement with Torah ritual will inevitably result in abstinence from idolatrous
practices (see Rabbi David Zvi Hoffman, Sefer Vayikra [Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1972], pp. 60–61).
[12] Midrash Rabba Vayikra 22:7–8.
[13] Vayikra 17:5–7.
[14] Ritva, Sefer Hazikaron, Parshat Vayikra; Abravanel, introduction to Vayikra, chapter 4.
[15] Ramban, Vayikra 1:9.
[16] Ibid.
[17] Emunot V’deiot 3:10.
[18] Sefer Hachinuch, mitzva 95.
[19] Sefer Gevurot Hashem 5:69.
[20]Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Melachim 11:1.
[21] Malachi 3:4.
[22] Midrash Rabba Vayikra 9:7
.[23] Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Hacohen Kook, Otzrot Hare’aya, vol. 2, pp. 101–103; Olat Re’aya, vol. 1, p. 292.

Understanding Biblical Sacrifice (Korbanot)

What sacrifice is, where it comes from, and what it can mean for us today.
RABBI DANIEL KIRZANE WRITES:4

Sacrifice
What are sacrifices? “Sacrifice” means giving up something for someone else. In general, there
are three kinds of sacrifice:

1. “Sacrifice for yourself.” Think about sports training – you work hard in order to improve your
strength and skill. In the Bible, Joseph suggests that the Egyptian Pharaoh make this kind of
sacrifice: The king should store food during years of plenty so that there will be enough to eat

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during years of famine. He gives up enjoying the harvest now so that he and his people will have
enough food later. ( Genesis, Chapter 41 )

2. “Sacrifice for others.” Think about doing chores – you give up your free time in order to help
out your family. In the Bible, Yocheved makes this kind of sacrifice: She sends away her baby,
Moses, and agrees to have him be raised in the Pharaoh’s palace in order to protect him. She gives
up being close to her son in order to keep him safe ( Exodus, Chapter 2 ).

3. “Sacrifice to come close to God.” Think about donating money – you give up buying something
for yourself so that other people can have a better life. You may not know the people you’re
helping, but you still feel happy anyway; this is because donating money is tzedakah (which means
“righteousness”), and it is a holy act. In the Bible, we find this kind of sacrifice in the laws about
the priests and their service in the mishkan or Tabernacle. People give up their animals, grain, and
money as a way of being holy.

Usually, it’s the third kind of sacrifice that surprises and confuses us the most. So let’s take a closer
look.

Korbanot – Sacrifices in the Desert

Throughout the Torah — especially in Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers — we read many, many
passages about sacrifices. Here’s a quick summary:

• A group of people called the kohanim (“priests”) were the only ones who were allowed to make
sacrifices to bring people close to God. The first kohen was Aaron, and his sons became kohanim
after him.

• The kohanim would make sacrifices for themselves, for other individual Jews, or for the entire
Jewish people.

• These sacrifices were called korbanot. The word korban means “something which draws close.”
Their purpose was to bring people closer to God.

• The kohanim would offer korbanot every day during the evening, morning, and afternoon
services. Additionally, they would offer korbanot on holidays and whenever someone else (who
wasn’t a kohen) would want help making a sacrifice of their own.

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• There were three basic kinds of korbanot: Animals, grain, and money. Animals would be killed,
grain would be burned, and money would be donated. Sometimes, when a person didn’t have any
animals to sacrifice, they would offer grain or money instead (see for example Leviticus 5:11 ,
5:18, and 14:21).

The kohanim were called “those who come close to the Eternal” ( Exodus 19:22 ), showing that
their job of offering korbanot involves closing the distance between human beings and God.
Indeed, God tells Moses to build the sanctuary where the korbanot are offered so that God can
“dwell among” the people of Israel ( Exodus 25:8 ). So, offering korbanot was one way of bringing
God and the Israelites closer together.

Why Sacrifice Animals?

We often have questions about why animals were chosen to be killed so that human beings could
get closer to God. Isn’t that cruel? Maybe yes and maybe no. We can look at it both ways.

On the one hand, killing animals is wrong. The story of Creation teaches us that human beings are
meant to protect life on earth, not destroy it ( Genesis 2:15 ). So even though the ancient sacrifices
had a holy purpose, they were unnecessarily violent. Today, we know that there are many other
ways we can draw close to God that don’t involve killing animals. In particular, Judaism teaches
that prayer is a replacement for animal sacrifices.

On the other hand, killing animals is not wrong, especially when human beings then eat the
animals. The story of Noah’s Ark teaches us that God understands people’s desire to eat
meat ( Genesis 9:3 ). Humans have eaten animals for thousands of years and still do today. This is
related to korbanot because every animal that was sacrificed was later eaten. In fact, the only time
the Israelites ate meat in the desert was after a sacrifice (see Deuteronomy 12:20 and Rashi’s
comment). So, sacrificing animals in the ancient world was similar to killing animals today for
food.

Vegetarianism and Kashrut

To summarize, the priests killed animals for some korbanot. Today, we can understand this
practice as both “wrong” and “not wrong.”

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What Does It All Mean?
Korbanot were used to draw people closer to God. Israelites brought offerings of animals, grain,
or money to the kohanim, and the kohanim in turn offered them as sacrifices to God. This was the
main process used to connect ancient Jews with God. People gave up their prized possessions as a
symbol of their dedication to God, and this became the most important part of Jewish worship.

After the destruction of the Temple in the year 70 CE, Jews stopped offering korbanot. Instead,
they began to offer prayers. The rabbis taught us that we can become closer to God with the words
of our mouths rather than with physical sacrifices. Nevertheless, they still based the
Jewish evening, morning, and afternoon prayer services on the ancient rituals for offering
korbanot.

Today, when we come together as a community to pray, we use the model of the korbanot to guide
our prayer. The korbanot teach us that we have to give something of ourselves in order to draw
nearer to God. They teach us that it can be easier to come close to God with the help of other
people rather than all by ourselves. And they teach us that prayer can be deeper when we use
ancient rituals. In all these ways, the korbanot still lead us to holiness today.

Sacrifice
Since the destruction of the Temples, Jews have struggled with the enduring
meaning and legacy of the sacrificial rites.

RABBI LOUIS JACOBS WRITES:5

Animal sacrifices are described in detail in the book of Leviticus and were offered throughout the
period of the First and Second Temples.

That Gentiles as well as Jews brought sacrifices to the Temple is implied in the prayer of Solomon
when he dedicated the Temple(I Kings 8:41-3) and in the declaration by the prophet that the
Temple will be a house of prayer for all peoples ( Isaiah 56:7 ). The Rabbis say ( Hullin13b ):
‘Sacrifices are to be accepted from Gentiles as they are from Jews,’ although this saying dates
from after the destruction of the Temple.

The significance of the role of the sacrifice in the Temple period is expressed in the saying
in Ethics of the Fathers (1.3) that the world stands on three things, the Torah , the service in the

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Temple, and benevolence. That occasionally the prophets seem to decry the offering of sacrifices
(e.g. Amos 5:21-4; Isaiah 1:11-13 ) is explained in the Jewish tradition, and this might well be the
case, that the prophets only object to sacrifices used as an attempt to buy off God while practicing
iniquities.

The ancients did not have the scruples of many moderns about offering up ‘poor defenseless
animals.’ People did and still do kill animals for food and, apart from the wholly consumed burnt-
offering, the meat of all the other sacrifices was eaten either by the priests or by those who brought
the sacrifices.

Order Kodashim
The whole of the Order Kodashim in the Mishnah is devoted almost entirely to the details of how
the sacrifices were to be offered. This order was compiled in its present form after the destruction
of the Temple but a good deal of the material undoubtedly stems from traditions in Temple times.

The order was studied, even though the laws of sacrifices had fallen into abeyance, in the belief
that these were all part of the divinely revealed Torah and that the sacrificial system would one
day be restored.

Medieval Explanations
Various explanations have been advanced in medieval and modern times for why God commanded
that sacrifices be offered to Him. This kind of thinking was unknown to the Talmudic Rabbis. For
them it was enough that God had ordained that sacrifices should be offered and they saw no need
to ask why. But from the Middle Ages onwards, attempts were made to provide what seemed to
be to those who made them plausible reasons for the sacrificial cult.

According to Maimonides, in his Guide of the Perplexed, the sacrifices were ordained in order to
wean the people of Israel away from idolatry, as if God were to say: if the idea of offering sacrifices
has taken too strong a hold on you to be totally eradicated, at least offer the sacrifices in a central
place and observe the rules in order to avoid the excesses practiced by the idolaters when they
sacrifice to their gods.

Nahmanides cannot accept such a facile view and Maimonides himself, in his Code, records all
the laws of sacrifices and prayers for their restoration, which hardly suggests that the sacrifices
were, for him, no more than an emergency measure.

For Ibn Ezra and Nahmanides the sacrifices are symbolic. When a man offered a guilt-offering,
for example, the killing of the animal and the offering of its blood and fat on the altar were a
symbolic way of saying that this should have been the fate of the sinner were it not for God’s
mercy.

A further reason advanced for the system is that the meat of the sacrifices was to be eaten in a holy
place, the Temple for some sacrifices, anywhere in Jerusalem for others, and this turned the very
act of eating into a sacred act by which man is brought nearer to God.

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In the Kabbalah, animal sacrifices provided the link between the animal world and human beings
and between the world of human beings and the higher realms of the Sefirot as the smoke on the
altar ascended.

Restoring the Sacrifices?

Although, in the nineteenth century, suggestions were put forward for the Temple to be rebuilt and
sacrifices offered there once again, these were not taken seriously since, among other objections,
the actual site of the altar is now unknown; corpse contamination cannot now be removed in the
absence of the red heifer; and there are no means of establishing the claim of the priests that they
really are such.

Thus the restoration of the sacrificial system was left to the Messiah. There was even an opinion
in the Middle Ages, quoted by Rashi, that the Third Temple would drop ready-made from heaven.

The Orthodox position today is that the offering of sacrifices will be carried out only when the
Messianic age dawns and their restoration is not a matter of practical concern in the here and now,
although there is a Yeshivah in Jerusalem in which the Order of Kodashim is studied assiduously
so that scholars will be able to advise on how the sacrifices are to be offered when the Messiah
does come.

Sacrifices in Jewish Liturgy

After the destruction of the Temple the verse ‘we will render the bullocks of our lips( Hosea 14:3 )’
was understood to mean that the repetition of the details of the sacrificial cult in prayer and the
prayers for its restoration are accounted as if the sacrifices were actually offered in the Temple.
But the prayers were not seen as a mere formality to make up for the loss.

The belief remains strong in Orthodoxy that these prayers will be answered by God and the
sacrifices restored. Prayers for the restoration of the sacrifices are scattered through the traditional
liturgy. Especially in the Additional service, Musaf, on Sabbaths and festivals, the prayer is recited
for Israel to be restored to its homeland, the Temple to be rebuilt, and the sacrifices offered.

Reform Judaism, in the last century, reinterpreted the Messianic hope in universalistic terms and
rejected not only prayers for the restoration of sacrifices but the whole idea of Israel’s return to its
homeland.

While Reform Judaism today has a much more positive attitude to the return, the Reform attitude
is still too universalistic to permit references to the old sacrificial system in prayer. Sacrifices were,
indeed, once highly significant but they have now been superseded under divine guidance.

Conservative Judaism, on the other hand, believes that to delete from the Prayer Book all
references to the sacrifices is to ignore the significant role the sacrifices played in Jewish history.
And yet, since many Jews do not believe that the sacrificial system will one day be restored, to
pray for its restoration is to engage in double-think.

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To cope with this problem, the Conservative Prayer Book retains the references to the system but
substitutes for the words ‘and there we will offer’ the words: ‘and there our forefathers offered.’6

6
from The Jewish Religion: A Companion, published by Oxford University Press.

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