Zevachim 105

Today’s daf reminds me of magic portals and doorways where you transform when you walk through them.

Basically, the rabbis are discussing when someone becomes impure when carrying animals and/or hides out of the temple courtyard. Once someone leaves their clothes are rendered impure. But if they’re connected to people helping to carry the animal by suspending the animal from a pole – do they all become impure at the same time same time or one by one?

The answer is – it’s a magic portals and as soon as you walk through the doorway you become impure.

Rabba bar Rav Huna teaches this dilemma with regard to people: In a case where five people are handling an offering and carrying it out to be burned, and three of them emerged and two of them remained in the Temple courtyard, such that the animal is partly inside and partly outside, what is the halakha? Do we follow the majority of the people handling the offering, who have left the courtyard, or do we follow the animal, the majority of which did not yet leave? The Gemara concludes: The dilemma shall standunresolved. Rabbi Elazar raises another dilemma: If bulls and goats that are burned left the Temple courtyard and returned, what is the halakha with regard to the garments of those who carry them inside the courtyard? Do we say: Once they left, they became impure? Or perhaps once they return, they return and do not render garments impure? Rabbi Abba bar Memel says: Come and hear the mishna: They would carry the bulls and the goats that are burned suspended on poles. When the first priests, carrying the front of the pole, emerged beyond the wall of the Temple courtyard and the latter ones did not yet emerge, the first ones, who emerged beyond the wall of the Temple courtyard, render their garments impure, but the latter ones do not render their garments impure until they emerge. 

Dr. Strange, the Roblox movie, The lion, the witch and the wardrobe … so many must have been inspired by the daf. 

Zevachim 104

What’s a bira?

Rabba bar bar Ḥana says that Rabbi Yoḥanan taught that it was a particular spot on the Temple Mount, while according to Reish Lakish the entire Temple was called Bira

The gem?

Bira in modern Hebrew is either an apartment or, you might have guessed it: beer.

Zevachim 103

Just because you haven’t ever seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen or doesn’t exist. On our daf today the rabbis are discussing what happens to the hides of the sacrifices. Rabbi Hanina says he never saw a hide leave the Temple so it would indicate the priests had exclusive rights to the hides.

If they were disqualified after their flaying, their hides go to the priests. Rabbi Ḥanina, the deputy High Priest, said: In all my days, I never saw a hide going out to the place of burning.

Seems like some pretty good proof! But…

And the Rabbis say: The claim: “We did not see”, is no proof;

Not seeing it is not proof that it never happened.

rather, if after flaying it is discovered that the animal was unfit before it was flayed, the hide goes out to the place of burning.

So just because we didn’t witness something doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

I like this gem because it allows us to believe in thing we’ve never seen or experienced. And that might be the most hopeful gem yet.

Zevachim 102

A beautiful gem today that shows that God really does tend to the sick and isolated.

When Miriam became a leper (see Numbers 12:10), who diagnosed and quarantined her? If you say that Moses quarantined her, that is difficult, as Moses was a non-priest, and a non-priest may not inspect the shades of leprous marks to diagnose them. And if you say that Aaron quarantined her, that is difficult, as Aaron was a relative, Miriam’s brother, and a relative may not inspect the shades of leprous marks. Rather, the Holy One, Blessed be He, bestowed a great honor on Miriam at that time, and said: IMyself am a priest, and I will quarantine her for seven days to see if the shades of leprous marks persist, and I will declare her a leper if she is impure, and I will exempt her if she is not impure.

May all who are alone or sick feel Hods presence.

Zevachim 101

The Torah (Numbers 12:3) tells us that “Moses was very humble, more so than any other human being on earth.” On our daf today, this idea is reinforced.

The daf has been discussing acute mourning and sacrifices. Our biblical example of this is Aaron, Moses’s brother and the High Priest, serving the Temple while mourning the death of his sons Nadav and Abihu.

The rabbis imagine the two brothers debating our Mishna. They sound just like the rabbis on the daf. Aaron wins and argument of law and this is the responce:

Moses immediately conceded to Aaron, as the verse states: “And Moses heard, and it was good in his eyes” (Leviticus 10:20). And Moses was not embarrassed and did not attempt to justify himself by saying: I did not hear of this halakha until now. Rather, he said: I heard it, and I forgot it, as the verse indicates by stating: “Moses heard.”

How beautiful and how humble. Wouldn’t it be nice if all our leaders were this open? To say – oh, I didn’t know that; or – I forgot; or – good point. Let it be a lesson for us all. The best leaders are the ones who know that they are not perfect and are always ready to learn from others.

Zevachim 100

Do you have your priorities in order? On today’s daf we meet a priest who is reminded by his colleagues that work isn’t everything.

From here it is derived that it is a mitzva for a priest to become impure in order to bury his deceased relatives, and if he did not want to do so, others must render him impure against his will. And an incident occurred involving Yosef the priest, where his wife died on Passover eve, and he did not want to become impure, as he wanted to offer the Paschal offering; and his brethren the priests voted and rendered him impure against his will.

Passover was a big deal for the priests, all the pilgrims coming to Jerusalem with their pascal lambs to offer. Our priest didn’t wan to miss the big day! This is his moment as a priest to shine. It was so important to him, he wanted to skip his own wife’s funeral to serve in the Temple. Thank God for his colleagues he told him that he had to go and forced him.

The message is clear – no matter how important you think your work is, there are times when family has to come first.

Zevachim 99

In Zevachim 99, Rabbi Shimon offers a striking interpretation of a familiar offering. The Torah calls the peace offering shelamim, he says, to teach that it is brought only when a person is shalem—whole. Someone in a state of acute mourning does not bring this offering.

The Gemara counters: But isn’t it taught in a baraita: With regard to the verse: “And if his offering be a sacrifice of peace offerings [shelamim]” (Leviticus 3:1), Rabbi Shimon says: The offering is called shelamim to teach that when a person is whole [shalem], i.e., in a state of contentment, he brings his offering, but he does not bring it when he is an acute mourner.

At first glance, this feels surprising. Isn’t God close to the brokenhearted? Isn’t Judaism full of rituals for grief and loss? Of course it is. But the shelamim is not an offering of endurance or obligation. It is an offering eaten by the person who brings it, shared with others, and suffused with celebration.

The Gemara pushes the point further.

From where is it derived to include that an acute mourner does not bring even a thanks offering? I include the thanks offering because it is consumed in a state of joy, like a peace offering.

Even a thanksgiving offering, it says, cannot be brought by someone in acute mourning—because it too is eaten in joy. Gratitude, like celebration, requires a certain emotional wholeness. It cannot be demanded on cue.

There is something profoundly compassionate in this teaching. The tradition does not ask us to perform joy when our hearts are shattered. God does not want forced gratitude or hollow celebration. There are times when the holiest thing we can do is acknowledge that we are not whole—and allow ourselves to heal.

At the same time, the teaching challenges us in another direction. When we are shalem, even briefly—when joy, steadiness, or gratitude breaks through—that is the moment we are invited to draw close. Joy is not an optional embellishment of spiritual life; it is, at times, a prerequisite for a certain kind of offering.

Zevachim 99 reminds us that serving God is not only about showing up no matter what. It is also about honesty: knowing when we are broken, and knowing when we are ready to give thanks. And when we are whole, the tradition urges us not to hold back—to bring that joy forward, to share it, and to offer it fully.

Zevachim 98

When one visits the mikvah (Jewish ritual bath), there is supposed to be nothing between you and the water. No clothing, hair tie, shoes, make up, jewlery, contacts . . . nothing. When I went for the first time in New York City, the nail trimmers and scrapers and small combs all emphasized that before we immersed we were to be spotless. Any clothing or make up would be a hatzitza – separation.

Today’s daf discusses mikvah for clothing and the purification of garments, but it’s implications are still felt today for those who immerse themselves.

Rava said: It is obvious to me that if there is blood on one’s garment, it interposes between the water of immersion and the garment, such that the immersion is ineffective. But if he is a butcher, used to having blood on his garments, a bloodstain does not interpose, and the immersion is effective, since a substance is not considered an interposition if the one immersing is not particular about it. Similarly, if there is a stain of fat [revav] on one’s garment, it interposes. But if he is a fat seller, such a stain does not interpose.

Adin Steinsaltz teaches, “Rava states that it is obvious to him that if there is a spot of blood on clothing it will act as a separation and will preclude the possibility of ritual purification. An exception to this ruling is a case where the owner of the clothing is a slaughterer. Such a person always has such spots on his clothing and he is oblivious to them. Similarly, if there is grease from fat or wax on clothing, it will act as a separation, unless the owner deals in those substances. Since such a person will always have clothing that is spattered with fat or wax, he pays no attention to them, and they are considered unimportant. The general principle is that the laws of ḥatzitza are subjective, and a spot or stain will only be considered a ḥatzitza if the person cares about it and would ordinarily remove it.”

Taking this further, Rabbeinu Tam understands that Rava’s teaching applies not only to clothing, but also to spots on a person’s body. Therefore he rules that if there is a relatively small spot on someone’s body and that person is not concerned with it at all, it would not be considered a ḥatzitza. Based on this the Shulḥan Arukh (the code of JEwish law) rules that when a woman dyes her hair or paints her face, that would not be considered a ḥatzitza and her ritual immersion would not be affected (see Yoreh De’a 198:16-17). This is still a rule today! We do not worry about dyed hair, nor do we worry about gel finger nail polish – they are just considered part of who that person is.

Zevachim 97

The Torah teaches that contact creates consequence. When ordinary food comes into contact with a sacrifice and absorbs its “flavor,” it is no longer neutral. It takes on the status of the sacrifice itself, with all of its restrictions and sanctity. If the sacrifice becomes invalid, the food becomes forbidden. Even when the sacrifice is valid, the food can only be eaten under the same strict conditions of time and place.

The Gemara then asks a sharp question:
If sacrificial meat touched the meat of a disqualified sin offering, why should the sacrificial meat become forbidden? Should not the positive mitzva of eating the sacrificial meat come and override the prohibition against eating the disqualified substance that was absorbed in it?

Rava answers: A positive mitzva does not override a prohibition that relates to the Temple.

Later thinkers probe deeper. Why should a positive commandment ever override a prohibition at all, when prohibitions usually seem more severe? Rabbenu Nissim Ga’on suggests that prohibitions are designed to step aside when a higher positive obligation appears. Ramban offers a more spiritual explanation: positive commandments grow out of love of God, while negative commandments are rooted in fear of God—and love, he argues, is ultimately greater than fear.

This teaching reminds us that not all values operate equally in every space.

In ordinary life, Judaism allows love to override fear. We sometimes take risks, stretch boundaries, or set aside caution in order to do what is life-giving, generous, or holy. Love can push us forward when rules would otherwise hold us back.

But there are moments—symbolized by the Temple—where the stakes are so high, and the meaning so concentrated, that we should be scared. In sacred spaces, in moments of deep responsibility, we cannot rely on good intentions alone. Fear is important as well.

At the same time, Ramban reminds us of the ultimate hierarchy: fear keeps us from doing wrong, but love is what draws us toward what is right. The goal is not a life governed only by restraint, but a life shaped by devotion and love.

We are all motivated by love and fear, and need both to help us find holiness in life.

Zevachim 96

Who is your teacher? Your mentor?

On our daf today, we see a teacher become upset when his student goes to learn from someone else. At first it seems perhaps the student left because the teacher has shady dealings with the tax collector. But when confronted the student just says that he isn’t a very good teacher . . .

Rav Yitzḥak bar Yehuda was initially accustomed to study Torah before Rami bar Ḥama. After some time, he left him and went to study before Rav Sheshet. One day Rami bar Ḥama met him and said to him colloquially: Did you assume, as many do, that when the chief of taxes [alkafta] grasped me by the hand, the fragrance of his hand came to my hand? Do you think that because you went away from me in order to study before Rav Sheshet, have you become like Rav Sheshet merely by association? Rav Yitzḥak bar Yehuda said to him: It is not due to that reason that I went to study before Rav Sheshet, but for another reason. As for you, Master, when I ask with regard to any matter, Master resolves the question for me through reasoning. Consequently, when I find a mishna that opposes that reasoning, it refutes Master’s proposed resolution. As for Rav Sheshet, when I ask of him a question concerning any matter, he resolves the question for me by citing a mishna. Consequently, when I also find a mishna, and that mishna refutes the proposed resolution, it is a dispute between one mishna and another mishna, which does not necessarily refute the mishna that he cited.

As a teacher, here is a lesson plan/text study for this passage:

1. A Teacher Is Not Just Someone Smarter Than You

But someone whose method helps you grow.

Rav Yitzḥak bar Yehuda isn’t rejecting Rami bar Ḥama as a person or even as a scholar. He’s saying something subtler and more vulnerable:

Your way of teaching doesn’t work for me.

One teacher teaches through abstract reasoning. Another teaches by anchoring arguments in texts. Rav Yitzḥak knows himself well enough to say: I need grounding before abstraction.

Lesson:
Choosing a teacher isn’t about prestige, brilliance, or reputation. It’s about fit—how someone helps you learn, think, and stand on your own.

Discussion question:

  • When have you learned more from someone less impressive on paper—but better for you?

2. Good Learning Requires Intellectual Stability, Not Just Cleverness

Rav Yitzḥak is worried about fragility. If an argument can be toppled by a single mishnah, it feels unstable. Rav Sheshet’s method gives him a firmer foundation—even when there are contradictions.

Lesson:
A mentor doesn’t just give answers; they give you tools that can withstand challenge and doubt.

This is a powerful meta-lesson for adult learners, especially in moments of uncertainty or crisis:

  • Do our teachers leave us confident, or constantly anxious that the next question will undo everything?

Discussion question:

  • What kind of teaching helps you feel steady rather than constantly on edge?

3. Teachers Are Human—and Can Feel Rejected

Rami bar Ḥama’s reaction is raw, defensive, and emotional. He jokes, but it’s barbed. He feels insulted, diminished, replaced.

The Talmud doesn’t hide that—even great rabbis have egos.

Lesson:
Healthy learning communities require humility on both sides. Students outgrow teachers. Teachers must make peace with that.

Discussion question:

  • Have you ever felt hurt when someone moved on from you—or guilty when you moved on from someone else?

4. Learning Is Not Loyalty; It’s Responsibility

Rav Yitzḥak doesn’t apologize for leaving. He explains himself respectfully—but he does not back down.

There’s a quiet ethical claim here:

I am responsible for how and what I learn.

Lesson:
Judaism values commitment to truth and growth over personal allegiance. Staying with a teacher out of loyalty alone may actually undermine Torah.

Discussion question:

  • When does loyalty become an obstacle to growth?

Framing the Big Question: Who Is Your Teacher? Who Is Your Mentor?

You might end with something like this:

This story asks us to reflect not only on who taught us—but how they taught us.
Who helps you ask better questions?
Who helps you feel grounded when things don’t line up neatly?
Who gives you courage to think for yourself?

Or, more pointedly:

  • Who challenges you—and who stabilizes you?
  • Who teaches you answers, and who teaches you how to live with unanswered questions?
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