Tamid III

2:
The public sacrifices consisted, basically, of the sacrifices that were offered on Sabbaths, New Moons,
Festivals – and daily. The two lambs that were sacrificed every day – one at dawn and the other mid-
afternoon – were termed Tamid in order to distinguish them from the other public sacrifices that
were only offered on certain occasions. To this extent the other, occasional sacrifices were an extra,
offered after the regular daily sacrifice. Thus they came to be called collectively 'Extras', in Hebrew
Musafim. The sacrifice offered daily at dawn in the Bet Mikdash was mirrored in the Shaĥarit
worship that took place in the synagogues all over the Jewish world; the sacrifice offered daily in the
afternoon was mirrored in the Minchah worship in the synagogues; and the Extra sacrifice that was offered
on special days was mirrored in the Musaf worship in the synagogues. [The origin of Arvit, the evening
worship in the synagogues is not clear at all. It is customary to link it to the burning of the
unconsumed fat and limbs on the altar which took place, as we have seen, just before dawn. However
popular this may be as a folk explanation it does not really have any historical or even logical basis.]

3:
The Torah [Numbers 28:2-8] makes the following stipulation:

As most people do, you place the kodesh-kodashim at the site now occupied by the Mosque of Omar.
This may not be correct. Several years ago (10-15) an article appeared in the magazine Biblical
Archeological Review in which the author postulated the actual location of the Bet ha-Mikdash and its
layout. His work was based on measurements and examination of various artifacts then available on Har
ha-Bayit. If you can locate the article, you might find it of interest. I'm sorry that I no longer
have that issue of the magazine.

I respond:

This is a link to the articles that Michael refers to:
http://www.bib-arch.org/barso99/barso99sg1.html

Naomi Koltun-From writes:

1) In Tamid 1:4 and 2:1 the officiating priests are instructed to 'sanctify' [root word kadosh?] their
hands and feet with the water from the laver. What is the purpose of this? Presumably they are already
ritually pure or they wouldn't be up there. Furthermore they are instructed to 'sanctify' at this point
and not to purify – but yet they do it with water. What is the meaning of all this? I realise the washing
is a biblical instruction (as you quoted) but there Aaron is not told to 'sanctity' but just to wash
[which in of itself is a weird request]. Are there any commentaries on the instruction?. You note in your
discussion that the water itself is sacred – where does this come from?

I respond:

A fascinating question – to which, I'm afraid, I do not have a satisfying answer. It would seem that all
the commentators understand that the hands are washed in order to purify them and purified hands are
considered sanctified – in the sense that now those hands can touch sacred objects. Naomi's assumption
that the priests are already ritually clean is correct: we have noted on several occasions that in order
for anyone to enter the priestly court they must have previously bathed in a mikveh. In his commentary
on Tamid 1:4 Rambam automatically assumes that 'wash' and 'sanctify' in our context are synonymous. A
paraphrase of his comment: The Torah commands that no one shall approach the altar without having
sanctified their hands and this derives from the command to Aaron to wash his hands… as Naomi
noted. The other commentators make a similar assumption.

I don't know whether it would help, but perhaps we could return to a comment I made when discussing that
mishnah, when I referred to the duty to this day that the hands are to be washed ritually by everyone
first thing every morning before worship. The Shulĥan Arukh of Rabbi Yosef Karo [published 1556]
deals with this matter in Oraĥ Ĥayyim 4:1. The commentators point out that two explanations
have been offered as to why one must wash one's hands first thing in the morning. According to one
explanation it is because people's hands are 'active' during sleep and touch various parts of the body
which are considered to be polluting. According to another explanation one washes the hands first thing
in the morning because upon awakening from sleep we have been reborn as it were; thus we must rededicate
[sanctify] ourselves to divine service 'just like the priest does in the Temple'. I hope this helps.

A very persistent Albert Ringer asks yet again:

I am still interested in how much of the altar could be seen. A last try: could people see what went on
in the temple from Har Hazofim?

I respond:

I don't know. I would think not, since the view from Mount Scopus would have been blocked by the
Fortress of Antonia would it not? This Roman garrison was built adjacent to the precincts of the Bet
Mikdash. Perhaps Albert had in mind The Mount of Olives. We are told by the Mishnah that when
performing a certain ritual on the Mount of Olives the High Priest had to be able to see some part of the
Bet Mikdash. He was able to see the top of the very high portal of the Vestibule, which was ten metres
high. If he could only see the top of this building it is unlikely that he could see the altar, which
was only 5 metres high.

5:
The Gazit Room is probably the most well-known today of all the chambers of the Bet Mikdash, for its
memory has played a foremost part in the yearnings of the Jewish people for the restoration of the Temple
and its ritual over almost two thousand years. The Gazit Room was the chamber where the Great Sanhedrin
held its meetings. Rambam, in his exposition in Mishneh Torah [Bet ha-Beĥirah 7:6], mentions
incidentally that this chamber straddled the edge of the Azarah; thus half of it was within the precincts
of the Azarah and half of it was outside, projecting into the terrace that surrounded the whole complex
of courts and buildings. Although the Great Sanhedrin was the highest halakhic authority in the Jewish
world, its main daily task was checking the pedigree of the priests who arrived for duty. The Mishnah
[Kiddushin 4:4] describes the extent to which a detailed investigation of a priest's pedigree was
undertaken, to make certain that no one who claimed to be a priest would be permitted to officiate unless
the Great Sanhedrin was certain that his claim had been substantiated. When we studied Tractate Kiddushin
a question was posed:

7:

1. 'Who will splash' the blood of the slaughtered animal against the side of the altar. This act was an
   essential feature of the sacrificial ritual; it is specifically mentioned seventeen times in the book of
   Leviticus alone.

2. 'Who will remove the ash from the inner altar'. We have already mentioned that this much smaller
   altar of pure gold stood inside the main hall [Heikhal] of the Bet Mikdash and was used for burning
   incense. This part of the ritual will be discussed in mishnah six of this chapter.

3. 'Who will tend to the candelabrum'. The verisimilitude of this candelabrum may be seen to this day on
   the arch of Titus in Rome, where the spoils of victory decorate the monument, and it is, of course, the
   emblem of the governing institutions of the State of Israel. This part of the ritual will be described in
   mishnah nine.

4. 'Who will take the limbs up the ramp – the head, the foot'. The various parts of the dismembered
   carcass would be ceremonially carried to the altar. This would actually be done in two stages: the limbs
   would be left halfway up the ramp at which point everybody would go back to the Gazit Room for morning
   prayers and only afterwards would the sacrificial ritual be resumed. The rest of our mishnah details the
   various parts of the dismembered animal. The first in the procession carried the animals head and rear
   right leg.

5. 'The two hands' refers to the two front feet.
6. 'The tail and the [other] foot': the rear part of the animal's tail, where it joins the rump, and the
   animal's left foot.

7. 'The breast and the neck'. More accurately we would mention the fatty tissue adhering to the breast
   and the whole alimentary segment of the carcass – the neck and the ribs and connected to them the
   windpipe, the heart and the lungs.

8. 'Both flanks', together with the backbone, the spleen and the liver.
9. 'The guts' – what was left of them together with the legs.
10. 'The flour' for the accompanying cereal offering.
11. 'The pancakes' which would be offered by the High Priest. We have already seen that these were
    prepared daily.

12. 'The wine' for the accompanying libation.

I respond:

No, I think not. My meaning was that unfortunately, even today no one will say that there is not enough
room for them to stay in Jerusalem. The hotels are empty. Would that Jews from all over the world would
be coming to Jerusalem at this time, until there is no room left for anyone to stay.

Poul Ezra writes:

Numbers 28.8 requires a delicious-smelling sacrifice. Burnt flesh has an awful odour. What did the priest
do to make it delicious-smelling?

I respond:

Is that not what the incense was for? A later mishnah is this chapter will (exaggeratedly?) describe how
so strong an incense was used that sheep grazing on Mount Machaeros on the far side of the River Jordan
would sneeze when the wind carried the scent in their direction. That sounds like pretty heady stuff.

Again in response to a query, I wrote: It would seem that all the commentators understand that the
hands are washed in order to purify them and purified hands are considered sanctified – in the sense that
now those hands can touch sacred objects. The assumption that the priests are already ritually clean is
correct: we have noted on several occasions that in order for anyone to enter the priestly court they
must have previously bathed in a mikveh.

My colleague, Arnold Stiebel, supplements:

My Rabbi's explanation (of ages ago) was the ritual washing of hands was to re-purify the mind of the
priest (or others) before a sacred act. From the time of their entering the mikveh and donning the holy
vestments, if an impure thought came to mind, the act of washing of the hands was a reminder to them to
think higher. The same when we wash before making a blessing to eat.

2:
The superintendent (Rabbi Ovadya of Betinoro says that this was the role of the deputy High Priest) would
now depute someone to go and check whether dawn had broken. I would assume that he would have chosen
someone who had not yet been lucky in the lottery. Out of the twenty-four aspirants so far only fourteen
had actually some ritual task to perform (the one who got the privilege of clearing the ashes from the
altar and the thirteen mentioned in the previous mishnah). This person would go up onto some roof which
would give him a clear view of the eastern sky. I find it strange that the Mishnah does not specify
where this lookout spot was. After all, it has been most diligent so far in describing the topography of
the various parts of the Bet Midrash in considerable detail. Nor have I found that any of the classical
commentators have noticed this fact. One possibility is, of course, that there was no one special place
that was used for this purpose, but that the deputed lookout could himself chose where to station himself.

3:
The lookout would look for signs that the eastern sky was beginning to brighten. According to Rambam in
his commentary on Berakhot 1:1, dawn breaks seventy-two minutes before sunrise. For example, sunrise
today in Jerusalem was at 6.30 am, which means that the first light of day could be seen – given a clear
sky – at 5.18 am. When the lookout was certain that he had seen the beginning of light in the eastern sky
he would call out 'Light!' The Hebrew term used by our mishnah is strange, 'Barkai'. The word is
obviously connected with the idea of a shaft of light (the same root to this day indicates lightening).
What the lookout obviously means is that he has seen the first light of day.

4:
The text of what follows in our mishnah is phrased in language that is typical when bringing a view that
is different in some way from that of Tanna Kamma. However, in this case, as we shall see later on, it
is possible to understand the phrase differently. According to the traditional way of understanding the
text, a Tanna – Matya ben-Shemu'el – gives a variant conversation. (Our mishnah is duplicated in Yoma 3:1,
where the name is given as Matitya: Matya is obviously a diminutive of Matitya.) In his commentary on
Mishnah Yoma 3:1 Rambam understands our Mishnah as follows:

Aryeh Abramovitz writes:

I heard an interesting explanation on the meaning of isheh, which is usually translated 'holocaust'
or 'burnt offering' from the root 'esh' – fire. According to Prof. Israel Knohl, isheh is the
feminine form of shai, as in akriv shai lamora. So it would be a 'deliciously-smelling gift'…
It also seems to me that 'holocaust' is a good translation for olah which is a completely burnt
offering (as these were, but isheh is used in conjunction with partially burnt offerings as well).

I respond:

The first part of Aryeh's comment is interesting (though I obdurately remain unconvinced). In biblical
Hebrew nouns created by adding a preformative Alef to the root are not numerous; indeed in some cases the
original Alef was lopped off, as in the case of shtayim, 'two'. However, I find it very difficult
to accept Aryeh's second comment. After all, the Tamid itself is an Olah (completely incinerated)
and the synonym Isheh is used to qualify it specifically.

Albert Ringer returns us to the question of ritual purity:

Can it be that the washing of hands and feet has the simple purpose of purifying these parts? The priests
have washed outside the azara and is ritualy clean at that moment. However, he may have poluted hands and
feet by walking a non-sacred floor or touching a door. If I remember well, we wash our hands while making
kidush beacause the outside of the container with a liquid brings polution to the hands. A dry door might
not do that in a modern halachical sense, a priest in the temple might want to be certain.

I respond:

An incidental comment: there is no requirement to wash the hands before making Kiddush over wine.

When I described the details of the lottery I wrote: He would then tell them all to hold out one
finger … The superintendent would then count the fingers from the one he had indicated as the starting
point until he reached the number which had been agreed.

Rick Dinitz writes:

I remember a commentary on this mishnah that exlained hatzbi'u slightly differently. Rather than
holding out only one finger, each kohen would choose the number of fingers he would extend. Since each
kohen would decide the number of fingers for himself, neither the superintendent nor any individual kohen
could manipulate the lottery to a particular outcome. In contrast, if each kohen always extended one
finger, the superintendent could easily do mental aritmetic to select a starting point that would lead to
a predetermined outcome.

I respond (mischeviously):

Are we to assume that votes were rigged even then? On a more serious note: there are several similar
suggestions, one that I recall having something to do with the priests' hats.

2:
The priest thus deputed would have to cross the courtyard from one side to the other, heading in the
direction of the Hearth Room, where he and his colleagues had spent the night. The Hearth Room was part
of a complex of four rooms. They probably were all surrounding a central area in which a fire was kept
burning all the time. Our mishnah lists all the offices that were housed in that complex. As we enter
the complex from the Azarah we have two rooms to our right and two rooms to our left. Nearest us on our
right is a room in which they would prepare the Shewbread; further in on that same side was the Seal Room.
On our left and nearest to us is the room we are looking for, the Lamb Room, and further in is the Hearth
Room.

3:
The Bet Mikdash was run in many respects like a business venture. In theory, people bringing private
sacrifices would provide their own additional items – libations, cereal offerings etc. However, since
these items had to be prepared and maintained in a state of ritual purity, right up until the moment they
were used, it was much more convenient for all concerned to purchase these items at the last minute 'on
the spot'. For example, the Mishnah [Shekalim 5:4] describes how someone who wished to purchase
wine for a libation (an offering of wine or oil or cereal) to accompany a private sacrifice would first
have to run the gauntlet of the Temple bureaucracy. First he would visit the Seal Room. There he would
hand over the sum of money required and would receive from the priest in charge a chit ('seal').
According to the Mishnah [Shekalim 5:3] there were several kinds of chit: 'Calf', 'Ram', 'Kid',
'Indigent Leper', 'Well-to-do Leper'. 'Calf' meant that the bearer had paid for a libation to accompany
the sacrifice of a herd animal; 'Ram' actually referred to rams; 'Kid' indicated that the bearer had paid
for a libation to accompany the sacrifice of an flock animal. Someone recovering from a skin disease was
required to bring an offering (a total of three flock animals) which was accompanied by a libation of
cereal mixed with oil [Leviticus 14:10]. However, the Torah [Leviticus 14:21] recognizes
that such an outlay might be problematic for someone 'financially challenged', so it provides for an
alternative (one animal and smaller libations). Armed with the appropriate chit the worshipper would now
go to the priest in charge of libations, hand over the chit and receive his libation. (The products were
purchased by this priest from outside contractors.) At the end of each day these two arms of Temple
bureaucracy would meet together in order to 'make the books add up'.

4:
The other room of which we must speak is the room in which they prepared the Shewbread. Since this item,
while of considerable interest, does not have a direct connection with our main topic, I shall make do
with an edited quotation from the Encyclopedia Judaica:

Many of us are concerned with the apparent secrecy of the rituals in the Temple. As standard, only 52
weeks x 24 men/week = 1248 men per year would be allowed to be witnesses to the rituals in the Azarah,
and when we relate this to a Jewish population of a few million at that time, it is almost a secret. Not
to mention the prohibition to non-Jews to witness those rituals. There is an interesting quote in this
respect, from Josephus Flavius, relating to the reign of Herod Agrippa: in Antiquities, Book XX, Chapter
8.11 he writes:

I don't buy any of this. Nowhere in all our vast literature on the subject of the rituals of the Bet
Mikdash do we find even a hint that the rituals were secret. They are stated in the Torah, amplified in
the Mishnah and Talmuds, in the Midrashim and the Baraitot – all of which are documents open to the
perusal of all people, Jew and non-Jew alike. Permitting anyone who wished to be in attendance in the
Priestly Courtyard was a logistic impossibility: it just could not hold all the masses that thronged the
Temple area at all times. That is why it was required that at least representatives of the people be
present at the public rituals. (For private rituals the person bringing the offering was required to be
present in the priestly courtyard throughout the offering, so the 'goings on' in the Bet Mikdash were not
witnessed by the members of the Ma'amad alone.)

As for Josephus, it is well-known that he is a most unreliable source when it comes to gossip and 'local
colour'. The very king, Herod Agrippa [40-44 CE], that he refers to was the darling of the sages and
they didn't have a bad word to say about him. Factually, the royal palace was on the western side of the
city (not far from what is now the Jaffa Gate). It would have been impossible for anyone sitting inside
the palace to see what was going on in the Temple Courtyard many hundreds of metres to the east and high
up on the Temple Mount. Juan-Carlos, would you buy a second-hand car from Josephus?

2:
The animal was given a drink of water just before it was to be slaughtered because, apparently, this would
make it easier to skin it after it was killed.

3:
When the Torah institutes the daily sacrifice, the Tamid [Numbers 28:3] it specifically states that
the animal must be a perfect yearling – that is to say that it must be one year old and have no physical
blemishes. These animals were housed in a special room where they were constantly checked for blemishes
in the days leading up to their brief moment of glory. However, as our mishnah says, one last check was
now made to make certain that the selected animal had not become accidentally blemished overn night. The
priesthood was not always so meticulous in this regard. The prophet Malachi [1:6-8] at the very
beginning of the period of the Second Temple castigates the priests for using second-and third-rate
animals for sacrifice.

Juan-Carlos Kiel writes:

I always thought that the Basilica built on the south side of the Temple, over the Ĥulda gates and
passges, where today is the Al-Aqsa mosque, was were the Lishkat ha-Gazit stood. A really magestic
building, that could house the 'Supreme Court', i.e.: the Great Sanhedrin, the lesser courts and even be
a center of learning, The size of the Lishkat ha-Gazit 'riding' atop the wall that encircles the Azarah
would make it a much smaller room, unfit for public sessions, involving 71 members and all the witnesses,
minor scholars, etc. On the other side, this would enable perhaps to non ma'amad members to
witness the rituals in the Azarah…

I respond:

There are very cogent reasons for assuming that the 'really majestic building' to which Juan-Carlos draws
our attention was not the Gazit Room. When we studied tractate Sanhedrin [10:2] we learned that
attached to the Bet Mikdash were three courts:

Also in connection with the Gazit Room: Monique Susskind Goldberg writes:

You are placing the Lishkat Hagazit on the southern side of the Azarah. In the map of the Bet ha-Mikdash
included in the Kahati Mishnah, it is placed on the northern side, the same side as the Hearth Room. Do
you have any comment?

I respond:

The last mishnah of tractate Middot clearly places the Gazit Room on the southern wall of the Azarah.
Kahati is basing himself on a variant reading of this text quoted in the Gemara [Yoma 19a], which
reverses the sides. This variant reading was quoted by Rambam in Mishneh Torah [Bet ha-Beĥirah
5:16]. However, in his commentary on that mishnah he makes no comment; but, significantly (and perhaps
wisely?), in the diagram of the layout of the Bet Mikdash (found in Rambam's own handwriting in the second
version of his Mishnah Commentary, deposited with many of his personal artifacts in the Cairo Genizah) he
omits placing the Gazit Room anywhere!

I described the making of the Shewbread. Liliana Trodler-Laine writes:

I always understood or perhaps misunderstood that there was a relationship between the shewbread, the
offering of fine wheat and today's ĥalot. If this is so shouldn't we incorporate semolina in the
making of the ĥalot?

I respond:

I am unaware of any direct connection between the Shewbread and the ĥallot that we use at our dining
tables on Shabbat and Yom-Tov. The term ĥallah in this context simply refers to a loaf of
bread. On the other hand, if someone wants to use semolina to bake their ĥallot I cannot think of a
reason why they should not do so. It might be fun – but I cannot guarantee gastronomic pleasure. My
dictionary defines semolina as 'hard grains left after the bolting of of flour, used in puddings etc.'
The term derives from the diminutive of the Italian 'semola', bran. A cookbook which we have says that
semolina is much used in Indian baking and the results are 'interesting'.

2:
The first mishnah of our present chapter described how the priests on duty that morning would be allocated
their tasks. The priest who had won the privilege of actually slaughtering the sacrifice would now take
charge of the animal that had been retrieved from the Lambs' Room. Our mishnah says that the priest in
question would to lead it to the place of slaughtering; however, the same Hebrew verb could also be given
other meanings: that he would drag it or that he would take charge of it, receive it into his custody.
While there is no practical difference to these possible understanding of the verbs, they certainly have
emotional consequences. Are we to picture in our mind's eye a one-year-old lamb being led docile to its
slaughter? Such a picture could have influenced the prophet when he describes the fate of the suffering
servant of God [Isaiah 53:7] as one 'who did not protest, like a sheep being led to the slaughter'.
A completely different picture would be created in our minds if we are to imagine that lamb being dragged
to the place of sacrifice, unwilling, fearful. Of course, neither picture need be correct. It could be
that all that our mishnah wishes to say is that the priest now took charge of the animal. One of the
halakhic means of obtaining legal possession of something is to 'lead it'. We discussed this fully when
we studied Kiddushin 1:4. The structure of the sentence of our mishnah leads me to believe that the most
appropriate construction would be: 'The priest who had won the privilege of slaughtering the Tamid would
take charge of it and proceed to the slaughterhouse', with twelve of his colleagues following in his wake.

3:
The description of the slaughterhouse in our mishnah is precise but ambivalent. It is almost as if the
author were assuming that the reader knew what his description meant because he could see it with his own
eyes. First of all we must clarify that there was no slaughterhouse as such in the Bet Mikdash. Inside
the Priests' Court was an unroofed open area, situated between the altar and the Hearth Room where the
appurtenances of the sacrificial slaughter were assembled. It is this area that our mishnah describes.

4:
It would perhaps be helpful here to quote from Tractate Middot 5:2, a mishnah which describes the
placement of the various facilities in the Priests' Court, in a line from South to North. (The total
distance from wall to wall was 135 cubits – about 67.5 metres.)

5:
Eight small posts were fixed into the floor of the Court, between the rings and the far wall. Rambam, in
his commentary on our present mishnah, writes: …short posts with cedarwood bases – i.e. wide,
thick slabs. Each post was fitted with three hooks. These were used to suspend the carcasses
while they were skinned and dismembered. These iron hooks were either one on top of the other so as to
accommodate animals of various sizes, or they were placed on three sides of the post so that more than
one person could be at work.

6:
Lastly our mishnah refers to marble tables. After slaughter and dismemberment the animals internal
organs were washed on these tables together with all the external organs, so as to removed from them as
much blood as possible.

2:
Since the sanctuary will play a part in the discussions of the tractate it would perhaps be useful if we
describe its general layout now – at least those details that are important to our understanding of the
tractate. The large building – according to Middot 4:7 it was fifty metres wide – consisted of three
parts. The main entrance was approached by a flight of twelve steps that gave access to the vestibule.
This was a very large and very high entrance hall, but only 5.5 metres deep. The vestibule [Ulam]
gave access to the Sanctuary [Heikhal], which was twenty metres long and ten metres wide. It
contained three articles of furniture: the golden altar, the golden candelabrum and the golden table for
the Shewbread. The Sanctuary gave access to the Holy of Holies, a cube measuring ten metres on all sides.
It is assumed that the rock that now projects up into the mosque of Omar on the Temple Mount was the
'Foundation Stone' which projected into the heart of the Holy of Holies. This assumption is not
uncontested and some modern scholars think that the centre of the Holy of Holies was actually a few metres
distant. (One solitary scholar thinks that the rock in the mosque is the remains of the foundation of the
main altar in the Azarah, which would be a much more consequential displacement of the layout.)

3:
We must imagine our two priests crossing the Azarah and, in the first light of dawn, mounting the
twelve steps that led up to the Vestibule. They are carrying utensils that will serve them when they
carry out their task. The golden basket is described as being a three-'kav'-er. This is an
awkward translation of the Hebrew Tarkav which was a term used to describe a utensil that could
contain three kavs. The Kav was a unit of capacity. We have already noted that each
Kav was the equivalent of about 1.92 litres, so a 'Three-Kav' basket would hold about 5.75 litres.
However, as our mishnah takes pains to point out, the golden basket that one of our priests is carrying
was only similar in shape to the well-known 'Three-Kav' basket, since this one could only contain the
approximate equivalent of 4.8 litres. The golden basket was the trash can into which the priest would
remove the ashes from the golden altar. Rambam, in his commentary on the first mishnah of Chapter 6, says
that the golden pitcher that the other priest was carrying was the trash can into which he would empty the
residue from the Candelabrum.

4:
The priests were also carrying two keys, that they would use to open the doors of the Heikhal. Our
mishnah, using what is for us a rather enigmatic description, says that one of the keys 'went down to the
armpit'. It is clear that this phrase was from popular language, but its precise meaning is no longer
clear to us. On the right hand side of the main entrance to the Heikhal was a wicket entrance. The
priests would enter the Heikhal from the Vestibule through this wicket, which was secured by two
locks. Rambam, in his commentary on our present mishnah, writes:

5:
The other lock was presumably straight in front of the opener, on the outside, so it 'opened normally'.

Many years ago, when I was first baking my own bread and also re-discovering my connection with Judaism,
I interpreted 'fine wheat' [semolina – SR] as 'the wheat that was the finest for a person to eat.' Hence,
I used whole wheat flour in making my ĥallah. One Friday, as I was kneading the ĥallah dough, my
hands spoke to me, saying, 'We are also involved in this process, and kneading whole wheat flour is a very
rough process. Try using white flour, and we'll be much more able to appreciate Shabbos!' Ever since then,
I've used (unbleached) white flour, and add some wheat germ for nutrition purposes. My hands thank me
every time I do it.

I respond:

We too bake our own ĥallot and we use whole-wheat flour because of its nutritional value. Our hands
have no need to converse with us on this matter since the kneading is done for us by a wonderful
breadmaking machine, which does all the work except the braiding.

2:
So, after entering the Vestibule, our priest crosses it diagonally until he reaches the right hand wicket.
It is this wicket which he opens with the two keys, as described in the previous mishnah. The wicket gave
entrance into a narrow passageway that occupied the space between the Heikhal itself and the
complex of cells that surrounded it. Our mishnah has a parallel in tractate Middot; however in Middot
there is a maĥloket [difference of opinion] between Tanna Kamma and Rabbi Yehudah bar-Ilai.

3:
He would fold the inner doors back against the wall of the Heikhal. (Apart from the space occupied
by these doors when folded back all the walls of the Heikhal were plated with gold.) Now he could
open the doors that gave access to the Vestibule. These doors were obviously bolted from within by a huge
bar which rested into sockets which could be slid open to release the bar. It is these sockets that our
mishnah calls 'openers'. He could now remove the bar and push open the massive doors. Our mishnah states
that the sound of these doors opening was also the signal for the slaughter of the lamb.

2:
The fact that in the previous mishnah the opening of the great doors of the Heikhal (Sanctuary) was
mentioned – in great detail – is the connecting link with our present mishnah: when the priest opened the
great doors that were described in our previous mishnah the sound could be heard 25 kilometres away! When
we were studying tractate Rosh ha-Shanah we had occasion to question the ability of observers to see the
light of beacons over great distances, even though there were participants who claimed that with almost no
other light to block their view it may have been possible for observers to see a beacon that was being
waved up and down even at great distances. However, would the relative quiet of the early morning have
made it possible for the creaking of an admittedly massive set of doors to be heard at a site some 25
kilometres distant?

3:
What was the Magrefah, a designation that I left untranslated in the translation above. One thing
is clear: it emitted musical sounds of some kind. Weird and wonderful claims are made about this musical
contraption in the Gemara [Arachin 10b at the very bottom of the page]:

4:
The wooden contraption invented by ben-Katin – probably a High Priest who officiated some time during the
last decades of the Bet Mikdash – has been mentioned by us already and described as much as possible.
The likelihood of the creaking of this wooden wheel (which would haul up the laver from its cistern) being
heard 25 kilometres away is surely negligible.

5:
Gabini was the Herald of the Bet Mikdash, presumably in the last days of its existence. According to
Rambam, in his commentary on our mishnah, it was his task to alert 'all men to their stations' just before
dawn, when he would announce 'Priests to their ritual post, Levites to their station and Israelites to
their Ma'amad!'. I wonder whether the muezzin of the Aqsa mosque today, with all his electronic
amplification, could be heard in Jericho…

6:
The flute was sounded at the main altar on twelve festive days of the year: on 14th Nisan, when the
Paschal lamb was slaughtered in its thousands; on 15th Nisan, the first day of Pesach; on 14th Iyyar,
which was a second Passover opportunity for those who legitimately missed the original celebration; on
Shavu'ot; and on all eight days of Sukkot. The mishnah [Arachin 2:3] tells us that the flute used
was not a metal flute, but a solo reed flute, because it sounded nicer. Could a solo reed flute played in
Jerusalem be heard in Jericho?

How far into the 330 year history of Judah did this order of sacrifices continue? Were there breaks in the
continuity?

I respond:

It is difficult for me to understand Barak's question, since I do not know to which historical entity the
330 years refer. The Kingdom of Judah in biblical times was created with the death of Solomon (let's say
around 957 BCE) and was discontinued by the Babylonians in the year 587 BCE – that is a total of 370 years.
The state of Judah was recreated after the return from the Babylonian exile and the Second Bet Mikdash was
reconsecrated in the year 515 BCE (although sacrifices had been offered on the site since 538 BCE). The
Bet Mikdash was destroyed by the Romans in the year 70 CE which yields a total of 585 years.

We have no indications that the sacrificial cult in Jerusalem during biblical times was not continuous.
During the period of the Second Temple possibly there was the well-known hiatus associated with the clash
between the Hasmoneans and their supporters and the Hellenists, commemorated in the festival of Chanukah.
Apart from that we have no certain knowledge of any interruption of the sacrificial cult during this
period until about three weeks before the Bet Mikdash was destroyed.

David Sieradzki writes:

I am having a very difficult time understanding what you mean. Specifically, what do you mean by a
'wicket'? (as distinguished from a door, gate, or entrance), the Vestibule? (as distinguished from the
Heikhal). Also, with all respect, can you comment on or remind us of what greater principles or
lessons for life we can learn from the material in this massekhet of Mishnah (beyond curiosities in
historical archeology of the Temple Mount and the general merit of learning Torah lishma)? I'm afraid
I'm having difficulties motivating myself to focus on some of this material.

I respond:

In explanation #2 on 1:3 I wrote:

On 1:1 (explanation #3) I wrote:

Perhaps some of you would like to comment on the basis of what we have learned so far.

Our mishnah suggests that the clash of cymbals, the singing of the choir and the sounding of the Shofar
could be heard in Jericho. I find this, too, hard to accept, except as a pious exaggeration. I am
certain that even the raucous roar of thousands of soccer fans in Teddy Stadium when Beitar scores a goal
against ha-Po'el could not be heard in Jericho.

8:
At the height of the most impressive solemnities of the Yom Kippur ritual in the Bet Mikdash the High
Priest would invoke the name of God using the original pronunciation of the word, a pronunciation which
has now been irrecoverably lost. In my explanation (#6) of Sanhedrin 7:6 I wrote:

9:
Mount Machaeros is in Transjordan, which makes it even further distant from Jerusalem than Jericho. While
I am extremely skeptical about the probability of the incense offered in the Bet Mikdash being strong
enough in its perfume to cause sheep to sneeze all those kilometres away, I prefer to leave the question
open for greater experts in animal husbandry than I am to answer.

Also, with all respect, can you comment on or remind us of what greater principles or lessons for
life we can learn from the material in this massekhet of Mishnah … I'm afraid I'm having difficulties
motivating myself to focus on some of this material.

Bayla Singer offers her response:

Coincidentally, in my local Bible Class, we're studying a section of Exodus which focuses minutely on the
details of the tabernacle, altar etc (Chapter 25 et seq), and the parallel question has come up: what
moral or ethical principles can we learn from this? With respect to the altar and its fittings, our Rabbi
has commented that the details give us a vivid picture of exactly what was involved in the sacrifice: that
it wasn't the neat, almost antiseptic, activity that we moderns are likely to visualize. (Modern scholars
have noted that as far as the Bible is concerned, in the narrative portions we are not given much detail;
the spare, compact language is in sharp contrast to such ancient Mediterranean epics as the Gilgamesh,
the Iliad and the Odyssey.) With respect to Talmud, Jacob Neusner, in his 'Invitation to the Talmud' – a
teaching book – has suggested two underlying reasons for the elaboration of detail in Talmud. One is
superficial: in surrounding cultures (and indeed in Europe until very recently) 'court etiquette' was
extremely detailed and compliance was seen as a matter of respect to the office; could one then offer less
respect to the Almighty? Another is perhaps less obvious: arrangements were spelled out in order to
embody principles, some of which may have been lost to us. As pious 'archaeologists' we can try to
reconstruct these principles. Neusner offers as example the inquiry into the order in which activities
such as the ushering-in of Shabbat occur. My memory supplies 'wine first, or candles first?' (I don't
have the book at hand). Another example which might be offered is the question of the Ĥanukah candles:
from eight the first night to one on the last, or vice versa? For these, we have the underlying
principles discussed; for others, it is as the math texts say 'an exercise for the reader.'

Perhaps some would like to take up Bayla's challenge.

Zackary Berger writes on the same topic:

No matter how hard I try I cannot conjure up a true yearning for the restoration of the sacrificial
system. This is true of most Conservative Jews. So why not remove the out-of-date references? After all,
the liturgy has been changed many times over the years. Why not? Because the Temple and its sacrifices are
the primary (sole?) organizing principle of our prayers, a metaphor which we pray in reference to. In
fact, our notion of galut has become inextricably linked up with the destruction of Jerusalem and our
Temple, even though the first is rebuilt and the second is something I yearn for only metaphysically. And
maybe that is how we should revive the meaning of the sacrifices today: with the notion that there is
nothing in our prayers, no formula that can grant us the atonement that was so powerfully felt by our
ancestors on Yom Kippur after the Cohen Gadol emerged from the Holy of Holies. We can use a different
metaphor: in fact, maybe we should start developing an alternative. But it will take a few hundred years
before any alternative, more modern metaphor approaches the historical resonance and beauty of the
traditional yearning for the Temple.

I comment:

See what I wrote in the Masorti Siddur, Va'ani Tefillati, page 382-383.

Avraham Jacobs offers a different tack:

I would like to comment on the value of remembering the ceremonies held in the Temple. First of all these
ceremonies and offerings are explicitly mentioned as Mitzvot in the Torah. Was the Temple not destroyed,
we would still bring twice daily the Tamid. However, already with the destruction of the first Temple,
Prophets differ in their visions about the functioning of the last and final Temple, e.g. Ezekiel
starting chapter 40, Isaiah 66. Also prophets active during the second temple, notably Malachi were very
critical. Malachi has been said to hint that in the last Temple only the mincha offering will remain.
Secondly, after the destruction of the second Temple, and even before, prayers were substituted for the
services and offerings in the temple. Our prayers perform the same function as the offerings in the
Temple, namely to bring us in closer contact with God. The mentioning of these offerings in our prayers,
and even the expression of yearning for revival of these services is a token of our feeling of unity with
our ancestors. Personally I don't like the phrase in some prayer books as 'There our ancestors sacrificed
to You with their daily offerings…'. Our ancestors brought our offerings also. Had they not had the
offerings in the Temple, we probably would not be here. We and our ancestors and our progeny are one.
That is my understanding of 'Kol Israel arevim ze laze'. The question remains how do we depict the Temple
for which we daily pray. I think that is exactly what each and every individual prays for. One person sees
himself as the priest Ezekiel, another as Malachi, and still others pray for the Shul of All Nations. I
have very much respect for the orthodoxy, not wanting to go again through the frustrations of the second
Temple, so for the time this question remains purely hypothetical. But, when finally, That Day arrives,
with the sounding of Shofar Hagadol, and the Bet Hamikdash will descend from Heaven, and all that remains
for us is fixing the doors, I am quite sure, that from that same Source will descend a spirit of unity
among us, and there will be no differences of opinion of what will burn on the altar. Then we will be
'goy eĥad ba'aretz'.

2:
We could ask ourselves why he did not take the basket of trash with him. In his commentary of our mishnah
Rabbi Ovadya of Bertinoro gives the reason:-

Albert Ringer takes me to task:

Eric Wener describes the Magrepha in The Sacred Bridge (Volume II, pg 15) as follows: To the signal
instruments, which accompanied certain sacrifices, belongs the rather enigmatic magrepha, which was either
a small steam siren, or a massive kind of tam-tam, which could be filled with burning coals.
Organs, as we know them, did not exist in Roman times.

I respond:

The description to the 'enigmatic' Magrefah as being 'a small steam siren … filled with burning
coals' cries out with all its might for some kind of source. How does the author know this? It certainly
is not supported by any of our sources that are known to me. On the other hand, the authoritative 'Pelican
History of Music' contains the following penned by Peter Crossley-Holland (page 109): A small pipe-
organ (magrepha) rather like the panpipes (syrinx) seems to have appeared around the beginning of the
common era.

Albert Ringer also takes the opportunity to relate to the immediate question raised by David Sieradzki
about relevance:

As you pointed out already during your explanation, this mishna describes the temple and its daily
procedure mainly as it was in the last period of its functioning, say from the time of Herod on. The
quite simple and probably poorly run sanctuary of the time of Ezra and Nehemia was, through time, enlarged
and embellished, lastly by Herod. All Jews in the Roman world paid yearly taxes to the temple, making it
one of its richest and grandiose institutions. That alone makes the mishna interesting as a historical
source. Our ancestors found the various descriptions of the temple and its ritual of a high religious
value. The descriptions where seen as a kind of ideal organization, instituted directly by God. For them,
the description contained a kind of shadow both of the mechanisms of the heavenly spheres as of the world
to come. They tried to form their world to reflect this image. A good understanding of the synagogue
ritual is probably impossible without a good knowledge of the temple ritual. In short, I find the text
highly interesting and do not see why it should be of less moral content then, for instance, rules about
when exactly to say the Shema.

Yiftah Shapir writes:

Magrefa: the word appears several more times in the Mishna (like Shabbat 17:2) in some of these cases it
is quite clear that the Mishna is referring to a household tool – and not a musical instrument. In other
places it is a tool of the Mikdash – but not necessarily a musical one (Sheqalim 8:2). Morover, if we
read a few pages on in Tractate Tamid (5:6) – we hear about the Magrefa and its loud sound again: but it
seems to me obvious that the mishna there is not referrig to a musical instrument: it tells us that it is
thrown between the Heikhal and the Mizbeah. My simplistic understanding is that you throw a tool, not a
musical instrument, and the sound heard is the sound of a metal object hitting the stone floor…

I comment:

We must carefully distinguish between the various meanings of the word magrefah, whose original
meaning is – as I pointed out in the relevant shiur – a rake. It seems reasonable that Rambam is correct
when he surmises that the 'musical instrument' was so called because its external shape was reminiscent
of a rake. It still seems to me that the Magrefah was a pipe instrument of some kind. Its being thrown
is also perhaps connected with the way in which the air was passed through the pipes. One of my
grandchildren was given last Ĥanukah a 'sevivon' that had holes in it and when it was spun it played
Mozart – seriously! Also see Crossley-Holland as quoted above.

Yiftah further comments:

In modern Hebrew the word Hallil is of course a flute, but I remember reading in a book about musical
history that in ancient times the word referred to some kind of a drum – which is hollow (Hallul – hence
the word Hallil). Reading the Mishnah you are referring to -(Arakhin 2:3) is possible under this
understandig, too. It says that the "Hallil" is struck with a pipe ("Abuv") of reed rather than with a
pipe of copper. One can understand it as saying that it is a drum which is to be struck by a reed baton
rather than a copper baton!

I respond:

The idea that the ĥalil of the mishnah is a drum rather than a flute is very intriguing. I have
always been struck by the fact that the verb used in connection with this instrument is invariably 'to
strike', and I had assumed that 'strike the flute' meant to 'strike up'. However, in the same article
that I quoted above, Peter Crossley-Holland also writes: 'Though ĥalil is now the name given to a
flute, the old ĥalil was a double oboe of oriental or Egyptian origin, unknown in the services of
the First Temple.' And, since we have twice quoted Crossley-Holland, let me complete the quotation: here
is what he writes about the chorus and orchestra: 'Towards the end of its time … the Second Temple still
had a chorus of Levites to sing the Psalms … The minimum number of men was twelve, aged between thirty
and fifty, and their period of training was five years. These might be joined by Levite boys 'to add
sweetness to the sound'. The Temple orchestra consisted of a minimum of twelve players, playing nine
lyres, two harps, and one pair of cymbals. On each of twelve festal days two ĥalilim were added.'

The mishnah quoted says that the steps were semi-circular, but it does not say whether they were convex
or concave. Most depictions of them assume that they were convex, since admittedly that seems to be more
pleasing from the aesthetic point of view. However, the mishnah also describes them as being 'like a
rounded half-threshing floor'. This phrase is already known to us from a description in tractate
Sanhedrin [4:4] of the manner in which the judges would sit: The court sat in a semi-circle, so that
they could see each other. (The original Hebrew there also uses the phrase 'like a rounded half-
threshing floor' to describe the semi-circle.) In Sanhedrin the only possible interpretation would be
that the semi-circle was concave, facing the litigants, so that each of the judges would be able to see
all the others. This might suggest that the flight of steps leading up to the Nicanor Gate was also
concave. Such an arrangement would certainly suit better the Levites arranged as a choir and orchestra.
This would also suggest they they actually arranged themselves on the steps and not on the platform that
separated the topmost step from the entranceway.

Unfortunately, I know of no reference in the sources to the distance from the Nicanor Gate to the topmost
step. But there must have been some distance since the very next mishnah [Middot 2:6] states that
there were storage rooms underneath the Court of the Israelites, which opened in to the Womens'
Court, where the Levites would stack their musical instruments. Mishnah Middot 2:3 states that
almost all the steps there [in the Bet Mikdash] were 25 centimetres high and 25 centimetres deep.
This would suggest that the entranceway of the Nicanor Gate was 3.75 metres above the floor of the Women's
Court.

We mentioned Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch. I missed the fact that Avraham Jacobs, in referring to him
as an 'archeologist' was in fact only continuing a simile started originally by Bayla Singer, as she
pointed out to me. However, having mentioned him, H Helfgott adds the following
comments:

His unpleasant role in establishing all non-Orthodox organizations as illegitimate in the eyes of the
Orthodox to the side – it would seem to me that his approach itself is questionable. I've been reading
his commentary on the Pentateuch, and while his insistence in finding moral principles behind any related
circumstance and ritual law sometimes makes for very interesting homiletics, it is not clear to me that
they are more than exactly that. If the narrative on how Jacob built a pillar on Bethel and the one on
how he later built an altar there are seen to symbolize, of all things, a coming supersession of
nineteenth-century Deism by theism, then I must wonder how much of this must be in the eyes of the
nineteenth-century beholder, and – though by this I know I am quite outside Hirsch's framework altogether –
how little of it could have been in the eyes of the biblical redactors some twenty five centuries before.
What concerns me most is that I am not sure of the degree to which Neusner's proposal can lead to
procedures like those of Hirsch's. Of course one should try to be some sort of 'archaeologist', attempting
to learn how an ideological framework historically conditions ritual law; it is also true to some extent
that one can get a more precise picture of the said framework by examining the ritual law. However the use
of the term 'archaeologist' seems to me to denote a certain overvaluation of the solidity of the
conclusions we can reach in such a fashion (all diffident archaeologists hiding in the list will pounce on
me here) and the term 'pious' makes me think of the danger of superimposing our religious ideologies on
the text and on the practices described therein, and of confusing them for the actual ideas that
surrounded, and sometimes determining, the said practices (and this ideas must sometimes remain
conjectural). Of course none of this is directed at Professor Neusner himself – I read his Invitation to
the Talmud a long time ago, and I remember I liked it quite a bit, but certainly I do not remember the
thing itself well enough to question it, and I do not have it at hand now. This was just a concern of mine
on some of the implications of his statements that some of my fellow students seem to be voicing, although
of course I may have completely misinterpreted them.

I was rash enough and obstinate enough to insist in questioning the validity of a literal understanding of
Tamid 3:8, concerning how far sound and smell could carry. I asked: Why do not much greater sounds
and smells carry that far today? Arieh Abramowitz takes me to task with some cogent arguments:

One simple possibility is that they are drowned out by the general cacophony of sounds and smells that we
have today. In the early morning and in the desert it is often possible to hear sounds that are quite far
away; it does not stretch credibility to breaking that in that era in the quiet of Yom Kippur or of early
morning, it was possible for a sound to echo down the wadis all the way to Jericho. As for smells, even
today the prevalent winds in Jerusalem (and in Israel in general) are from West to East; so it is quite
possible that in a desert environment that does not supply any competing odors, the smell of the smoke
and incense was detectable 40km away near Amman.

I commented: Also, I have serious doubts as to the pious motivation Avraham ascribes to the writings
of Josephus: I can think of other motivations, less praiseworthy.

This is to much for Juan-Carlos Kiel, who writes:

This, together with your question about buying car from Josephus suggests that you have some particular
suspicion about this priest, who was adopted by the Roman Emperor Vespasian and harangued our ancestors
inside the surrounded Jerusalem, asking for their surrender, in order to preserve the city. As did
Berenice, the Hasmonean princess. Perhaps you would be so kind and share with me your suspicion?

I respond:

I do not know of one single reputable historian who views Josephus in a favourable light. He was sly,
self-seeking, self-promoting, self-preserving and try as hard as he can in his writings – which served to
earn him an Imperial pension and a safe residence in Rome after the rest of his people whom he loved so
much were suffering untold hardship in the aftermath of the Revolt. He had been entrusted with the
command of some of the most important units in the Galilee at the outbreak of the war. The Encyclopedia
Judaica remarks:

Josephus, an objective historian? Again the Encyclopedia Judaica:

And how did his contemporaries relate to him? Again, the EJ:

This concludes our study of the third chapter of this tractate.