Continuing our deliberations of the past few dappim regarding what gets placed on the altar and what can remain there, the Gemara discusses the status of lesser body parts such as tendons, horns, and hooves:


“The tendons and the horns and the hooves among those items that are sacrificed on the altar are brought along with the sacrifice, but only when attached.”


We see that the horns of a typical Olah sacrifice will be burned on the altar.

Rashi (Shemos 19:13), quoting Pirke De-Rabbi Eliezer (31), informs us that the ram’s horn that was sounded on Mount Sinai came from the ram that was sacrificed in place of Yitschok as an Olah. The Ramban (ibid.) raises a question based on our Gemara: Since the proper protocol is to sacrifice the horns along with the ram, presumably the horn of Yitschok’s Olah sacrifice was burned along with the ram — so how could it be available later for Mount Sinai?


The Ramban answers:


“This Agadah contains a secret. Thus they have said that this Voice [heard on Mount Sinai, as stated in Verse 16] was that of Pachad Yitzchak (the Fear of Isaac). It is for this reason that Scripture says: and all the people that were in the camp trembled. At this manifestation of Gevurah they did not grasp the commandment itself but only a voice.”

What is this secret to which the Ramban refers? Let us examine the elements so that we can deduce an impression that brings us closer to the Ramban’s thinking:


The Ramban says the ram’s horn is a metaphor and not an actual horn, linking the Akeidah to Mount Sinai.


The manifestation of God linked to fear is called Pachad Yitzchak, the way Yaakov refers to his father’s mode of relating to God (Bereishis 31:42).


The Ramban states that the Jews at Mount Sinai had a nonverbal experience of the Middah of Gevurah. Kabbalistically, Gevurah is the manifestation of God that induces fear and serves as the counterbalance to Chessed. Chessed parallels Avraham; Gevurah parallels Yitschok


The Ramban (Shemos 25:1) speaks of another secret: both the Mishkan and the revelation at Mount Sinai are processes that bring about the presence of the Shekhina, as hinted by the word anan. An anan — literally a cloud — is a metaphor for a partially physical, partially spiritual manifestation. This is why anan is a metaphor for Shekhina as well which is some way in which God takes on a more physical experience, but obviously not really physical and that is the comparison to the cloud.


How do we put these elements together to approach the Ramban’s secret? My guess is as follows: When Avraham — the quintessential symbol of chessed kindness — went through the ordeal of the Akeidah, he came to terms with the other aspect of God, Gevurah fear. If we could allow ourselves the liberty of imagining what Avraham’s experience was. He discovered a personal God who is omnipotent and emulated Him by showing generosity and kindness to anybody and everybody. He realized he doesn’t own anything and everyone is God‘s children. This is love with no strings attached. There aren’t even any rules other than just be generous and decent (the anti-Sodom, if you will). Yet, for religion to survive in this world it needs laws and rules. You can’t just trust people to love without any structure. Much as we hate parking tickets, if there weren’t parking tickets, eventually people would park wherever they wanted whenever they wanted, double parked, and triple parked because everybody, “is just running into the store for a second“. When Avraham was able to integrate and combine both fear and love, he entered a relationship with God that ultimately culminated in his descendants receiving the Torah. The Torah itself represents a harmonization of kindness and fear: the boundless, loving giving of God, coupled with the necessity of boundaries and law that structure religious life.

In this world, we need both elements in order to create a vessel capable of containing and perceiving the presence of the Shekhina.


The piercing call of the ram’s horn summons this clarifying effect. It is the echo that begins with Avraham’s sacrifice — the reigning in of his boundless kindness to create the structure necessary for civilization — and continues through Mount Sinai, and then onward through the ongoing service and meditations that resulted in the Mishkan and ultimately the Beis HaMikdash.