Dvar Torah Pesach Day 7 2026

Rabbis, friends. That was a beautiful Hallel wasn’t it. I’m going to talk now about the less than beautiful part of our tradition. Some might even call it the yicky part, blood. But I want to convince you that not everything essential is pretty. Sometimes the hard part is the best part.

Today we read in the Maftir from Bamidbar (Numbers) Chapter 28:18 ‘You must offer up a fire-offering, an ascent-offering to God: two young bulls, one ram, and seven one-year-old lambs.’ (In English you miss that ascent offering is the Orlah sacrifice) וְהִקְרַבְתֶּ֨ם אִשֶּׁ֤ה עֹלָה֙ לַֽיהֹוָ֔ה פָּרִ֧ים בְּנֵי־בָקָ֛ר שְׁנַ֖יִם וְאַ֣יִל אֶחָ֑ד וְשִׁבְעָ֤ה כְבָשִׂים֙ בְּנֵ֣י שָׁנָ֔ה תְּמִימִ֖ם יִהְי֥וּ לָכֶֽם׃

Honestly before I started doing Daf Yomi, my eyes would glaze over at this stuff. For the last few months in the Daf Yomi world, the subject has been the sacrifices in the Temple. Much ink and time has been spent on working out the details of this system. You might have thought I would have preferred to skip to something more relevant to my life as the sacrifices are all Temple related and since 70 ACE, we no longer have a Temple. In the Shacharit I went to last year, here at NNLS, we would leave out the Mishnah on how the sacrifices work. And honestly, I was grateful for less praying that time in the morning. But actually, through Daf Yomi, I’ve learned a few things that have enriched my understanding of our long and winding tradition.

I learned that there are lots of different types of sacrifices and they all function slightly differently. Bear with me here while I share some details.

For example, in the Olah sacrifice that we read about this morning – the whole thing goes to God. It’s all burned up. While in the Shelamim sacrifice, some gets burned up, some goes to the Priest, and some goes to the one who brought it.

The other thing I learned was that in all Temple sacrifices, the blood goes through a precise ritual, and each stage counts.

First the animal is first slaughtered (shechitah), then a priest receives the blood (kabbalat ha-dam), carries it to the altar (holachat ha-dam), and finally dashes or sprinkles it on the altar (zerikah), with any remainder poured at the base.

To summarise, the steps related to blood are Shechitah → Kabbalah → Holachah → Zerikah.

It’s Pesach now so let’s look at the Korban Pesach in the Temple...

The animal is slaughtered (shechita) by a member of a registered group of Israelites. A kohen receives (kabbalah) the blood in a vessel. The blood is passed hand-to-hand in lines of kohanim to the altar. That’s Holachah. It is then dashed (zerikah) on the altar in a highly coordinated, public ritual done by many priests at once. It is then roasted and eaten by the registered group.

Let’s not be squeamish about blood. Dam as it is known in Hebrew. Dam as my friend Pam pointed out is the root of Adama, Adom and Adam. In our tradition, blood is essential and according to the laws of Kashrut, we don’t eat blood because blood is the root of life.

We don’t eat it, but we have to deal with it. We can’t pretend it isn’t there. Let’s follow the blood. A man has 5 to 6 litres of blood in his body coursing about in his veins and arteries. A woman has 4–5 litres. Unless she is pregnant or breast feeding or post-menopausal, she is reminded monthly of the blood in her body.

If you’re a man, you’re reminded of the blood in your body less frequently, but we really are basar v’ dam.

There are two acts involving visible blood that make us distinctly Jewish. I experienced them both recently. One was a bris and one was a Pesach Seder. Both are connected by the verse “בדמייך חיי / בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי — b’damayich chayi” which comes from Book of Ezekiel 16:6

“..and I said to you: In your bloods, live. And I said to you: In your bloods, live.”

It appears twice in the verse, and the word for blood is in the plural damayich which give the rabbis lots to work with.

The original context in Ezekiel 16 is a shocking allegory. God describes Israel as an abandoned newborn, cast into a field, still covered in blood from birth. No one washes her, salts her, or dresses her. She is left to die naked and alone. God passes by and says: “In your bloods — live.”

This is a terrible scene and still has the power to shock if you read it today. The image is not spiritualised. It is about vulnerability, nakedness and survival. Israel’s life begins not in purity, but in blood.

I heard the reference to b’damayich chayi” in the prayers at Yonathan and Melissa’s baby’s brit recently. But in the hagaddah, it was a lot harder to find. It’s left out of some Hagaddot. But it’s there if you dig deep enough in the Magid section, it’s there in some Haggadot.

Rashi looks at the part of the quote that says: ‘you were naked and bare” and says this verse is proof‑text to teach that: When the time came for God to redeem Israel from Egypt, they had no mitzvot yet to engage in because they were spiritually “naked.” They were naked of Mitzvot (It was pre-Sinai) So God gave them two proto mitzvot of Brit Milah and Korban Pesach.

Why these two? Because these are the two moments when the Jewish people enter particular Jewish covenantal life. Both say: Jewish life begins here. Both involve action before redemption. Parents must be willing to risk their child’s life to be circumcised, a high price of entry.

In Egypt, the Israelites had to mark themselves out with a sign in blood on their houses. I imagine quite a risky business at the time. Interestingly, the two most practised Jewish mitzvot today are brit milah and attending a Pesach Seder, which survive long after any other mitzvot are abandoned.

In constructing the Liturgy of the brit Milah and the words of the Haggadah, by including the verse from Ezekiel, b’damayich chayei, rabbis are saying something deeply counter-modern. Jewish life does not begin in comfort, ideas, or belief. It begins in vulnerability, risk, and embodied commitment. Before Torah at Sinai. Before law. Before theology. Well before the Jewish Enlightenment in Western Europe… There is blood.

The covenant is not abstract. It is physical and costly. It challenges modern sensibilities. We like to think Jewish life is about ethics, ideas, justice, universalism. But this verse from Ezekiel says: Jewish life begins in particularity. And while blood is where life is for everyone, our tradition turns it into a particular sign for us.

Our tradition is not all pretty and all beautiful and all relatable, but we need to retain those weird, gory and sometimes boring parts, that can turn out to be the essential parts.

בדמייך חיי In your bloods, live

So next year wherever you are for your Pesach seder, if your Haggadah leaves out this section, you’ll have something to say about it.

Chag Sameach ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sources

Pesach Haggadah, Magid, First Fruits Declaration 6 “AND GREAT” – As it is said: “I let you grow wild like meadow plants, and you grew and matured and came forth in all your glory, your breasts full and your hair grown, and you were naked and exposed.” “And I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your own blood – and I said to you, ‘In your blood, live!’ and I said, ‘In your blood, live!’”

Ezekiel 16

Rashi says on ‘you were naked and bare’ in Ezekiel 16.

‘i. e. bare of all merit earned through the fulfilment of God’s commands. God therefore gave them two commands, relating respectively to the blood of the paschal-lamb and the blood of the circumcision, for that night they circumcised themselves, as it is said (Ezekiel 16:6) “[When I passed over thee] I saw thee wallowing in thy bloods (בְּדָמַיִךְ is plural)” i. e. in two kinds of blood.’

Mechilta deRabbi Yishmael (Bo Parasha 5) Attributed to: Rabbi Yishmael (2nd century ACE), a Tanna of the early rabbinic period.

When I passed over thee I saw thee wallowing in thy bloods (בְּדָמַיִךְ is plural)” i. e. in two kinds of blood. In Parasha 5, the Mechilta says: “בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי — בְּדַם פֶּסַח וּבְדַם מִילָה” “In your blood, live — in the blood of the Pesach and in the blood of circumcision.”

Bechor shor This is Joseph ben Isaac of Orleans, a prominent 12th-century North French rabbi who says about Genesis 17:11:1 "And it will be a sign of the covenant between Me and you". A symbol for men And the blood of niddah [menstrual blood] that women guard, and tell their openings to their husbands, this is to them the blood of the covenant.

Nizzahon Vetus Anonymous Jewish apologetic text that originated in 13th-century Germany. Based on a Hebrew document written in the Middle Ages recording Jewish arguments against Christianity as expressed at that time. The Nizzahon Vetus starts from the position of Jewish weakness. Bitter fate, being reviled, accused of eating Christian children and their blood.

And they shall take of the blood" [Exod. 12:7] refers to three drops: "Put it on the lintel" refers to one, "and on the two side-posts" refers to two more. Thus, the passage refers to three types of blood - [the blood of the pascal lamb], of circumcision, and of the menstruant woman.

Ephod Bad – 19th century commentary by Lithuanian rabbi Binyamin David Rabinowitz

‘These positive commandments were an expression of absolute love for and loyalty toward God. They were also a proof that Israel’s repentance was repentance out of love rather than repentance out of fear of God. It also proved that they were now worthy of participating in the service of the divine.

We can now understand why Moses commands the people to set aside and also to take the Passover lamb. It wasn't simply enough for the people to have a lamb. They had to publicly take the lamb so that people would witness their repudiation of idolatry. The lamb would make much noise and it would be apparent to everyone that they had taken it for a sacrifice. This would arouse the Egyptians to kill the Israelites and, therefore, the Israelites actions would truly be self-sacrifice. Also the smell of the roasting meat would waft through the neighborhood so everyone would know what the Israelites were doing. The Israelites would have been convinced that the Egyptians would certainly want to kill them. Their willingness to risk martyrdom would certainly make them worthy of redemption. This also explains why the circumcision was also necessary. Without recovering from their circumcision, the Israelites might have believed they could defend themselves. Now that they were in a weakened state, they realized that they were totally dependent upon God. Prior to their circumcision they might have reasoned that the Egyptians had been weakened by the plagues – now they were weakened by the circumcision so that they were dependent upon God.’ ------------------------

Mishapatim dvar torah

Why did you come to shul this morning? I usually tell people disingenuously that it’s to hear the next chapter in the parasha, or to be part of the davening or to hopefully hear Rabbi Chaim speak or to chat with my friends at the kiddish. It’s handy seeing everyone at one time, isn’t it?

But what I don’t usually tell people because it’s too personal perhaps, is this idea expressed in the Talmud in Berachot 6a and b, that God is found between. Between two people studying and between three judges judging and between ten people in a minyan praying. What I mean by this is that on a desert island, I can experience God and transcendence, but only in community do I experience the joys of a system with a particular calendar, language and tradition. So, God is in-between us in a minyan, here today. No one person owns it alone. It’s a lot to explain to someone who asks me casually why I come to shul every week.

Last week, we read the ten commandments in the parasha. The moment of the encounter at Sinai. There was thunder, lightning, and a peak moment of connection with God. Moses was up the mountain. Today we are down to earth with a thud, in the parasha called Mishpatim. The laws or mitzvot. We are in between, in between the peak of Sinai and the everyday laws of Mishpatim.

Mishpatim is the parsha with the second most number of laws among all the 54 parashot. Most of the laws of Mishpatim are ethical living spelled out, and there are also laws that are purely ritual laws mixed in too. Those laws are sometimes called cultic regulations, or they are dismissed as ceremonial laws. In Mishpatim, all these laws are included. It’s not either or, it’s both.

For example, right in the middle of civil legislation, Mishpatim mentions: 1. the laws of Shabbat. 2. three pilgrimage festivals. 3. Bringing first fruits to the Temple, 4. Not boiling a kid in its mother’s milk 5. How to do sacrifices properly.

What is the point of the torah’s particularist rituals here? I want to make a case that this is an essential part of our story.

Those strange Torah cultic laws are what make us Jewish today. Those laws are later refined and changed and sometimes squeezed out entirely through the process of the Mishnah, the Talmud, the Shulchan Aruch and responsa until today. Today we are rabbinic Jews within a living system that still breathes life into all of us in some way. That’s what I love about our tradition. It’s the part that makes us different to everyone else. The weirdness of being Jewish in a non-Jewish world. That we go to shul on Saturday, or that we light candles and eat challah on Friday night or that we refuse to eat a cheeseburger or still celebrate Pesach despite the Temple being long gone. We can feel it in our kishkes. We do it and then we think of why we do it.

So what actually makes us Jewish now, what puts that feeling in our kishkes, or in our children’s kishkes? Many Jews might answer, we ca ne proud of our glorious ethical laws. Care for the vulnerable. Protection of the stranger. Justice in the courts. Mishpatim certainly teaches that. In fact, over and over, the Torah reminds us: You shall love the ger or stranger as you love yourself. But ethics alone does not make us uniquely Jewish.

Ethics, Justice and Compassion are universal, or at least I wish they were. And if Judaism was only a moral message, we could/should insist on it loudly. We might sometimes think if we say it loud enough, maybe the world would give us a seat at the table, when they see how good we are. ‘We are just like you’ we cry. ‘In fact, our rule is we love the stranger as we love ourselves.’ But if that was truly our only rule, we would also gradually dissolve into the wider moral culture around us. Maybe that’s because we as Jews don’t love ourselves enough as Jews. Ethics are necessary. But they are not enough to sustain us past one generation. How do we love being Jewish, and teach our children to love being Jewish?

Have you heard the question asked by many post Holocaust theologians: ‘is Jewish life centred around Sinai or Auschwitz?’ Today the question would be: is Jewish identity centred around Gaza or Sinai? But if that’s the central organising event of Jewish life, then Jewish life is defined by antisemitism and fear, and not love of being Jewish, of Jewish joy and of pride.

I think there’s another orientation, and that’s in the parasha today. It’s in the in between space, between the transcendence of Sinai and the everyday rules of Mishpatim, and more than that, between the ethically grounded laws of mishpatim and the particular ritual ones. Mishpatim suggests that what sustains Jewish life is not choosing between ethics and ritual but binding them together. What makes us Jewish now is not just that we imagine our ancestors once shared a moment at Sinai. It’s a way of understanding our shared practise today and loving what makes us different.

Here are some examples. We have all come to shul this particular day that we call Shabbat. Our homes that have mezuzot on our doors, look different to the homes of our neighbours. We all give tzedakah, feeling automatically obligated. We know many of the words to the same tefillot today, and we know when to bounce three times on our heels even when we’re not sure why. We feel like we ourselves were liberated from Egypt. We plan our Pesach seders and sing Chad Gadya to the tunes of our childhood. We taste the bitter maror, and the sweet haroset that our hands can make without looking up the recipe on the internet. I particularly love Friday nights when I bless my particular children, and I know they love that moment too.

Yes, transcendence is wonderful, but it is by nature universal and can be felt lots of places like in Mozart’s requiem and in the poems of Mary Oliver. But there is also wonder and love of ourselves to be felt, in the particular in between small moments of Jewish life.

Jewish life today is not sustained by catastrophe. Not Auschwitz. Not Gaza. Not antisemitism, and not even Sinai alone. People can’t build a future on trauma. And it can’t live forever at the peak of revelation.

So where is Jewish life actually centred? Perhaps it is here, in Mishpatim. It is not either/or. It is in the inbetween. In between the universal and the particular. In between the lovely stories and the strange laws. In the shared structures we understand that make community possible. It is not dramatic and big, it’s small and particular.

We are heirs to a tradition that refused to choose between ethics and ritual, between personal transcendence and group responsibility. We obeyed and then we understood.

Here we are together, living in that in-between space between what’s going on in our own heads and in each other’s heads... Shema Israel Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad.

Never mind encountering God at Sinai, this is why I come to shul. Together between ten of us showing up to pray on this particular Shabbat morning and listening to each other is where God is always now.