Parshat Acharei Mot5 min read

The Scapegoat Carried Israel's Sins to Azazel in the Desert

The High Priest drew lots over two identical goats. One went to God and one went to Azazel. The second goat went to the edge of the world and was destroyed.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Lot Decides
  2. Why No Golden Vestments
  3. What Azazel Was
  4. The Prayer in the Breaking
  5. The Accuser's Silence

The Lot Decides

Two goats stood before the High Priest in the Temple court on the morning of Yom Kippur. The Targum Jonathan adds a detail: they were placed into a vase, and Aaron drew the lots out one by one, assigning the fate of each animal by the mechanism of chance that was actually divine will. One lot said "for the Lord." The other said "for Azazel." The goats stood there, identical, while the lots fell and their destinies separated.

The goat designated for God moved inward toward the altar and the sanctuary. The goat designated for Azazel moved outward, toward the wilderness, toward a place called Beth-Hadurey in the Targum's naming, a rocky region where the cliff waited. The High Priest laid both hands on the second goat's head and confessed over it all the iniquities of the children of Israel, all their transgressions, all their sins. The animal bore them.

Why No Golden Vestments

Aaron did not wear his golden robes on Yom Kippur. He wore plain white linen. The Targum Jonathan explained why: gold, on this particular day, would bring to mind the golden calf. The memory of Israel's worst sin could not be permitted to hover over the ritual meant to atone for all sins. The High Priest's wardrobe was a legal argument. By wearing the color of purity rather than the color of that ancient failure, Aaron was keeping the defense clear.

This attention to the implications of material details shaped the whole ceremony. Everything on Yom Kippur was designed so that no inadvertent element could give the accuser a foothold. The clothing, the order of the ritual, the specific words of confession, the direction the goat was sent: nothing was accidental, because on this day the cosmic accounting was too precise for accidents.

What Azazel Was

The rabbis knew the ritual looked archaic. Sending a laden goat into the desert as an offering to Azazel, a name outside the ordinary theological categories, felt like a remnant from before, a gesture toward something that predated the Sinaitic covenant. The Talmud in Yoma 67a described the destination: a high cliff in the rocky desert, and the goat pushed off the edge, tumbling down until it was torn into pieces, nothing of it left whole.

Some understood Azazel as a name for the rocky terrain itself. Others saw in it a reference to the fallen angel tradition, a being from before the flood who had descended with the sons of God and whose domain was the wilderness. Sammael himself complained to God about the arrangement: "You have given me power over all the nations but not over Israel." God replied: on Yom Kippur, if Israel has sinned, you have power. If they are pure, you have none. The goat was not payment to a rival. It was a demonstration, every year, of what purification could accomplish against the accuser's claim.

The Prayer in the Breaking

The midrash asked why the ritual had to be so violent. Why did the goat have to be thrown from a cliff and shattered rather than simply released into the desert? The answer was a prayer hidden inside the destruction. As the goat's body broke apart on the rocks, leaving nothing whole, the people were asking God for the same fate for their transgressions. Let our sins fall like this, they were saying. Let them break until no trace remains, no substance, no standing, nothing left to present against us in your ledger.

Others heard a different message in the goat sent away alive. Cast off the evil inclination the way you cast off this goat. Drive it out into the wilderness where it cannot find purchase. The body breaking on the cliff and the goat disappearing into the desert offered two images of the same thing: complete removal, total distance, the sins of a nation carried away from the place where God dwells.

The Accuser's Silence

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, an early medieval midrashic text, described what Sammael saw on Yom Kippur and why it stopped him. He watched Israel fasting and praying and saw something that confused his calculations. They looked like angels. They were not eating or drinking. They stood in white. The energy of accusation requires something to accuse, and on this day the people had made themselves temporarily unreadable to him. The accuser had no material to work with.

The goat was sent to him, and receiving it, he became for a moment an advocate rather than an accuser. He accepted the offering and was silenced. What had been his tool became the instrument of his disarmament. This was the deeper strategy of the Yom Kippur ritual: not merely to atone for sins in the divine ledger, but to occupy the accuser so thoroughly with the ceremony that he had no standing from which to prosecute.

AzazelYom KippurSammaelAtonementSacrificeWildernessAcharei Mot
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From the tradition

Sources

6 sources

The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Leviticus 16:5-10Torah (Masoretic Text)

And from the congregation of the children of Israel he shall take two male goats for a sin offering, and one ram for a burnt offering.

And Aaron shall offer the bull of the sin offering which is his own, and make atonement for himself and for his household.

And he shall take the two goats and set them before the LORD at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.

And Aaron shall place lots upon the two goats, one lot for the LORD and one lot for Azazel.

And Aaron shall offer the goat upon which the lot for the LORD came up, and make it a sin offering.

But the goat upon which the lot for Azazel came up shall be set alive before the LORD, to make atonement upon it, to send it away to Azazel into the wilderness.

Full source
Targum Jonathan on Leviticus 16Targum Jonathan

Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement). The holiest day. The most dangerous ritual in the entire Torah. And the Targum Jonathan adds details that turn Leviticus 16 into a thriller.

First, the clothing: Aaron must wear only white linen, not the golden vestments. The Targum explains why, "that there be not brought to memory the sin of the golden calf." Gold on Yom Kippur would remind God of Israel's worst sin. The high priest's wardrobe became a legal defense strategy.

The two goats were chosen by lot, "equal lots," the Targum specifies, one for the Lord and one for Azazel. Aaron "shall throw them into the vase, and draw them out, and put them upon the goats." The vase detail is a Targum addition, describing a physical lottery mechanism.

The scapegoat's destination gets a name: Beth-Hadurey, a rocky desert. The Hebrew Bible says only "a land cut off." The Targum adds that "a tempestuous wind from the presence of the Lord will carry him away, and he will die." God's own wind kills the goat, it does not simply wander off to perish.

The confession over the scapegoat was performed "with an oath uttered and expressed with the Great and glorious Name", the Shem HaMeforash, God's ineffable Name. The Targum specifies that Aaron placed his right hand over his left on the goat's head. A man was "prepared from the year foregoing" to lead the goat away, meaning Yom Kippur logistics began a full year in advance.

The five afflictions of Yom Kippur are listed explicitly: abstaining "from food, and from drinks, and from the use of the bath, and from rubbing, and from sandals, and from the practice of the bed." The Hebrew Bible says only to "afflict your souls." The Targum enumerates exactly what that means.

The fast begins on the ninth of Tishrei at evening, the Targum adds a reason: "that you may employ the time of your festivals with joy."

Full source
Midrash Aggadah, Leviticus 16:8Midrash Aggadah

On the Day of Atonement, Aaron cast lots over two goats (Leviticus 16:8). One was for God. The other was led out to a high, hard mountain and pushed off the edge, tumbling down until it was torn into pieces, nothing left of it whole.

The midrash asks why the ritual had to be so violent, and gives the prayer hidden inside it. The goat carried the sins of Israel. As its body broke apart on the rocks until no substance and no use remained, the people were asking God for the same fate for their wrongs: King of Kings, let our transgressions fall like this animal, leave no trace of them, blot them from your book so they have no standing against us.

Others heard a different message in the goat that is sent away (Leviticus 16:22). Cast off the evil inclination the way you cast off this goat. Drive it from yourself entirely, send it out into the wilderness, and let it carry your sins to a land cut off where it can never come back.

Full source
Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 46:8Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

The scene opens with Sammael, often understood as a figure representing the accuser or even the embodiment of evil, in conversation with the Holy One, blessed be He. Sammael is essentially complaining. "Sovereign of all the universe!" he says, "Thou hast given me power over all the nations of the world, but over Israel Thou hast not given me power." He's frustrated. He has dominion, but there's a line he can't cross.

So, what does God say? The answer is both comforting and a little… conditional. God replies that Sammael does have power over Israel, but only on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and only if they have sin. If the people are pure, if they’ve truly atoned, then Sammael has no hold.

Think about the weight of that. Our actions, our choices, directly impact the influence that negative forces can have in our lives. Yom Kippur becomes this incredible moment of vulnerability and potential. It's not just about asking for forgiveness; it's about actively diminishing the power of evil in the world.

Here's where it gets really interesting. The text goes on to say that the Israelites would give Sammael a "present" on Yom Kippur. A present? What's that about? Well, it's connected to the ritual described in (Leviticus 16:8), the verse about the two goats: "One lot for the Lord, and the other lot for Azazel." One goat was sacrificed to God, a symbol of atonement and purification. The other. the other was sent out into the wilderness, symbolically carrying away the sins of the people.

This second goat, the one for Azazel, is the “present” for Sammael. The idea is that by dealing with sin in this way – acknowledging it, taking responsibility, and symbolically removing it – they prevent Sammael from having power over them. It's like a pre-emptive strike, a spiritual act of self-defense.

But wait a minute. Isn't that… kind of giving in to evil? Appeasing it? That's a fair question, and one that commentators have debated for centuries. One way to understand it is that it's not about appeasement, but about containment. By acknowledging the existence of negative forces and giving them a symbolic outlet, we prevent them from gaining a foothold within ourselves and within our community.

It’s a delicate balance, isn’t it? Recognizing the power of evil, without letting it define us. Striving for purity, not out of fear, but out of a desire to create a world where goodness prevails. This passage from Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer invites us to consider our own relationship with darkness, and the choices we make every day that either strengthen its hold or weaken its grip. What "present" are we offering the forces of good or the forces of ill in our own lives?

Full source
Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 46:9Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

The familiar version gives us it's a time of intense reflection, fasting, and prayer. But according to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval text, there's a cosmic drama unfolding alongside our earthly rituals.

Think about the ancient Temple service on Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement). Two goats were chosen. One was offered as a burnt offering to God. The other? That was the goat for Azazel. This wasn't just any goat; it carried the weight of all of Israel's sins, as (Leviticus 16:22) tells us: "And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities."

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer tells us that Sammael, often considered the accuser or adversary, was watching. He saw that on this holiest of days, the people of Israel were, in a way, transformed. They were abstaining from food and drink, standing in prayer, and striving for peace. He saw that, on this particular day, sin was absent from them.

This observation prompts Sammael to address God directly. "Sovereign of the universe!" he exclaims. "You have a people who are like the ministering angels in heaven!" He draws a series of striking parallels. The Israelites go barefoot, just like the angels. They abstain from food and drink, mirroring the angels' ethereal nature. They stand in prayer, united in purpose. And most importantly, they are, for this one day, innocent of sin – just like the angels.

What's Sammael up to here? Is he offering praise? Perhaps. But more likely, he's pointing out the seemingly impossible standard God holds his people to. He's highlighting the contrast between their inherent human fallibility and their aspiration towards angelic purity on Yom Kippur.

But here's the pivotal moment. The text emphasizes that God hears the prayers of Israel. He prioritizes their repentance over the accusations of their adversary. It's a powerful image: God actively choosing to listen to the heartfelt cries of his people.

And as a result of this divine attention, atonement is made. Not just for the people, but for the altar, the sanctuary, and the priests themselves. The text quotes (Leviticus 16:16), "And he shall make atonement for the holy place," emphasizing the all-encompassing nature of this purification.

So, what does this ancient story tell us? It reminds us that Yom Kippur isn't just about following rituals. It's about striving for something higher. It's about momentarily transcending our human limitations and connecting with the divine. And it's about the profound power of repentance and the unwavering grace of a God who chooses to hear our prayers, even when the accuser is ready to pounce. Maybe, just maybe, that striving for angelic purity, even for a single day, is enough to tip the scales.

Full source
Tikkunei Zohar 96:2Tikkunei Zohar

We all have our baggage, our impurities. But what if I told you there's a way to cleanse that, to find purity even in the face of defilement? It’s a concept the Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar wrestles with, diving deep into the mysteries of purification and atonement.

The Tikkunei Zohar, a later part of the Zohar, one of the central works of Jewish mysticism, asks a profound question, quoting (Job 14:4): "Who can make pure from defilement? Not one!" Seems pretty bleak. But hold on, because the Tikkunei Zohar doesn't leave us there. It offers a fascinating, and somewhat paradoxical, answer.

It suggests that purification comes from the "right-side," the side of Chesed (Lovingkindness), of loving-kindness. The priest, the Kohen (a priest), is described as "a pure man" because he is associated with this right side. And what flows from this side? The "water of the Torah." Even if someone is impure, the Torah, the teachings and wisdom, can purify them. Think of it like this: even if you're covered in mud, a good wash can clean you up.

Then comes the twist. The Tikkunei Zohar also speaks of something that "defiles the pure." This, it says, is Gevurah, the aspect of divine power and judgment. It's on this side, the left side, that Samael (the angel of death), often understood as the accuser or the embodiment of evil, fell from his holiness. What was once pure became defiled because he held sway. It’s a potent image: even purity can be corrupted.

So, what are we to make of this? It's a dance between divine grace and the potential for corruption. It's about the constant tension between the right and left, between loving-kindness and judgment.

The text continues, explaining that a pure priest, in striving to offer to Azazel, the scapegoat, would purify Israel from all its sins. Remember the ritual of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement? (Leviticus 16:30) tells us, "For upon this day it will atone for you, to purify you…" This is about collective purification, a way for the entire community to cleanse itself of wrongdoing.

Azazel is a fascinating figure in itself – not exactly evil, but a recipient of impurity, a way to carry away the sins of the people. It’s a symbolic act, loading up a goat with all the bad stuff and sending it away into the wilderness, a way to restore balance.

The Tikkunei Zohar seems to be suggesting that purification isn't a one-time event, it's a process. It's a constant striving for balance, a recognition that even in the face of impurity, there is always the potential for cleansing, for returning to a state of wholeness. It’s a message that resonates deeply, reminding us that even when we feel most defiled, the possibility of purification, of a fresh start, always remains.

So, the next time you feel weighed down by your own "stuff," remember the wisdom of the Tikkunei Zohar. Remember the "water of the Torah," the power of purification, and the possibility of finding purity even in the most unexpected places. Can we ever truly be perfectly pure? Maybe not. But the striving, the intention, the journey – that's where the real transformation lies.

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