Seven days of atonement, and then the altar was something else entirely — not a piece of furniture, not a table of stone, but kodesh kodashim, the altar of the Holy of Holies. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan sharpens the Torah's warning with a detail the plain text leaves muted: a fiery flame came forth from the holy place, and anyone who approached who was not a son of Aaron would be consumed by it.
This is not metaphor in the targumic imagination. The same fire that descended to accept the offerings was a guardian — living, discerning, lethal to strangers. The sages read this in dialogue with the fate of Nadav and Avihu, the priests who brought strange fire and were themselves consumed by fire from before the Lord (Leviticus 10:1-2). Even the right bloodline was not enough if the wrong intention came with it.
Why such severity?
Because the altar was not a symbol. It was a meeting place between worlds. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan preserves a theology in which sacred space is saturated with presence — the Shekinah dwelling, the Word speaking, the fire alive. To wander in casually was not impiety in the modern sense of disrespect. It was the kind of danger a person faces when they walk into a lightning storm thinking they can dodge the bolts.
Every son of Aaron who approached had to be holy — prepared, consecrated, trained in the steps of the dance. Everyone else was told to stand back (Exodus 29:37). The fire loved the priests because the priests had been taught how to stand in it.
The Maggid takes this home: sacredness is not always gentle. Some doors are opened only by those who have earned the key.