The first wave rabbis of the Mishnah, aka the Tannaim, grappled with the sparse Torah texts regarding thet sequence of gatherings, sacred moments, and sacrifices that define the month of Tishrei: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Shemini Atzeret. The practices of the Temple times were carefully mulled over and reinvented by the Rabbis and Sages to meet the changing conditions in which they lived and the pressing communal and spiritual needs of their times.
What can we learn about Yom Kippur, as we now know it, from this iconic moment, reimagined by the Tannaim?
(ה) עַל כָּל סֻכָּה וְסֻכָּה אוֹמְרִים לוֹ, הֲרֵי מָזוֹן וַהֲרֵי מַיִם. וּמְלַוִּין אוֹתוֹ מִסֻּכָּה לְסֻכָּה, חוּץ מֵאַחֲרוֹנָה שֶׁבָּהֶן, שֶׁאֵינוֹ מַגִּיעַ עִמּוֹ לַצּוּק, אֶלָּא עוֹמֵד מֵרָחוֹק וְרוֹאֶה אֶת מַעֲשָׂיו:
(5)At each and every booth, people there say to him: Here is food; here is water, if you need it. And they escort him from booth to booth, except for the last person at the last booth, who does not reach the cliff with him. Rather, he stands from a distance and observes his actions to ensure that he fulfills the mitzva properly.
Chava Shapiro's Drash on this Mishnah:
This cliff is not just a place. It is a threshold. In the language of the Kabbalists, it is a seam between realities—the final jut of the known world before it collapses into the wilderness, into chaos, into the divine. The scapegoat doesn’t just carry sin; it crosses boundaries. It becomes the vessel that enters what no one else dares to approach.
This cliff is not just a place. It is a threshold. In the language of the Kabbalists, it is a seam between realities—the final jut of the known world before it collapses into the wilderness, into chaos, into the divine. The scapegoat doesn’t just carry sin; it crosses boundaries. It becomes the vessel that enters what no one else dares to approach.
And maybe it is us who stand back. Or maybe you are the one who stands back.
Not because you are afraid.
Not because you are excluded.
But because your power is in the watching.
Not because you are excluded.
But because your power is in the watching.
To stand at a distance is to dwell in the sacred tension of the in-between. You are not the one cast out, but you are not safe inside either. You are the witness. The border-walker. You hold the gaze that says: this happened. You refuse disappearance
Maybe this is the queerest part of the ritual—not the one sent away, but the one who stays, who lingers just beyond the threshold, eyes fixed on the unseeable, heart split open by what cannot be brought back. In the world of the Kabbalists, some repairs can only happen through witnessing. Some holinesses live at the edge of the cliff.
The Mishnah says: "They do not reach the cliff with him"—because the holy must stop short. The cliff is a boundary that cannot be breached without danger.
But they “stand from afar and see.”
They witness. They hold space. They keep watch.
This, too, is holy work.
They witness. They hold space. They keep watch.
This, too, is holy work.
In this moment of our Mishnah, we could also imagine the watcher becomes Shekhinah—the exiled Indwelling Presence, hovering at the edge, refusing to abandon those cast out. The cliff becomes a place of queer theology, where some are sent away so others can remain whole. But the watcher’s gaze disrupts the narrative of abandonment. They do not let the ritual pass unnoticed. They see, and in seeing, they sanctify.
Some of us were never meant to be inside the camp.
Some of us were born to stand at the edge,
to see what others choose not to,
to refuse the erasure of the goat,
to hold the gaze that says: “You are not forgotten.”
Some of us were born to stand at the edge,
to see what others choose not to,
to refuse the erasure of the goat,
to hold the gaze that says: “You are not forgotten.”
And in that act of sacred witnessing—from a distance—
we become the Shekhinah Herself,
watching the boundary,
weeping,
and holding the cliff as holy ground.
we become the Shekhinah Herself,
watching the boundary,
weeping,
and holding the cliff as holy ground.
(ו) מֶה הָיָה עוֹשֶׂה, חוֹלֵק לָשׁוֹן שֶׁל זְהוֹרִית, חֶצְיוֹ קָשַׁר בַּסֶּלַע וְחֶצְיוֹ קָשַׁר בֵּין שְׁתֵּי קַרְנָיו, וּדְחָפוֹ לַאֲחוֹרָיו, וְהוּא מִתְגַּלְגֵּל וְיוֹרֵד, וְלֹא הָיָה מַגִּיעַ לַחֲצִי הָהָר עַד שֶׁנַּעֲשָׂה אֵבָרִים אֵבָרִים. בָּא וְיָשַׁב לוֹ תַּחַת סֻכָּה אַחֲרוֹנָה עַד שֶׁתֶּחְשָׁךְ. וּמֵאֵימָתַי מְטַמֵּא בְגָדִים, מִשֶּׁיֵּצֵא חוּץ לְחוֹמַת יְרוּשָׁלַיִם. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, מִשְּׁעַת דְּחִיָּתוֹ לַצּוּק:
(6)What did the one designated to dispatch the goat do there? He divided a strip of crimson into two parts, half of the strip tied to the rock, and half of it tied between the two horns of the goat. And he pushed the goat backward, and it rolls and descends. And it would not reach halfway down the mountain until it was torn limb from limb. The one designated to dispatch the goat came and sat under the roofing of last booth until it grows dark and only then went home. And from what point are the garments of the man rendered impure, as it is stated that he is impure and his clothes requires immersion? From the moment he emerges outside the wall of Jerusalem. Rabbi Shimon says: His clothes are rendered impure only from the moment that he pushes the goat from the cliff.