Zevachim 61

Hook: The Shelf-Stable Sacrifice: Why "It's Not That Deep" Missed the Whole Point

We’ve all heard it, haven’t we? The well-meaning shrug, the casual dismissal: "Oh, the Temple sacrifices? Yeah, it’s all symbolic now. Not really relevant to us modern folks." It’s the intellectual equivalent of a dried-out bagel – technically food, but utterly lacking in the vibrant, nourishing essence it once possessed. This “shelf-stable” take on ancient Jewish ritual, particularly the intricate discussions found in Zevachim, is so pervasive it’s become the default setting for many who encountered it in Hebrew school and promptly filed it away under "Bafflingly Archaic."

But what if I told you that this dismissive attitude isn’t just missing the point; it’s actively obscuring a profound source of wisdom about navigating the complexities of adult life? What if the meticulous details about sacrificial meat, altars, and the precise moment of an offering's disqualification hold keys to understanding resilience, the nature of commitment, and the very real, often messy, process of building meaning in a world that’s constantly shifting?

You weren't wrong to feel bewildered by Zevachim if your initial exposure was anything less than illuminating. The very language, steeped in a sacrificial system so alien to our contemporary experience, can feel like an insurmountable barrier. We’re presented with rules and regulations that seem to belong to a bygone era, a historical curiosity rather than a living source of insight. The common narrative is that the destruction of the Temple rendered these discussions moot, a historical footnote we can politely acknowledge and move on from.

But this is precisely where we missed something vital. The tradition, in its infinite wisdom, doesn't just preserve laws; it preserves ways of thinking. The sugya (topic) in Zevachim 61 isn't just about ancient butchery and altar construction. It’s a masterclass in how to grapple with ambiguity, how to maintain integrity in the face of systemic breakdown, and how to discern what truly matters when the external structures we rely on begin to crumble.

Let's be clear: the goal here isn't to reinstate animal sacrifice. It's to re-enchant ourselves with the thinking process that animated these laws. It's to understand that the meticulousness, the seemingly pedantic distinctions, are not just legalistic quirks. They are the very tools that allow for profound engagement with reality, for maintaining connection to a divine purpose even when the physical manifestations of that purpose are gone.

This lesson will invite you to step back from the "it's just symbolic" shorthand and to truly engage with the foundational principles that made these laws so central to Jewish life. We’ll explore how the ancient rabbis wrestled with questions of continuity and discontinuity, of what remains sacred when its physical housing is compromised. We’ll see that the very act of debating these intricate details is a testament to a deep commitment to preserving holiness and meaning, a commitment that is remarkably relevant to our own lives today.

So, let's dust off this ancient text, not as a relic, but as a vibrant, living source of insight. You didn't bounce off Zevachim because it's inherently irrelevant; you bounced off because the introduction you received was like a poorly translated instruction manual. We're going to read it again, this time with a guide who can translate the ancient into the immediate, the ritualistic into the resonant. Prepare to rediscover that the "stale take" was just a layer of dust on a treasure trove of wisdom.

Context: Demystifying the Altar's Endurance

The core of our exploration in Zevachim 61 revolves around a fundamental question: what makes an offering, or the food derived from it, permissible or impermissible to consume? This isn’t just about following rules; it's about understanding the underlying principles of sanctity and its boundaries, especially in contexts of transition and potential disruption. The text grapples with scenarios where the physical structures of the Temple or Tabernacle are in flux, forcing a contemplation of what constitutes the "proper place" and the "proper time" for sacred actions and their remnants.

The Disqualification of Sacrificial Meat: When Does "Out" Mean "Out"?

A central point of discussion in the sugya is the concept of "disqualification" (פסול, pasul) of sacrificial meat. This isn't about spoilage in the modern sense, but about a ritual impurity that renders something forbidden for consumption by humans, even if it remains sacred. The key question is: what circumstances cause sacrificial meat to become disqualified?

• The Altar as the Anchor of Sanctity: The most consistent principle emerging from Zevachim is the altar’s role as the fixed point of sanctity. As long as the altar is present and in its designated location, even if other elements of the Tabernacle or Temple are being dismantled or moved, the sacrificial meat retains a degree of permissibility. The text posits that if the altar is damaged or absent, the meat is disqualified. This highlights the altar not just as a structure, but as the physical embodiment of the covenantal space. It’s the nexus where the earthly and the divine meet, and its integrity is paramount. The discussions around Rabbi Yishmael and the Sages in the first baraita (an early rabbinic teaching) revolve around this very point: whether the rule regarding the meat of a firstborn offering (an offering of lesser sanctity than other sacrifices) is dependent on the altar's presence, mirroring the rule for the blood of the firstborn. The fact that there's a debate here shows how deeply ingrained the altar's centrality was.

• The Courtyard as a Protective Enclosure: Beyond the altar itself, the partitions and walls surrounding the courtyard also play a crucial role in defining the sacred space. The Gemara discusses the scenario where the partitions are taken down. A natural assumption might be that once the enclosure is breached, the sacred food has "left" its designated area and is therefore disqualified. However, the Gemara clarifies that this is not always the case. The crucial factor remains the altar's presence. This teaches us that while the courtyard provides an additional layer of sanctity and definition, it's the altar that forms the irreducible core. Even when the "walls" come down, if the "heart" of the sacred space (the altar) remains, the sanctity persists, albeit in a more vulnerable state.

• The "Tent of Meeting" as a Mobile Sacred Space: The verse from Numbers 2:17, "Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel," is a pivotal piece of evidence. It underscores that the Tabernacle, and by extension its associated sanctity, was designed to be mobile. Even when in transit, it is still considered "the Tent of Meeting." This concept is vital for understanding how the rabbis navigated periods of transition, such as the Israelites' journeys in the wilderness. It means that the sacred space isn't rigidly defined by physical permanence but by its inherent purpose and the divine presence it represents, a presence that can endure movement and temporary disarray. The sacrificial food is not automatically disqualified simply because the entire structure is being moved; the continuity of the "Tent of Meeting" itself, even in transit, preserves a measure of its sacred status.

This foundational understanding of the altar's centrality and the mobile nature of the sacred space sets the stage for exploring how these principles apply to our own lives, where "altars" and "sacred spaces" are not always so clearly defined.

Text Snapshot

This first baraita is in accordance with the opinion of Rabbi Yishmael, who derives that meat of a firstborn offering, which is an offering of lesser sanctity, cannot be consumed if the altar is damaged or absent, based upon the halakha pertaining to the blood of the firstborn. That second baraita is in accordance with the opinion of the Sages, who disagree with Rabbi Yishmael.

And if you wish, say there is a different resolution of the two baraitot: Both this baraita and that baraita are referring to offerings of the most sacred order. And what does the second baraita mean when it says the food may be consumed in two locations? It is referring to when the Israelites arrive at a new camp, before the Levites erect the Tabernacle, and, when they are leaving the camp, after the Levites dismantle the Tabernacle but before they remove the altar. Since the altar has not yet been moved, it is still permitted to consume the sacrificial food.

The Gemara continues: It was necessary to state this halakha lest you say that once the partitions surrounding the courtyard have been taken down, the sacrificial food has been disqualified because it is considered to have left the courtyard of the Tabernacle. Therefore, the baraita teaches us that the food is permitted for consumption as long as the altar remains in place.

The Gemara challenges: And say it is indeed so, that the sacrificial food should be disqualified because it is no longer within the partitions surrounding the courtyard. The Gemara explains: The verse states: “Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel” (Numbers 2:17). This verse indicates that even though it traveled it is still considered the Tent of Meeting. Therefore, the sacrificial food is not considered to have left its designated area.

§ The Gemara raises another discussion concerning the altar: Rav Huna says that Rav says: The altar in Shiloh was fashioned of stones, unlike the portable altar constructed in the time of Moses, which was fashioned from copper. This is as it is taught in a baraita: Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: Why must the verses state that the altar must be fashioned from stones (Exodus 20:22), and state again that the altar must be fashioned from stones (Deuteronomy 27:5), and mention yet again the word stones (Deuteronomy 27:6), with regard to the altar, for a total of three times? These allude to three different stone altars: One in Shiloh, and one in Nov and Gibeon, and one in the Eternal House, i.e., the Temple.

Rav Aḥa bar Ami raises an objection based on a baraita: The fire that descended from Heaven upon the altar in the days of Moses (see Leviticus 9:24) departed from atop the copper altar only in the days of Solomon, when he replaced the copper altar with a stone altar, and the fire that descended upon the altar in the days of Solomon did not depart until Manasseh came and removed it by destroying the altar. And if it is so that the altar in Shiloh was fashioned of stones, it emerges that the fire departed the copper altar earlier, when the stone altar in Shiloh replaced the copper altar of Moses, many years before King Solomon.

The Gemara explains: Rav Huna stated his opinion in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Natan, as it is taught in a baraita that Rabbi Natan says: The altar in Shiloh was fashioned of copper; it was hollow and full of stones.

Rav Naḥman bar Yitzḥak says there is an alternative answer: What is the meaning of the statement in the baraita that the fire did not depart until the days of Solomon? It means that it did not depart in a manner in which it was nullified; it was still somewhat present in Shiloh on the copper altar, which stood together with the stone altar. The Gemara asks: What is it, i.e., what does it mean that the fire did not depart a manner in which it was nullified? The Gemara answers: **The Rabbis say: The fire on the copper altar would emit sparks toward the stone altar when the priests would sacrifice offerings on the stone altar. **Rav Pappa says: The fire was as a guest; sometimes it was here, on the copper altar, and sometimes it was there, on the stone altar.

§ The Gemara continues discussing the altar: We learned in a mishna there (Middot 35b): The altar in the First Temple was twenty-eight by twenty-eight cubits. When the members of the exile ascended to Jerusalem in the beginning of the Second Temple period, they added four cubits to it on the south and four cubits on the west sides of the altar, like the shape of the Greek letter gamma, i.e., the additions made a right angle. As a result, the altar in the Second Temple was thirty-two by thirty-two cubits. The Gemara asks: What was the reason for this expansion? Rav Yosef said: Because the size of the altar from the First Temple was not sufficient.

Abaye said to him: Now, if in the First Temple era, about which it is written: “Judah and Israel were many as the sand that is by the sea” (I Kings 4:20), the altar was sufficient, how could it be that in the Second Temple era, about which it is written: “The whole congregation together was forty and two thousand three hundred and sixty” (Ezra 2:64), the altar was not sufficient? Rav Yosef said to Abaye: There, in the First Temple, a heavenly fire would assist them and consume the offerings. Here, in the Second Temple, there was no heavenly fire that would assist them. Therefore, they needed a larger area in which to burn the offerings.

When Ravin came from Eretz Yisrael to Babylonia, he reported that which Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi says in the name of Bar Kappara with regard to the expansion of the altar: They expanded the altar to extend over the underground cavities into which the libations flowed. Initially, in the First Temple era, they held that when the verse states: “An altar of earth you shall make for Me” (Exodus 20:21), it means that it should be completely filled with earth.

But ultimately, in the Second Temple era, they maintained that the altar’s drinking is like its eating, i.e., just as the offerings are burned upon the altar, so too, the libations must be poured onto the altar itself and not down its side. Consequently, they expanded the altar to cover the underground cavities, and created holes in the altar so that the libations could be poured on top of the altar and flow into the underground cavities. And according to this, what is the meaning of the phrase “an altar of earth”? It teaches that the altar must be attached to the earth, so that one may not build it on top of arches

New Angle: The Unmoored Altar and the Architecture of Resilience

The discussions in Zevachim 61, seemingly about the logistics of ancient sacrificial systems, are actually profound meditations on how to maintain sanctity and continuity in the face of disruption. When we encounter the debates about the altar's presence, the integrity of the courtyard, and the very definition of the sacred space, we’re witnessing an intellectual and spiritual wrestling match with the ephemeral nature of existence. For us, living in a world where physical sanctuaries are not always a given, and where the ground beneath our feet can feel perpetually unstable, these ancient debates offer a powerful blueprint for building our own internal architecture of resilience and meaning.

Insight 1: The Unmoored Altar – Finding Your Sacred Center in a Shifting World

The recurring theme in Zevachim 61 is the altar as the linchpin of sanctity. Even when the Tabernacle is dismantled, or the courtyard partitions are down, the presence of the altar preserves a crucial connection to the sacred. This is a deeply resonant idea for adults navigating the complexities of modern life, where our "altars" – the stable, sacred centers of our lives – are often threatened or rendered temporarily inaccessible.

Think about your career. For many, a job or profession can feel like an altar. It provides structure, identity, and a sense of purpose. We invest years of effort, build expertise, and derive meaning from our contributions. But what happens when that altar is shaken? A layoff, a company restructuring, a global economic downturn – these events can feel like the dismantling of the Tabernacle, leaving us adrift. The initial instinct might be despair, a feeling that everything sacred about our professional identity has been disqualified.

The wisdom of Zevachim suggests a different approach. It implores us to identify what remains when the external structure is compromised. If our professional "altar" is removed, what is the underlying principle of dedication, of skill, of purpose that we can carry forward? This isn't about simply finding another job; it's about recognizing the inherent value of our capacities, even when their current manifestation is gone.

Consider the analogy of the traveling Tent of Meeting. It was still the "Tent of Meeting" even when it was packed up and on the move. Its essence, its purpose, its divine connection didn't vanish with the physical structure. Similarly, the skills, the work ethic, the passion that fueled our previous "altar" are not disqualified simply because the physical structure has changed. We are called to recognize this enduring essence and to find ways to re-establish it in a new context.

This is particularly relevant in times of mid-career change or even early retirement. The feeling of loss can be profound. We’ve built a life around a certain professional altar, and its dismantling can feel like a disqualification of our very selves. The Gemara’s insistence on the altar’s primacy, even when the surrounding courtyard is in disarray, offers a profound insight: focus on the enduring core. What are the foundational skills, the values, the contributions you offer? These are your "altars" that can be re-established, even if the "Temple" around them looks different.

Furthermore, this principle extends to our personal lives. Family structures evolve. Relationships change. The "altars" of our formative years – perhaps a stable childhood home, a consistent parental presence – may no longer exist in the same form. The pain of such shifts can be immense. The Zevachim perspective encourages us to look for the enduring "altar" of familial love, of shared history, of mutual commitment, even when the physical arrangements or the specific dynamics have shifted. It’s about recognizing that the sanctity of the connection can persist, even if the "courtyard" has been reconfigured.

This isn’t about minimizing loss or pretending that change isn't painful. It's about a strategic reorientation. When the external scaffolding of our lives is shaken, the wisdom of Zevachim directs us inward, to the enduring sacred center. It teaches us that sanctity is not solely dependent on external permanence, but on the internal commitment to core values and purposes. It’s the difference between lamenting the fallen wall and focusing on the immovable altar, the immovable you, that can be re-grounded. This understanding allows us to rebuild, not from scratch, but from a place of recognized, enduring value. The question becomes not "What have I lost?" but "What of my sacred center remains, and how can I re-establish it?"

This re-framing moves us beyond a victim mentality to one of agency and resilience. It’s the adult understanding that while we cannot control the dismantling of certain structures, we can control how we orient ourselves towards what remains sacred and how we rebuild. This process of discerning and upholding the enduring altar is, in essence, the very architecture of resilience, a skill deeply embedded in the ancient wisdom of Zevachim.

Insight 2: The "Travels" of Sacredness – Embracing Impermanence and the Ethics of Transition

The verse "Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel" is a quiet revolution in how we understand sacredness. It acknowledges that holiness is not static; it moves, it shifts, it adapts. This concept is profoundly relevant to adult life, where we are constantly engaged in processes of transition – moving homes, changing jobs, raising children through different stages, navigating evolving relationships. The ancient rabbis understood that sanctity could exist even in motion, even in a state of temporary disarray.

Consider the ethical implications of this for our relationships. We often enter relationships with an idealized vision of permanence, an expectation that the initial spark and structure will remain constant. But life, like the journey of the Israelites in the wilderness, is inherently transitional. Children grow up and leave home. Spouses change and evolve. Friendships shift in intensity and proximity. The "Tent of Meeting" of our relationship can, and often does, travel.

When we cling to a rigid, static ideal of what a relationship should be, we risk disqualifying the present reality. We might say, "This isn't the relationship I signed up for," thereby rendering the current, evolving connection "impermissible" for our happiness or fulfillment. The Zevachim text, however, teaches us that the "Tent of Meeting" travels. This means we must learn to recognize and honor the sacredness of the current state of the relationship, even if it looks different from its inception.

This has direct implications for how we manage family transitions. The empty nest, for example, can feel like a radical dismantling of the sacred space of parenting. For years, the "altar" of our home was defined by the presence and needs of our children. When they depart, the structure shifts dramatically. If we only hold onto the memory of the fully occupied nest, we risk disqualifying the new season of our lives, the "traveling Tent of Meeting" of our post-parenting phase. The wisdom here is to find the new sacred center, the new purpose, the new way of connecting that honors the enduring love and connection, even as the physical arrangements change. This is about discerning the "Tent of Meeting" in its new form, rather than mourning the loss of its previous iteration.

In the workplace, this translates to adaptability and the ability to embrace change. Companies undergo mergers, teams are restructured, and roles are redefined. If we view our careers as a fixed structure, any disruption can feel like a disqualification. However, understanding that "the Tent of Meeting shall travel" allows us to see these changes not as endings, but as transitions. It encourages us to ask: What is the essential purpose of my work? How can my skills and dedication be applied in this new configuration? This allows for a more resilient and adaptable approach to professional life, preventing us from becoming rigid and obsolete.

Moreover, this concept speaks to our relationship with time and aging. We often mourn the loss of our younger selves, the "earlier Tabernacle" of our lives. We feel disqualified from certain joys or capacities as we age. But the teaching of the traveling Tent of Meeting suggests that sanctity is not confined to youth. It can travel with us, transforming and finding new expressions. The wisdom is to recognize the sacredness in each stage of life, to honor the journey, and to see the evolving self as still part of the continuous divine presence.

This perspective offers a powerful antidote to the anxiety of impermanence. Instead of fearing change, we can learn to see it as an inherent part of sacred existence. The ethical challenge is to discern the sacred in the midst of transition, to honor the evolving "Tent of Meeting" of our lives, relationships, and careers. It requires a mature understanding that holiness is not about static perfection, but about dynamic continuity, a continuous journey of adaptation and re-grounding. This is the essence of embracing the "travels" of sacredness, making us more resilient and more profoundly connected to the ongoing unfolding of life.

Low-Lift Ritual: The Altar Scan – Re-grounding Your Sacred Center

The wisdom of Zevachim 61 teaches us about identifying and preserving our sacred centers, even when external circumstances are in flux. This ritual is designed to help you cultivate that skill in your daily life. It's about recognizing the "altars" of your life – the things that anchor you, that provide meaning and purpose – and understanding what remains sacred even when things change.

The Practice: A Two-Minute Altar Scan

Goal: To consciously identify and connect with the enduring sacred centers in your life.

When to do it: Choose a moment during your week when you can have a quiet minute or two. This could be during your morning coffee, while commuting (safely!), or before bed.

How to do it:

1. Find Your Anchor: Close your eyes for a moment or soften your gaze. Take a deep breath.
2. Identify Your "Altar": Ask yourself: "What is one thing in my life right now that feels like a sacred anchor, a source of stability and meaning?" It doesn’t have to be grand. It could be:
   • A relationship (a spouse, a child, a close friend)
   • A particular skill or talent you possess
   • A creative outlet (writing, painting, playing music)
   • A value you hold dear (kindness, honesty, perseverance)
   • A particular habit that grounds you (reading, exercise, meditation)
   • Your sense of purpose in a specific project or role
   • A place that brings you peace
3. Acknowledge Its Presence: Once you've identified it, simply acknowledge its presence in your life. Don't judge it, don't analyze it, just recognize that it exists and that it holds significance for you. Think of it as the altar that, even if the Tabernacle is being moved, remains in place.
4. Connect to Its Endurance: Silently or in your mind, say to yourself: "Even as things change, this remains." Or, "This is a source of strength/meaning/connection for me." This is about connecting to the enduring quality of this "altar," just as the Gemara discusses the altar’s persistence.
5. Breathe and Release: Take another deep breath, and then return to your day.

Variations and Deeper Engagement:

• The "Traveling Tent" Scan: If you're currently experiencing significant change or upheaval, adapt the ritual. Instead of asking "What is my sacred anchor?", ask: "Even though my 'Tent of Meeting' is traveling, what enduring element of its sacredness can I recognize now?" This might be your own resilience, your capacity for love, your commitment to a core value that persists despite the disruption.
• The "Altar Expansion" Scan: If you're feeling stagnant, use this ritual to identify areas where you might expand your sense of sacredness. What new skill, relationship, or value could become a new "altar" in your life? This isn't about adding more obligations, but about consciously cultivating what brings you deeper meaning.
• Journaling Prompt: After the ritual, spend a few minutes journaling about your "altar." What makes it sacred to you? How does its presence impact your life? What would it mean if this "altar" were to be removed or significantly altered? This can deepen your understanding of its importance and your own capacity for resilience.
• Sharing (Optional): If you feel comfortable, share your identified "altar" with a trusted friend or partner. Explaining what makes something sacred to you can solidify its importance and foster connection.

Troubleshooting: "What If I Can't Find an Altar?"

It's completely understandable if, on a given day, you feel a profound lack of connection or purpose. The "stale take" can sometimes seep into our own internal landscape. If you struggle to identify an "altar":

• Lower the Stakes: Don't aim for a monumental, life-defining altar. Think smaller. Is there a cup of tea that brings you comfort? A song that lifts your spirits? A brief moment of peace in the morning? These small moments can be tiny, portable altars. The Gemara discusses the fire on the altar emitting sparks – even a spark is a form of enduring presence.
• Focus on "Did": Instead of "What is sacred now?", ask: "What did I do today that felt meaningful or purposeful, however small?" Even an act of kindness, or completing a small task, can be a reflection of an underlying value that serves as an altar.
• Focus on "Will": Consider a commitment you have for the future, even a small one. A promise to call a friend, an intention to learn something new. The intention itself can be an altar of future possibility.
• Revisit the "Why": If you're feeling disconnected from purpose, take a moment to recall why you started something important in your life. What was the initial spark? That initial purpose, even if dormant, can still be a source of connection.
• Be Patient and Empathetic: This is a practice, not a test. If it feels difficult today, that's okay. Simply acknowledge that feeling and try again tomorrow. The goal is gentle re-engagement, not forced revelation.

This ritual is about cultivating an awareness of what sustains us, what connects us to something larger than ourselves, and what endures. It's a way of internalizing the ancient wisdom that even in times of transition, sacredness can be found, maintained, and re-established.

Chevruta Mini: Conversational Deep Dives

Question 1: The Traveling Altar and Your Career Compass

The Gemara discusses how the "Tent of Meeting shall travel" and how the altar's presence is key to maintaining sanctity even during movement. How does this idea of a "traveling altar" – a sacred center that can endure and adapt to change – inform your approach to your own career path, especially when facing uncertainty or transitions? What does it mean for you to identify and "re-ground" your professional "altar" in times of flux?

Question 2: The Unmoored Hearth and Family Evolution

The concept of the altar as the anchor of sanctity, even when the surrounding structures are dismantled, is central to Zevachim. In the context of family life, where structures and dynamics are constantly evolving (children growing up, relationships changing), how can you apply this idea of an "unmoored altar" to maintain a sense of sacredness and connection within your family? What are the "altars" of your family that endure, and how do you honor them as they "travel" through different life stages?

Takeaway + Citations

The "stale take" that ancient sacrificial rituals are irrelevant misses the profound wisdom embedded within them. Zevachim 61, through its meticulous discussions of the altar, the courtyard, and the very nature of sacred space, offers us a powerful framework for understanding resilience, continuity, and meaning-making in the face of life's inevitable transitions. The altar, as the enduring sacred center, serves as a metaphor for the core values, purposes, and connections that sustain us, even when the external structures of our lives shift. The principle of the "traveling Tent of Meeting" teaches us that sanctity can persist and adapt, urging us to find and honor the sacred in evolving circumstances. By re-enchanting ourselves with these ancient insights, we can build a more robust architecture of resilience within ourselves, recognizing that what is truly sacred can endure the journey.

Citations:

• Zevachim 61: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim_61
• Numbers 2:17: https://www.sefaria.org/Numbers.2.17
• Exodus 20:22: https://www.sefaria.org/Exodus.20.22
• Deuteronomy 27:5: https://www.sefaria.org/Deuteronomy.27.5
• Deuteronomy 27:6: https://www.sefaria.org/Deuteronomy.27.6
• Leviticus 9:24: https://www.sefaria.org/Leviticus.9.24
• Middot 35b: https://www.sefaria.org/Middot.5.1 (referencing the altar dimensions discussed in the context of the Temple)
• I Kings 4:20: https://www.sefaria.org/I_Kings.4.20
• Ezra 2:64: https://www.sefaria.org/Ezra.2.64
• Exodus 20:21: https://www.sefaria.org/Exodus.20.21
• Tosafot on Zevachim 61a:1:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.1#Tosafot
• Steinsaltz on Zevachim 61a:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.1#Steinsaltz
• Rashi on Zevachim 61a:2:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.2#Rashi
• Rashi on Zevachim 61a:2:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.2#Rashi
• Tosafot on Zevachim 61a:2:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.2#Tosafot
• Steinsaltz on Zevachim 61a:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.2#Steinsaltz
• Gilyon HaShas on Zevachim 61a:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.1#Gilyon_HaShas
• Gilyon HaShas on Zevachim 61a:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim.61a.2#Gilyon_HaShas