Zevachim 61

Hook

We gather today, in this quiet space, to honor a profound shift, a turning of the leaf that signifies both the passing of time and the enduring presence of those we hold dear. The occasion we mark is not one of fixed calendars or predictable seasons, but rather the deeply personal and often unexpected moments when memory calls us to remembrance. It might be an anniversary, a birthday, a day that simply feels heavy with the echo of a loved one's absence, or perhaps a time when a particular scent, a melody, or a fleeting image conjures their spirit with vivid clarity. Today, we are met by the memory of a life, a presence that once filled our world, and now resides in the cherished chambers of our hearts.

The text that beckons us today, from Zevachim 61, delves into the intricacies of sacred spaces and the continuity of ritual, even amidst transition and change. It speaks of altars, of offerings, and of the delicate balance between the physical and the spiritual. In its ancient wisdom, it offers a framework for understanding how things endure, how their essence remains even when their form shifts. This is a profound resonance for our own journeys through grief. Just as the ancient priests navigated the complexities of maintaining sacred continuity, so too can we find ways to maintain a connection to those who are no longer physically present, to ensure their legacy, their love, and their lessons continue to nourish us.

The passages from Zevachim describe the meticulous rules surrounding the altar, the central point of connection and offering in the ancient Tabernacle and Temples. We learn about the conditions under which sacrificial food could be consumed, the importance of the altar's presence, and the subtle ways in which the sacred space was understood to remain intact even when the physical structure was in flux. The discussions about the altar’s composition, its locations in Shiloh and later in Jerusalem, and the continuity of the sacred fire, all point to a deeper truth: that the presence of the sacred, and by extension, the presence of those we love, is not solely defined by immediate physical proximity. It resides in the established order, in the enduring traditions, and in the very fabric of our being.

Consider the opening lines of the baraita that Rabbi Yishmael interprets. The meat of a firstborn offering, a sacrifice of lesser sanctity, still requires the presence of a properly constituted altar. This isn't about arbitrary rules; it's about the integrity of the sacred act, the connection between the offering, the altar, and the Divine. Even when the physical form of the altar might be damaged or absent, the principle of its necessity remains. This mirrors our own experience of grief. The physical presence of our loved ones is gone, and that absence is a profound wound. Yet, the "altar" of our love, the space they occupied in our lives, remains. The rituals and memories we hold serve as the enduring structure, allowing the "sacred offerings" of our remembrance to be received and to sustain us.

The Gemara then introduces the opinion of the Sages, who disagree with Rabbi Yishmael, and offers an alternative resolution: both baraitot refer to offerings of the most sacred order, and the food could be consumed in two locations when the Israelites were in transition, before the Tabernacle was fully erected or after it was dismantled, but before the altar was moved. This concept of transition, of being in-between, is a powerful metaphor for the grieving process. We are often in a state of flux, navigating a world that feels both familiar and irrevocably changed. The ritual space, even in its temporary or transitional state, holds the continuity. This teaches us that even when our lives feel unsettled, even when the familiar structures of our world seem to be in the process of being dismantled, there are enduring anchors. The altar, even when being moved, still represents the sacred connection.

The Gemara further clarifies that the sacrificial food is not disqualified as long as the altar remains in place, even if the surrounding partitions of the courtyard are taken down. The verse, "Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel," reassures us that even in transit, it is still considered the Tent of Meeting. This is a deeply comforting thought for those of us who are navigating the landscape of grief. The physical markers of our loved ones' presence may be gone – their home, their familiar routines, their voice – but the essence of their being, the "Tent of Meeting" they represented in our lives, remains. The spiritual connection, like the Tent of Meeting in transit, is not extinguished by physical relocation or absence. It is a continuous presence, a vital part of our spiritual geography.

Rav Huna’s statement about the altar in Shiloh, fashioned of stones, further emphasizes this idea of enduring sacred structures. The repetition of the word "stones" in the Torah, alluding to different altars across different eras – Shiloh, Nov and Gibeon, and the Eternal House – highlights a consistent thread of sacred purpose. The physical form might change, from copper to stone, but the function, the connection to the Divine, remains. For us, this speaks to the enduring nature of love and legacy. Our loved ones, though their physical forms have changed, have left behind a legacy that is built on enduring "stones" – their values, their wisdom, their love. These foundations allow us to continue to build our lives, to offer our own "sacrifices" of remembrance and devotion.

The discussion about the fire that descended from Heaven, and its persistence through different altars and eras, is particularly poignant. The fire, a symbol of Divine presence, departed the copper altar only when it was replaced by the stone altar in Shiloh, and then continued until Manasseh’s actions. This narrative of a continuous, albeit sometimes shifting, divine fire underscores the idea that the sacred flame of love and memory can endure through various phases of our lives and through the transitions that mark our existence. It may flicker, it may change its visible manifestation, but its source, its essence, remains.

Even the debate about whether the altar in Shiloh was copper or hollow and full of stones, or the nuanced explanation of the fire being "a guest," speaks to the complexity and depth of sacred tradition. It reminds us that understanding the past, and understanding the presence of those we have lost, is often a process of grappling with different perspectives, of seeking layers of meaning. There isn't always a single, simple answer, but a rich tapestry of understanding that unfolds with contemplation.

Finally, the expansion of the altar in the Second Temple, and the reasons behind it – the need for a larger space due to the absence of heavenly fire – offers a profound insight into adaptation and continuity. When one source of sustenance or assistance is no longer present, we find ways to adapt, to create new spaces and methods to maintain what is essential. In grief, we too must adapt. The absence of our loved ones creates a void, and we must find new ways to fill that space with their memory, their lessons, and our continued love, even if the "heavenly fire" of their direct presence is no longer there. The expansion of the altar signifies that the sacred purpose, the need for connection and offering, persists and finds new expression.

The ancient texts, in their profound exploration of sanctuary and continuity, offer us a gentle hand to hold as we navigate the terrain of remembrance. They teach us that even in absence, there is presence; even in transition, there is connection; and even in loss, there is enduring legacy.

Text Snapshot

"The altar in Shiloh was fashioned of stones." "The fire that descended from Heaven upon the altar in the days of Moses departed from atop the copper altar only in the days of Solomon..." "The whole congregation together was forty and two thousand three hundred and sixty... the altar was not sufficient... Because a heavenly fire would assist them and consume the offerings. Here, there was no heavenly fire that would assist them." "They expanded the altar to extend over the underground cavities into which the libations flowed... "An altar of earth you shall make for Me"... It teaches that the altar must be attached to the earth..."

Kavvanah

As we sit with these ancient words, let us invite a spaciousness into our hearts, a quiet reverence for the journey we are on. The texts from Zevachim speak of altars, of sacred spaces, and of a continuity that transcends physical form. This is a profound mirror to our own experiences of memory, remembrance, and legacy.

The Enduring Altar of the Heart

Consider the altar in these texts – a place of offering, a focal point of connection, a symbol of the sacred. In our lives, the physical presence of those we have loved and lost has been like a radiant altar, a central point around which our lives revolved. Now, that physical altar may be gone, its form dissolved, its presence no longer a tangible reality in our daily lives. This absence can feel like a vast emptiness, a space where something vital once stood.

But the wisdom of Zevachim whispers to us that the altar itself, the concept of the sacred space, the principle of connection, endures. Even when the physical structure is altered, moved, or even absent, the purpose of the altar remains. So too, the altar of our love for those we remember is not destroyed by their passing. It is transformed. It becomes an altar within us, built not of stone or copper, but of memory, of shared moments, of the indelible imprint they left upon our souls.

This inner altar is where we continue to offer our love, our gratitude, our ongoing connection. It is where the "sacrifices" of remembrance – the stories we tell, the tears we shed, the lessons we embody – are received. The text speaks of the altar needing to be "attached to the earth," rooted, grounded. Our inner altar of remembrance must also be grounded in the reality of our present lives, drawing strength from the earth beneath our feet, even as it reaches towards the heavens of memory.

Continuity Through Transition

The passages describing the Israelites' encampments and the movement of the Tabernacle speak to us of transition. The ritual was maintained even when the physical sanctuary was in motion, when it was being dismantled and re-erected. There were times when the outer partitions were down, when the sacred space was in a state of flux. Yet, as long as the altar remained, the sacred function continued.

This offers a profound comfort to those navigating grief. Our lives are often in a state of transition after loss. The familiar structures have been dismantled. We may feel exposed, unsettled, as if the "partitions" of our former lives have been taken down. The rituals we once shared are now solitary acts, or acts shared with others who understand this liminal space.

But just as the altar’s continued presence ensured the continuity of the sacred offering, so too can our commitment to remembrance ensure the continuity of our connection. The "altar" of our loved one's presence in our lives may be in transit, moving from the forefront of daily experience to a deeper, more internalized space. Yet, the essence of that connection remains. The rituals we create, the stories we keep alive, the values we uphold – these are the enduring elements that maintain the sacredness of their memory, even as our lives transition.

The verse, "Then the Tent of Meeting shall travel," assures us that even in movement, it remains the Tent of Meeting. This is a powerful affirmation that the essence of our loved ones, their spirit, their impact on us, is not lost when they are no longer physically present. It travels with us, transforming and enduring.

The Evolving Nature of Sacred Fire

The discussion about the sacred fire, its descent from Heaven, and its continuity across different altars, speaks to a dynamic understanding of the Divine presence and its manifestations. The fire that descended in Moses' time persisted, changing form and location, but its essence remained. The Gemara grapples with its departure and continuation, highlighting that the sacred is not static; it evolves, adapts, and finds new ways to express itself.

This resonates deeply with how we experience the presence of those we remember. The "heavenly fire" of their direct, tangible presence may no longer be with us. The vibrant, immediate warmth of their being has transitioned. But the legacy of that fire, the illumination it brought into our lives, the warmth it generated, continues.

The Second Temple altar, needing to be larger because the "heavenly fire" no longer assisted, teaches us about adaptation. When a direct source of power or comfort is no longer present, we must find new ways to sustain ourselves, to continue the essential work. In grief, we often find ourselves needing to expand our inner capacity, to create new rituals and practices that nurture the flame of memory and love, even without the direct assistance of their physical presence. We learn to draw upon the residual warmth, the enduring embers of their being, and to fan them into a steady, guiding light.

We are called to be like those who expanded the altar, to create space within ourselves for the enduring presence of our loved ones. This space is where their wisdom continues to guide us, their love continues to sustain us, and their legacy continues to inspire us. It is a testament to the fact that while forms may change, the essence of what is sacred endures.

Let us hold these intentions: to honor the enduring altar of the heart, to find continuity through the transitions of loss, and to tend the evolving flame of sacred memory. May this practice be a source of solace, strength, and enduring connection.

Practice

The ancient texts from Zevachim offer us a profound contemplation of enduring sacred spaces and the continuity of ritual, even amidst change. As we engage with these themes, we can weave them into practices that honor our loved ones and the legacy they have left behind. Here are a few ways to do so, inviting you to choose what resonates most deeply with your heart today.

Option 1: The Candle of Enduring Light

Insight: The persistent, evolving sacred fire described in Zevachim speaks to the enduring nature of the light our loved ones brought into our lives. Just as the sacred fire was tended through different eras and structures, so too can we tend the flame of their memory.

Practice:

1. Choose a Candle: Select a candle that holds significance for you. It could be a white candle to represent purity and spirit, a color associated with your loved one, or simply a candle that feels right.
2. Create a Sacred Space: Find a quiet place where you will not be disturbed. You might place a photograph of your loved one nearby, or an object that reminds you of them.
3. Light the Candle: As you strike a match or press the igniter, hold the intention that this flame represents the enduring light of your loved one’s life and spirit. You might say, "I light this candle in loving memory of [Name], whose light continues to shine in my heart."
4. Contemplate the Flame: Sit quietly for a few moments, observing the flame. Think about the qualities of the flame – its warmth, its movement, its ability to illuminate. Connect these qualities to your loved one.
   • Perhaps their life was a steady, comforting flame, always there to warm you.
   • Perhaps it was a vibrant, dancing flame, full of passion and energy.
   • Perhaps it was a guiding flame, showing you the way.
5. Share a Memory or Gratitude: While the candle burns, you might:
   • Silently recall a specific memory that embodies their "light."
   • Write down a gratitude you have for something they taught you or a way they impacted your life.
   • Offer a silent prayer or blessing for their continued peace.
6. Extinguish the Candle (or let it burn): When you feel ready, you can gently extinguish the candle, perhaps with the intention of carrying their light within you. Alternatively, you may choose to let the candle burn down completely, allowing its light to be a continuous presence for a period.

Option 2: The Altar of Legacy

Insight: The Zevachim text discusses the altar as a central structure, a place of connection and offering. We can create our own "altar of legacy" to honor the lasting impact of our loved ones.

Practice:

1. Gather Objects: Collect a few items that represent your loved one's legacy. This could include:
   • Tangible Objects: A book they loved, a piece of their art or craft, a tool they used, a photograph, a letter.
   • Symbolic Objects: A stone that represents their groundedness, a feather that symbolizes their spirit, a seed that represents growth, a small plant that needs tending.
   • Written Expressions: A journal entry, a poem, a list of their core values, a family recipe.
2. Designate a Space: Choose a table, shelf, or corner in your home where you can arrange these objects. This space becomes your personal "altar of legacy."
3. Arrange the Objects: Place the items with intention. Consider what each object signifies about your loved one's enduring influence. You might arrange them in a way that tells a story or reflects their personality.
4. Craft a Declaration of Legacy: Write a short statement or affirmation that encapsulates your loved one's legacy and your commitment to carrying it forward. For example: "Through the wisdom of [Name], I commit to [specific action or value]. Their love and teachings continue to guide me." Or, "The creativity of [Name] lives on in my appreciation for [art/music/nature], and I will strive to cultivate this beauty."
5. Engage with the Altar Regularly: Visit your altar periodically. Touch the objects, read your declaration, and reflect on the legacy. You might use this space for quiet contemplation, or to share stories with others.

Option 3: The Story of the Continuing Fire

Insight: The Gemara’s discussion about the sacred fire, and how it was perceived even when not directly visible, speaks to the idea that the essence of something can persist even when its outward manifestation changes. Our loved ones' stories are like that fire, continuing to burn within us and through us.

Practice:

1. Identify a Core Story: Think of a story about your loved one that is particularly meaningful to you. It could be a story about their character, a significant event in their life, a moment of humor, or an instance of their wisdom.
2. Focus on the "Fire": As you prepare to tell or reflect on the story, consider what "fire" it represents. Was it a fire of passion, resilience, kindness, humor, or courage?
3. Practice Telling the Story:
   • For Yourself: Recount the story aloud to yourself, as if you were sharing it with someone who never knew them. Pay attention to the emotions that arise.
   • For a Trusted Friend or Family Member: Share the story with someone who also knew your loved one, or someone you feel safe with. Listen to their reflections and memories as well.
   • Write the Story Down: Journal about the story, focusing on the details and the feelings it evokes. You might think about how this story continues to "burn" within you.
4. Connect to the Present: After sharing or reflecting on the story, consider how the "fire" of that story continues to influence you today.
   • What lesson did you learn from it?
   • How does it inspire you to act or to be?
   • In what ways does the spirit of that story manifest in your own life?
5. Consider the "Travel": Just as the sacred fire traveled, so too does the essence of your loved one's story travel through you. Acknowledge that by sharing and remembering, you are keeping that flame alive and passing it on, in a way, to the world.

Option 4: Tzedakah - The Earthly Manifestation of Love

Insight: The concept of the altar being made of "earth" and needing to be "attached to the earth" suggests that our spiritual practices have tangible, earthly manifestations. Performing acts of tzedakah (righteousness, charity) in honor of a loved one is a powerful way to embody their spirit and continue their positive impact on the world.

Practice:

1. Identify a Cause: Reflect on the values, passions, or causes that were important to your loved one.
   • Did they have a particular concern for the environment, education, social justice, animal welfare, or a specific community?
   • Was there a particular organization or type of work they admired or supported?
2. Choose a Form of Tzedakah: Decide how you will offer tzedakah in their memory. This could be:
   • A Financial Donation: Give to a charity that aligns with their values.
   • An Act of Service: Volunteer your time for a cause they cared about. This could be at a soup kitchen, an animal shelter, a community garden, or by helping a neighbor.
   • Advocacy or Awareness: Share information about a cause they championed, or write a letter to an elected official.
   • A Skill-Based Contribution: Offer your professional skills (e.g., graphic design, writing, legal advice) pro bono to a relevant organization.
3. Dedicate the Act: Before you perform the act of tzedakah, take a moment to dedicate it. You might say, "I offer this act of [donation/service/advocacy] in loving memory of [Name], to honor their commitment to [cause]."
4. Reflect on the Impact: After completing the act, reflect on how it connects you to your loved one and to the world. Consider how your actions are a continuation of their positive influence, an earthly manifestation of the love and values they embodied.
5. Share the Legacy (Optional): You might choose to share with others how you are honoring your loved one through tzedakah, inspiring them to also engage in meaningful acts of remembrance and contribution.

Each of these practices offers a pathway to connect with the wisdom of Zevachim and to infuse your grief and remembrance with intention and meaning. Choose the practice that calls to you most strongly today, and allow it to be a gentle ritual of connection and legacy.

Community

In times of grief and remembrance, the support and presence of community can be a profound source of solace and strength. The ancient texts, while focused on the individual and the collective ritual of the Tabernacle, implicitly acknowledge the communal aspect of spiritual life. The continuity of the altar, the shared undertaking of erecting and dismantling the Tabernacle, all point to a collective endeavor. When we engage in rituals of remembrance, we are not always meant to do so in isolation.

Option 1: The Shared Story Circle

Insight: The transmission of stories, like the continuity of the sacred fire, binds a community together and keeps memory alive across generations. Sharing personal narratives allows for collective witness and validation of grief.

Practice:

1. Gather with Intention: Invite a small group of trusted friends, family members, or members of a support group to gather. You can set a gentle intention for the gathering, such as "to share memories and support each other in remembering [Name]."
2. Establish a Sacred Space: Create a comfortable and welcoming atmosphere. Light a candle together, perhaps one that represents your loved one or the collective spirit of remembrance.
3. Introduce the Practice: Explain that the focus will be on sharing memories of your loved one. You might use a prompt, such as:
   • "What is a quality you admired most about [Name]?"
   • "Can you recall a time when [Name] made you laugh?"
   • "What is one lesson you learned from [Name] that you carry with you?"
   • "Describe a moment when you felt [Name]'s presence most strongly."
4. Facilitate the Sharing: Encourage each person to share when they feel ready. There is no pressure to speak, and listening is as valuable as sharing. Ensure that each person who wishes to speak has an opportunity.
5. Offer Gentle Support: Create an atmosphere of acceptance and empathy. If tears arise, acknowledge them with kindness. If someone is struggling to find words, offer gentle prompts or simply hold space for their silence.
6. Concluding Ritual: You might end the circle by collectively saying the Kaddish, reciting a poem or prayer in memory of your loved one, or by each person sharing a single word that describes their feeling at the end of the gathering. You could also reaffirm your commitment to supporting one another.

Option 2: The Legacy Project

Insight: The concept of "building" the altar and its enduring presence suggests that legacy is not passive, but actively created and maintained. A community project can be a powerful way to embody and extend a loved one's legacy.

Practice:

1. Identify a Communal Legacy: Gather with a group to discuss what aspect of your loved one's life or values could be honored through a shared project. This could be anything from planting a tree in a public space, creating a memorial garden, establishing a scholarship fund, organizing a drive for a particular cause they cared about, or contributing to a piece of art that reflects their spirit.
2. Brainstorm and Plan: Work together to define the scope of the project, set goals, and assign roles. This collaborative effort can foster a sense of shared purpose and connection.
3. The Act of Creation: Engage in the project together. This physical act of creation, of building something tangible in honor of your loved one, can be deeply cathartic and meaningful. It is a way of actively shaping the world in their memory.
4. Dedicate the Project: Once the project is complete, hold a small dedication ceremony. This could involve a brief speech, the reading of a poem, or a moment of silent reflection to officially mark the completion and dedicate it to your loved one's memory.
5. Sustain the Legacy: Discuss how the community will continue to engage with the legacy project. This might involve periodic visits to the memorial, ongoing fundraising, or future events related to the project's theme.

Option 3: The Circle of Support

Insight: The idea of the altar remaining in place even when the surrounding structures were in flux highlights the importance of a stable core, a grounding presence. In grief, our community can serve as that stable core.

Practice:

1. Designate a "Support Circle": Identify a group of people who are willing and able to offer ongoing support. This could be close family, a few dear friends, or a dedicated support group.
2. Establish a Communication Channel: Agree on a method of communication that feels comfortable for everyone. This could be a group chat, a shared online document, or regular check-in calls.
3. Offer Specific Support: Encourage members of the support circle to offer concrete, practical help. Instead of saying "Let me know if you need anything," try to be specific. Examples include:
   • "I'm going to the grocery store on Tuesday, can I pick anything up for you?"
   • "I have a few hours free on Saturday afternoon, would you like some company or help with errands?"
   • "I'd love to bring over a meal next week, what day works best?"
   • "Would you like to go for a walk on Thursday morning?"
4. Encourage Openness: Create a safe space where individuals can express their needs, feelings, and struggles without judgment. It's okay to say "I'm having a hard day" or "I don't know what I need right now."
5. Regular Check-ins: Schedule regular, informal check-ins with members of the support circle. These don't need to be long or formal, but they provide an opportunity to connect and ensure everyone is feeling supported.
6. Reassurance of Presence: Remind each other that even when life is busy or when the physical distance may be present, the connection and support remain. Like the enduring altar, the commitment to one another remains steadfast.

Option 4: Acknowledging the Collective Grief

Insight: The ancient texts implicitly acknowledge that the rituals of the Tabernacle were for the entire community of Israel. Our grief, while personal, often touches many lives. Acknowledging this collective dimension can foster shared understanding and connection.

Practice:

1. Create a "Memory Wall" or "Legacy Board": This could be a physical space (a bulletin board, a wall in a community center) or a digital space (a shared online platform, a social media group).
2. Invite Contributions: Encourage individuals to contribute in ways that feel meaningful to them. This could include:
   • Writing a short memory or anecdote.
   • Sharing a photograph.
   • Posting a poem or quote that reminds them of the person.
   • Sharing information about a cause the person supported.
3. Facilitate Shared Reflection: Periodically, the group can come together to reflect on the contributions. This could be a brief online gathering or a scheduled time to visit the physical wall.
4. The Power of Witnessing: Simply knowing that others are also remembering and honoring the person can be incredibly validating. It creates a shared tapestry of remembrance, demonstrating the breadth and depth of the person's impact.
5. Connect to Action: As mentioned in the "Tzedakah" practice, the collective energy can also be channeled into a shared legacy project or act of charity, further solidifying the community's commitment to honoring the departed.

By actively engaging with community, we can find a deeper resonance in our remembrance practices. These shared rituals, like the enduring altar of the ancient texts, provide a stable and sacred space for connection, healing, and the perpetuation of love and legacy.

Takeaway + Citations

The ancient discussion in Zevachim 61, though seemingly focused on the minutiae of sacrificial laws, offers us profound insights into the nature of enduring presence and sacred connection. We learn that even when physical forms change or are in transition, the essence of what is sacred can remain. The altar, a symbol of connection and offering, persists in function even as its structure and location evolve. The sacred fire, a manifestation of Divine presence, continues its journey through different eras, adapting and enduring.

This wisdom speaks directly to our experience of grief, remembrance, and legacy. Our loved ones may no longer be physically present, and the structures of our lives may feel dismantled and in flux. Yet, the "altar" of their presence in our hearts remains, a sacred space where love and memory are continually offered. The "fire" of their spirit, their impact, their legacy, continues to burn, transforming and illuminating our lives. By tending to this inner altar, by embracing the continuity of their essence, and by adapting our practices to nurture this enduring flame, we honor their memory and weave their legacy into the fabric of our continuing lives. The community, like the enduring altar, offers a stable grounding, a shared space for remembrance and support, ensuring that no one navigates this path entirely alone.

Citations

• Zevachim 61: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim_61
• Tosafot on Zevachim 61a:1:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Tosafot_on_Zevachim_61a.1.1
• Steinsaltz on Zevachim 61a:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Steinsaltz_on_Zevachim_61a.1
• Rashi on Zevachim 61a:2:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Rashi_on_Zevachim_61a.2.1
• Rashi on Zevachim 61a:2:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Rashi_on_Zevachim_61a.2.2
• Tosafot on Zevachim 61a:2:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Tosafot_on_Zevachim_61a.2.1
• Steinsaltz on Zevachim 61a:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Steinsaltz_on_Zevachim_61a.2
• Gilyon HaShas on Zevachim 61a:1: https://www.sefaria.org/Gilyon_HaShas_on_Zevachim_61a.1
• Gilyon HaShas on Zevachim 61a:2: https://www.sefaria.org/Gilyon_HaShas_on_Zevachim_61a.2