| As Abraham reached the final stage of implementing God’s request — ready to make the ultimate sacrifice of his own son — he suddenly saw a ram caught in the bushes. At the angel’s direction, he lifted the ram and placed it on the altar in place of Isaac, offering it as the sacrifice. For Abraham, this resolved the “test” and maintained the life of his son. But what of the ram, the being that had no choice but to be sacrificed? Besides serving as a substitute for Isaac, what meaning can we derive by looking at the Akeidah from the ram’s perspective?
As one of the foundational stories of Judaism, the Akeidah narrative of unwilling sacrifice emerges throughout our people’s history in different forms: the destruction of the temples, the Inquisition, the pogroms in Eastern Europe, the multiple expulsions of the Jews throughout Europe, the Holocaust, the different wars of Israel, the multiple terrorist attacks in Israel, Argentina, Turkey, Munich, etc. and the most recent: October 7th. In every generation, this sad reality has returned, and we find men, women, and children caught in situations of entanglement, often ending in great and tragic sacrifice. In this way, the ram symbolizes the people of Israel, who continually find themselves entangled in complex, challenging situations.
In particular, the ram’s two horns carry deep symbolic meaning, as taught by Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 31:13. They are identified with the shofarot sounded at crucial moments in our history: Rabbi ben Dosa assigns one as the shofar of revelation, and the other as the shofar of redemption. The horns of the ram connect us to these profound aspects of our heritage – moments when we encounter the divine and when we yearn for liberation and deliverance.
The Bechor Shor teaches that the sound of the shofar of revelation increases as it goes, as opposed to the shofar blown by humans that rely on the person’s breath. It is a supernatural shofar, symbolizing the revelation and covenant that began at Sinai. It represents the Torah, the Mitzvot, and the Brit (covenant). Its sound grows louder and stronger, and we must be prepared to face its volume and boldness without fear, as it can be overwhelming to those unprepared to commit. For those who do not accept us, this covenant is certainly unsettling and has been provoking antagonism and violence ever since.
The idea of redemption associated with the shofar is deeply embedded in Jewish thought and tradition. It symbolizes both hope and a promise for a future filled with peace, unity, and divine presence. This moment is seen as a collective spiritual and physical return, where the scattered Jewish diaspora is reunited, fulfilling a central part of the traditional view of the Messianic era. This shofar represents the unity of all humanity under a single Divine purpose. It is seen as a call that transcends national boundaries. This vision is supported by the idea that in the Messianic era, the shofar will unite all nations in the knowledge of God, establishing an era of global peace and mutual respect. The shofar calls each listener to embody these ideals in the present, preparing for a future where redemption is fully realized.
These two concepts—revelation and redemption—are at the heart of our ethical and spiritual identity, and they have been the source of both strength and persecution ever since we entered into a covenant with God.
Reflecting on sacrifice in today’s world, I am reminded of the story I shared with you last year on Parashat Vayeira: Rachel Edri from Ofakim, a courageous woman whose radical hospitality helped her survive being held hostage during the horrific events of October 7th. Recently, I saw her on Israeli TV (see time stamp 1:49:00) at the national memorial ceremony on October 26th, laying a wreath for the civilian victims. During the broadcast, the MC mentioned that her husband, David, had died soon after the attack, his health having declined rapidly due to the trauma. The October 7th attacks continue to cast a long shadow, leading to more suffering, delayed deaths, and tragic suicides—at least two cases include an IDF officer and a Nova survivor.
These victims, along with all fallen soldiers and all the wounded and traumatized individuals, are our current “rams” that are sacrificed for no other reason than representing the values that our enemies hate so much. The Jews attacked and persecuted in the streets and college campuses across Europe and America are also part of this sacrificial offering. It is clear, after over a year of unleashed violence all over the world, that it is not about land or sovereignty. It is about being part of a people and a faith represented by the two big shofarot. It is our mere existence that bothers too many.
These two shofarot are related to our collective experience as we recognize the sacrifices endured by our people, past and present. Like the “rams” of today — those who have fallen or suffered due to their dedication to the Jewish people, the Jewish State, and its values — the sacrificial aspect is not about a mere offering but rather about a profound commitment to the ideals symbolized by the shofarot. This includes the courage of individuals like Rachel Edri and thousands of others, who, despite their own pain and loss, stand as a living testimony to resilience and commitment in the face of hatred as the way of bringing about redemption. These two shofarot are intertwined: the more we endure for the call of the revelation horn, the nearer we get to the sounding of the redemption horn.
The ram’s horns are not just historical symbols but living reminders of our ongoing journey: they call us to proudly engage with our heritage and embody these ideals in our lives. In a historical time when our identity can invite both inspiration and persecution, the sound of these horns urges us to be determined to uphold our values, deepen our connection with each other and the State of Israel, and remain persistent in our connection to God, each other, and our extended human family.
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Rabbi Ḥazzan Luis Cattan (AJR ’20)
(AJR ’20) is currently serving at Sutton Place Synagogue in New York City. He is the Immediate Past President of the Cantors Assembly. As a native Uruguayan, he attended the Catholic University of Montevideo receiving his BA in Social Communication Sciences with a major in Advertising. He sought private instruction under the tutelage of renowned local teachers. Upon returning from Israel, where he spent a year studying, he started his Ḥazzanut training with different mentors in Uruguay and Argentina as well. He became the Head Ḥazzan at the NCI (the largest Conservative Synagogue in Uruguay). He also served as International Vice President of Mercaz Olami (Zionist Conservative Movement) as one of the founders of the Uruguayan Branch.
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