Nachmanides' View - Giving the Devil His Due?

Nachmanides: Appeasing the Accuser

Nachmanides offers a striking interpretation of the meaning of the two goats. He cites a midrash that describes the role of the prosecuting angel – not “Satan” in the vague sense, but specifically Samael, the malach associated with Esav:

Samael sees that the Jewish people are without sin on Yom Kippur. He says before the Holy One, blessed be He: “Master of the universe, You have one nation that is akin to the angels in heaven. Just as the angels do not wear shoes, so too the Jewish people are barefoot on Yom Kippur. Just as the angels stand in one place and do not move, so too the Jewish people stand in prayer on this day. Just as there is peace among the angels, so too the Jewish people have peace between them on Yom Kippur. Just as the angels are clean of sin, so too the Jewish people are clean of sin on this day.” God hears the praises of the accuser of Israel, and He atones for the altar, the Temple, the priests and the people.

One detail here is highly significant. Our accuser is not a generic “Satan,” but Samael – the angel of Esav. The very name “Samael” is associated by the commentators with “blindness” – the power that blinds God from being perceived in the world.

When the Jewish people behave like Esav, they place themselves under Samael’s claim: “These are not God’s angelic people; they are my people, hunters of the field.” When we align ourselves with Esav’s way of life, it is as though we reject God’s protection and place ourselves under the aegis of Esav’s angel.

Ramban explains that the goat sent “to Azazel” plays a critical role in disarming this prosecution. Samael becomes unexpectedly gracious because he is, in a sense, “appeased” by the goat sent to him. The lots placed upon the two goats express that the decision to send one to Azazel is not ours, but from G-d. If we were to choose to send a goat to Samael of our own initiative, it would look dangerously like idolatrous worship of an independent power. Instead, the Kohen Gadol casts lots, signifying that this act is not human religious creativity but the explicit will of God.

Ramban illustrates this with a parable:

A person prepares a feast for the king. The king commands him: “Give a portion of the meal to my servant.” The host is not giving anything to the servant for the servant’s sake, nor to honour him. Everything he offers is for the king, and it is the king who generously chooses to give a portion to his servant as a reward. The host does exactly as he is told. Out of compassion for the host, the king arranges that all the servants who benefit from the meal will speak in praise of the one who prepared it.

In this parable, we are the person who prepares the meal, the “meal” is the service of the two goats, the king is God, and the servant is Samael. God wants Samael to benefit, as it were, from the divine service so that Samael will himself speak in praise of Israel. By obeying God’s word and sending the goat to Azazel only by God’s command, we are “giving the devil his due” in a controlled, theologically safe way – and this transforms the accuser into a defender.

This leads to a crucial question. How can the sending of one goat effect such a transformation that Samael now proclaims, “They are like angels, free of sin”? Yom Kippur certainly has external laws – we fast, wear non‑leather shoes, stand in prolonged prayer – but how does this single ritual turn us into angelic beings in the eyes of Heaven?

Ramban’s answer focuses on what happens above: the appeasement of the accuser and the resulting atonement. To deepen our understanding of what is meant to happen within us, we turn to Abarbanel, in my next essay.