The Red Heifer, Purity and Impurity: Jewish Traditions and the War with Iran

What connection could there be between the commandment of the red heifer—one of the most mysterious commandments in the Torah, about which we read on Shabbat—and the moral and political challenges of our own time, especially the war with Iran?

At first glance, this is an ancient ritual law dealing with purification from the ritual impurity generated by contact with a corpse and the order of Temple worship. Yet a closer look at the biblical tradition, rabbinic interpretation, and different Jewish traditions reveals that this commandment reflects much broader questions: the limits of human reason, the relationship between order and chaos, and a society’s ability to preserve moral distinctions within a complicated reality.

Shabbat Parah, on which the description of the red heifer ritual is read as the maftir, falls on the Sabbath before Shabbat HaChodesh, close to Passover. It describes the ritual purification process that removes the impurity of death through the ashes of the red heifer (Numbers 19). A red heifer is described as a miraculous cow that is entirely red, without even one black hair. According to tradition, already in the wilderness, a red heifer was burned close to the month of Nisan (in which Passover falls) so that its ashes could be sprinkled upon the Israelites after the Tabernacle was established, enabling them to offer the Passover sacrifice in a state of ritual purity.

Yet even in the eyes of the Sages, this commandment was one of the most enigmatic passages in the Torah. Its uniqueness lies in its paradox: the ashes purify the impure person defiled by death, yet at the same time render impure the pure kohen who handles them while administering the service. Even King Solomon, who sought to understand the reason for the red heifer, is said by the Sages to have admitted that its secret remained beyond his grasp: “I said, I will become wise, but it is far from me” (Ecclesiastes 7:23). Precisely for that reason, the red heifer raises profound philosophical and existential questions about the nature of moral reality and about the human ability to distinguish between purity and impurity, between good and evil, and between light and darkness.

Are We All Impure Through Contact With Death?

The difficulty of the red heifer does not stand alone. The very concepts of purity and impurity are confusing to the modern reader. The Torah describes a complex system of ritual impurity generated by: bodily emissions, menstruation, seminal emission, zav and zavah, childbirth, tsaraat (spiritual leprosy), contact with creeping creatures, and —the most severe of all—contact with a corpse. In the biblical and Temple world, these laws were an inseparable part of religious life. A person moved between states of purity and impurity as part of the natural cycle of life, and purity was a condition for participation in Temple worship.

After the destruction of the Temple, however, the status of these laws changed dramatically. In the Talmudic tradition, the practical application of the laws of purity and impurity was greatly reduced, until the familiar statement emerged that “we are all impure through contact with the dead.” In the absence of a red heifer and a Temple, this system lost its central place in the daily life of the Jewish community.

I believe this was not only a halakhic development. During the Second Temple period, the laws of purity and impurity sometimes became a social mechanism of distinction and hierarchy. Impurity, which cannot be seen and cannot be measured, came to be treated as though it were almost tangible, and differences in degrees of impurity created real social distance. Talmudic literature reflects a reality in which religious stringency could damage basic human relationships. The well-known Talmudic story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza describes a society in which rigid social boundaries eventually undermined national cohesion and helped lead to destruction.

Against that backdrop, the rabbinic decision to say, “we are all impure through contact with the dead,” can be understood not as a rejection of Torah, but as an attempt to save society from internal fragmentation. In other words, the laws of purity and impurity were pushed out of ordinary life not only because ritual means were lacking, but also because of a social crisis. Put differently: these laws did not disappear only because there was no red heifer—after all, in Ethiopia we had red heifers—but because proper human relationships had broken down.

The Preservation of Purity Traditions in Ethiopian Jewish Life

It is striking that especially within a Jewish community so far removed from the main centers of the Jewish world—the Bete Israel community of Ethiopia—the laws of purity and impurity were preserved as a living part of our religious culture. In Ethiopian Jewish villages, homes were built near flowing water, and immersion was a central part of daily life. Women during menstruation and after childbirth would separate to a designated hut, and after the period of separation they would immerse in living water and return home.

According to various testimonies, this community even continued to use the ashes of a red heifer until the twentieth century. The last red heifer was slaughtered in 1952 by the priest Mahara Yitzhak. According to the testimony cited by Rabbi Reuven Tal Yasso, Mahara Yitzhak succeeded in concealing red heifer ashes in the village of Beit Marya near Debguna. The very preservation of this commandment over so many generations opens a window onto its educational, moral, and social dimensions.

At first glance, this seems like a very strict system of separation. Yet within Ethiopian Jewish life, it rested on a very different conception: ritual impurity was not a moral defect and not a human ranking, but a temporary existential state through which every person passes. Precisely for that reason, the laws of purity contributed to social cohesion. Everyone shares the same basic human condition, and everyone stands equal before God.

This is also the message I received from my late grandfather, Abba Dagen (Gideon) Mengesha. According to him, at the core of the theological worldview of Bete Israel stands one fundamental value: equality. This stands in contrast to the surrounding culture, which was deeply hierarchical and structured by honor codes. Before God, however, all are equal. No one is more important and no one is less important. Perhaps it is this education, which I received at home from the Ethiopian tradition, that still allows me to find balance between my personal identity and my collective identity.

The Red Heifer and the Limits of Reason

From a philosophical perspective, the commandment of the red heifer challenges the simple rational model of cause and effect. . British anthropologist, Mary Douglas, best known for her book Purity and Danger (1966), showed that concepts of purity and impurity are not merely ritual categories, but systems through which human societies define order, boundaries, and meaning. In other words, purity is not only a physical or ritual condition; it is a cultural language that organizes the world.

The paradox of the red heifer—purifying the impure while rendering the pure impure—exposes the limits of human reason. In that sense, the commandment teaches that not every dimension of reality is fully understandable. One could say that the Ethiopian Jewish community preserved an ancient layer of biblical consciousness, in which these concepts belonged to a wider moral and spiritual system.

Political and Social Reality post October 7^th and the Iran War

This insight becomes especially sharp when we look at the political and social reality of our own time. The events of October 7 exposed acts of extreme violence. But beyond the horrors themselves, what stood out was the international response, which was often marked by deep moral confusion. Organizations and individuals who define themselves as defenders of human rights and guardians of universal values did not always succeed in articulating a clear moral position.

This reflects a broader crisis in modern moral discourse. Hannah Arendt described, in the phrase “the banality of evil,” a condition in which human beings lose the ability to judge morally when they operate within ideological or political systems. When moral boundaries are blurred, ordinary people may find themselves justifying acts that cannot withstand any serious moral test.

This reality is also visible in the Middle East. Many states in the region understand very well the threat posed by extremist ideologies, yet, at times, struggle to define that threat clearly. The result is a situation in which the boundaries between enemy and ally become blurred, and political discussion is conducted only in strategic terms while neglecting the basic moral question.

From a philosophical perspective, this is a crisis of discernment. When a society loses the ability to distinguish between good and evil, between justice and injustice, it enters a state of deep cognitive confusion. In such a condition, destructive ideologies can appear under the guise of noble values such as freedom of speech or human rights. In this sense, Iran stands at the center of that corrupting discourse.

The Red Heifer and the Struggle for Moral Order

One of the clearest features of our time is the blurring of moral boundaries. The erosion of distinctions between good and evil, truth and falsehood, light and darkness has become a defining feature of public and international discourse. It often seems that our society has difficulty distinguishing between those who are prepared to defend the values of life and liberty and those willing to justify violence and destruction in the name of ideology—and sometimes even in the name of “moral language” or “human rights.”

So severe is this confusion that even institutions meant to serve as guardians of international morality, foremost among them the United Nations, sometimes struggle to distinguish between victim and aggressor, between self-defense and ideological violence. This phenomenon is not new. The prophet Isaiah already warned: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (5:20). When moral language itself is destabilized, even institutions meant to preserve world order can become part of the confusion.

The paradox of the red heifer points to a deeper danger: the very tools meant to repair reality can become sources of distortion when detached from moral consciousness. In that sense, the confrontation with Iran is not only a geopolitical conflict. It is also a struggle over the very existence of moral order in the world. It is a confrontation with a religious-ideological regime that seeks, together with its proxies in the region and beyond, to undermine the foundations of normal human life and to spread fear and chaos.

Therefore, this war is not only a war over power. It is also a war over the ability to distinguish between light and darkness, between life and death. A struggle against Iran until its decisive defeat and replacement by a humane regime is, in this view, not merely a matter of political or economic convenience, but a moral, ethical, and human imperative.

Conclusion

The discussion of purity and impurity takes on renewed meaning in light of the challenges of the present. Here the commandment of the red heifer offers an important insight: the distinction between purity and impurity is not only ritual or ceremonial, but also a deep moral and intellectual process. A person must cultivate the moral sensitivity needed to recognize situations in which the boundaries between good and evil are becoming blurred.

It is no coincidence that the Sages chose to recall this strange and mysterious commandment, especially in the period leading up to Passover. That idea is reinforced by Passover itself. Beyond its historical meaning as the festival of freedom, Passover also teaches a subtle distinction between leavened bread and Matza. Materially, they are almost the same thing—flour and water—yet the difference between them is fine and delicate. That very subtle distinction symbolizes the human ability to identify moral differences that are not always visible to the eye.

In this sense, the ancient tradition preserved by the Jews of Ethiopia is not only historical testimony to extraordinary religious devotion. It is also a spiritual voice that speaks directly into the present. Within a reality of chaos, blurred concepts, and moral confusion, the portion of the red heifer calls upon us to relearn the art of discernment: to distinguish between chametz and matzah, between purity and impurity, and between light and darkness.