Cantor Sandy Horowitz 
“And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away by the hand of an appointed man (ish iti) into the wilderness.” Lev 16:21
The ish iti – “the designated one” – might have been an important person in the community, familiar with traveling and taking on great responsibility. Or, it might have been a young boy, someone accustomed to spending time with the flocks of goats and sheep. This might be his story:
“I got the goat! They chose me, I got the goat! I got the goat! I got the goat.” Suddenly, the awesomeness of this responsibility, of having been chosen to take the sin-covered goat away from the community and into the wilderness, hits the boy like a ton of bricks – or perhaps, like a ton of sins.
A small grey-white goat with a rope tied around its neck like a leash, stands quietly waiting. I take the other end of the rope that’s been handed to me, and begin to leave the sanctuary, pulling the goat along. “Where are you taking me?” asks the goat. “I’m frightened”, says the goat. “So many people, and their sins are heavy on my head.” “Don’t’ be afraid”, I tell the goat. “Let’s you and I get out of this place.”
We begin to walk, and after a while I’m no longer having to pull him, the rope is slack in my hand as we begin to climb the mountain together. The path is steep, and soon it is the goat who is leading, so much more comfortable on this rocky path than I am. When I stumble, he stops and waits patiently until I’ve regained my balance. Finally we reach the top. The mountain top is so high that we are now surrounded in cloud. Even if there were anyone else here, no one would be able to see us.
I’m going to take the rope off of you now, I tell the goat. I untie the rope, and let it drop to the ground. The goat stands perfectly still, gazing at me in complete trust, ears twitching back and forth. I begin to chant a prayer, “Baruch shem kevod malkhuto le’olam vaed, Baruch shem kevod malkhuto le’olam vaed”, and as I do, I wave my arms over the goat, lifting the sins off of his head and away from him, sending them into the cloud that surrounds us.
It takes a long time, so many sins. My arms are getting tired, but I keep repeating the ritual, over and over — “Baruch shem kevod malkhuto l’olam va’ed, Baruch shem kevod malkhuto l’olam va’ed” — and sending the sins heavenward.
Finally I’m done. We are both exhausted, the goat and me. We lie down together and rest. After a while – has it been minutes? Hours? There is no sense of time up here on the lonely mountain — I get up and I tell the goat, “I have to leave you now.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him gently, thanking him. The goat gazes into my eyes for a moment, and then turns around away from me, and runs off through the haze of cloud. I quickly lose sight of him. Slowly, I begin my descent from the mountain, back towards the mishkan, and my home.