People make New Years resolutions. Mine was to read a page of Talmud every day, a practice known as daf yomi. There are 2,711 pages of Talmud. It will take over 7.5 years. This is my daily blog with at least one gem from each page I have read. Join me, and see this sacred book through the eyes of a progressive female Rabbi.
Today, the daf shifts from focusing on what is in tefillin (phylacteries, please see photos below) to how to wrap tefillin. And my gem comes in the daf’s acknowledgement and inclusion of people who are differently made.
The first is the person who by birth or circumstance does not have a right arm:
Others say: “Your arm,” i.e., yadkha, serves to include one without a complete arm, i.e., one whose arm ends at the elbow, in the obligation to don phylacteries, as the remaining part is also categorized as a weak arm. It is taught in anotherbaraita: If one does not have a left arm, i.e., not even above the elbow, he is exempt from the mitzva of phylacteries.
The second, is a bit more rare . . .
The Sage Peleimu raised a dilemma before Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi: In the case of one who has two heads, on which of them does he don phylacteries? Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi said to him: Either get up and exile yourself from here or accept upon yourself excommunication for asking such a ridiculous question.
Pause, you already have to love this: the rabbi finds the question so ridiculously obvious he basically says – get out of here.
Here it is different, as the Merciful One makes it dependent on his skull.
Meaning each head needs to wear teffilin.
So we learn that all kinds of bodies are thought of and included in the mitzvot.
We have actor James Franco and a Chabad rabbi wrapping tefillin – for visual aide 🙂
From wearing signs to being living signs, today’s gem is a good one.
The Gemara answers: Rabba bar Rav Huna derives the exemption from the obligation to don phylacteries on Shabbat from a different source, the source where Rabbi Akiva derives it from, as it is taught in a baraita that Rabbi Akiva says: One might have thought that a person should don phylacteries on Shabbatot and Festivals. To counter this, the verse states: “And it shall be for a sign for you on your arm, and for a remembrance between your eyes, so that God’s law shall be in your mouth; for with a strong arm God brought you out of Egypt” (Exodus 13:9). This teaches that the obligation to don phylacteries applies when the Jewish people require a sign to assert their status as God’s nation, i.e., during the week. This serves to exclude Shabbatot and Festivals, as they themselves are signs of the Jewish people’s status as God’s nation and a remembrance of the exodus from Egypt. Consequently, no further sign is required on these days.
Here, the Gemara asks why we do not wear tefillin on Shabbat and Festivals. Rabbi Akiva answers by pointing to the verse: “And it shall be for a sign for you on your arm…” (Exodus 13:9).
Tefillin are called a sign — a visible marker of our covenant with God. But Shabbat and Festivals are also called a sign. And, the Gemara teaches, when the day itself is a sign, we do not need another one.
During the week, we wrap the covenant onto our bodies. On Shabbat, we are meant to embody it without props. The rhythm of the day — rest, prayer, sanctified time — becomes the sign.
The Gem: There are moments when we wear reminders of who we are, and moments when we are meant to live them so fully that no external symbol is needed. The goal is not just to carry signs of holiness — but to become them.
“See something say something” is currently a national campaign run by homeland security wherein the public is supposed to report suspicious behavior. But for the rabbis of the Talmud, it applies to breaking halakhah (Jewish law).
The Gemara cites the continuation of that baraita. Rabbi Yehuda said: There was an incident involving Rabbi Akiva’s student, who would tie his phylacteries with strips of sky–blue wool rather than hide, and Rabbi Akiva did not say anything to him. Is it possible that that righteous man saw his student doing something improper and he did not object to his conduct? Another Sage said to Rabbi Yehuda: Yes, it is possible that the student acted improperly, as Rabbi Akiva did not see him, and if he had seen him, he would not have allowed him to do so. The baraita continues: There was an incident involving Hyrcanus, the son of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, who would tie his phylacteries with strips of purple wool, and his father did not say anything to him. Is it possible that that righteous man saw his son doing something improper and he did not object to his conduct? The Sages said to him: Yes, it is possible that his son acted improperly, as Rabbi Eliezer did not see him, and if he had seen him, he would not have allowed him to do so.
What I love so much about this passage is the assumption that it is impossible for the righteous to see something wrong and not say anything.
What is the wrong you see now? It’s certainly affecting more people and having worse consequences than a tefillin strap being flipped. Have you said anything?
Rav Ḥananya sent the following ruling in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan: If one has phylacteries of the arm, he can convert it to phylacteries of the head, but if one has phylacteries of the head, he cannot convert it to phylacteries of the arm, because one does not reduce the sanctity of an item from a level of greater sanctity of phylacteries of the head to a level of lesser sanctity of phylacteries of the arm.
The arm represents power and action; the head represents thought and awareness. By ranking the head tefillin as holier, the daf teaches that what guides our strength matters more than strength itself. True holiness is not in force, but in mindful direction.
Today we get God as our protector, watching over us and all who are in our homes.
Rabbi Ḥanina says: Come and see that the attribute of flesh and blood is not like the attribute of the Holy One, Blessed be He. The attribute of flesh and blood is that a king sits inside his palace, and the people protect him from the outside, whereas with regard to the attribute of the Holy One, Blessed be He, it is not so. Rather, His servants, the Jewish people, sit inside their homes, and He protects them from the outside. As it is stated: “The Lord is your keeper, the Lord is your shade upon your right hand” (Psalms 121:5)
Menachot 33 reminds us that we are never alone inside our homes. While earthly rulers need guarding, God stands guard over us. Faith means living with the quiet confidence that we are protected even when we cannot see the protection.
We get a great gem/rule of thumb on today’s daf. When asking if one can use parchment from a Torah scroll with the passage from the Shema in a mezzuzah or tefilli/phylacteries (a passage from the Torah passage is in both) we learn a lesson for halakhah and a lesson for life:
This is prohibited because one does not reduce the sanctity of an item from a level of greater sanctity, that of a Torah scroll or phylacteries, to a level of lesser sanctity.
The daf reminds us that spiritual growth is meant to move upward, not backward. Holiness has direction. Once we’ve reached a higher level — in learning, in character, in commitment — we shouldn’t settle for less. Menachot 32 challenges us to ask: in our words and actions, are we elevating holiness, or quietly lowering it?
Did you wish you were always right? Apparently, Rabbi Shimon Shezuri always was.
Rav Yeimar bar Shelamya sent the following question to Rav Pappa: That which Ravin bar Ḥinnana said that Ulla says that Rabbi Ḥanina says: The halakha is in accordance with the opinion of Rabbi Shimon Shezuri, and moreover, any place where Rabbi Shimon Shezuri taught a halakha, the halakha is in accordance with his opinion.
Who is Rabbi Shimon Shezuri? Well, we don’t know much about him. We know was a 2nd-century Tanna (sage) of the second generation, known as a pupil of Rabbi Tarfon. His legal rulings (halakhot) are featured in the Mishnah and he’s an expert on separating tithes.
But we don’t know his personality (like Gam Zo who is infinitely positive). We don’t know about his family (like Rabbi Assi who quotes his mom). We don’t have any brilliant aphorisms like we do with other rabbis (his teacher, Rabbi Tarfon, has one of the best – “It’s not up to you to finish the work but neither may you desist). We don’t know his history (like Reish Lakish the reformed bandit). And in fact, most of us don’t know his name at all.
Another day, another fabulous daf! On our daf we get instructions on how to make a kosher Torah scroll including how many columns per parchment piece (3-8), the indents on each edge and space between the lines, and this little gem: And if he himself writes a Torah scroll, the verse ascribes him credit as though he received it at Mount Sinai. Rav Sheshet says: If he emended even a single letter of the Torah scroll, thereby completing it, the verse ascribes him credit as though he had written it in its entirety.
This passage is the reason many of us have paid to write a letter in a Torah scroll – we get credit as if we’ve written the entirety of the scroll.
But the gem I want to focus on is the question the daf asks that many of us have asked as well – if Moses wrote the Torah, how is it he wrote about his own death and burial?
The verse states: “And Moses the servant of the Lord died there” (Deuteronomy 34:5). Is it possible that after Moses died, he himself wrote: “And Moses died there”? Rather, Moses wrote the entire Torah until this point, and Joshua bin Nun wrote from this point forward; this is the statement of Rabbi Yehuda. And some say that Rabbi Neḥemya stated this opinion. Rabbi Shimon said to him: Is it possible that the Torah scroll was missing a single letter? But it is written that God instructed Moses: “Take this Torah scroll and put it by the side of the Ark of the Covenant” (Deuteronomy 31:26), indicating that the Torah was complete as is and that nothing further would be added to it. Rabbi Shimon explains: Rather, until this point, i.e., the verse describing the death of Moses, the Holy One, Blessed be He, dictated and Moses wrote the text and repeated after Him. From this point forward, with regard to Moses’ death, the Holy One, Blessed be He, dictated and Moses wrote with tears without repeating the words, due to his great sorrow.
So, either Joshua wrote just the last 8 words after Moses died, or Moses wrote the words as God dictated them, crying to learn he would not enter the Holy Land.
Menachot 30 reminds us that Torah emerges at the meeting point of the divine and the human. Whether written by Joshua or by Moses in tears, the Torah is complete not despite human emotion, but only with it.
Today we have a fabulous page of Talmud. And on it, we have one of the most well loved passages of the Talmud. It begins with a questions: Why are there crowns on some of the letters in the Torah scroll?
Rav Yehuda says that Rav says: When Moses ascended on High, he found the Holy One, Blessed be He, sitting and tying crowns on the letters of the Torah. (When Moses received the Torah on Mt. Sinai God drew these crowns.) Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, who is preventing You from giving the Torah without these additions? God said to him: There is a man who is destined to be born after several generations, and Akiva ben Yosef is his name; he is destined to derive from each and every thorn of these crowns mounds upon mounds of halakhot. It is for his sake that the crowns must be added to the letters of the Torah. (In about 1300-1400 years another Rabbi will derive laws from these crowns.) Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, show him to me. God said to him: Return behind you.
(Time travel!!) Moses went and sat at the end of the eighth row in Rabbi Akiva’s study hall and did not understand what they were saying. (In the academy, the brightest students sat at the head of the class – so Moses’ position shows he was the least informed student as he spies on this future class.) Moses’ strength waned, as he thought his Torah knowledge was deficient. When Rabbi Akiva arrived at the discussion of one matter, his students said to him: My teacher, from where do you derive this? Rabbi Akiva said to them: It is a halakha transmitted to Moses from Sinai. When Moses heard this, his mind was put at ease, as this too was part of the Torah that he was to receive.
Moses returned and came before the Holy One, Blessed be He, and said before Him: Master of the Universe, You have a man as great as this and yet You still choose to give the Torah through me. Why? God said to him: Be silent; this intention arose before Me. (I love that Moses sees Akiva as greater than him, and yet it’s not up to us to decide who is worthy of receiving Torah – that’s all God.)
Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, You have shown me Rabbi Akiva’s Torah, now show me his reward. God said to him: Return to where you were. Moses went back and saw that they were weighing Rabbi Akiva’s flesh in a butcher shop [bemakkulin], as Rabbi Akiva was tortured to death by the Romans. (Horrific.) Moses said before Him: Master of the Universe, this is Torah and this is its reward? God said to him: Be silent; this intention arose before Me. (Just as we are not one’s to judge who deserves reward, we are also not equipped to judge who gets punished and why.)
This story reminds us that Torah is bigger than any one person — even Moses — and that meaning unfolds across generations. We inherit only part of the picture, and that has to be enough. Faith, here, is learning when to ask questions and when to sit in the discomfort of not knowing.
The Gemara teaches that we are not allowed to recreate the Temple in our own homes—not its structure, not its vessels, not even its furnishings. No house shaped like the Sanctuary. No table like the Temple table. No menorah that mirrors the Menorah.
And it is taught in anotherbaraita: A person may not construct a house in the exact form of the Sanctuary, nor a portico [akhsadra] corresponding to the Entrance Hall of the Sanctuary, nor a courtyard corresponding to the Temple courtyard, nor a table corresponding to the Table in the Temple, nor a candelabrum corresponding to the Candelabrum in the Temple.
At first, this feels like a technical prohibition. But I think it’s something more human than that.
Judaism draws a clear line between the holy house and our own. Not because our homes lack meaning, but because holiness matters enough not to be made ordinary.
We are meant to bring holiness into our lives—but not by collapsing every boundary. Some things are honored precisely by not being reproduced. The Temple is not décor. Its vessels are not design inspiration. They are meant to remain other.
There’s humility in that line. We are not God. Our homes are not the Temple. And maybe holiness depends on that distinction.
Some things lose their power when they become familiar. Some things stay sacred because we know where to stop.
2,711 pages of Talmud. A gem a day. 