2,711 pages of Talmud. A gem a day.

People have a natural tendency to be lenient with themselves while holding others to higher standards. Our daf today teaches us to practice doing the opposite. How? In a section dealing with slaughter it uses the very real possibility of an animal being considered treifa, and therefore unable to be consumed after kosher slaughter (a big financial loss), it teaches us to notice our own treifa.

I love the image of seeing our own treifa both literally and as a larger metaphor. Admitted when your animal is not kosher, even though it will cost you. And, admit your own shortcomings, mistakes, and take the hit.

What kind of person does this? Only the finest of people.

The Gemara cites an aphorism: Rav Ḥisda says: Who is a Torah scholar? This is one who sees his own tereifa. In other words, when the status of his own animal is uncertain, he deems it prohibited without concern for his own monetary loss. And Rav Ḥisda says: Who is referred to by the verse: “He that hates gifts shall live” (Proverbs 15:27)? This is one who sees his own tereifa. He is careful to avoid deriving benefit from that which is not his own, and even from items that are his concerning which it is questionable whether or not they are permitted.

But you’re not just a Torah scholar, not just blessed in the afterlife!

Mar Zutra taught in the name of Rav Ḥisda: Anyone who reads the Torah and studies the Mishna, and sees his own tereifa, and has served Torah scholars to learn the ways of halakhic judgment, about him the verse states: “When you eat the labor of your hands, happy shall you be, and it shall be well with you” (Psalms 128:2). Rav Zevid says: Such a person merits inheriting two worlds, this world and the World-to-Come. When the verse states: “Happy shall you be,” it means in this world, and when it states: “And it shall be well with you,” it is referring to the World-to-Come.

When we can see our own treifa and not rig things to our own benefit, then we will have blessings in this life and the world to come.

Our daf begins with the ending of the analysis of a Mishna and ends with a heavy deep truth. That when a woman has a live healthy baby – everyone knows.

However, when a woman miscarries, that news is kept private.

The Gemara answers: Lest you say: If it is so that his wife gave birth, it would have generated publicity and been common knowledge; To counter this, Rabbi Elazar teaches us that the slaughter is not valid. Say that his wife miscarried and is liable to bring an offering, but it is not common knowledge, because the baby was not born alive.

So many experience miscarriage. 10-20% of viable pregnancies end in miscarriage. And yet… most think they’re the only one.

Our daf reminds us that we often don’t know when our neighbor is suffering because of a pregnancy loss.

It’s not only the 80s band Real Life who sing “send me an angel,” so many pray to angels. Today we learn that praying to angels is considered to be idol worship. Even the Arch Angel Michael.

With regard to one who slaughters for the sake of mountains, for the sake of hills, for the sake of rivers, for the sake of wildernesses, for the sake of the sun and moon, for the sake of stars and constellations, for the sake of Michael the great ministering angel, or even for the sake of a small worm, these are offerings to the dead, from which

This is my gem because 1) most don’t know Jews believe in angels and that those Catholic angels come from Judaism, and 2) we never pray to Gods messengers, only to God.

Don’t you hate it when something happens and it makes you look back and wonder if it was all a lie? Maybe you believed someone to be faithful and years later caught them in an affair. Maybe you get to college and get your butt kicked and wonder if you were ever as smart as you thought you were.

On our daf today, the rabbis are debating if one’s final intention is a guarantee of their original intention. While they are debating kosher slaughter, we can see how this might reflect on our own lived experience.

It is taught in a baraitain accordance with the opinion of Rabbi Yoḥanan: With regard to one who slaughters an animal in order to sprinkle its blood for idol worship or to burn its fat for idol worship, the status of these animals is that of offerings to the dead, i.e., to idols, and the slaughter is not valid. If one slaughtered the animal and thereafter intended in its regard to sprinkle its blood or burn its fats for idol worship, that was the incident in Caesarea, and the Sages did not say anything with regard to the animal, neither prohibition nor permission.

Here, the debate on whether we can assume that someone who eventually uses meat for idol worship intended that during the slaughter. We see that if someone stated the intention during the steps of the slaughtering then we know they meant it for idol worship. But, if they only say it after all the slaughtering is done . . . well, then we can’t be sure.

This goes to show that even when we fill disillusioned, we may not have been living a lie. People change, their feelings change, our context can change. Just because your struggling in one math class, that doesn’t mean you were never really good at math. Just because your partner cheated, doesn’t mean they have always behaved that way. Just because something goes bad, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t once good.

We can only know what someone intends if they tell us, and when they tell us.

One of the more unusual discussions in Chullin 38 revolves around a practical question: how can we tell whether an animal was truly alive at the moment of shechitah? The rabbis note that not every movement is evidence of life. Sometimes a body continues to twitch or move even as life is departing. The challenge is to distinguish between genuine signs of vitality and mere automatic motion.

Although the discussion is technical, it offers a deep lesson for our own lives.

We often assume that movement means life. We fill our calendars, answer emails, scroll through social media, rush from one obligation to the next, and tell ourselves that because we are busy, we must be living fully. Yet activity and vitality are not the same thing. A person can be constantly in motion and still feel disconnected from what matters most.

The rabbis’ question invites us to ask a similar one of ourselves. Which parts of our lives are signs of genuine engagement, and which are simply momentum carrying us forward? Are we investing in relationships that deepen our connections with others? Are we pursuing work and causes that reflect our values? Are our spiritual practices helping us grow, or have they become routines we perform without thought?

Chullin 38 reminds us that a meaningful life is measured by more than movement. True vitality comes from living with intention, purpose, and presence. The goal is not simply to keep going, but to make sure that our actions are evidence of a life that is fully and authentically being lived.

Today’s lesson: Don’t brag about doing the basics.

What you need to know: Jewish law distinguishes between an animal that is terminally damaged (tereifa) and one that is merely very ill (mesukenet). A tereifa cannot be slaughtered for kosher consumption because it is considered incapable of surviving. A mesukenet, however, may still be slaughtered and eaten, provided there is evidence that it was alive at the moment of slaughter. The Mishnah records a debate about what counts as such evidence: Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel requires visible movement after the slaughter, while Rabbi Eliezer maintains that the forceful flow of blood is sufficient.

Seeking a biblical basis for this ruling, the Gemara turns to a verse in the book of the prophet Ezekiel. When God commands him to perform a disturbing symbolic act, Ezekiel protests that he has always been careful about what he eats: “From my youth until now I have never eaten a carcass or an animal torn by beasts, nor has forbidden flesh entered my mouth” (Ezekiel 4:14).

On the simplest level, Ezekiel is emphasizing his scrupulous observance of the dietary laws. As a priest, concerns about ritual purity would have made such restrictions especially significant. The rabbis, however, argue that a prophet would hardly boast about merely observing the minimum requirements of the law. Instead, each phrase points to an additional act of piety.

According to their interpretation, Ezekiel is saying that he never allowed improper thoughts to lead him toward ritual impurity, that he never ate from an animal slaughtered in great haste because it was on the verge of death, and that he avoided eating meat whose permissibility depended on a rabbinic ruling in a doubtful case.

This reading is important because it suggests that refraining from meat taken from a dying animal was not a legal requirement but a personal stringency. Ezekiel chose to hold himself to a higher standard, yet the halakhah does not demand that level of caution from everyone.

Ezekiel wouldn’t have bragged about just doing the basics. So, we shouldn’t either.

Silence is complicity. In our dad today, we see that Hillel does not agree with Shammai, and yet, he does not object, but instead remains silent, which all interpret as him accepting Shammai’s ruling.

Rabbi Zeira said: Come and hear an objection to Rabbi Elazar’s opinion from a baraita: In the case of one who harvests grapes in order to take them to the winepress, Shammai says: The grapes are rendered susceptible to ritual impurity by the liquid that seeps from them, and Hillel says: They are not rendered susceptible to ritual impurity; and ultimately, Hillel was silent and did not respond to Shammai, accepting his opinion.

The gem is that it’s not enough to speak up once and then stay silent. You have to speak out every time. Every time.

Sometimes people surprise us by totally surpassing our expectations. Like the “am haaretz” (literally translates to people of the land, but really is a somewhat derogatory category the rabbis use to call people uneducated) on our daf today.

Didn’t we learn in a mishna (Ḥagiga 24b): It is not permitted for a priest to accept teruma wine from an am ha’aretz, but if an am ha’aretz says to the priest: I separated and placed into this barrel of teruma wine a quarter–log of sacrificial wine, he is deemed credible?

The sugya assumes something surprising: an am ha’aretz is generally not trusted regarding ritual purity, so the priest cannot simply accept terumah wine from him. Yet if the person says, “I mixed a quarter-log of sacrificial wine into this barrel,” suddenly he is believed. He has surpassed our expectations! He has shown he knows what to do and, because sacrificial wine carries stricter consequences and greater sanctity, the person would be especially careful. In effect, the rabbis recognize that even someone who is not usually meticulous can rise to the occasion when something matters deeply enough.

That can become a broader reflection on how we often freeze people in our minds. We categorize them: irresponsible, uninvolved, uninformed, unreliable. The rabbis certainly had categories. Yet here they acknowledge that a person may exceed the expectations attached to their category.

The gem: let people surprise you. You might even get a nice glass of wine out of it!