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

Menachot 86

Again, a gorgeous section on the daf today. I will paste the whole section below, but to summarize, God tells the people that the menorha isn’t for God – it’s for them. That God doesn’ tneed the sacrifices – God doesn’t eat! Again, it’s for them. But the best, is that it talks about the constructions of the windows in the Temple built by King Solomon, and how most windows in the ancient world were built in a way to bring the light from outside in, but the Temple’s were made the opposite way because the Temple radiated light into the world.

Gorgeous.

The Temple didn’t need light—it gave light.
So the question isn’t what we bring into sacred space, but what we carry out of it. How do we bring that sacred light into the world? How do we let it shine?

The Gemara discusses the Candelabrum and other aspects of the Temple. The verse states: “Command the children of Israel, and they shall take for yourself refined pounded olive oil for illumination, to kindle the lamps continually” (Leviticus 24:2). Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani says: God tells the Jewish people that the oil should be taken “for yourself,” to indicate that it is for their benefit and not for My benefit, as I do not need its light. Similarly, with regard to the Table of the shewbread, located in the north of the Sanctuary, and the Candelabrum, located in the south of the Sanctuary, Rabbi Zerika says that Rabbi Elazar says: God said to the Jewish people: I do not require the Table for eating, nor do I require the Candelabrum for its illumination. In evidence of this, the Candelabrum was not positioned close to the Table, as is done by one who sets a table with food in order to eat there. With regard the Temple built by King Solomon, the verse states: “And he made for the House, windows narrow and broad” (I Kings 6:4). The Sages taught in a baraita: Typically, windows are constructed to widen toward the inside in order that the light from the outside would be dispersed throughout the room. For the Temple, God said: Make the windows narrow within and broad without, as I do not require its illumination. On the contrary, the light of the Temple is to be radiated outward. God instructed Aaron to kindle the Candelabrum: “Outside the Curtain of the testimony in the Tent of Meeting” (Leviticus 24:3). The dividing curtain is referred to here as: The Curtain of the testimony, to indicate that the illumination of the Candelabrum is testimony to all of humanity that the Divine Presence rests among the Jewish people. And if you question this and say: How is this testimony; perhaps the Candelabrum is lit for illumination? To this God would respond: Do I need its light? But isn’t it so that for all forty years that the Jewish people walked in the wilderness of Sinai until they entered Eretz Yisrael, they walked exclusively by His light, i.e., from the pillar of fire that guided them at night. If God provides light for others, he certainly does not need it Himself. Rather, evidently, the illumination of the Candelabrum is testimony to all of humanity that the Divine Presence rests among the Jewish people. What provides its testimony? Rava says: The testimony is provided by the westernmost lamp of the Candelabrum, in which they place a quantity of oil equivalent to that placed in the other lamps, and nevertheless it continues to burn longer than any of the other lamps. It burns so long that every evening, from it the priest would kindle the Candelabrum, i.e., he lit that westernmost lamp first, and the following morning, with it he would conclude the preparation of the lamps for the following evening’s lighting, because it remained alight longer than any of the other lamps. This perpetual miracle was testimony to God’s continuous presence among His people.

Menachot 85

I love a story on today’s daf! I will paste it in full below, but here is a summaary and the gem:

The Gemara takes us on a detour to the portion of land ascribed to the tribe of Asher, described in the Torah as a land where oil flows in abundance. To illustrate this, it tells a wild story: a messenger is sent to find an enormous amount of oil—far more than Jerusalem or even the major trade city of Tyre can supply.

Eventually, he’s sent to a simple farmer in Asher. At first glance, the man looks poor—working the field, carrying his own tools—but it turns out he has unimaginable wealth. Not only does he provide the entire massive order of oil, he even extends additional oil on credit.

The gem: Things aren’t always what they seem. True abundance—and true blessing—can be hidden beneath the surface. And? True wealth doesn’t need to be flashy. It still feels good to do meaningful work and to be in touch with the land.

The Gemara digresses to discuss the tribal portion of Asher, in which the city of Tekoa is located: The Sages taught in a baraita: In his blessing to the tribe of Asher, Moses said: “He will be pleasing to his brothers, and immerse his foot in oil” (Deuteronomy 33:24). This is referring to the portion of Asher, as the oil flows there like a spring. The Gemara relates: They said that once, the people of Laodicea were in need of oil. They appointed a gentile messenger [polmostos] and said to him: Go and bring us one million maneh worth of oil. He first went to Jerusalem to procure the oil, but residents there did not have that quantity of oil. They said to him: Go to Tyre, which was a commercial city. He went to Tyre, but they also did not have enough oil. They said to him: Go to Gush Ḥalav, which is located in the portion of Asher. He went to Gush Ḥalav, and they said to him: Go to so-and-so, to that field. He went there and found someone hoeing [ozek] under his olive trees. The messenger said to that man: Do you have the one million maneh worth of oil that I need? The man said to him: Wait for me until I complete my labor, i.e., hoeing. The messenger waited until the man completed his labor. After he completed his labor, the man slung his tools over his shoulders behind him, a manner typical of poor laborers, and started walking, and he was removing stones from his orchard as he went along the path. Upon seeing this behavior, which suggested the man was merely a laborer, the messenger questioned whether the man was truly able to provide him with the oil. He said to the man: Can it be that you really have the one million maneh worth of oil that I need? It seems to me that the Jews of Gush Ḥalav are making a laughingstock of me by sending me here. When he reached his city, the man’s maidservant brought out to him a kettle [kumkemos] of hot water, and he washed his hands and his feet. Afterward, she brought out to him a golden basin filled with oil, in which he immersed his hands and feet, in fulfillment of that which is stated with regard to the Tribe of Asher: “And immerse his foot in oil” (Deuteronomy 33:24). After they ate and drank, the man measured out for the messenger one million maneh worth of oil. The man said to him: Are you sure that you do not need any more oil? The messenger said to him: Yes, I do need more, but I do not have the money for it. The man said to him: If you wish to take more oil, take it and I will go back to Laodicea with you and collect the money for the extra oil there. The messenger agreed and the man measured out an additional 180,000 maneh worth of oil. Concerning this incident, people said: The messenger had such an enormous burden of oil that he left neither a horse, nor a mule, nor a camel, nor a donkey in all of Eretz Yisrael that he did not rent in order to help transport the oil back to Laodicea. When the messenger finally reached his city, the people of his city came out to praise him [lekaleso] for achieving this tremendous feat. The messenger said to them: Do not praise me. Rather, praise this man who has come with me, as it is he who measured for me one million maneh worth of oil, and he extended a debt to me for 180,000 maneh worth of oil. This incident was in fulfillment of that which is stated: “There is one who seems to be rich, yet has nothing; there is one who seems to be poor, yet has great wealth” (Proverbs 13:7).

Menachot 84

We’ve got ghosts! Or at least the dead visiting in a dream . . . good day for the daf.

Today’s daf quotes a Michna that teaches that dates growing in the mountains or produce growing in valleys also cannot be brought to the Temple as first fruits/bikkurim. But what if someone did bring them?

Rabbi Yoḥanan says: Even if one did bring mountain dates or valley produce as first fruits, he does not thereby consecrate them, i.e., they do not attain the sanctified status of first fruits. Reish Lakish says: If one did bring them, he has consecrated them; they are regarded just like a gaunt animal with regard to sacrificial animals. Although it is improper to consecrate such animals or such produce as an offering, if one does, the consecration certainly takes effect. The Gemara discusses the dispute: Granted, the opinion of Reish Lakish is well founded, as he stated the reason for his ruling. But as for Rabbi Yoḥanan, what is the reason for his ruling?

Okay, we have Yohanan and Reish Lakish disagreeing. The later rabbis can follow Reish Lakish’s argument. But they want to figure out Yohanan’s reasoning . . . but he lived in a previous time period! Enter Sandman . . .

Rabbi Elazar said: I have an explanation of Rabbi Yoḥanan’s ruling and since I was privileged to see Rabbi Yoḥanan in a dream, I know that I am saying a proper matter.

Okay, I will put the rest of the argument below in case your curious, but this is my favorite part of the daf. While the lesson we should take from this is to explain ourselves and why we think the way we do (or as my math teachers always put it “show your work”), I do think that we can work things out in our dreams. Maybe even understand people who have died.

But really, this is my gem because of one of my all time favorite movies, The Sandlot.

Hero’s get remembered, but legends never die. Follow your heart kid, you’ll never go wrong.

The verse states with regard to first fruits: “And you shall take from the first of all the fruit” (Deuteronomy 26:2). The addition of the word “from” indicates that one should take from some of the first fruits, but not from all the first fruits. This teaches that one should use only the seven species for the mitzva. The verse continues: “That you shall bring from your land.” The addition of the word “from” indicates that one should take first fruits from some areas of the land, but not from all areas in your land. This teaches that one should not take dates from the mountains or produce from the valleys. The Gemara asks: And as for Reish Lakish, for what halakha does he use this term “your land”? He holds that the term is necessary for that which is taught in a baraita: Rabban Gamliel, son of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, says: “From your land” is stated here (Deuteronomy 26:2), with regard to the first fruits, and “land” is stated there with regard to the praise of Eretz Yisrael: “A land of wheat and barley, vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive oil and honey” (Deuteronomy 8:8), which are the seven species. This serves as the basis for a verbal analogy and teaches that just as there, the verse is referring only to the produce that is the praise of Eretz Yisrael, so too, here, with regard to the mitzva to bring the first fruits, the verse is referring only to the produce that is the praise of Eretz Yisrael, i.e., the seven species. The Gemara asks: And the other one, Rabbi Yoḥanan, since he has already expounded the term “from your land” to teach that one may not use mountain dates or valley produce, from where does he derive that only the seven species may be used? Rabbi Yoḥanan holds that since the Torah could have just written “your land” but instead writes “from your land,” the word “land” can be used to form the verbal analogy while the word “from” can teach that one may not use mountain dates or valley produce. And the other one, Reish Lakish, what does he derive from the fact that the Torah adds the word “from”? He does not learn anything from the fact the Torah could have just written “your land” but instead writes “from your land.” In Hebrew, the term: From your land, is expressed by a single word: Me’artzekha. Reish Lakish holds that the verbal analogy uses the entire word.

Menachot 83

The day after Passover Seder, we begin to count the omer, and we continue to count, both days and weeks, until we reach Shavuot. What’s the omer? A measure of barley brought from the harvest. On our daf today, we get a new Mishna which teaches where the barley can be from. You can imagine the rabbis in Babylonia would have wanted to offer their won grain and not just grain from Israel.

MISHNA: All communal and individual meal offerings may come from produce grown in Eretz Yisrael and from outside Eretz Yisrael, from the new crop, i.e., the current year’s crop, and from the old crop from previous years. This is the halakha of all meal offerings except for the omer, i.e., the measure of barley brought as a communal offering on the sixteenth of Nisan, and the two loaves, i.e., the communal offering brought on the festival of Shavuot, as they come only from the new crop and from Eretz Yisrael.

Again, I am struck by the daf being in the exact moment we are on the Jewish calendar. What I got stuck on today, was the fact that we have had to rid our homes of the 5 forbidden grains for Passover . . . and one of those grains is barley! So, how was it that we could bring the omer offering during this week (when the Temple stood) when having any chametz was forbidden?

The key distinction is this: not all barley is cḥametz.

On Passover, what’s forbidden is cḥametz—grain (like barley, wheat, etc.) that has leavened/fermented. But raw barley, or barley that has been carefully processed so it never becomes leavened, is totally permitted. (That’s why I can eat wheat matzah!)

The omer offering is brought from freshly harvested barley and handled in a way that prevents it from becoming cḥametz. So it’s not a contradiction—it’s actually part of the message of the holiday:

You remove cḥametz (that which has puffed up, fermented), but you don’t remove the raw material itself.

The Gem:
On Passover we strip things down to their most basic form—no inflation, no excess. The omer, brought from simple barley (animal food, humble and raw), reflects that same idea: starting from a place of simplicity and humility, before we build back up again toward Shavuot.

Menachot 82

It’s Passover, and the daf is discussing Passover sacrifice!! Love when it lines up like this. There is a debate on our daf today as to whether one can derive rules about the Passover sacrifice in the Temple from the first Passover sacrifice.

Rabbi Akiva stated this objection in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Eliezer. He meant as follows: According to my opinion, one does not derive the possible from the impossible, and this is a sufficient reason why one cannot derive the halakha with regard to the Paschal offering of the generations from the halakha of the Paschal offering in Egypt. And even according to your opinion, in which you said that one derives the possible from the impossible, this comparison can be refuted: What is notable about the Paschal offering sacrificed in Egypt? It is notable in that it did not require the placement of blood on the altar nor that the sacrificial portions be consumed by the altar.

The gem:

In my opinion, one derives the possible from the impossible.

Why it’s my gem? Because it’s true. So much of what is possible today was once impossible, someone just had to have the imagination to picture something impossible. That vision became a goal. Now, the impossible is possible.

The moon landing and space travel all together.
I have a computer in my pocket!
I have a camera in my pocket that does not take film!
I have survived cancer.
I am a female rabbi!
Flying on planes.
The internet
Self-driving cars

You get the idea.

So, I agree with Rabbi Eliezer who stated his opinion in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Akiva: In my opinion, one derives the possible from the impossible.

Menachot 81

My Grandfather was an orthodox rabbi. Once, when he was hospitalized he made me lead an entire shacharit (morning) service in the hospital. He recovered. (I am not giving myself credit, just noting. Another time he was hospitalized, I came to visit him and he was studying and teaching another rabbi. So, this part of the daf stood out to me:

The Gemara relates that Rav Ila took ill, and Abaye and the Sages went to visit him, and they were sitting and saying: If one accepts the ruling of Rabbi Yoḥanan, who said: If the loaves of the thanks offering were within Jerusalem, i.e., the area of consumption of a thanks offering and its loaves, even if they were outside the wall of theTemple courtyard when the thanks offering was slaughtered they are consecrated, then let the owner bring loaves and set them outside the wall of the Temple courtyard and let him say: If this animal that is extant is the thanks offering, then let these be its loaves, and if it is not, let them go out and be consumed as non-sacred loaves.

The sacrifice and its accompanying loaves are the focus of conversation – but pull back and you see what I find the most educational- that they are having this debate while visiting an ill Rav Ila.

Even when we are sick – we are still living and want to feel alive. For Rav Ila and my grandpa, that meant debating Torah.

Menachot 80

Today’s daf gets pretty technical, walking us through all kinds of complicated cases about the Thanksgiving offering—what happens if the animal is lost and replaced, or if too many loaves are brought.

But underneath all that detail is a really beautiful idea about gratitude.

The thanksgiving offering is voluntary—you bring it because you want to say thank you. Yet, it comes with very specific requirements, like the loaves that must accompany it. Gratitude, the daf reminds us, isn’t just a feeling or a big moment—it needs form, detail, and follow-through.

The gem: Real gratitude isn’t just something we feel in our hearts. It’s something we express fully—with both the big gesture and the small, concrete actions that give it shape.

Menachot 79

Since the loaves that accompany the korban toda – the thanksgiving offering – are dependent on it, the Mishna (78b) teaches that under certain circumstances if the sacrifice is deemed invalid the loaves do not become sanctified.

If one slaughtered the thanks offering and it was discovered that it is a blemished animal, Rabbi Eliezer says: The loaves were consecrated, and Rabbi Yehoshua says: The loaves were not consecrated. This is the statement of Rabbi Meir, consistent with the dispute appearing in the mishna.

At first glance, this is a technical debate: if the animal offering is invalid, what happens to the loaves that came with it?

But beneath it is a deeper question: can something secondary stand if its foundation is broken?

The korban todah isn’t just bread and an animal brought at the same time—they are one offering, one expression of gratitude. And so, according to Rabbi Yehoshua, if the core is flawed, the rest cannot stand on its own.

The gem: The “extras” in our lives—our words, our gestures, even our expressions of gratitude—only have meaning when they’re rooted in something real. When the foundation is whole, everything built on it becomes holy too.

Menachot 78

Today’s daf discusses what to do if someone is bringing the required 40 loaves for the Thanksgiving offering and instead of 40 loaves, they bring 80!

Ḥizkiyya rules that 40 of these loaves become sanctified while Rabbi Yochanan disagrees. While Hizkiyya assumes the individual brought extra just to guarantee that there is no problem and has extra as back up – Yochanan thinks that this is unacceptable.

I agree. Why? It’s wild to expect someone to bring 40 loaves. On our daf two days ago it expressed the need to make the offering affordable. No way 80 loaves are something everyone can accomplish.

The gem: more isn’t always better. We live is a world where everyone one ups each other, a world of trying to keep up with the Jones’s. Excess can become the norm. So, sometimes it’s best to cut it off before everyone thinks that’s what they have to do.

Menachot 77

The new chapter opens with the korban todah—the thanksgiving offering. While it’s technically a type of peace offering, it appears here because it comes with forty loaves: And among the loaves of matza there are three types: Loaves, matza, and those poached in water.

One unique feature is that a portion of these loaves is set aside as terumah for the kohen who performs the service. The Gemara even explores who takes that portion—the owner or the priest—pointing to Moshe (serving as kohen) taking and giving it to Aharon as a model.

This offering isn’t just about gratitude—it’s about structure, sharing, and making sure thanks is expressed in a tangible, communal way.

The korban todah is all about giving thanks—but not just in words. It’s structured, shared, and even requires setting something aside for others. Gratitude in Judaism isn’t meant to stay private; it moves outward, to community and to those who serve.

Our gem: Real gratitude isn’t just a feeling—it’s something we actively give, share, and pass on.