There’s a passage in Talmud Chullin 23 that, on the surface, feels almost painfully technical.
Rabbi Zeira raises a dilemma: With regard to one who says: It is incumbent upon me to bring an animal burnt offering of a ram, which is a sheep that is at least thirteen months old, or of a lamb, which is up to one year old, and he brought a palges, which is between one year and thirteen months old, what is the halakha?
As you can see, the rabbis are discussing age requirements for sacrificial animals (we get a stage between childhood and adulthood – cue Brittany Spears “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman.”) But we CAN get a great lesson from this:
The rabbis notice that sometimes a person or animal can be fit for a sacred role one day and no longer fit the very next day simply because they have crossed an age threshold. Nothing dramatic happened, they did not suddenly become unworthy or flawed, the role simply no longer belongs to that stage of life.
And honestly, I think many of us struggle with that idea.
We sometimes hold on tight to identities that once defined us: the work we used to do, the version of ourselves that once felt successful, the way we parented when our children were younger, the energy or certainty we had in another chapter of life. We often assume that growth means remaining the same person forever, just more accomplished.
But the Talmud imagines something different. It assumes that life changes us, and that those changes are not failures. They are part of what it means to live truthfully.
There are seasons in life (now cue “tun, turn turn” from Ecclesiates and put to music by the Byrds). Some seasons are for building. Some are for leading. Some are for questioning. Some are for stepping back and making room for others. One form of service can end without a person losing their dignity or worth.
I think that is especially hard for us today. We live in a culture that resists aging, resists limitation, resists transition. We are constantly encouraged to stay productive, stay relevant, stay youthful. But Chullin 23 suggests that holiness does not come from pretending nothing changes. Holiness comes from recognizing what this moment of life is asking of us now.
Not every chapter is supposed to look the same. Not every strength is meant to last forever in the same form. Sometimes wisdom is knowing when a role that once fit beautifully no longer fits in the same way.
That is not decline. It is maturation.
And maybe one of the spiritual tasks of adulthood is learning to ask, again and again: Who does this stage of life require me to become?