Eruvin addresses two key elements of Shabbat observance. First, celebration of Shabbat is centered around home and community and so the rabbis limit how far one can travel from one’s residence on Shabbat. This notion emerges from Exodus 16:29, which states “Let everyone remain where they are: let no one leave their place on the seventh day.” Unlike some of their contemporaries who read this verse literally and confined themselves to their homes for Shabbat, the rabbis allow one to travel 2000 cubits (about ½ mile) from one’s residence. In our tractate, we learned about the eruv techumim (joining of boundaries), which allows a person to establish a symbolic residence outside the place where they will sleep and double that distance.

The second element of Shabbat observance that is featured in Tractate Eruvin is the obligation to refrain from working and avoiding the business of the marketplace. For the rabbis, this included not carrying objects from one domain to another, one of the 39 actions that they prohibited on Shabbat. In developing the rules for the eruv chazerot (joining of courtyards) and the shituf mavoi (merging of alleyways) the rabbis sought to protect the prohibition against carrying and manage the complexities of urban development that created shared spaces that were not easily designated public or private domains.

In our day, Jews who observe the laws of eruv look to live in a community that has one. Doing so puts them in walking distance of others and establishes a community with whom they can celebrate Shabbat. For most people, mastering the rules for constructing an eruv, which Eruvin explores in detail, is not a necessity. Unless one is engaged in the construction or maintenance of an eruv, it is sufficient to know that one’s local eruv is functioning.

After completing a tractate devoted to creating such a complex and challenging legal structure, one might conclude that the rabbis were inherently restrictive around eruv. Yet this conclusion is unwarranted, as today’s daf reminds us:

We learned in the mishnah that Rabbi Shimon says: “Wherever the Sages permitted an action to you, they granted you only from your own.” 

With regard to Rabbi Shimon, on the basis of what mishnah did he formulate this principle? He taught this principle on the basis of another mishnah, as we learned: “With regard to one for whom it grew dark while he was outside the Shabbat limit, even if he was only one cubit outside the limit he may not enter the town.” 

Rabbi Shimon says: Even if he was fifteen cubits outside the limit, he may enter the town, because when the surveyors mark the Shabbat limit, they do not measure precisely. Rather they position the boundary mark within the two thousand cubit limit, because of those who err.

Rabbi Shimon reminds us that in establishing the rules of eruv, the rabbis restored Shabbat privileges to us, reversing more restrictive rules that earlier generations had put in place. To demonstrate what he means, the Gemara brings an example from Eruvin 52, in which Rabbi Shimon allows one who ventures a few steps beyond the Shabbat limit to re-enter town. Rabbis Shimon’s point is that the rules of eruvin, as onerous as they may seem, are meant to enhance our celebration of Shabbat, not limit it.

As we conclude our study, we declare, in the traditional formula: “We will return to you Tractate Eruvin, and you will return to us.” Tomorrow, we turn the page and dive into all things Passover with Tractate Pesachim!

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You might dismiss this as merely the puritanical habit of an American frontier family, but it actually echoes an impulse explored on today’s daf.

The mishnah on today’s page teaches us that, in the days when the Temple stood, it was permissible to use a water wheel to draw water from cisterns on Shabbat in the Temple precincts. But a water wheel is a large and presumably noisy device. In the Gemara, this gives rise to a vignette illustrating the rabbis’ concern about noise on Shabbat:

The rabbinic sage Ulla happened to come to the house of Rav Menashe when a certain man came and knocked on the door. Ulla said: “Who is that?!” And then he added a curse: “May his body be desecrated, for he has desecrated Shabbat!” 

Rashi explains why: Ulla believed that it was forbidden to make any kind of noise on Shabbat.

Is it really the case that making any kind of noise — even knocking on a door — is prohibited on Shabbat? Rabbah (or, in some texts, Rava) limits the prohibition: Only kol shel shir (a musical sound) is prohibited on Shabbat. 

Well, which is it? Is all noise prohibited, or just musical sounds? Abaye puts forth the view that producing just about any sound, with rare exceptions (for example, sounds produced in caring for an ill person), is prohibited.

The Talmud dismisses Abaye’s proof, but offers another one based on an earlier teaching: People guarding produce from birds can’t clap or slap their hands against their bodies, or dance — as people do on weekdays. Presumably, this is because all three of these activities are noisy — and therefore we learn that noise is prohibited on Shabbat.

But again the Talmud dismisses the argument. It claims (somewhat implausibly, by my lights) that if one were to clap, slap one’s hands and dance to scare away birds as one does on weekdays, one might be tempted to pick up a pebble to throw at the birds, which is prohibited for other reasons.

There’s more: The Talmud brings yet another example of a forbidden activity on Shabbat, playing a game of “marbles” with nuts. Isn’t this because noise (the clicking sound of the nuts hitting one another) is prohibited? No, the Talmud responds, it is prohibited because people might be led to dig holes in the ground and fill them in again — which again is independently prohibited.

Where does this leave us? As we’ve seen, the Talmud goes to great lengths to reject the notion that producing noise is prohibited. All that is left is Rabbah’s view that specifically musical sounds are prohibited.

The details — why musical sounds are prohibited and which in particular — are not provided here. This is one of the aspects of Talmudic study that can be frustrating. It’s an associative work, so topics may arise on different pages, and rarely is any single conversation comprehensive. Also, perhaps surprisingly, the Talmud doesn’t always see clarifying current practice as its primary goal.

In subsequent generations, scholars composed codes of Jewish law to do just that. But in the meantime, the Talmud leaves us wondering.

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Since the Talmud was written some 1,500 years ago, the kind of wart removal we’re talking about is neither sterile cryotherapy nor cautery and curettage performed in a well-lit physician’s office. Rather (with apologies to the squeamish) the question is whether one is permitted to rip or slice the wart off on the day of rest. But while the content of the argument is somewhat icky, the form is classically talmudic.

The mishnah teaches:

One may remove a wart by hand in the Temple. However, he may not in the rest of the country. And if he seeks to cut off the wart with an instrument, it is prohibited in both places.

In general, warts cannot be removed on Shabbat. An exception is made for priests serving in the Temple because, as mentioned above, a priest might need to become blemish-free in a hurry in order to perform his Temple duties. But, the mishnah cautions, the priest can only perform this little procedure without the aid of an instrument. Using a knife to remove the wart is forbidden on Shabbat.

Now the Gemara raises a problem: There is another mishnah which apparently contradicts this one. Since these two teachings are equally authoritative, the Gemara feels compelled to resolve the apparent contradiction.

The second mishnah reads as follows:

When Passover eve occurs on Shabbat, carrying a Paschal lamb on one’s shoulders, bringing it to the Temple from outside the Shabbat boundary, and cutting off its wart to render it fit for the altar, do not override the prohibitions of Shabbat. 

Rabbi Eliezer says: They override the Shabbat prohibitions. 

This tractate will end in just two more pages and then we’ll get on to Tractate Pesachim, which is all about Passover, so this mishnah is a nice warm-up. Back when Jews had a Temple, every Passover they would make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem where, on the eve of the holiday, they took a lamb to the Temple to be slaughtered. Afterward, the carcass was hauled back home, roasted and enjoyed after sundown. In this second mishnah, it is not the person but the lamb that has a disqualifying wart. If the wart is not removed, the lamb cannot become a Paschal offering.

On this particular occasion, the eve of Passover is also Shabbat, which creates a parallel dilemma. Namely, can the odious ovine wart be removed on the day of rest? According to the sages, it cannot. Rabbi Eliezer, however, permits the procedure.

So now we have a problem. The first mishnah permits wart removal on Shabbat (but only for priests in the Temple, and only by hand), the second does not (at least, if one follows the majority opinion). How do we reconcile the two?

The rabbis spend most of today’s page working on that problem. Maybe the two mishnahs are talking about different kinds of warts, dry warts versus wet warts (don’t ask me the difference). Or maybe the difference is whether or not one can remove the wart with a knife or must remove it without the aid of a sharp instrument. Or maybe the answer is that in the second mishnah we go with the minority opinion and rule like Rabbi Eliezer, who permits wart removal from both priests and Paschal lambs.

In the end, the Gemara leans toward the last solution, perhaps because it resolves the apparent contradiction and makes life a bit easier for Sabbath observers. However, the Gemara stresses, if one decides to remove a wart on Shabbat, one should at least alter the method so that it is different from ordinary, weekday method of wart removal by — I swear I’m not making this up — having a friend bite it off.

It occurs to me that folks must have been really close in antiquity.

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As a one-time participant (and referee) for Northwestern University’s Dance Marathon several years running, I have seen this sort of endurance competition up close. Inherent in the competition is a delight in and fascination with continuity — one which also pervades today’s daf.

The question at hand is whether a bandage that has slipped off a wound can be replaced without being considered a new act of bandaging (which would be prohibited on Shabbat). The Gemara begins with a statement that is broadly permissive:

The sages taught: With regard to a bandage that became detached from a wound, one may return it to its place on Shabbat in all cases.

But along comes Rabbi Yehuda to argue with this premise:

Rabbi Yehuda says: If it slipped downward, one may push it upward; if it slipped upward, one may push it downward. One may also uncover part of the bandage and clean the opening of the wound on one side, and then uncover another part of the bandage and clean the opening of the wound on that side.

Rabbi Yehuda effectively limits the permission to replace a bandage to cases in which the bandage slips a little — up, down, side-to-side — or is bent back partially. His statement implies that if the bandage is ripped off fully and intentionally, it cannot be replaced on Shabbat as this would constitute a new act of bandaging.

But, the rabbis want to know, what would happen if the bandage fell off completely? May it be replaced? Now it gets more complicated, especially since Rav Yehuda and Rabbi Yehuda are not the same person!

Rav Yehuda said that Shmuel said: The halakhah is in accordance with the opinion of Rabbi Yehuda.

Rav Hisda said: The sages taught that it is permitted to restore the bandage to the wound only where it became detached and fell onto a utensil, in which case one may immediately pick it up and replace it. However, if it became detached and fell onto the ground, everyone agrees it is prohibited, as this is considered as though one were bandaging the wound for the first time.

The discussion continues. Ultimately, the Gemara, which opened in a permissive place, ends up there as well, with the halakhah landing on the idea that the bandage — regardless of how or where it fell — may be restored to the wound on Shabbat. Like the Texan competitors and their proscribed breaks, the halakhah makes space in Shabbat for inevitable human needs, like the need for a restroom break or a shift in position.

In case you’re wondering, the 1995 competition, captured in the documentary, lasted a lot longer than Shabbat: 77 continuous hours.

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For example: if you are a person who is cooking a stew for the second night of Rosh Hashanah in the fourth or fifth century C.E., you can’t simply light a burner with the yahrtzeit candle you kept lit throughout the holiday specially for the purpose of cooking (as is common practice amongst observant Jews today). No, you have to start by building your own stove in the form of a log pile. But wait: building is forbidden!

Rabbi Yehuda comes up with a somewhat odd but ingenious solution.

Rav Yehuda said: For a fire, if it is from the top down, it is permitted; from the bottom up, it is forbidden.

In other words, Rabbi Yehuda suggests that instead of building your log pile as you normally would, i.e. from the ground up, you should instead hold the top logs in the air while shoving the bottom logs under it, thus building your log pile from the top down. In this way, you are not really building. The Talmud goes on to list several other items that one might want to stack on a festival that should be done the same way, from the top down: a pile of eggs; the pot that goes on top of the firepit; a bed that you’re setting up, perhaps for your holiday guests and barrels, probably of wine to enjoy with that stew.

This top-down method is a technical workaround, a handy legal loophole that allows you to get the same finished product while claiming that you weren’t really “building” in the normal sense of the word. But it’s also an example of what it looks like to try to balance two competing values — on the one hand, the value of diligently observing prohibitions on forbidden labor, and on the other, the value of enjoying the holiday to its fullest by eating hot, freshly cooked food. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that even if we are going to compromise somewhat on one of our values (the forbidden labor one, in this scenario), we don’t just do so nonchalantly; instead, we do so with an acknowledgment that what we’re doing isn’t going to be ideal — in this case, purposely weird, inefficient construction that differentiates it from normal building. The Talmud implicitly recognizes that such moments of compromise are unavoidable, and with Rabbi Yehuda’s solution, offers us a way to move forward while making visible the different values that we still hold.

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A midrash on today’s daf helps shed some light on that question. In the context of a broader discussion of women’s proper conduct within a marriage, Rabbi Yitzchak bar Avdimi offers an interpretation of Genesis 3:16, in which God describes Eve’s post-Eden life: To the woman God said: I will greatly multiply your pain and your travail; in sorrow you shall bring forth children; and yet your desire shall be to your husband, and he shall rule over you.

This already does not sound great for Eve — who will be ruled over by her husband, continue to desire his embrace, and then bring forth children in pain — but Rabbi Yitzchak bar Avdimi takes things a step further, claiming:

Eve was cursed with ten curses.

He then explains the derivation of each of these curses from different words in the biblical verse above.

“Greatly multiply”: these are the two drops of blood (representing the blood of menstruation and the blood of virginity).

“Your pain”: this is the pain of raising children.

“And your travail”: this is the pain of pregnancy.

“In sorrow you shall bring forth children”: in accordance with its plain meaning (i.e. no explanation needed).

“And yet your desire shall be to your husband”: this teaches that the woman misses her husband when he sets out on the road.

“And he shall rule over you” teaches that the woman demands her husband sexually only in her heart, but the man demands his wife verbally.

So far we are at seven curses; Rav Dimi completes the list by adding another three, though these don’t seem to be biblically derived:

A woman is wrapped like a mourner (meaning that she must cover her head and dress modestly), and she is ostracized from all people and incarcerated within a prison (because of the expectation that women will stay at home and not socialize or partake in civil society).

We’ve now moved from Rabby Yitzchak bar Avdimi’s enumeration of the difficulties faced by women in antiquity as wives and mothers to the restrictions they all faced in their everyday activities. If it didn’t look good for Eve after she ate the apple, it’s perhaps looking even worse for her by the rabbinic period.

The rabbis certainly aren’t rallying for radical feminist change here; on the contrary, they are presenting this difference between the sexes as divinely ordained. But at the same time, they are also acknowledging that it’s hard to be a woman in their culture. After all, these elements of female existence are enumerated as curses (thanks to Ishay Rosen-Zvi for this insight in his book The Mishnaic Sotah Ritual). The rabbis were not exactly proto-feminists, but we can give them credit for their empathy, and for their acknowledgement — free of apologetics — of real inequalities in their culture.

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Today’s Gemara discusses the case of a garbage heap which is tall enough to be its own private domain. In this case, the mishnah permits one to throw water from the window of a building that is above the heap. A concern is raised that if some of the garbage is removed and the heap is no longer tall enough to be its own domain then one would be throwing water into the public domain, a forbidden action on Shabbat.

And speaking of garbage dumps, next we find this:

Ravin bar Rav Adda said that Rav Yitzhak said: An incident occurred involving a certain alleyway, one of whose sides terminated in the sea, which closed it off on that side, and the other side terminated in a garbage dump. The incident came before Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi and he did not say anything about it, either prohibition or permission.

The sea closes off one side of the alleyway, but does the garbage dump effectively close off the other side? If it does, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi should permit carrying in the alley; if he is concerned that the barriers are not permanent enough, he should forbid carrying. But rather than rule one way or the other, he is silent.

The Gemara speculates about this silence from a rabbi who usually has no problem offering his opinion:

He (Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi) did not say that carrying is permitted in the alleyway because we are concerned that the garbage dump be removed and that the sea will throw up sediment and recede. He did not say that carrying is prohibited as its partitions exist.

In other words, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi is not sure. On the one hand, the alley is blocked on both sides, so one should be allowed to carry within. On the other hand, the partitions are potentially unstable: the sea might recede, leaving a trail of sediment which prevents its return to the edge of the alleyway, and the garbage dump might be removed.

In other places, we’ve read about rabbis who are silent because they do not want to issue a ruling in front of their teacher and those who are silent because they do not want to contradict their host or a colleague who is an authority in his town. But here there is no other authority present that might be contradicted or offended.

Or perhaps Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi does not feel the need to rule because his colleagues have already voiced their opinion on the matter, as reported back on Eruvin 8:

Rav Yosef bar Avdimi said: It was taught: the rabbis prohibit carrying in such an alleyway. Rav Nahman said: The halakhah is in accordance with the statement of the rabbis.

There are some who state: Rav Yosef bar Avdimi said: It was taught: the Rabbis permit carrying in such an alleyway. Rav Nahman said: The halakhah is not in accordance with the opinion of the Rabbis.

But even this source exhibits some confusion about what the rabbis think, at least according to Rav Yosef bar Avdimi. It’s not often that we read about a talmudic rabbi who is unable to decide what to rule (though here’s another example we saw in Tractate Shabbat). I find it refreshing that there are times we do.

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After walking through several possibilities, we come to a particularly creative solution — tossing the scroll, in order to avoid carrying it. But alas:

Rav Aha bar Ahava said: One does not throw sacred writings.

While the question of possibly throwing a Torah scroll is grounded in the limits of acceptable Shabbat practice, the response is not: it is never acceptable to throw sacred writings, whether it’s Shabbat, a holiday or a regular weekday.

And not only that: the prospect that someone would act in such a disrespectful way is so remote that the rabbis can’t even contemplate it, rendering the topic unworthy of serious discussion from a halakhic perspective.

Later on the page, the rabbis have to finally consider that sometimes retrieval will not be halakhically possible. The underlying mishnah instructs that, if a scroll is irretrievable and must remain where it is for the balance of Shabbat, one should ensure that the parchment is turned so the writing is facing the ground. The Gemara pushes back:

And is it permitted to do so? Wasn’t it taught that with regard to writers of scrolls, tefillin, and mezuzot who interrupt their work, the sages did not permit them to turn the sheet of parchment facedown lest it become soiled? Rather, one spreads a cloth over it in a respectful manner.

There, with regard to scribes, it is possible to cover the parchment respectfully; here, it is not possible to do so. And if he does not turn the scroll over, it will be more degrading to the sacred writings. Consequently, although this is not an ideal solution, it is preferable to turn it over rather than leave the scroll exposed.

The rabbis place a premium on observing Shabbat by resting and not carrying objects in the public domain. Although demonstrating respect for sacred objects is also a strong value, it cannot take precedence over violating Shabbat. In such situations, the objects must be respected as best they can be — by covering them (if we are able), or turning them facedown for protection.

Curious to know more? The Shulchan Aruch catalogues a more complete inventory of dos and don’ts for respecting holy texts — not just Torah scrolls, but all of the Jewish objects that carry sacredness.

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Well, for starters, they ought to have tefillin knots:

The father of Shmuel bar Rav Yitzchak taught that these are old tefillin: Any that have straps that are permanently tied. 

New tefillin have straps that are not tied; everyone agrees that a person does not exert himself.

Shmuel bar Rav Yitzchak’s father reasons that because tefillin knots are difficult to tie, no one would bother making them except for bona fide tefillin — so you can trust that an object you find with these knots is in fact a used and loved pair of tefillin, and you can don it and wear it home.

It is possible, however, to find valid tefillin that are so new they are not yet knotted, in which case the finder has a problem: the unknotted tefillin cannot be worn (because without proper knots they are invalid), the knots cannot be tied (because it is Shabbat), and they cannot be carried instead of worn (again, because it is Shabbat). The Gemara attempts a work-around:

Let him simply tie a bow (which is not prohibited on Shabbat) and place the tefillin on his head and arm in that manner.

This opinion is quickly countered by Rav Hisda who argues that “a bow is invalid for tefillin.” A bow, Rav Hisda maintains, does not replace a knot. But Abaye rejects Rav Hisda’s view, citing Rabbi Yehuda who said that actually “a bow is a full-fledged knot.” 

Unfortunately, whichever opinion we accept, this doesn’t solve our problem. Either a bow is not a knot, so the tefillin are unwearable (and therefore cannot be rescued because they cannot be carried on Shabbat), or a bow is a proper knot that cannot be tied on Shabbat. In either case, tying a bow will not allow us to rescue unknotted tefillin.

But wait a minute, you ask: isn’t it about the text inside the tefillin? Is a knot really such an integral part of the tefillin? Rav Yehuda, son of Rav Shmuel bar Sheilat, said in the name of Rav: 

The form of the permanent knot of tefillin is a halakhah transmitted to Moses from Sinai.

You don’t want to mess with ritual law that is sourced from Sinai to Moses. So yes, you really do need those valid knots.

By the way, if you want to learn how to tie tefillin knots properly, Rabbi Dan Rosenberg has a lovely series of video tutorials on Youtube. You can view them all at his channel.

And, sorry, today’s daf never tells us how to rescue those unknotted tefillin — one should stay with them to protect them until Shabbat ends. So please don’t leave brand new tefillin lying around outside your city on Shabbat.

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For example:

It was taught: Michal, daughter of Kushi (King Saul) would don tefillin, and the sages did not protest against her behavior, as she was permitted to do so. 

And similarly, Jonah’s wife would undertake the Sukkot pilgrimage and the sages did not protest against her practice.

The Talmud’s two examples of people performing additional mitzvot are women precisely because — according to the rabbis — women are not obligated to perform positive time bound mitzvot, mitzvot that require one to do a specific action at a specific time.

According to 1 Samuel, Michal is one of the daughters of King Saul son of Kish. The Torah gives us numerous details about her actions and her relationships with her father and with her eventual husband, King David. But it doesn’t tell us anything about whether she wore tefillin. The case of Jonah’s wife is even stranger — the book of Jonah doesn’t even mention that the prophet is married! So where do these traditions come from?

The earliest version of this tradition is found in an earlier midrashic text, the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael (13:9:6). That text reads, quite simply: All are commanded to put on tefillin except women and enslaved men. Michal the daughter of Kush would wear tefillin. Jonah’s wife would go up (to Jerusalem) for Sukkot.

This early teaching is then picked up and interpreted by both Talmuds — the Babylonian Talmud and the Jerusalem Talmud — with key differences. The original teaching presents these two statements as fact, without comment: Michal wore tefillin, Jonah’s wife made the Sukkot pilgrimage. But with regard to each of these women, the Babylonian Talmud comments: the sages did not protest against her behavior. It green lights the women’s mitzvot.

In contrast, the Jerusalem Talmud (Eruvin 10:1, 59a) presents this teaching but offers the opposite comment, a quote from Rabbi Hizkiyah in the name of Rabbi Abbahu that the rabbis did protest Michal’s wearing of tefillin.

So what’s going on? Apparently, an early tradition emerged which shared stories of these two women performing mitzvot that they were not commanded to perform. These stories were originally presented neutrally, with no commentary as to whether their actions were correct. But we see evidence that a debate eventually emerged between at least some rabbis in the land of Israel and Babylonia; one group felt that these actions were inappropriate, and the other felt that they were indeed appropriate (or, at least, they did not object).  

The Babylonian Talmud was ultimately the more popular of the two Talmuds, and had the greater impact on the development of Jewish intellectual and ritual life. It’s the one that we are studying together. And according to this text, at least in these cases, at least certain women taking on additional mitzvot that they are not rabbinically commanded to perform is met with no objection. In the medieval period, many rabbis became interested in limiting women’s voluntary performance of mitzvot like tefillin, but that’s a story for another day.

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Our new chapter begins with this mishnah:

One who finds tefillin outside the city on Shabbat, where they are in danger of becoming lost or damaged, brings them into his house pair by pair by donning them in the manner in which they are typically donned for the mitzvah. 

Rabban Gamliel says: He brings them in two pairs by two pairs.

The anonymous narrator voice of the Mishnah states that the person who finds the lost tefillin should wear them home one at a time in order to transport them to safety without violating the laws of carrying. Rabban Gamliel, however, says that one may bring back two pairs of tefillin at a time.

But, asks the Gemara, can one really wear both sets of tefillin simultaneously?

It should be prohibited to wear more than one pair as there is room to don only one set of phylacteries on one’s head … He may not don them anywhere else on his body, as in that case he is considered to be carrying, not wearing them.

How, the Gemara asks, can one properly wear two pairs of tefillin at once? After all, there is only so much room on the forearm and forehead, and the second pair would be pushed out of place and then the person would not be wearing that second pair so much as carrying it.

It is worth noting that ancient tefillin were quite a bit smaller than the tefillin typically worn by Jews today. Perhaps this is the reason that at least one rabbi comes to support Rabban Gamliel, arguing that it is completely possible to wear more than one pair at a time:

Rav Shmuel bar Rav Yitzhak said: There is room on one’s head to place two phylacteries … even when one dons two phylacteries on his arm, he is regarded as donning them in the typical manner, in accordance with the opinion of Rav Huna.

You might suppose this is all highly theoretical, but the idea of wearing more than one pair of tefillin has had applications in Jewish practice since the Talmud. Menachot 34b contains a discussion of how the various scrolls should be organized into the tefillin boxes. The argument is continued by the medieval commentators Rashi and his grandson Rabbeinu Tam, each offering a different understanding of the order of the tefillin. Though many communities simply follow Rashi on the organization of tefillin scrolls, there are some, especially Sephardic and Hasidic communities, that fulfill both opinions by wearing both types of tefillin at the same time  — just like Rabban Gamliel and Rav Shmuel bar Rav Yitzhak said we could.

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How foolish are the rest of the people who stand before a Torah scroll, and yet they do not stand before a great man.

In Jewish tradition, Torah scrolls are afforded a great deal of respect, but a sage deserves even more. In fact, it can be argued that in rabbinic Judaism, a sage is basically a living, breathing Torah scroll. Not only does a sage teach Torah, but his every move is full of lessons to be learned.

Eruvin 94 presents a story about the sage Abba Arikha, commonly known as “Rav,” who is frequently seen in conversation with his colleague Shmuel.

One Shabbat, a wall that allowed residents to carry between courtyards fell down. Shmuel held that since the wall was standing when Shabbat began, residents of the courtyard were permitted to act as if the wall were still there and continue to carry. But Rav believed that once it fell, residents could not keep carrying in their courtyards.

The Talmud immediately presents a caveat: Rav never said this but rather it was inferred from an incident:

Rav and Shmuel were sitting in a certain courtyard on Shabbat, and the wall between the two courtyards fell. Shmuel said: Take a cloak and suspend it on the remnant of the partition. Rav turned his face away. Shmuel said to them: If Abba (a.k.a. Rav) is so particular, take his belt and tie it to the cloak.

Shmuel breezily replaces the fallen wall with a makeshift partition. The Talmud later states that the provisional partition was not even necessary for the purposes of carrying; Shmuel hung it there only to provide privacy. When Rav turns his head, Shmuel teases him, suggesting that if they tie his belt on as well perhaps that will appease him.

What is the meaning of Rav’s head turn? If he disapproved of Shmuel’s ruling, why didn’t he say so? The Talmud proposes that since they were in a community that accepted Shmuel as its halakhic authority, it would have been inappropriate for Rav to dissent.

But if Rav accepted Shmuel’s authority in that community, why did he turn his face away? The Talmud explains that he did not want onlookers to think his own opinion was the same as Shmuel’s.

The problem with learning from a sage’s actions is that they can be ambiguous, even cryptic. But the benefit is that you can learn more than the specific law at hand.

Rav’s gesture doesn’t simply convey his opinion on the case of the falling wall. It also teaches us how to disagree without being disagreeable. It reminds us that we don’t have to say everything we think out loud. Sometimes, out of respect for another person, it may be more appropriate to remain silent. But it also suggests that even while respecting others, we can still turn our heads away from opinions we don’t accept; we can both show respect and also, discreetly and politely, remain true to our own beliefs.

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On today’s page, the Gemara explores a case when a group of people join the residents of a courtyard on Shabbat, like when a wall collapses between two courtyards and residents from one courtyard move to the other:

Rav Hoshaya raised a dilemma: What is the ruling with regard to residents who arrive on Shabbat, do these residents render it prohibited for the original residents to carry in the courtyard, even if they arrive on Shabbat itself?

Rav Hisda said: Come and hear a resolution to the dilemma from the mishnah: With regard to a large courtyard that was breached into a small courtyard, it is permitted for the residents of the large courtyard to carry, because the breach is regarded like the entrance to the large courtyard, but it is prohibited for the residents of the small one to do so.

When Jews study Talmud today, most are studying a printed version of the Babylonian Talmud originally produced in Vilna in the early 19th century. But this is not the only version out there. There were earlier printed versions and hand-written versions, called manuscripts, also survived the ravages of history. And there are subtle differences between all of these.

In today’s text, Rav Hoshaya raises the question, and Rav Hisda answers it, which seems reasonable enough — Rav Hisda is a generation older than Rav Hoshaya and they both lived in Babylonia. But in his commentary on Tractate Eruvin, contemporary scholar Rabbi David Weiss Halivni notes two alternate attributions for Rav Hisda’s statement:

1. According to Rabbi Yoel Sirkis, a 16th-17th century scholar, that statement should be attributed to Rav Hinena.
2.  Rabbi Raphael Nathan Rabinovitch, a 19th century scholar, suggests that the statement should be attributed to Rav Hananya.

Note that these names — Rav Hisda, Rav Hinena and Rav Hananya — are all quite similar. In fact, the last two are nearly identical in a language like Aramaic that is written without vowels. These alternate attributions are not frivolous suggestions. Sirkis, who lived just after the Talmud was printed for the first time, was known for correcting errors in the printed version of the text. His corrections became invaluable to students of the Talmud and were eventually included in printed editions. Likewise, Rabinovitch is known for a massive tome, Dikdukei Sofrim, in which he compared the printed edition of the Talmud to a 14th century manuscript, now housed in Munich, which is the oldest complete manuscript of the Talmud and includes passages that were later censored by the Church that are absent from most other manuscripts.

So who answered Rav Hoshaya’s question? Halivni suggests that since Rav Hananya is frequently in conversation with Rav Hoshaya in the Talmud, likely he gave the original answer. And this also has the advantage of favoring the Munic manuscript, which is older than the printed versions of the Talmud.

But even if Rav Hananya was likely what the text originally said, can we know whether he actually said this? Traditionally, Talmud scholars treated attributed statements as if they were direct quotes from particular rabbis passed down through the generations. But with virtually no extra-talmudic source to confirm anything reported in the Talmud, contemporary academic scholars are more hesitant to assume direct quotes are accurately attributed and have argued that such statements might say more about the final editors of the Talmud than the rabbis who came before. We’ll probably never know for sure.

Read all of Eruvin 93 on Sefaria.

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Rabbi Shimon says: Roofs, courtyards, and enclosed yards are all one domain with regard to vessels that were inside them when Shabbat began.

Rabbi Shimon links together three kinds of property that are all privately owned and not regularly used as living spaces. (This list does not include streets or alleyways, which are public property, or the quasi-public karmelit.) According to Rabbi Shimon, when these spaces are contiguous one may carry across all of them. Rabbi Shimon’s leniency creates a kind of “wormhole” that enables people to transfer objects over quite a distance without an eruv!

Two very interesting precedents are reported in first person and brought as examples of Rabbi Shimon’s lenient ruling:

Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi said: When we were studying Torah with Rabbi Shimon in Tekoa, we would carry oil and a towel from roof to roof, and from roof to courtyard, and from courtyard to courtyard, and from courtyard to enclosure, and from enclosure to enclosure, until we reached the spring in which we would bathe.

Here Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, the august editor of the entire Mishnah, reminisces about his youth, studying with Rabbi Shimon and taking leisurely Shabbat afternoon baths in the nearby spring, having carried his towels and moisturizing oils to boot! Rabbi Shimon’s leniency about carrying makes this idyllic activity possible.

Then a precedent of a very different tenor is described by Rabbi Yehuda, who lived a generation earlier and experienced Roman persecution around the time of the Bar Kochba revolt.

And similarly, Rabbi Yehuda said: There was an incident during a time of danger (when decrees were issued that banned religious observance) and we would carry a Torah scroll from courtyard to roof, and from roof to courtyard, and from courtyard to enclosure, to read from it.

Here, Rabbi Shimon’s leniency allows Jews to smuggle sacred texts around town on Shabbat so that they can be studied, in defiance of Roman proclamation.

What do we make of these colorful first person accounts? Do they prove that Rabbi Shimon’s ruling was accepted? The Gemara does not accept Rabbi Yehuda’s story of moving Torah scrolls through courtyards and rooftops during a period of persecution as proof of halakhah — presumably because the behavior was performed under duress. Moreover, there is no follow up comment on Yehuda HaNasi’s shortcut to the natural spring. Are these both marginal cases — one about leisure, and one about persecution — not meant to be taken seriously?

Even if the stories explore potentially marginal cases, the ruling is taken seriously. Rabbi Shimon’s lenient ruling was accepted, and moving objects along rooftops, courtyards, and enclosed yards is permitted on Shabbat, even in the absence of an eruv!

Read all of Eruvin 91 on Sefaria.

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Today, we pick up in the middle of an early amoraic conversation between two famous interlocutors, Rav and Shmuel, who offer different interpretations of the rabbis’ position (that each rooftop is a separate domain). Rav thinks that when the roofs are interconnected with no visual marker one can only carry for the minimum distance of four cubits because one might accidentally walk over the boundary without noticing (carrying four cubits in the public domain is permissible, but no more). For Rav, a visible boundary is a must, though this results in a very restrictive reading of the mishnah. Shmuel, on the other hand, says that one can simply imagine the boundary between dwellings extending upward onto the roofscape, allowing a person to walk and carry an object freely on the roof of any particular dwelling as long as they are careful to remain over that single dwelling. Shmuel’s interpretation seems more in line with the intended meaning of the mishnah, and it is also more lenient.

Rav and Shmuel agree about one case, however: if a small house abuts a larger one, even the more stringent Rav (who normally holds you can only carry four cubits on a rooftop) agrees that you can extend the boundaries from the houses onto the roof above because you can clearly see where the small house ends and the bigger house begins. That is, he is willing to imagine a boundary if there are enough visual cues to draw it accurately.

Back in Tractate Berakhot we noted that discussions between the interlocutors Hillel and Shammai nearly always followed a predictable pattern: Shammai was more stringent, Hillel more lenient. But as the discussion between Rav and Shmuel continues on today’s page, we discover that these two are more committed to certain legal principles than to stringency or leniency.

Now the Gemara brings a related case where suddenly Shmuel is the more stringent of the two:

It was further stated that they disagreed with regard to a large ship.

Rav said: It is permitted to move an object throughout the entire ship, as it is all one domain.

Shmuel said: One may move an object in it only four cubits.

Rav said: It is permitted to move an object throughout the boat, as there are partitions (walls that separate the ship from the water). 

Shmuel said: One may move an object in it only within four cubits, as the partitions of the ship are not considered full-fledged partitions; they are erected only to keep water out, not to render it a residence.

The walls of a ship, Shmuel says, do not create a residence and so one may only carry a maximum of four cubits on a boat during Shabbat. In this case, Rav allows a person to carry freely around the ship because the edge of the domain is very clearly demarcated; he is now far more lenient.

Down today’s page, these two sages continue their debate in the case of a portico. Like Shmuel’s stance on the boat, he is unwilling to “draw” an invisible boundary line when it is not a living space. Rav is also consistent with his previous opinion — he is willing to complete a partial barrier of the portico because there is a visible starting point for the invisible line.

Rav who appeared stringent becomes the lenient opinion and Shmuel switches from lenient to stringent ruling — yet, notably, they both remain consistent with their principles.

Read all of Eruvin 90 on Sefaria.

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Of course, one is allowed to carry within a single domain (for example within a single courtyard) and you only need to erect an eruv in order to carry between two different domains, between a house and a courtyard or between two people’s homes even if they are interconnected. So how do we evaluate the air space of interconnected rooftops that have no visible distinction between them? Here’s the mishnah for today’s page:

All the roofs of the city are considered one domain provided that one roof is neither ten handbreadths higher nor ten handbreadths lower than the adjacent roof. This is the statement of Rabbi Meir. 

And the rabbis say: Each and every one of the roofs is a domain in and of itself.

The Gemara begins by discussing the rabbis’ position, which is the simplest. Just as every home is its own domain, the rooftop is owned by the person whose house it covers. An invisible boundary line defines the borders of each individual roof and one can carry only within a single rooftop.

But Rabbi Meir, whose opinion led in the mishnah, says all of the rooftops are one domain, and presumably one may carry between individual rooftops as long as they are continuous. In trying to explain Rabbi Meir’s opinion the mishnah invokes a leniency about air space

“any place above 10 handbreaths off the ground is considered one domain.”

Air space is by nature interconnected and therefore the roof network is considered all one space.

Certainly, for the purpose of building, Rabbi Meir would accept that the home owner maintains the rights to her own roof and may eventually build on it. However, for the purpose of eruv, Rabbi Meir puts the emphasis elsewhere — a bit higher, if you will. He is more concerned here about user experience, hence his caveat in the mishnah: if the rooftops are divided by a step of 10 handbreadths or more, then the division acts as a threshold and then one may not carry between individual roofs.

The Gemara will continue to discuss various kinds of dividers inhabitants might put on their roof and other complexities of rooftop geography, complicating the simple case of the mishnah where all the roofs are contiguous and uninhabited. Still, these two different kinds of boundaries, legal ownership, and visual or experiential divisions will continue to compete for our attention.

Read all of Eruvin 89 on Sefaria.

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Flushing waste can effectively transfer property into the public domain on Shabbat. It might be property one is eager to be rid of, but it is property nonetheless. The mishnah on today’s page discusses this problem:

With regard to a courtyard that is less than four cubits by four cubits in area, one may not pour wastewater into it on Shabbat, unless a pit was fashioned to receive the water, and the pit holds two se’a (about 4 gallons) in volume. 

A courtyard is still private domain, so the trick is to keep the waste contained within it. People with a generous courtyard (larger than four by four cubits) do not need a pit to contain their wastewater and prevent it from running into the public domain, but those with a small space are required to dig a pit which will contain it — and prevent the homeowner from “carrying” the waste in the public domain. This pit is much like the modern day septic tank that is used today in many backyards.

In some cases, people who didn’t have a courtyard or didn’t use their courtyard to dump wastewater and instead used a drainage ditch or pipe to convey the waste out of the home and into the public domain. The mishnah continues:

Rabbi Eliezer ben Ya’akov says: In the case of a drainage ditch whose first four cubits are arched over in the public domain, one may pour wastewater into it on Shabbat. 

The rabbis say: Even if a roof or a courtyard is a hundred cubits in area, one may not pour water directly onto the mouth of the drainage ditch. However, he may pour it on the roof, from which the water spills into the drain of its own accord.

There is a disagreement here between Rabbi Eliezer ben Ya’akov and the rabbis. Rabbi Eliezer ben Ya’akov states that one is allowed to use a pipe to bring waste out of a home into the public domain, while the rabbis do not allow one to pour directly into a drainage pipe, but do permit indirect pouring by splashing the waste from the roof (eww).

The early modern legal code, the Shulchan Aruch, comments here that as long as the water is running into a karmelit, an open area that is not quite a public domain, then people are permitted to let the wastewater flow. (Orach Chayim Shabbat 357:3) It is understood that the modern sewage systems of today resemble the permitted opinion of the Shulchan Aruch — allowing Sabbath-observant Jews to flush their toilets on Shabbat.

As we have seen so many times before, once again the rabbis balance their principles (no carrying) with the need to make Shabbat liveable — and stink-free!

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We start with a beraita, an early rabbinic source, in which the sages and Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (also known by his acronym, RaShBaG) argue about drawing water from a channel passing between the windows of two houses:

The sages: If it is less than three handbreadths, one may lower a bucket from the window and draw water.

Rashbag: If it is less than four handbreadths, one may lower a bucket and draw water.

This teaching does not specify what exactly must measure less than three or four handbreadths. The vertical distance from the window down to the stream? The horizontal distance from the base of the home under the window to the stream?

The Gemara suggests that the beraita refers not to the distance from the window to the channel, but to the width of the channel itself. If the stream is narrow enough, it is too small to be deemed a karmelit (essentially, a not-quite-public-but-also-not-private domain) and may be used. In this case, the debate between the sages and Rashbag boils down to a question of the minimum size of a karmelit: either three or four handbreadths.

But now we have a problem, because it turns out that the minimal size of a karmelit is in fact four handbreadths, a ruling which we have seen elsewhere in Tractate Eruvin and which seems to be widely accepted. So the sages’ ruling about three handbreadths makes little sense if the debate is actually about the size of a karmelit. Plus, if you were going to argue about the size of a karmelit, wouldn’t you just say that outright?

The Gemara has the same concern:

Let us say that the teaching cited was actually the subject of a dispute of tannaim.

In other words: we thought that Rabbi Yohanan’s definition of a karmelit was universally accepted! If it was subject to such a fundamental debate, surely we would have encountered it sooner!

Nonetheless, the Talmud sticks with the idea that the debate is about the size of a karmelit. This explanation of the beraita is not the simplest reading, but it does have the advantage of supporting the sages over Rabbi Yehuda in regard to an earlier debate (which we do not have the space to fully explain here).

Now, toward the end of the sugya, the Talmud considers that there is a known debate between the sages and Rashbag regarding lavud (the general principle which allows us to consider two objects continuous as long as they are divided by only a small space). According to the sages, if there is less than three handbreadths between two objects they may be considered one unit while Rashbag allows up to four handbreadths. Perhaps this debate between them in the beraita is in fact about lavud — (it gets very technical here and has to do with placing partitions in the channel and then cutting holes in them to allow water to flow, and what size those holes can be, but we won’t get into it all here) — and not about whether or not the stream is a karmelit.

This is the reading suggested by Ravina in the last line of the sugya, and it likely represents the original intent behind the beraita. Ravina was a late talmudic rabbi, one of the last of the amoraim, and often his statements come at the end of a sugya as footnotes or tangents.

What’s interesting on this page is that the Talmud has relegated the original intention (a debate about lavud) to a footnote, preferring instead the karmelit reading which is very unlikely to represent the original intent. Its reason for this more “difficult” reading seems to be that it generates support for the sages against Rabbi Yehuda.

On today’s daf, the innovative reading of the beraita prevails over the originalist interpretation, proving once again that the sages were deeply wedded to text, but neither literalism nor originalism. For the rabbis, flexible interpretation made text remarkably pliable, and endlessly meaningful.

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One Shabbat morning, you arrive before services to check on the room and discover that the Torah scroll is not there. What do you do? Do you skip reading Torah that week? Do you go and get the Torah, even though there is no eruv allowing you to carry it from one domain to another?

As it happens, a similar case appears on our daf:

When Rav Dimi arrived in Babylonia from Israel, he said: One time, they forgot and did not bring a Torah scroll to the synagogue on Friday while it was still day. On Shabbat, they spread a sheet over the pillars and brought the Torah scroll to the synagogue and read from it.

Commentator Adin Steinsaltz explains that in talmudic times synagogues were sometimes located on the outskirts of town and Torah scrolls were stored in nearby locations for safekeeping. As Rav Dimi reports, faced with the possibility of not being able to read Torah, the synagogue members find a way to transport the Torah by spreading a sheet over some pillars that were positioned between the synagogue and the place where the Torah was stored, creating a corridor between the two locations.

At first, this sounds like a great solution that allows the congregation to move the Torah as the sheet serves as a partition that separates the corridor from the public domain. But not so fast, objects the Gemara:

Did they really spread out a sheet? Is this permitted!? Doesn’t everyone agree that it is prohibited to erect a temporary tent on Shabbat? Rather, they found sheets spread over the pillars and they brought the Torah scroll to the synagogue and read from it. 

Because of its discomfort with the idea that people built a temporary structure on Shabbat (violating one of the melakhot, or forbidden labors of Shabbat) in order to move the Torah, the Gemara rewrites the story. The revised version suggests that the sheet which was spread over the pillars was in place before Shabbat began.

It seems likely the Gemara’s retelling is not based on what happened (what are the chances a sheet happened to be coincidentally draped over the right pillars to facilitate an emergency Torah transfer?) but a desire to avoid any appearance that the actors in the story violated any rules of Shabbat.

It seems likely that in fact the congregation was motivated by their desire to read Torah and willing to bend some rules of Shabbat in order to do so. They seem to have calculated that violating the prohibition to make a temporary tent was preferable to carrying the Torah scroll in the public domain — maybe so that their violation of Shabbat would not be so visibly blatant.

Rav Dimi’s unselfconscious recounting of this incident suggests that, at least for some rabbis, Shabbat is not only about strictly following prohibitions. It is also about creating certain experiences and, in the service of that, the rules are not always absolute.

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