Arukh HaShulchan Yomi · Sephardi & Mizrahi Heritage · Standard
Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 316:19-24
Hook
Imagine a late Shabbat afternoon in nineteenth-century Baghdad. The sun is a heavy, molten weight over the Tigris, but inside the hush—the traditional, open-air central courtyard of a Jewish home—the air is cooled by wet limestone and the shadow of a climbing grapevine. Under the trellis, a family gathers on low divans, the sweet scent of cardamom tea lingering from the pre-Shabbat brewing. Suddenly, the lazy hum of the afternoon is broken by the sharp buzz of a mosquito or the persistent hover of a fly. To the modern mind, this is a minor nuisance; to the Shabbat-observant Jew in the warm climates of the Ottoman East, this moment is a delicate threshold of the sacred.
In this sun-drenched world, nature is not something locked outside behind double-paned glass; it is an active participant in domestic life. The laws of Shabbat, specifically the prohibition of tzad (trapping), are not abstract intellectual exercises. They are lived, breathing negotiations with the local ecology. When a Hakham (Sephardic sage) in Baghdad, Cairo, or Aleppo ruled on whether one could close a window, shoo a fly, or trap a pest on the holy day, they were balancing the strictures of the Talmud with the lived reality of a climate where insect life was abundant, aggressive, and intimately close. This is a halakhic tradition that does not seek to conquer nature, but rather to walk through it with a quiet, dignified awareness of boundaries, honoring both the rest of the human being and the freedom of the wild.
Full Experience in the App
Listen. Chat. Go deeper.
Audio playback, interactive chevruta, Hebrew tools, and every daily learning track — only in Derekh Learning.
Context
To understand how the laws of trapping on Shabbat became a canvas for Sephardic and Mizrahi lived experience, we must anchor ourselves in the specific landscapes, eras, and communal spaces where these traditions were forged.
- Place: The Warm-Climate Courtyards of the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia
Unlike the enclosed, insulated wooden homes of Northern and Eastern Europe, the domestic architecture of the Sephardic and Mizrahi world—stretching from the Spanish-influenced cities of Salonica and Izmir to the ancient quarters of Damascus, Aleppo, Cairo, and Baghdad—was defined by the hush. This central, open-air courtyard served as the lungs of the home. Rooms opened directly onto this shared space, meaning that the boundary between "inside" and "outside" was fluid. Birds flew through the corridors, lizards scaled the stone walls, and insects of every description were a constant presence. Halakha had to be responsive to an environment where human beings and the natural world lived in a state of perpetual, intimate contact. - Era: The Golden Age of Ottoman Halakha to the Dawn of the Modern Era
Our journey spans from the codification of the Shulchan Arukh by Maran Rabbi Yosef Karo in sixteenth-century Safed Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 316:1 to the monumental late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century works of the Eastern sages. This includes Rabbi Yosef Chaim of Baghdad (the Ben Ish Chai, 1835–1909) and Rabbi Yaakov Chaim Sofer of Jerusalem (the Kaf HaChaim, 1870–1939). This era ran parallel to the writing of the Arukh HaShulchan by Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein in Eastern Europe, offering a rich, contemporary dialogue between different geographical responses to the same Talmudic principles. - Community: The Urban Sephardic and Mizrahi Kehillot
These communities were characterized by a deep integration of religious law with the rhythms of daily life. The Hakhamim were not isolated in academies; they were community leaders, merchants, and poets who walked the same dusty, warm streets as their congregants. Their rulings on Shabbat reflected a profound pastoral sensitivity (koach de-heteira, the power of leniency where halakhically viable) to ensure that Shabbat remained a day of delight (oneg) rather than a source of anxiety, even when sharing one's home with the buzzing insect world of the East.
Text Snapshot
In his monumental code, the Arukh HaShulchan, Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein analyzes the complex laws of trapping (tzad) on Shabbat, focusing specifically on how we interact with small, non-domesticated creatures like flies and mosquitoes.
"Regarding flies and mosquitoes, if they are on one’s body or clothes, it is permitted to remove them or brush them off, provided one does not trap them. But to trap them inside a vessel is forbidden... And some are lenient regarding flies because they are not typically hunted, but the custom is to be careful..." — Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 316:19-20
This passage highlights the fundamental tension of tzad: how do we define "trapping" when dealing with creatures that have no commercial value, are not typically hunted, and yet cause us discomfort on our day of rest?
Minhag/Melody
In the Sephardic and Mizrahi tradition, halakha (law) and piyut (liturgical poetry) are not separate disciplines; they are two sides of the same golden coin. The legal discussions surrounding tzad—the act of restricting a creature's freedom—find a profound, poetic echo in the music and song that filled the Shabbat table and the synagogue.
The Liturgical Ecology of the Maqam
To understand how this connection breathes, one must enter the world of the Maqam system—the classical Arabic musical modal system that Sephardic and Mizrahi communities in the Middle East adopted and elevated to a sacred art. Each Shabbat, the prayers and hymns are sung in a specific Maqam chosen to match the emotional theme of the weekly Torah portion or the spiritual character of the day.
When the community studies the laws of Shabbat, or when the Torah portion touches upon themes of nature, creation, and freedom, the prayers are often led in Maqam Rast. Rast is known in the Middle Eastern musical tradition as the "father of all maqamat." It represents truth, directness, and the natural order of the cosmos. Singing in Maqam Rast is a musical expression of alignment with the world as God created it. It is a sonic reminder that on Shabbat, we step back from trying to control, manipulate, or "trap" the world around us. Instead, we allow creation to exist in its natural state of harmony, singing its own silent praise to the Creator, as described in Psalms 148:10: "Beasts and all cattle, creeping things and winged fowl."
Dunash ben Labrat and the Song of the Free Bird
Nowhere is this connection between the physical freedom of creatures and the spiritual freedom of Shabbat more beautifully expressed than in the beloved piyut Dror Yikra ("He Will Proclaim Freedom"). Written in tenth-century Spain by the Moroccan-born grammarian and poet Dunash ben Labrat, this song became a staple of the Shabbat table across the entire Sephardic and Mizrahi world, from Casablanca to Baghdad.
The opening line of the piyut declares:
דְּרוֹר יִקְרָא לְבֵן וּלְבַת / וְיִנְצָרְכֶם כְּמוֹ בָבַת "He will proclaim freedom (Dror) for son and daughter, and will guard you like the pupil of an eye."
The Hebrew word Dror means liberty or freedom, famously used in the context of the Jubilee year in Leviticus 25:10. However, in classical Hebrew and Arabic philology, dror is also the name of a specific bird—the wild swallow or sparrow. The Talmud in Shabbat 106b notes that the tzippor dror (the swallow) is a bird that cannot be domesticated; if trapped in a house, it will refuse to eat, choosing death over captivity. It is a creature that belongs entirely to the open sky.
When Sephardic families gather around the Shabbat table and sing Dror Yikra, they are not just singing about national redemption; they are singing the song of the untrappable bird. The melody, often sung in a rhythmic, celebratory cadence that invites hand-clapping and harmony, becomes a living midrash on the laws of tzad. By singing of the dror, we celebrate the idea that on Shabbat, all of creation is emancipated. We do not trap, we do not cage, and we do not assert our mastery over the animal kingdom. We leave the birds to their flight and the insects to their paths, recognizing that our own spiritual freedom is intimately bound up with our willingness to let the rest of creation go free.
The Baqashot: Singing in the Cool of the Dawn
In the Syrian Jewish community of Aleppo (Halab), this musical-halakhic integration reached its zenith in the practice of the Baqashot (petitionary songs). During the long winter nights, from midnight until dawn, the community would gather in the synagogue. In the chilly, pre-dawn air, before the first light of day had warmed the stones of the city, they would sing intricate, multi-layered piyutim in a sequence of shifting Maqamat.
This practice was deeply ecological. The singers sang in the quiet hours when the rest of the city—and the animal world—was asleep. The poetry of the Baqashot is filled with references to dew, stars, wind, and the singing of birds. By waking up early to sing, the community sought to join the natural choir of creation. They believed that when a human being sings praises to God in the middle of the night, they are amplifying the silent, instinctual praises of the animals, the trees, and the stars.
This worldview directly informs the Sephardic approach to the laws of trapping. If the natural world is a choir of praise, then trapping a creature on Shabbat is not merely a technical violation of a creative labor (melakha); it is a disruption of the cosmic symphony. By refraining from trapping even the most bothersome fly, and instead choosing to sing in the Maqam of the day, the Sephardic Jew steps out of the role of the master and predator, and steps into the role of the cosmic singer, harmonizing with the living world.
Contrast
While the fundamental laws of Shabbat are shared by all Jewish communities, the application of these laws is deeply shaped by geography, climate, and domestic architecture. Examining the contrast between the Ashkenazi approach, as represented by the Arukh HaShulchan and the Mishnah Berurah, and the Sephardic/Mizrahi approach, as codified by Maran Yosef Karo and the Ben Ish Chai, reveals a beautiful, respectful dialogue between different lived realities.
The Climate of Halakha: East versus West
The core definition of tzad (trapping) on Shabbat rests on whether a creature is "typically hunted" (she-eino be-mino nitzad). If an animal is of a species that humans generally hunt or trap—such as deer, fish, or valuable fur-bearing animals—trapping it is a Torah-level violation. If it is a species that is not typically hunted—such as flies, spiders, or mosquitoes—trapping it is generally a Rabbinic prohibition, unless it is done for a constructive purpose or to prevent significant pain.
The contrast in how this law is applied in practice emerges from the different environments of Eastern Europe and the Middle East:
| Halakhic Aspect | Ashkenazi Minhag (e.g., Mishnah Berurah, Arukh HaShulchan) | Sephardic/Mizrahi Minhag (e.g., Shulchan Arukh, Ben Ish Chai) |
|---|---|---|
| Primary Climate & Setting | Cold, temperate climates; enclosed, insulated wooden or brick homes with glass windows. | Warm, subtropical climates; open-air courtyard homes (hush) with continuous indoor-outdoor flow. |
| Approach to Biting Insects | More restrictive; generally forbids trapping or killing fleas or mosquitoes unless there is an extreme, localized infestation or severe pain. | More pragmatic/lenient; permits brushing away or even killing biting insects (like fleas) if they are actively causing pain or discomfort. |
| Defining the Trapping Space | Focuses on tight, enclosed spaces (e.g., closing a small box or drawer containing an insect). | Focuses on open, shared spaces; more lenient regarding closing doors/windows when pests are in the room, provided the intent is not to trap them. |
| Underlying Halakhic Principle | Strict preservation of Shabbat boundaries within a highly controlled indoor environment. | Koach de-heteira (the power of leniency) to preserve oneg Shabbat (joy) in a porous, insect-rich environment. |
Pragmatism in the Courtyard: Closing Doors and Windows
A classic point of discussion in the laws of trapping is whether one may close a door or a window on Shabbat if there are flies or mosquitoes in the room.
In the Ashkenazi world, where homes were tightly sealed to keep out the cold, the presence of insects indoors was often treated as an anomaly. The Arukh HaShulchan Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 316:24 and the Mishnah Berurah engage in complex discussions about whether closing a door when flies are inside constitutes trapping, because the act of closing the door confines the flies to a small, defined space where they can be easily caught. Some Ashkenazi authorities rule stringently, suggesting that if there are many flies in the room, one must be careful not to close the door fully unless one intends to let them out, or if the room is so large that it does not facilitate their easy capture.
In contrast, the Sephardic authorities, operating in the open-air reality of the Mediterranean and Middle East, took a highly pragmatic approach. Maran Yosef Karo in the Shulchan Arukh Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 316:9 rules that if one closes a door or a window for the purpose of securing the house, or to keep the wind or heat out, it is entirely permitted, even if there are flies or mosquitoes inside. The fact that these insects are now confined to the room is a side effect (davar she-eino mitkaven—an unintentional act) that does not constitute a violation, because the home is a living space, not a trap.
The Ben Ish Chai in his classic work of Baghdadi halakha (Shanah Shniyah, Parashat Vayetzei) takes this pragmatism a step further. He notes that in the intense heat of Baghdad, doors and windows must be opened and closed constantly to regulate the temperature of the home and to allow family members to move between the courtyard and the bedrooms. To forbid closing a door because a fly might be confined would make Shabbat living nearly impossible and would utterly destroy oneg Shabbat (the delight of the day). Therefore, Sephardic halakha emphasizes the intent of the person: if your goal is to close the door to keep the heat out or to secure your privacy, you may do so without hesitation, even if a swarm of summer gnats is left inside.
The Question of Biting Pests
Another fascinating contrast lies in how the two traditions handle insects that actively cause pain or discomfort, such as fleas or mosquitoes.
The Talmud in Mishnah Shabbat 14:1 and Shabbat 107b discusses the status of the parosh (flea). In the sixteenth century, Maran Yosef Karo codified a remarkably practical ruling in the Shulchan Arukh:
"One who catches a flea on Shabbat: if it is on his body and biting him, he may take it and throw it off, but he may not kill it... However, some permit killing it if it is actively biting, to prevent pain." — Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 316:10
Sephardic authorities, including the Kaf HaChaim, explain that in the warm regions of the Ottoman Empire, insect bites were not just a minor irritation; they were a constant source of severe physical distress and could carry disease. Therefore, the halakha of the East prioritized the physical well-being and peace of mind of the human being on Shabbat. If an insect is actively biting and causing pain, the prohibition of trapping or removing it is set aside to alleviate tza'ar (pain).
Ashkenazi authorities, while also sympathetic to pain, often instituted more protective boundaries. The Rema (Rabbi Moses Isserles), in his glosses on the Shulchan Arukh, notes that the Ashkenazi custom is to be more stringent, permitting one to remove a biting insect only if it is actively on the skin, but forbidding the trapping or killing of it if it is merely crawling on one's clothing or nearby, out of concern that one might inadvertently violate a Torah-level prohibition of killing (shochet).
This contrast is beautiful because it reveals how both traditions are deeply consistent with their environments. The Ashkenazi rulings protect the sanctity of Shabbat by drawing clear, protective lines in a world where insects were a manageable, seasonal issue. The Sephardic rulings protect the sanctity of Shabbat by ensuring that the day of rest does not become a day of physical torment in a world where the boundaries between human habitation and the insect kingdom were constantly overlapping.
Home Practice
Bringing the textured wisdom of the Sephardic and Mizrahi approach to Shabbat into our modern, climate-controlled lives does not require us to open our windows to swarms of insects. Instead, we can adopt a beautiful, sensory practice that bridges the halakhot of tzad (trapping) with the ancient ecological wisdom of the Mediterranean home.
The Aromatic Shield: Elevating the Shabbat Table
In the traditional homes of Morocco, Tunisia, Syria, and Iraq, the Shabbat table was always adorned with fresh, highly aromatic herbs. Chief among these was reihan (sweet basil) and nana (mint), alongside branches of myrtle (hadas).
These herbs served a beautiful, multi-layered purpose that seamlessly wove together halakha, sensory beauty, and ecological pragmatism:
- The Blessing of Sweet Scents: On Shabbat, we are given an neshamah yeterah—an extra, expanded soul. To delight this soul, Sephardic custom encourages smelling sweet-smelling plants throughout the day, reciting the blessing Borei atzei besamim (for fragrant trees) or Borei isbei besamim (for fragrant herbs).
- The Natural Deterrent: Long before the invention of chemical bug sprays, Middle Eastern families knew that the strong, volatile oils in fresh basil, mint, and myrtle were natural deterrents to flies, mosquitoes, and gnats. By surrounding the Shabbat food with these beautiful, green plants, they created a natural, aromatic shield.
- Preserving Shabbat Boundaries: By using aromatic herbs to keep insects away naturally, the family avoided any halakhic questions of trapping (tzad) or killing (shochet) pests at the table. Instead of chasing a fly with a swatter or trapping a wasp under a drinking glass—acts that disrupt the peace of the table and raise complex halakhic issues—the insects were gently, naturally kept at bay by the fragrance of the plants.
┌─────────────────────────────────────┐
│ THE SEPHARDIC SHABBAT TABLE │
│ │
│ [Challah] [Wine] [Food] │
│ │ │ │ │
│ └──────┬─────┴──────────┘ │
│ ▼ │
│ ┌─────────────────┐ │
│ │ AROMATIC HERBS │ │
│ │ (Basil, Mint, │ │
│ │ Myrtle) │ │
│ └────────┬────────┘ │
│ │ │
│ ▼ │
│ ┌─────────────────────┐ │
│ │ Double Purpose: │ │
│ │ 1. Blessings │ │
│ │ 2. Natural Barrier │ │
│ └─────────────────────┘ │
└─────────────────────────────────────┘
How to Adopt This Practice Today
To bring this fragrance and wisdom into your own home, you can try this simple practice this coming Shabbat:
- Acquire Fresh Herbs: Before Shabbat, purchase a pot of live sweet basil, or cut fresh branches of rosemary, mint, and myrtle.
- Adorn Your Table: Place these herbs in small vases or bowls in the center of your Shabbat table, near the Challah and the kiddush cup.
- Engage the Senses: During the Shabbat afternoon meals, or during the transition of Havdalah at the end of the day, pass the herbs around the table. Take a leaf, gently rub it between your fingers to release the essential oils, and recite the appropriate blessing:
- For woody herbs like myrtle or rosemary:
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא עֲצֵי בְשָׂמִים. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, borei atzei besamim. ("Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who creates fragrant trees.")
- For leafy herbs like mint or basil:
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא עִשְׂבֵי בְשָׂמִים. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, borei isbei besamim. ("Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who creates fragrant herbs.")
- For woody herbs like myrtle or rosemary:
- The Intentional Shoo: If a fly or mosquito does find its way to your table, resist the urge to trap it or swat it. Instead, take a deep breath, appreciate its place in the wider creation, and gently shoo it away with a wave of your hand or a branch of your herbs, letting it find its own way back to the open sky.
Takeaway
The Sephardic and Mizrahi approach to the laws of trapping on Shabbat offers us a profound shift in perspective. In a world that often views nature as a resource to be managed, controlled, or kept at bay, this ancient tradition invites us to practice a gentle, dignified coexistence.
By understanding that our homes are porous spaces shared with the wider world, and by choosing to resolve our conflicts with nature through pragmatism, song, and aromatic beauty rather than violence or confinement, we elevate our Shabbat. We move from being masters of the earth to being partners in creation, recognizing that on the day of rest, every living thing—from the wild bird singing in the rafters to the humblest fly buzzing in the courtyard—is granted its own small measure of freedom under the shadow of the Divine.
derekhlearning.com