Daf Yomi · Thinking of Converting · Standard
Chullin 65
Hook
Why does a highly technical, ancient text about bird toes, split words, and the anatomy of grasshoppers matter to someone standing on the threshold of Jewish identity?
At first glance, the intricate debates of the Talmud in Tractate Chullin 65a can seem dry, remote, or even bizarre to a modern spiritual seeker. You are exploring gerut (conversion)—a journey of the heart, a deep yearning for the Divine, a search for home, and a desire to bind your fate with the destiny of the Jewish people. You might expect your foundational texts to be filled with sweeping theological declarations, poetic psalms, or dramatic narratives of faith. Instead, the Jewish tradition asks you to sit on the study hall bench and examine whether a grasshopper’s wings cover its circumference, or whether a bird splits its toes in a three-and-one pattern on a stretched line.
This is the beautiful, candid reality of the covenant you are exploring. Judaism is not a religion of abstract dogmas; it is a covenant of concrete, embodied practices. It is a path that asserts that the grandest spiritual truths are lived out in the smallest, most material details of daily existence—including what we put into our mouths, how we categorize the natural world, and how we define our boundaries.
For someone discerning a Jewish life, this text is a masterclass in the art of Jewish discernment. The same meticulous, loving, and highly structured care that the Sages apply to determining whether a creature is kosher is the very same care that you, a sponsoring rabbi, and eventually a beit din (rabbinic court) will apply to your own spiritual journey. This text teaches us how to look beneath the surface, how to evaluate our alignments, how to recognize potential growth, and how to understand what it truly means to belong to a community of practice.
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Context
To understand the passage from Chullin 65a, we must first locate it within the broader landscape of Jewish law, the oral tradition, and the practical steps of entering the covenant.
- The World of Chullin: The word chullin literally means "profane" or "everyday." This tractate of the Talmud deals primarily with the laws of non-sacred meat, dietary laws (kashrut), and the transition of the sacred from the ancient Temple in Jerusalem into our everyday homes. In Jewish thought, the kitchen table is a miniature altar, and the act of eating is elevated to a service of God. For a candidate exploring conversion, this encapsulates a fundamental Jewish truth: we do not escape the physical world to find holiness; we dive into the physical world and elevate it through mitzvot (commandments).
- The Mechanics of Discernment: The Torah in Leviticus 11 lists specific kosher and non-kosher animals, but the text is often sparse, leaving us with lists of names whose exact identities were lost or debated over generations. The Sages of the Mishnah and the Gemara in Chullin must therefore derive systemic "signs" (simanim) that allow us to classify animals we encounter. This process relies on close textual analysis, physical observation, and the hermeneutical rules of Rabbinic logic, such as those taught by the school of Rabbi Yishmael.
- The Relevance to the Beit Din and Mikveh: The journey of gerut culminates in standing before a beit din (a court of three rabbis) and immersing in the mikveh (ritual bath). The beit din’s role is not to act as gatekeepers looking for reasons to reject you, but rather as spiritual guides assessing your simanim—your signs of sincerity, your knowledge, your lifestyle changes, and your readiness to carry the heavy and beautiful yoke of the commandments. Just as the Gemara in this passage seeks to verify the identity of a species before declaring it fit for the Jewish table, the beit din seeks to verify that your soul’s alignment is truly fit for the eternal covenant of Israel.
Text Snapshot
The following excerpt from Chullin 65a highlights the core of our discussion, focusing on the social dynamics of birds and the complex anatomical classification of grasshoppers:
"Others say: If a bird dwells with non-kosher birds, it is non-kosher; if it dwells with kosher birds, it is kosher... Rabbi Eliezer says: It was not for naught that the zarzir (starling) went to dwell with the crow, but because it is of the same species...
The Sages taught in a baraita: A grasshopper that has no wings now but will grow them after a time, e.g., the zaḥal, is permitted...
Why must the verse state: 'After its kinds,' 'after its kinds,' 'after its kinds,' and 'after its kinds,' four times? It is to include four similar species... The school of Rabbi Yishmael taught: These appearances of the phrase 'after its kinds' in the verse are generalizations, and these species mentioned explicitly are details...
You will say: You derive a paradigm from the three of them... Their common denominator is that each has four legs, and four wings, and jumping legs, and its wings cover most of its body. So too, any other species that has [these signs] is kosher..."
Close Reading
Let us dive deeply into these passages, unpacking the Rabbinic discussions and translating their legal mechanics into profound insights for your spiritual path.
Insight 1: The Company We Keep — The Zarzir, the Crow, and the Dynamics of Belonging
In the first part of our text, the Gemara explores a fascinating, non-anatomical test for determining whether a bird is kosher: its social habits. "If a bird dwells with non-kosher birds, it is non-kosher; if it dwells with kosher birds, it is kosher." This is linked to the famous maxim of Rabbi Eliezer: "It was not for naught that the zarzir (starling) went to dwell with the crow, but because it is of the same species."
To understand this deeply, we must look at Rashi’s commentary on how we determine identity. When discussing the word bat ya'ana (ostrich), Rashi notes that the scribe splits the word in two (bat and ya'ana), which could imply two separate names and thus two separate prohibitions. However, the Gemara establishes that while a scribe may write them as two words on one line, he cannot split them across two lines. This linguistic detail, as Steinsaltz notes in his commentary, teaches us that identity is a unified whole. You cannot split a covenantal identity down the middle; it must remain integrated.
This integration is expressed socially through the metaphor of the zarzir (the starling) and the crow. Starlings are social birds. When a starling flies into a flock of crows, it reveals something essential about its inner nature. It "dwells" with them because, on some deep level of species-definition, it aligns with them.
For someone exploring conversion, this is perhaps the most critical insight of your entire journey. Jewish identity is not lived in a vacuum. You cannot be Jewish alone in your room, reading books and thinking Jewish thoughts. Judaism is a communal project. It requires a minyan (a quorum of ten) to say certain prayers; it requires a community to build a mikveh, to maintain a kosher kitchen, to celebrate Shabbat, and to comfort the mourning.
When you begin to shift your life toward Jewish practice, you will find yourself naturally drifting away from certain social spaces and toward others. This is not because you suddenly look down on your old friends or your past life—not at all. Rather, it is because, like the zarzir, your inner landscape is changing. You are seeking out those who share your emerging values, your rhythms of time, and your ethical commitments.
The "Others say" opinion in the Gemara adds a vital nuance: "We say that a bird is non-kosher whenever it both dwells with a non-kosher bird and resembles it." The starling, though it hangs around the crow, does not actually resemble the crow in its inner characteristics, which is why the Sages ultimately deem the starling kosher.
This is a beautiful message of reassurance for you. In the intermediate stages of your conversion process, you may feel like a "starling among crows" or vice versa. You may dwell in Jewish spaces but feel like you do not yet fully "resemble" a born-Jew in your knowledge or ease of practice. Or you may still dwell in non-Jewish spaces (with family and old friends) but feel that your inner "resemblance" has shifted entirely to the Jewish soul.
The Halacha understands that transition is complex. What matters most is the alignment of your inner essence and your trajectory. The beit din will look at where you choose to "dwell." Do you show up for the community? Do you support the synagogue? Do you invite guests to your table? Do you make the Jewish people your people, as Ruth did when she declared, "Your people shall be my people, and your God my God" Ruth 1:16? Your choice of companions, mentors, and community is the ultimate "sign" of where your soul truly belongs.
Insight 2: The Geometry of Kosher Signs — Potentiality, Diversity, and the Redundant "Solam"
The second half of our text shifts to a highly structured, almost mathematical analysis of grasshoppers. The Torah lists four specific kosher grasshoppers: the arbeh, the solam, the ḥargol, and the ḥagav Leviticus 11:22. The school of Rabbi Yishmael uses the rules of klal u'prat u'klal (generalization, detail, generalization) to understand what other grasshoppers are included in these categories.
Let us look at three beautiful elements within this complex discussion that speak directly to the soul of the convert.
The Zaḥal and the Power of Becoming
The baraita teaches: "A grasshopper that has no wings now but will grow them after a time, e.g., the zaḥal, is permitted." Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Yosei, derives this from a unique spelling in the Hebrew text of Leviticus 11:21, where the word lo ("which have" jointed legs) is written with an alef (meaning "not") but read with a vav (meaning "to it"). This textual tension teaches us that even if the grasshopper does not have these legs or wings now, the fact that it will grow them in the future makes it kosher today.
As someone exploring conversion, this passage should be written on your heart. One of the most common struggles for those in the gerut process is the feeling of inadequacy. You might look at a lifelong observant Jew and think: I will never catch up. I don’t know how to read Hebrew fluently. I stumble over the blessings. I don’t know how to keep Shabbat perfectly. I am wingless.
The Torah’s ruling on the zaḥal is a divine validation of your process. Judaism does not demand that you emerge from the womb of the mikveh as a fully formed sage. The Halacha recognizes potentiality. If you are on a trajectory of growth, if you are committed to learning, if the "wings" of your Jewish life are in the process of growing, you are valued, kosher, and embraced in your present state. The beit din is not looking for perfection; they are looking for a direction of travel. Sincerity is not about having already arrived; it is about the honest, steady commitment to the journey of becoming.
The Redundancy of the "Solam" and the Breadth of Israel
The Gemara engages in a dense logical exercise to determine if a grasshopper with a long head is kosher. Through a process of elimination, Rav Aḥai points out that the inclusion of the solam (a specific type of grasshopper) in the Torah is actually redundant. We could have derived its kosher status simply by comparing the arbeh and the ḥargol through a "common denominator" (binyan av).
Why, then, did the Torah explicitly write solam? The Gemara concludes: "If it is not necessary for the matter itself, apply it to the matter of a long-headed grasshopper, to teach that it is kosher."
Think about the spiritual implication of this legal mechanism. The Torah went out of its way to write an extra word, to create an apparent redundancy, for the sole purpose of expanding the boundaries of what is acceptable. It wanted to make sure that the "long-headed grasshopper"—the one that looked different, the one that did not fit the standard, neat profile of the others—was explicitly included and welcomed.
As Rabbeinu Gershom notes in his commentary on this passage, these various classifications (ziporet kramim, ushkaf, karsefet) represent a wide array of diverse physical forms, yet they all share the core, essential signs.
In your journey, you may sometimes feel like the "long-headed grasshopper." You might come from a different ethnic background, have a complex family history, carry political or philosophical views that feel distinct, or enter the Jewish community later in life. You might wonder: Do I really fit in here? Is there room for my unique shape in this ancient tapestry?
The redundancy of the solam teaches us that God’s covenant is deliberately spacious. The Jewish people are not a monolith. We are a global, multi-ethnic family with diverse ways of thinking, praying, and living. What binds us together is not a cookie-cutter uniformity, but our "common denominator"—our shared commitment to the four core signs of Jewish life: a commitment to ethical living, Jewish study, community, and the sacred rhythm of the mitzvot. If you have those core signs, your unique "long head" is not a disqualification; it is a beautiful, divinely ordained variation that enriches the entire ecosystem of Israel.
The Danger of the "Tzartzur" (The Cricket)
Finally, the Gemara asks a warning question: What about the tzartzur (the cricket)? It has four legs, four wings, jumping legs, and its wings cover its body. It seems to have all the correct physical signs! Why is it excluded?
The Gemara answers: "The verse states: Ḥagav, to indicate that its name must be ḥagav." The cricket, despite its outward similarities, does not belong to the category of ḥagav (locust/grasshopper). It is a different creature entirely.
This is a candid, honest boundary-marker for anyone exploring conversion. In our modern world, there is a temptation to syncretize—to blend different religious traditions together, to take the parts of Judaism we like and mix them with other spiritual paths we have walked. We might think, "I can practice Jewish rituals but still hold onto my old theological beliefs, because they look similar on the surface."
The exclusion of the tzartzur reminds us that surface-level similarity is not enough. To enter the covenant of Israel is to step fully inside a specific, historic, and theological boundary. It requires calling ourselves by the name of Israel, accepting the unique theological framework of Jewish monotheism, and letting go of other religious identities. It is a commitment to the singular destiny of this people. The beit din will look closely to ensure that your practice is not just a beautiful external performance (like the cricket's wings), but an authentic, integrated expression of a Jewish soul (the name ḥagav).
Lived Rhythm
How do we take these lofty, intricate concepts of discernment, potentiality, and community and ground them in a concrete, daily practice? The Torah’s focus on the minutiae of what we consume suggests a powerful, hands-on next step for your journey.
Your Next Step: The Practice of Conscious Kashrut
You do not need to transition to a fully, strictly kosher kitchen overnight. In fact, most rabbis recommend a gradual, step-by-step approach to kashrut to ensure that the changes you make are sustainable, deeply understood, and integrated into your life with joy rather than overwhelm.
This week, begin a practice of Dietary Discernment, inspired by the Sages' careful examination of signs in Chullin 65.
┌──────────────────────────────┐
│ STEP 1: The "Zarzir" Phase │
│ Avoid explicitly non- │
│ kosher foods (pork, shell- │
│ fish) in and out of home. │
└──────────────┬───────────────┘
│
▼
┌──────────────────────────────┐
│ STEP 2: The "Zaḥal" Phase │
│ Establish a "one-shelf" │
│ kosher space in your pantry│
│ or fridge for certified items.│
└──────────────┬───────────────┘
│
▼
┌──────────────────────────────┐
│ STEP 3: The "Solam" Phase │
│ Incorporate blessings │
│ (brachot) before eating │
│ to elevate the physical. │
└──────────────────────────────┘
The "Zarzir" Phase (Avoidance of the Obviously Non-Kosher): Begin by eliminating what the Torah explicitly defines as non-kosher from your diet—specifically pork and shellfish Leviticus 11:7-10. When you eat, whether at home or out, make a conscious decision to say "no" to these items. This is a powerful, daily act of boundary-setting. Every time you look at a menu and choose a kosher-species option over a non-kosher one, you are declaring: I am aligning my physical body with the covenant of Israel.
The "Zaḥal" Phase (The Kosher Shelf): Designate one shelf in your pantry or refrigerator exclusively for products that carry a reliable kosher certification symbol (such as the OU, OK, Star-K, etc.). When you go grocery shopping, spend an extra ten minutes reading labels, looking for these symbols. Do not stress about your entire kitchen yet; focus on this one, dedicated space. This mirrors the zaḥal—you are growing your wings, starting with a small, manageable, and sacred corner of your home.
The "Solam" Phase (The Blessing of Elevation): Before you eat any kosher food, pause for five seconds. Do not just consume it. Look at the food, recognize its source in the Divine, and say the appropriate blessing (bracha). If you are eating fruit, say:
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Haolam, borei pri ha'etz. (Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who creates the fruit of the tree.)
If you are eating bread, say:
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Haolam, hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz. (Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth.)
By slowing down and introducing these blessings, you turn the mundane act of eating into a moment of covenantal connection. You are no longer just filling your stomach; you are doing holy work, practicing the very discernment that the Sages of Tractate Chullin spent lifetimes refining.
Community
The lesson of the zarzir and the crow is clear: we are deeply shaped by our environment. To become Jewish, you must find your "flock." You must actively place yourself in spaces where Jewish life is lived, spoken, and felt.
Your Way to Connect: Find a "Chevruta" or a Mentor
Your concrete step for community integration this month is to establish a regular, face-to-face learning relationship.
- Find a Sponsoring Rabbi: If you have not already done so, reach out to a local rabbi to discuss your interest in conversion. Be honest, candid, and humble. Do not expect immediate, open-armed acceptance; historically, rabbis have tested the sincerity of potential converts. This is not out of cruelty, but out of a deep respect for the gravity of the covenant. A good rabbi will guide you, challenge you, and help you examine your "signs" of readiness.
- Seek a Chevruta (Study Partner): Ask your rabbi, an introduction-to-Judaism teacher, or a active community member to help you find a chevruta. A chevruta is a traditional Jewish study partner with whom you read texts, debate ideas, and share life. Look for someone who is slightly more experienced in Jewish practice than you are, but who is patient and encouraging.
- The "Dwelling" Practice: Commit to attending synagogue services, communal lectures, or holiday celebrations on a regular basis. Don't just slip in and out of the back row. Arrive early, stay for the Kiddush (the social gathering after services), introduce yourself to those sitting near you, and help clean up the chairs afterward. By actively "dwelling" with the community, you show the beit din—and, more importantly, yourself—that you are ready to share in both the joys and the responsibilities of Jewish communal life.
Takeaway
The intricate legal debates of Chullin 65a are not a barrier to your spiritual journey; they are a map of it.
They remind us that the path of gerut is a beautiful, demanding process of alignment. It is a journey where your choice of company defines your trajectory, where your small, daily choices at the grocery store or kitchen table become sacred acts of covenantal loyalty, and where your potential for growth is deeply valued by the Divine.
Do not be discouraged if you feel like a wingless zaḥal today. Trust the process. Keep learning, keep dwelling with the community of Israel, keep practicing the holy art of discernment, and watch as your covenantal wings slowly, beautifully begin to unfold.
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