Chullin 89

Hook

Imagine the pre-dawn stillness of a stone-carved sanctuary in Aleppo or Casablanca. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of orange blossom water and burning wax. Before the first rays of the Mediterranean sun strike the eastern wall, a voice rises in a microtonal cascade, singing of a blue thread that bridges the gap between the dust of the earth and the Sapphire Throne of Glory. This is not merely a song; it is a living tapestry of memory, a physical and spiritual lineage where the simplest physical acts—the tying of a knot, the wrapping of a leather strap, the holding of one's tongue in a moment of anger—become the cosmic pillars that prevent the world from collapsing into nothingness.

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Context

To understand the profound spiritual ecology of this tradition, we must ground ourselves in the soil from which it grew. The teachings of our sages regarding humility, ritual precision, and the sacred beauty of restraint are not abstract philosophical exercises. They were lived, breathed, and sung across a vast, interconnected Jewish world.

• Place: The Great Yeshivot of Babylonia (Sura and Pumbedita), the sun-drenched courtyards of al-Andalus (Muslim Spain), the bustling Jewish quarters of the Ottoman Levant (Aleppo, Damascus, and Jerusalem), and the mountainous redoubts of North Africa. These environments fostered a Torah that was deeply integrated with poetry, philosophy, and the natural world.
• Era: Spanning from the Geonic Period (6th to 11th centuries)—when the structured liturgy and Talmudic interpretation were first codified—through the Golden Age of Spain (10th to 12th centuries), and culminating in the Kabbalistic renaissance of 16th-century Safed, which infused everyday physical actions with cosmic significance.
• Community: The Sephardi and Mizrahi world, characterized by a holistic approach to Jewish life. Here, there is no artificial divide between the rigor of halakha (law), the beauty of piyut (sacred poetry), the depth of kabbalah (mysticism), and the refinement of adab (the Judeo-Arabic concept of noble character, courtesy, and humility).

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Text Snapshot

The following passage from the Babylonian Talmud, Chullin 89a, captures this delicate interplay between the physical objects of our devotion and the internal refinement of our character:

"That I will not take a thread nor a shoe strap nor anything that is yours" Genesis 14:23, distancing himself from anything not rightfully his, his children merited two mitzvot: The thread of sky-blue wool worn on ritual fringes and the strap of phylacteries...

Rabbi Meir would say: What is different about sky-blue from all other colors such that it was specified for the mitzva of ritual fringes? It is because sky-blue dye is similar in its color to the sea, and the sea is similar to the sky, and the sky is similar to the sapphire stone, and the sapphire stone is similar to the Throne of Glory...

Rabbi Ile’a says: The world endures only in the merit of one who restrains (shebolem) himself during a quarrel, as it is stated: "He hangs the earth upon nothing (belima)" Job 26:7. Rabbi Abbahu says: The world endures only in the merit of one who renders himself as if he were non-existent...

Rabbi Yitzḥak says: What is the meaning of that which is written: "Do you indeed (ha’umnam) speak as a righteous company (elem)? Do you judge with equity (meisharim) the sons of men" Psalms 58:2? What should be a person’s occupation (umanut) in this world? He should render himself silent as a mute (ilem).

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Textual Analysis and Commentary

To fully appreciate the texture of this Talmudic passage, we must examine it through the eyes of our master commentators, whose words have guided Sephardic and Mizrahi study for generations.

Rashi's Insight on Abraham's Restraint

The great commentator Rashi, whose explanations are foundational to all Talmudic study, notes the precise relationship between Abraham’s refusal of the spoils of war and the physical rewards his children received:

אם מחוט ועד שרוך - שלא רצה ליהנות מן הגזל: שרוך - רצועה: חוט של תכלת - לציצית: רצועה של תפילין - לקשור:

"If from a thread to a shoe-strap" — [This teaches] that he did not wish to derive benefit from theft [or spoils that were not his]. “Strap” — A leather strap. “A thread of sky-blue” — For the ritual fringes (tzitzit). “A strap of phylacteries (tefillin)” — For binding.

Rashi makes it clear that the mitzvot of tzitzit and tefillin are not arbitrary commands; they are direct, physical inheritances of a moral choice. Because Abraham drew a hard line at a mere "thread" (chut) and "shoe-strap" (sheroach), refusing to enrich himself through questionable means, his descendants were gifted with the holy thread of techelet and the sacred leather straps of tefillin.

In his modern elucidation, Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz expands on this connection:

"אם מחוט ועד שרוך נעל ואם אקח מכל אשר לך" (בראשית יד, כג), שלא רצה ליהנות ממה שאינו שלו, וקידש שם שמים — זכו בניו לשתי מצות, לחוט של תכלת בציצית... ורצועה של תפילין, שהיא עשויה עור, כמו שרגיל היה להיות שרוך של נעל.

"If from a thread to a shoe-strap, and I will not take from anything that is yours" Genesis 14:23, because he did not wish to benefit from what was not his, and thereby sanctified the Name of Heaven — his children merited two mitzvot: the thread of sky-blue in the tzitzit... and the strap of tefillin, which is made of leather, just as a shoe-strap was customarily made of leather.

Here we see the beautiful symmetry of Jewish law and ethics. The leather strap that once bound a dusty shoe to the foot of a warrior is elevated. It becomes the black leather strap of the tefillin, binding the mind and the heart of the Jew to the Creator. The simple thread of a garment becomes the techelet, a visual ladder that climbs from the depths of the ocean to the highest heavens.

The Art of Silence and Humility

Further in the passage, Chullin 89a, the Talmud transitions from physical objects of devotion to the internal landscape of the soul. Rabbi Yitzḥak asks: "What should be a person's occupation (umanut) in this world? He should render himself silent as a mute (ilem)."

Rashi unpacks this apparent paradox of holy silence:

האמנם אלם - אומנות יפה היא האילום אבל צדק דהיינו דברי תורה אותו תדברון: מישרים - כמישור ארץ חלקה שנוחה לידרס:

"Do you indeed speak as a mute?" — A beautiful craft is muteness [silence], but righteousness — which is the words of Torah — that you must speak. “Equity” (Meisharim) — Like a flat, smooth land that is easy to tread upon.

Rashi uses the evocative image of meisharim—a flat, smooth valley (mishor) that does not present rocky obstacles or arrogant peaks, but is easy and comfortable for others to walk upon. This is the Sephardic ideal of the sage: not an unapproachable mountain of intellectual pride, but a gentle, smooth path, welcoming to all, possessing a quiet dignity that speaks volumes through silence.

Steinsaltz illuminates this synthesis of speech and silence:

אמר רבי יצחק: מאי דכתיב [מהו שנאמר] "האמנם אלם צדק תדברון מישרים תשפטו בני אדם" (תהלים נח, ב)? מה אומנותו ("האמנם") של אדם בעולם הזה — ישים עצמו כאלם, ישתוק. יכול אף לדברי תורה ישים עצמו כאלם? תלמוד לומר: "צדק תדברון", שמצוה לדבר בדברי תורה. ושמא תעלה על דעתך: הואיל ומותר ואף מצוה להרבות בדברי תורה, יכול יגיס דעתו, שהעוסק יתגאה? תלמוד לומר: "מישרים תשפטו בני אדם", שצריך לנהוג במישור, בדרך ענוה.

Rabbi Yitzḥak said: What is the meaning of that which is written: "Do you indeed speak as a righteous company? Do you judge with equity the sons of men" Psalms 58:2? What should be a person’s craft ("ha'umnam") in this world? He should place himself as a mute, he should remain silent. Might you think that even for words of Torah he should remain mute? The verse states: "Righteousness you shall speak," for it is a mitzvah to speak words of Torah. But perhaps it might enter your mind: since it is permitted and indeed a mitzvah to speak extensively in words of Torah, he might become arrogant, boasting of his occupation? Therefore, the verse states: "Judge with equity the sons of men," meaning that one must conduct oneself with equity, in the path of humility.

The "craft" of the human being is to know when to speak and when to be silent. When speaking Torah, one must speak with clarity and passion; but when it comes to personal honor, pride, or conflict, one must master the art of belima—the divine self-restraint that mirrors God's own contraction (tzimtzum) in creating the universe.

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Minhag/Melody

In the Sephardic and Mizrahi world, the intellectual concepts of Talmudic text are never left on the page. They are sung, prayed, and woven into the physical rituals of daily life. The themes of Chullin 89a—the transition from the physical thread to the divine blue, the leather strap of the tefillin, and the sublime power of humility—find their ultimate expression in our liturgy, our piyutim (sacred songs), and our unique customs.

       [ Throne of Glory ] (Sapphire / Kise HaKavod)
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         [ The Sky ] (Shamayim)
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         [ The Sea ] (Yam)
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    [ The Blue Thread ] (Techelet / Tzitzit)

The Tying of the Tzitzit: The Chulya Method

While the Talmud discusses the spiritual journey of the techelet (the sky-blue dye), the physical tying of the tzitzit in the Sephardic tradition is a visual and mathematical meditation on the Divine Name.

Sephardic communities, following the rulings of the Shulchan Aruch and the kabbalistic insights of the Arizal (Rabbi Isaac Luria of Safed), tie their fringes using a method known as Chulyot (links or joints). Instead of simple, uniform wraps, the Sephardic tzitzit are wound in a specific pattern of wraps separated by double knots:

• First section: 10 wraps
• Second section: 5 wraps
• Third section: 6 wraps
• Fourth section: 5 wraps

This sequence (10-5-6-5) is not random. It is the numerical value (gematria) of the Holy Tetragon-like Name of God: Yod (10), Heh (5), Vav (6), Heh (5).

Furthermore, during the wrapping process, each loop is tucked under to form a spiral ridge known as a Chulya. When a Sephardi Jew looks at their tzitzit, they are not just looking at wool; they are gazing upon a physical manifestation of the Divine Name. This acts as a physical anchor for the eyes and the mind, initiating the exact cognitive ascent described by Rabbi Meir in our Gemara: from the physical thread to the sea, to the sky, to the sapphire stone, and finally to the Throne of Glory. The physical fringe becomes a portal to the Infinite.

The Piyut: "Shfel Ruach" (Humble of Spirit)

The Talmudic discussion in Chullin 89a praises those who, when granted greatness, diminish themselves. Abraham says, "I am but dust and ashes" Genesis 18:27; Moses and Aaron say, "What are we" Exodus 16:7; and David says, "I am a worm, and no man" Psalms 22:7.

This profound theology of humility was captured beautifully by one of the greatest poets of the Andalusian Golden Age, Rabbi Solomon ibn Gabirol (11th century, Spain), in his masterpiece piyut, "Shfel Ruach" (Humble of Spirit). This song is traditionally sung in Sephardic congregations before the morning prayer (Nishmat Kol Chai) on Shabbat and holidays, particularly during the High Holy Days.

The poem begins:

שְׁפַל רוּחַ, שְׁפַל בֶּרֶךְ וְקוֹמָה / אֲקַדֶּמְךָ בְּרֹב פַּחַד וְאֵימָה לְפָנֶיךָ אֲנִי נֶחְשָׁב בְּעֵינַי / כְּתוֹלַעַת קְטַנָּה בָּאֲדָמָה

Humble of spirit, low of knee and stature, I come before You with great dread and awe. In my own eyes, before You, I am deemed Like a tiny worm crawling in the earth.

Ibn Gabirol directly channels the words of King David ("I am a worm") and Abraham ("dust and ashes"). Yet, this humility is not depressing or self-deprecating; it is soaring and majestic. In the Sephardic musical tradition, this piyut is not sung as a mournful dirge. Instead, it is set to a stately, noble melody, often in Maqam Sika (a musical mode that evokes a sense of ancient, stable holiness and steady joy) or Maqam Rast (the mode of leadership, clarity, and divine law).

When the congregation sings these words together, the melody elevates the text. The humility described is not a lack of self-worth, but the ultimate self-awareness of a human being standing in the presence of the Infinite. It is the realization that by making oneself "nothing" (belima), one becomes a vessel capable of holding the entire universe.

The pre-Dawn Baqashot: The Triumph of Holy Silence

The Gemara in Chullin 89a notes: "The world endures only in the merit of one who restrains (shebolem) himself during a quarrel, as it is stated: 'He hangs the earth upon nothing (belima).'" The word belima is read by the sages as balam—to muzzle, shut, or restrain.

This concept of holy restraint and quiet devotion is the spiritual engine behind the famous Baqashot (Petitions) tradition. Originating in Safed and reaching its zenith in Aleppo, Damascus, and Morocco, the Baqashot are collections of kabbalistic poetry sung by the community in the synagogue during the long, cold winter Shabbat nights, starting at midnight and continuing until dawn.

To participate in the Baqashot, a person must practice a profound form of physical restraint:

1. They must conquer the desire for sleep, leaving their warm beds in the pitch black of winter.
2. They must walk through the quiet, dark streets in absolute silence, restraining their thoughts from mundane concerns.
3. Upon entering the synagogue, they do not engage in idle chatter. The sanctuary is a space of belima—no gossip, no politics, no noise.

Only when the Hazzan (cantor) gives the signal does this silence erupt into glorious, unaccompanied vocal harmony. For four or five hours, the congregation sings intricate, multi-layered poems that trace the relationship between the soul and its Creator. The silence of the night is transformed into a palace of song. When the prayers end and the sun finally rises, the worshippers return to their homes in quiet peace, having sustained the spiritual foundations of the world through their early-morning restraint.

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Contrast

To appreciate the distinct flavor of the Sephardic and Mizrahi approach to these mitzvot, it is helpful to look at how these same Talmudic passages in Chullin 89a influenced the customs of our Ashkenazic brethren. Both traditions are holy, beautiful, and deeply rooted in the text, yet they manifest in different physical choreography and aesthetic expressions.

Ritual Element	Sephardic / Mizrahi Practice	Ashkenazic Practice
Tefillin Wrapping Direction	Wrapped outward (counter-clockwise for right-handed), projecting holiness outward.	Wrapped inward (clockwise for right-handed), drawing holiness inward.
Posture during Tefillin	Sitting for the hand-tefillin, Standing for the head-tefillin (following the Kabbalah of the Arizal).	Standing for both blessings and the entire wrapping process.
Knot of the Head-Tefillin	Double-Dalet knot (square shape), representing stability and divine presence.	Single-Dalet knot (crown/loop shape), representing the crown of the King.
Tzitzit Wrapping Pattern	Chulyot (jointed spirals of 10-5-6-5), visually spelling the Tetragrammaton.	Straight wraps separated by double knots (7-8-11-13 pattern).

The Direction of the Tefillin Wrap

When wrapping the leather straps of the tefillin around the forearm—merited, as the Talmud says, by Abraham's shoe-strap—the Sephardic custom is to wrap the strap outward (away from the body). This means that as you look down at your arm, the leather is wound in a counter-clockwise direction (for a right-handed person).

This outward wrap is highly symbolic. In Sephardic thought, which is heavily influenced by the Kabbalah of the Arizal, the mitzvot are not just protective shields for the individual; they are channels designed to broadcast light, blessing, and divine energy outward into the world. By wrapping outward, the Jew symbolically projects the dedication of their arm (action) and heart (emotion) to the surrounding environment.

Conversely, the Ashkenazic custom is to wrap inward (toward the body, clockwise). This reflects a beautiful, introspective focus: drawing the holiness of the mitzvah inward, refining the self, and binding the physical body closely to the soul.

Both practices are visually striking and represent two halves of a healthy spiritual life: the inward refinement of the character and the outward projection of goodness into the world.

Standing vs. Sitting for the Tefillin

Another fascinating divergence occurs during the laying of the tefillin.

Following the rulings of the Shulchan Aruch (written by Rabbi Yosef Karo of Safed) and kabbalistic tradition, Sephardim sit down immediately after placing the hand-tefillin (Tefillin shel Yad) on the bicep to wrap the seven loops around the forearm. They only stand up when they are ready to place the head-tefillin (Tefillin shel Rosh).

This transition from sitting to standing represents a journey through the spiritual worlds. Sitting represents the lower world of Asiyah (Action/Physicality), where we must sit, ground ourselves, and elevate our physical desires. Standing represents the higher worlds of Yetzirah and Beri'ah (Emotion/Intellect), where we stand like angels, ready to receive the crown of the head-tefillin.

In contrast, Ashkenazic practice requires standing for the entire process—from the very first blessing on the hand-tefillin to the final adjustments of the head-tefillin. This standing posture reflects the grandeur of standing before a King, emphasizing the immediate, active stance of a servant ready to perform the royal decree.

The Shape of the Tefillin Knot

The knot of the head-tefillin, which rests at the base of the skull, is also shaped differently in each tradition.

The Sephardic knot is tied to form a square, double-letter Dalet. This square knot is solid, symmetrical, and sits flat against the back of the neck, resting precisely over the medulla oblongata—the brainstem that controls the unconscious functions of life. It represents the grounding of the divine intellect into the physical body, a quiet, stable anchor of faith.

The Ashkenazic knot is tied to form a single, crown-like Dalet with two loops extending outward. This knot is highly artistic and dynamic, representing the crown of glory that God places upon the heads of His children.

These variations show how a single line of Talmudic text—the "strap of the phylacteries" that Abraham’s children merited—blossomed into distinct, highly developed visual languages, each expressing a different facet of the same divine jewel.

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Home Practice

The beauty of the Sephardi/Mizrahi heritage is that its practices are accessible, tactile, and designed to be integrated into any home. You do not need to be a scholar or a master kabbalist to bring the scent of this tradition into your daily life.

Here is one small, profound practice inspired by Chullin 89a that anyone can adopt:

The "Minute of Belima" (Sacred Restraint)

The Gemara teaches us that “the world endures only in the merit of one who restrains (shebolem) himself during a quarrel, as it is stated: 'He hangs the earth upon nothing (belima).'”

In our modern, high-speed, hyper-connected world, we are constantly invited to react. Social media, text messages, and daily stresses demand instant responses. We are prone to quick outbursts of anger, defensive retorts, or unnecessary arguments that drain our spiritual energy.

To practice the Sephardic path of Belima at home, try implementing the "Minute of Belima" once a day:

1. Identify the Trigger: When you feel the hot spark of anger, the urge to win a petty argument, or the desire to send an angry text message, pause.
2. The Physical Restraint: Close your mouth. Take your hands off the keyboard. Literally "muzzle" (balam) the urge to react for exactly 60 seconds.
3. The Mental Ascent: During that minute of silence, close your eyes and visualize the color transition from the Talmud:
   • Look at the physical object in front of you (the "thread").
   • Imagine the vast, blue sea (yam).
   • Ascend to the open, blue sky (shamayim).
   • Visualize the deep, glittering sapphire stone (sapir).
   • Rest your mind in the presence of the Throne of Glory (Kise HaKavod).
4. Speak with Equity: After the minute has passed, if you still need to speak, do so. But speak from a place of meisharim—flat, smooth, gentle land. Speak with a quiet, dignified voice, keeping your ego out of the conversation.

By practicing this physical and mental pause, you are not just avoiding a fight. According to Rabbi Ile'a, you are actually becoming one of the "everlasting arms" that upholds the physical universe, preventing it from collapsing into chaos.

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Takeaway

The legacy of the Sephardic and Mizrahi sages is a reminder that the spiritual life is not lived in the clouds, but in the exquisite refinement of our physical actions.

From the blue threads of our tzitzit to the leather straps of our tefillin, every physical object we touch is an inheritance of character. Abraham did not merit these mitzvot through theological treatises; he merited them through a simple, quiet act of ethical restraint—refusing to take a single thread that did not belong to him.

Similarly, the path to the Throne of Glory does not require us to climb mountains of arrogance. It requires us to make ourselves like a smooth, flat valley—easy for others to walk upon, gentle in our speech, and masters of the sacred art of silence.

When we tie our fringes, wrap our arms, or hold our tongues in a moment of anger, we are not just performing dry rituals. We are singing an ancient song of humility, weaving ourselves into a beautiful lineage of faith, and hanging the entire world on the quiet, majestic power of our restraint.