Chullin 91

Hook

The Blade of the Menaker and the Shimmer of Dawn

In the quiet, pre-dawn coolness of a Damascus or Tetouan courtyard, long before the sun spills its golden light over the terracotta roofs, a master menaker—a sacred porger—stands before a suspended side of lamb. His fingers, calloused yet possessing the delicate sensitivity of a master lutist, trace the deep, hidden contours of the animal’s hindquarters. In his right hand, he holds a slender, razor-sharp knife, polished until it gleams like water under the moon. This is not mere butchery; it is a liturgical act of restoration and refinement. With absolute focus, he works to isolate and extract the gid hanasheh, the sciatic nerve, along with its surrounding fats.

As his blade gently peels back the layers of muscle to reveal the silver-white thread of the nerve, his mind dwells on an ancient story of wrestling in the dark. He is reenacting a physical and spiritual drama that began on the banks of the Jabbok River, where our patriarch Jacob wrestled with a mysterious angel until the first rays of morning broke over the horizon. In the Sephardi and Mizrahi tradition, this meticulous labor of nikkur (purging the meat) is not a burdensome chore to be avoided, but a glorious testament to our calling as a holy people—a living bridge between the physical world we eat and the spiritual heights we scale.

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Context

A Tapestry of Place, Era, and Community

To fully appreciate the depth of the Talmudic discussions in Chullin 91a regarding the sciatic nerve and the holiness of Jewish dietary practices, we must ground ourselves in the historical soil from which the Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage blossomed:

• The Place: The vibrant urban centers and mountain villages of the Mediterranean basin, North Africa, and the Levant—stretching from the majestic synagogues of Salonika and Constantinople to the ancient Jewish quarters of Aleppo (Aram Soba), Fez, Marrakech, and the high-altitude valleys of Yemen. These were environments where Jewish life was deeply integrated with the surrounding cultures, yet maintained an fierce, independent commitment to the preservation of ancient halakhic arts.
• The Era: The golden chain of halakhic development spanning from the Geonic period in Babylonia (8th–11th centuries) through the monumental codifications of the Spanish Rishonim—such as the Rambam (Maimonides), the Rashba (Rabbi Shlomo ben Aderet), and the Ritva (Rabbi Yom Tov al-Sevilli)—and culminating in the definitive rulings of Maran Yosef Karo in his sixteenth-century masterpiece, the Shulchan Aruch. This was an era when the abstract debates of the Babylonian Talmud were translated into living, daily practices that governed the marketplace, the kitchen, and the synagogue.
• The Community: The highly organized guilds of Menakerim (porgers) and Shochetim (ritual slaughterers) who operated under the strict supervision of local rabbinical courts (Batei Din). In these communities, the transmission of the craft of nikkur was treated with the same gravity as the scribal arts of writing a Torah scroll. It was an oral and physical lineage passed down from master to apprentice, ensuring that the culinary traditions of the Sephardic world remained both rich and uncompromisingly kosher.

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Text Snapshot

From the Pages of Chullin 91a

The following passage from the Talmud lies at the heart of our exploration, bridging the technical laws of dietary purity with the cosmic narrative of Jacob's transformation:

"Rav Ashi said: The mishna’s ruling that the sinews must be burned is necessary only with regard to the fat around the sciatic nerve, as it is taught in a baraita: The fat around the sciatic nerve is permitted by Torah law, but the Jewish people are holy and treated it as forbidden... Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day... And the sun rose for him as he passed over Peniel, and he limped upon his thigh." Chullin 91a, Genesis 32:25, Genesis 32:32

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Minhag/Melody

The Songs of the Dawn: Baqashot and the Metaphysical Wrestle

In the Levantine Sephardic tradition—particularly among the Jews of Aleppo, Damascus, and Jerusalem—the wrestling of Jacob with the angel until the break of dawn is not merely a historical event read from the Torah scroll; it is a weekly spiritual reality lived out through the practice of the Baqashot (nightly petitions).

During the long, cold winter Friday nights, when the world is wrapped in silence and darkness, members of the community wake up at midnight or three o'clock in the morning. They leave their warm beds and make their way through the quiet streets to the synagogue, which is illuminated by the soft glow of memorial lamps. There, they sit in a circle and sing complex, highly poetic songs of praise, yearning, and redemption until the first light of dawn creeps through the windows and it is time for the morning prayers (Shacharit).

[Midnight/3:00 AM] -------------------------> [Dawn / Sunrise]
   Gathering in Darkness                        Singing of the Baqashot
   (The Struggle / Jacob's Wrestle)             (The Sun Shines / Maqam Rast)

This physical act of shaking off sleep and entering the synagogue to sing in the dark is the ultimate mirror of Jacob's struggle. The singer, like Jacob, is "left alone" in the quiet of the night, wrestling with the physical heaviness of the body and the existential exile of the soul. The piyutim (liturgical poems) sung during these hours are masterpieces of Hebrew grammar and theological depth, many of them composed by the great sixteenth-century Safed kabbalist and poet, Rabbi Israel Najara. His poems are saturated with the imagery of the night, the watchmen of the dawn, and the passionate love song between God and the Jewish people.

The Sacred Geometry of the Maqamat: Saba and Rast

The musical framework of the Baqashot and the Shabbat liturgy is built upon the Arabic Maqam system—a sophisticated structure of melodic modes, scales, and emotional temperaments that has been preserved and elevated to the realm of holiness by Mizrahi Jews for centuries. Each Shabbat has its own designated Maqam, chosen to match the emotional theme of the Torah portion of that week.

When we read the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel in Parashat Vayishlach, the synagogue service is conducted in Maqam Saba.

• Maqam Saba is a scale characterized by its microtonal intervals, which produce a deeply melancholic, pleading, and bittersweet sound. It is the scale of heartbreak, of crying out from the depths, and of existential struggle. When the cantor chants the verses describing Jacob being struck on the thigh and limping through the night, the winding, weeping cadences of Saba fill the sanctuary. The music physically manifests the pain of the blow, the vulnerability of being alone in the dark, and the ancient wounds that we still carry as a people.
• But as the sun begins to rise, both in the biblical text and in the physical world, the melody undergoes a profound transformation. The cantor shifts from the weeping tones of Saba into the triumphant, stable, and regal intervals of Maqam Rast. Rast is the foundational Maqam of the Eastern musical system, representing leadership, clarity, truth, and alignment. This musical shift mirrors the transition in Chullin 91a where the sun rises exclusively for Jacob to heal his limp. The music rises, expanding into a majestic, joyful declaration of victory. The struggle of the night is over; the light of the sun has returned, and the limping patriarch has emerged as Yisrael—the one who has striven with the divine and prevailed.

The Ritva and the Sanctification of Custom

To understand the intellectual foundation of this emotional and musical drama, we must turn to the brilliant commentary of the Ritva (Rabbi Yom Tov al-Sevilli) on our Talmudic passage. The Gemara in Chullin 91a discusses the status of the fat that surrounds the sciatic nerve. Rav Ashi brings a teaching that this fat is actually permitted by the letter of Torah law, but "the Jewish people are holy and treated it as forbidden" (Yisrael Kedoshim nehegu bo issur).

The Ritva asks a crucial halakhic question: If this fat is permitted by Torah law, why must it be burned when it is left over from the Paschal offering? Usually, only foods that are biblically forbidden or have become leftover sacrificial meat (notar) are burned.

The Ritva explains a revolutionary concept in the mechanics of holiness:

"Since the Jewish people, in their holiness, adopted a custom to treat this fat as forbidden, that custom itself elevates the fat. It can no longer be eaten, yet because it is technically permitted by Torah law, it retains its status as sacred sacrificial meat. It cannot be simply thrown into the waste; it must be elevated through the sacred fire." (Ritva on Chullin 91a:1)

This commentary highlights a core Sephardic approach to Minhag (custom). Custom is not a secondary, light-headed practice to be dismissed; it is a manifestation of the collective, intuitive holiness of the Jewish people. When the community adopts a practice of self-restraint or devises a beautiful way to perform a mitzvah, that practice becomes woven into the very fabric of the Torah itself. The minhag has the power to transform the status of physical matter, turning an ordinary piece of fat into something so sacred that it requires ritual burning rather than casual disposal.

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Contrast

The Living Art of Nikkur vs. Shittat Ha-Vittur

One of the most fascinating and respectful halakhic differences between the Sephardi/Mizrahi world and the Ashkenazi world lies in the preparation of kosher meat, specifically regarding the hindquarters of the animal where the gid hanasheh (sciatic nerve) resides.

          [THE KOSHER ANIMAL]
          /                 \
 [Front Quarters]     [Hind Quarters] (Contains Gid HaNasheh & Chelev)
        |                     |
   (Both Minhagim)     /             \
                      /               \
       [Sephardic/Mizrahi]          [Ashkenazic]
       *Living Art of Nikkur*      *Shittat Ha-Vittur*
       (Meticulous extraction)     (Selling hindquarters to non-Jews)

In the Sephardi and Mizrahi lands—ranging from the bustling kosher butcher shops of Casablanca and Cairo to the mountain communities of Yemen—the art of nikkur achoraim (porging the hindquarters) was never lost. It remained an active, living, and highly respected profession.

• The Sephardic Practice: Because the menakerim in these lands maintained an unbroken chain of oral and practical transmission, they were experts in the complex anatomical map of the animal’s hindquarters. They knew exactly how to navigate the network of blood vessels, the forbidden fats (chelev), and the intricate pathways of both the inner sciatic nerve (forbidden by Torah law) and the outer sciatic nerve (forbidden by Rabbinic law, as discussed by Rav Yehuda in Chullin 91a).
• By painstakingly carving out these nerves and fats—a process that requires hours of highly skilled, delicate handiwork—they were able to render the prized, tender cuts of the hindquarters (such as the sirloin, tenderloin, filet mignon, and rump steak) completely kosher and available for the community's enjoyment, especially for the honor of the Shabbat and holiday tables.
• The Ashkenazic Practice: In contrast, in the Ashkenazic communities of Central and Eastern Europe, the historical reality of the diaspora took a different turn. Because Jews were often scattered across small, isolated villages where highly trained menakerim were scarce, and because the consequences of failing to properly remove the forbidden fat (chelev) are extremely severe (carrying the spiritual penalty of karet, or excision), a communal decision was made to adopt Shittat Ha-Vittur (the method of relinquishing).
• Rather than risking a mistake in the complex process of porging, the Ashkenazic communities established a custom to sell the entire hindquarter of the animal to non-kosher butchers. As a result, for centuries, Ashkenazic Jews in Europe only ate meat from the front half of the animal (such as brisket, chuck, and rib), and the intricate art of nikkur achoraim virtually disappeared from the Ashkenazic cultural and halakhic landscape.

Two Paths to the Same Divine Center

It is vital to frame this difference not through the lens of superiority or laxity, but as two deeply beautiful and valid expressions of love for the Torah and the Jewish people.

Feature / Dimension	Sephardic / Mizrahi Practice	Ashkenazic Practice
Primary Method	Active Purging (Nikkur Achora'im): Meticulous physical extraction of forbidden parts.	Relinquishment (Shittat Ha-Vittur): Selling the entire hindquarter to avoid risk.
Halakhic Philosophy	Elevation of the Physical (Tikkun): Engaging with complexity to redeem and sanctify the entire animal.	Safeguarding the Law (Geder): Establishing a protective fence to eliminate any margin of error.
Cultural Expression	Culinary Continuity: Enjoying the full range of animal cuts in holiness for Shabbat and holidays.	Sacrifice & Restraint: Forgoing physical pleasures (tender hind cuts) out of deep reverence for the dietary laws.

Both of these paths are holy. The Ashkenazic path represents a profound humility and a willingness to make a material sacrifice—giving up the most desirable cuts of meat—to ensure that not even a microscopic speck of forbidden fat or nerve is ever consumed. It is a beautiful "fence around the Torah" (seyag la-Torah) born out of the harsh conditions of the European diaspora.

The Sephardic and Mizrahi path, on the other hand, represents a heroic preservation of ancient, complex knowledge. It is an approach that refuses to abandon the physical world to the realm of the unredeemed. By maintaining the guild of the menakerim, Sephardic communities declared that with enough patience, education, and devotion, the most complex and hidden parts of the physical world can be purified, elevated, and brought to the table of the King. It is a living demonstration of the Talmud’s praise: "The Jewish people are holy!"

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Home Practice

Bringing the Spirit of the Menaker into Your Home

While most of us are not trained to perform the intricate physical labor of nikkur on a side of beef, we can easily adopt the profound spiritual lessons of this tradition into our modern daily lives. Here is a beautiful, tactile practice that anyone can bring into their home:

The Friday Night "Shulchan Tahor" (The Pure Table)

The Gemara in Chullin 91a tells us that when Jacob remained alone in the dark, he did so to retrieve some "small pitchers" (pachim ktanim) that had been left behind. The Talmud derives from this a stunning insight: "The possessions of the righteous are dearer to them than their bodies. And why? Because they do not stretch out their hands to stolen property."

The righteous do not view the physical world as disposable, cheap, or easily replaceable. Because every penny they earn is obtained through honest, holy labor, and because they do not participate in theft or exploitation, every single object in their possession is saturated with divine light. A simple clay pitcher is not just a piece of mud; it is an instrument of service, earned through righteousness, and therefore worthy of being protected, even at the risk of one's physical safety.

To bring this consciousness into your home, try the following practice this coming Friday night:

                  [THE FRIDAY NIGHT TABLE]
                             |
         +-------------------+-------------------+
         |                                       |
 [The Physical Vessels]                 [The Spiritual Song]
  * No disposable plates/cups            * Sing a Piyut of Dawn
  * Clean, polish, handle with care      * Embrace the transition
  * Acknowledge honest labor              from struggle to peace

1. Banish the Disposable: For your Shabbat table, make a conscious effort to avoid disposable paper plates, plastic cups, or cheap plastic tablecloths. Instead, bring out your physical vessels—even if they are simple ceramic plates or glass cups.
2. The Ritual of Polish and Care: Before Shabbat begins, take a few minutes to clean and polish these vessels with mindfulness. As you wipe down a silver candlestick, a ceramic plate, or a glass Kiddush cup, think about the honest labor that went into earning the money to buy it. Speak a words of gratitude for the physical items that make your home a sanctuary.
3. The Mindful Touch: Throughout the Shabbat meal, handle your dishes, your cutlery, and your food with deliberate care and gentleness. Do not toss them carelessly into the sink. Treat them with the dignity that Jacob showed to his "small pitchers." By treating our physical belongings as holy vessels of honest living, we elevate our homes and declare that we, too, do not stretch out our hands to anything that is unearned or unjust.
4. Sing a Song of the Dawn: Before the benching (grace after meals) or during the meal, sing a piyut that speaks of the transition from night to day. A perfect choice is the classic Sephardic song "Yedid Nefesh" or "Yah Shimecha", focusing on the words that speak of the soul's awakening and the light of the divine countenance breaking through the darkness of our lives.

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Takeaway

The Limp that Became a Light

As we close our journey through the rich landscapes of Chullin 91a and the heritage of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jewry, we are left with a powerful, enduring image.

Jacob wrestled through the long, terrifying night. He was struck, he was injured, and he emerged from the struggle with a profound limp. Yet, the Talmud teaches that the moment he passed over Peniel, the sun rose exclusively for him to heal his wound.

This is the eternal story of the Jewish people, and it is the heartbeat of the Sephardic soul. We do not deny the darkness of the night, nor do we ignore the wounds and limps we carry from our long history of wrestling with the empires of the world and the struggles of existence. Our music, written in the weeping microtones of Maqam Saba, honors that pain and gives voice to our deepest cries.

But we do not stay in the dark. We wake up in the middle of the night to sing Baqashot, transforming our yearning into exquisite poetry. We maintain the meticulous, difficult art of the menaker, refusing to allow the complexities of the physical world to frighten us away from our mission of elevation. And when the dawn finally breaks, we shift our voices into the majestic, stable tones of Maqam Rast, celebrating the light that has returned to heal us.

May we all merit to walk with the dignity of Jacob—cherishing our "small pitchers" of honest life, facing our struggles with courage, and singing our songs of hope until the great dawn of redemption breaks over the entire world. Tizku L'Shanim Rabot—may you be blessed with many beautiful years of light, song, and holiness!