Chullin 92

Hook

Imagine a cool, tiled courtyard in Baghdad or a high-ceilinged stone synagogue in the old Jewish quarter of Jerusalem. As the first light of dawn breaks, the air is thick with the scent of orange blossoms and the rhythmic, cascading chant of the congregation. They are not merely reading words; they are weaving a sonic tapestry. The chazzan (cantor) raises his voice, navigating the intricate quarter-tones of Maqam Sigah, and the congregation swells in response, mimicking the celestial choirs of the heavens. Here, the boundary between the earthly and the divine dissolves.

This is the living heart of Sephardi and Mizrahi Judaism—a world where the legal precision of the Talmud, the soaring heights of mystical piyut (liturgical poetry), and the ancient, physical dust of history merge into a single, continuous melody. In this tradition, the angels of the Talmud are not abstract theological concepts; they are neighbors in song, partners in a cosmic liturgy that has been sung in unbroken succession from the rivers of Babylon to the shores of the Mediterranean.

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Context

To understand the depth of the text we are about to explore, we must ground ourselves in three distinct, yet deeply interconnected, historical coordinates:

• Place: The Dual Centers of Babylonia and Eretz Yisrael. Our text in Chullin 92a directly addresses the creative, sometimes tense, and always fruitful relationship between the two great centers of Jewish gravity: the academies of Babylonia (modern-day Iraq)—represented by the political authority of the Resh Galuta (the Exilarch)—and the hills of Eretz Yisrael, represented by the spiritual authority of the Nasi (the Patriarch). This geographic polarity shaped the entire structure of Sephardic and Mizrahi halakhic authority and liturgical expression.
• Era: The Geonic and Golden Ages (8th to 12th Centuries). This is the era when the Babylonian Talmud was codified, interpreted, and sent across the Mediterranean. In the great academies of Sura and Pumbedita, and later in the courts of Islamic Spain (Al-Andalus), scholars did not just study the law; they lived it in close proximity to Islamic philosophy, Arabic poetic meter, and advanced musical theory.
• Community: The Guardians of the Maqamat and the Kabbalah. From the Syrian community of Aleppo (Aram Soba) to the Moroccan scholars of Fez, and the mystics of Safed, these communities developed a unique synthesis. They combined a strict, conservative adherence to Talmudic law with an incredibly rich, expressive, and sensory-driven spiritual life. For them, every word of the Talmud has a physical resonance and a melodic destiny.

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Text Snapshot

The following passage from the Babylonian Talmud, Chullin 92a, captures a moment of cosmic and earthly drama. It transitions from the choral habits of celestial angels to the political reality of Jewish leadership, and finally to the metaphorical "vine" of the Jewish people:

"The Gemara answers that it is the ofanim [celestial wheels] who say the verse: 'Blessed be the glory of the Lord from His place' Ezekiel 3:13, as the next verse mentions 'the noise of the ofanim'... And if you wish, say that once permission has been given to them to mention the name of God after three words when they say: 'Holy, holy, holy' Isaiah 6:3, permission is also given to them to mention the name of God again while praising Him even after fewer than three words...

The verse states: 'And in the vine were three branches...' Genesis 40:10. Rav Ḥiyya bar Abba says that Rav says: These three branches refer to the three proud princes who emerge from the Jewish people in each and every generation. Times when two are here in Babylonia and one is in Eretz Yisrael, and times when two are in Eretz Yisrael and one is here in Babylonia...

Rabbi Yirmeya bar Abba says: 'Vine'; this is a reference to the Jewish people, as it is written: 'You plucked up a vine out of Egypt...' Psalms 80:9. 'Three branches'; these are the three pilgrimage Festivals, on which the Jewish people ascend to Jerusalem every year..."

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Detailed Textual Analysis and Classical Sephardic Commentary

To fully appreciate the intermediate layers of this text, we must examine how the classical commentators—whose works form the bedrock of Sephardic intellectual history—read these lines.

The Celestial Choreography of the Ofanim

The Gemara first deals with a fascinating theological question: How do the angels praise God, and what are the rules of their liturgy? In Chullin 92a, the rabbis discuss the difference between the seraphim (the burning angels) and the ofanim (the wheel-like angels of Ezekiel’s chariot).

Rashi, in his commentary on this page, unpacks the mechanics of divine permission.

On the phrase "Since permission was given" (כיון דאתיהיב רשותא), Rashi explains:

כיון דאתיהיב רשותא - להזכיר דכבר הזכירוהו בקדוש לאחר שלש תיבות של שבח: "Since permission was given—to mention [the Divine Name], because they had already mentioned Him in the Kedusha after three words of praise." Rashi on Chullin 92a:1:1

And on the word "Given" (אתיהיב), Rashi continues:

אתיהיב - רשותא לאדכוריה להדיא: "Permission was given—to mention it explicitly [even after fewer words than before]." Rashi on Chullin 92a:1:2

Here, Rashi reveals a fundamental concept of Jewish liturgy: there is an order, a protocol, and a hierarchy to praise. One does not simply rush into the presence of the King and shout His name. There must be preparation. The angels must say "Holy, holy, holy" before they can say the Name of God. Once that initial threshold of holiness is crossed, however, the boundaries loosen, and they can praise Him with greater intimacy and fewer prerequisites.

The great Spanish commentator, the Ritva (Rabbi Yom Tov Asevilli, c. 1260–1330), takes this discussion in a profoundly philosophical and mystical direction. Commenting on the phrase "The ofanim say it" (אופנים אמרו ליה), he writes:

אופנים אמרו ליה פירש"י ז"ל שהם למעלה מן המלאכים והחיות שאומרים קדוש קדוש קדוש. ותימא דהא משמע מן המקראות שהחיות במעלה גדולה יותר כדכתיב כי רוח החיות באופנים. ויש מתרצים דתרי מיני אופני' הם. והנכון דלאופני' שהם קרובי' לארץ לא קפדי עלייהו כולי היכי כי הם כעבד לפני המלך. אבל ישראל במעלות חיות הקודש הם אצל הקדוש ברוך הוא כשרים בפני המלך ואפ"ה יש להן רשות יותר מהן: "The ofanim say it: Rashi explained that they are higher than the angels and the chayot [holy beasts] who say 'Holy, holy, holy.' But this is astonishing, for it is implied by the scriptures that the chayot are of a greater level, as it is written: 'For the spirit of the chayot was in the ofanim' Ezekiel 1:21. Some resolve this by saying there are two types of ofanim. But the correct explanation is that because the ofanim are closer to the earth, they are not scrutinized as strictly, for they are like a servant before the King. Yet Israel, who are of the rank of the Chayot HaKodesh in the eyes of the Holy One, Blessed be He, are like ministers before the King—and even so, they have greater permission than them." Ritva on Chullin 92a:1

The Ritva introduces a radical, beautiful Sephardic idea: closeness to the earth changes the rules of song. The ofanim, because they are closer to the material world ("קרובים לארץ"), are like domestic servants. They do not have to undergo the terrifying, formal protocols of the high ministers (the seraphim). They can sing "Blessed be the glory of the Lord from His place" with a raw, immediate passion.

And who else shares this unique, earthy status? Israel. We, living in the physical world, struggling with the dust of exile, are actually granted more liturgical freedom and intimacy than the highest angels. Our prayers do not need to wait for the rigid celestial protocols; our broken, earthly voices can pierce the heavens instantly.

The Vine and the Two Centers of Power

Moving from the heavens to the earth, the Gemara transitions into a discussion of leadership and exile. Interpreting the dream of Pharaoh’s butler in Genesis 40:10, the rabbis see the "three branches" of the vine as symbols of Jewish survival.

Rabba says that the angel wrestled with Jacob to intimate that two great offices of leadership would emerge: the Exilarch (Resh Galuta) in Babylonia and the Nasi in Eretz Yisrael.

This is not merely ancient history; for the Sephardi and Mizrahi world, this passage represents the dual lungs of Jewish existence. The Resh Galuta was a political leader, a descendant of the Davidic line who negotiated with Persian kings and Arab caliphs, maintaining Jewish autonomy, dignity, and economic power in the diaspora. The Nasi was the spiritual, halakhic anchor in the holy soil of Israel.

The Talmud notes that in every generation, these "proud princes" (שרים גאים) arise to protect the people. Sometimes two are in Babylonia and one is in Israel; sometimes the reverse. This fluid, decentralized model of leadership allowed Sephardic communities to survive the collapse of empires. When the academies of Babylonia closed, the centers of gravity seamlessly shifted to Cordoba, Cairo, Kairouan, and Safed.

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Minhag/Melody

In the Sephardi and Mizrahi tradition, study and song are never separated. The Talmudic discussion in Chullin 92a about the ofanim singing their praises to God is not treated as a mere description of heaven; it is the blueprint for our own communal worship. This connection manifests in two profound ways: the genre of Ofan Piyutim and the system of Maqamat.

The Ofan: Singing with the Wheels of the Chariot

In the classical Sephardic prayer book (Siddur), particularly in the rites of Spain, North Africa, and the Middle East, the blessings surrounding the Shema are not just recited; they are punctuated by piyutim (liturgical poems) written by the greatest minds of the Golden Age—giants like Rabbi Solomon ibn Gabirol (c. 1021–1058) and Rabbi Yehuda Halevi (c. 1075–1141).

One of the most important genres of these poems is the Ofan (plural: Ofanim). An Ofan is a poem specifically designed to be inserted into the first blessing before the Shema (Yotzer Or), at the exact moment the liturgy describes the ofanim and the chayot hakodesh raising themselves up with a great noise to praise God.

Imagine the congregation in a Moroccan synagogue on a festival morning. The chazzan reaches the words:

"And the ofanim and the holy beasts, with a noise of great rushing, raise themselves up over against the seraphim..."

Instead of rushing past these words, the entire congregation erupts into a rhythmic, metered poem. The poem might be Ibn Gabirol’s famous Ofan: "Shachar Avakeshcha" (At Dawn I Seek You) or "Shnei Zeitim" (Two Olive Trees). The melody is often communal, sung in unison, with the congregation swaying like the very wheels of the divine chariot.

By singing the Ofan, the community is not merely talking about the angels; they are joining them. They are fulfilling the Talmudic reality of Chullin 92a: they are utilizing the special "permission" given to Israel to praise God with intimate, earthy song.

The Maqam System: The Architecture of Emotion

To understand how Mizrahi communities (particularly the Syrian-Sephardic community of Aleppo and the Jerusalem-Sephardic community) sing these prayers, one must understand the Maqam system.

A maqam (plural: maqamat) is more than a musical scale; it is a melodic mode, a pathway of improvisation, and an emotional landscape. Each maqam has its own personality, its own spiritual resonance, and its own designated time of day or calendar event.

• Maqam Sigah: This is the maqam of Torah reading, characterized by a distinct half-flat third note that evokes a sense of ancient, steady revelation. Because Chullin 92a deals with the giving of the Torah (the "vine" representing the Torah, as Rabbi Yehoshua says on Chullin 92a:10), a Syrian chazzan would often lead the Shabbat service in Maqam Sigah when this portion is read.
• Maqam Hijaz: This is the maqam of deep longing, exile, and supplication. It contains an augmented second interval that sounds distinctly Middle Eastern to Western ears, evoking the vastness of the desert and the pain of the soul wrestling with the divine. When the Gemara speaks of Jacob wrestling with the angel, weeping, and making supplication ("He wept, and made supplication to him" Hosea 12:5, cited in Chullin 92a), the melody shifts to Hijaz. The music itself becomes the tears of Jacob.

The selection of the maqam for any given Shabbat is not random. It is determined by the theme of the weekly Torah portion (Parashah). If the Parashah contains themes of joy or redemption, the service is sung in Maqam Gahrkah or Maqam Ajam (which sounds like the Western major scale). If the Parashah deals with law, boundaries, or the death of a leader, the service is sung in Maqam Saba, a mode of intense, constructive grief and focus.

Through this system, the chazzan acts as a living bridge between the text of the Talmud, the emotions of the Torah portion, and the hearts of the congregation. The synagogue becomes a classroom of the soul, where the curriculum is taught through microtones and rhythm.

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Contrast

To appreciate the distinct flavor of the Sephardi/Mizrahi heritage, it is helpful to look at how different Jewish communities have approached similar halakhic and liturgical questions. We do this not to establish superiority—for every Jewish custom (minhag) is a holy pathway to the Divine—but to illuminate the unique beauty of each path.

The Liturgical Choreography of the Kedusha

One of the most striking differences between the Sephardic and Ashkenazic traditions lies in the text and performance of the Kedusha (the sanctification prayer during the repetition of the Amidah).

Liturgical Feature	Sephardic / Mizrahi Rite	Ashkenazic Rite (Nusach Ashkenaz)
Daily Shacharit Text	Begins with "Kadesh" or "Nakdishach": "We will sanctify Your name in the world, even as they sanctify it in the highest heavens..."	Begins with "Nekadesh": "We will sanctify Your name in the world..."
Musaf Text (Sabbath/Festivals)	Begins with "Keter Yitnu Lach": "A crown they shall give to You, O Lord our God, the angels of the heavenly host above, together with Your people Israel gathered below..."	Begins with "Na'aritzcha VeNakdishacha": "We will revere You and sanctify You..." (Nusach Sefard, which is Ashkenazic but influenced by Kabbalah, does say Keter).
Physical Movement	Standing with feet together, gently raising the heels on the words Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, but generally maintaining a calm, focused, and royal posture. Many do not bow or shake violently.	Standing with feet together, lifting the entire body upward on the words Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, often with a more pronounced physical jumping or stretching upward to mimic the angels.
Liturgical Poetry (Piyut)	Historically integrated piyutim directly into the blessings of the Shema (the Ofan), though later modified by halakhic codifiers.	Historically integrated Yotzrot (liturgical poems) inside the blessings of the Shema, a practice preserved in many German-Jewish and Eastern European communities on special Shabbatot.

The Philosophical Roots of "Keter"

The Sephardic insistence on reciting "Keter Yitnu Lach" ("A crown they shall give to You") in the Musaf prayer is deeply rooted in the mystical traditions of the Geonim and the Kabbalists of Spain and Safed.

When we say Keter, we are asserting that the prayers of Israel actually rise to heaven and form a literal "crown" on the head of the Creator. This matches the spirit of the Ritva's commentary on Chullin 92a: Israel has a higher status than the ministering angels. While the angels must wait for one another, and can only say the Name of God after three words of praise, Israel can "crown" God instantly with their prayers.

In contrast, the standard Ashkenazic rite (Nusach Ashkenaz) preserves the text "Na'aritzcha" ("We will revere You") for Musaf, which focuses more on our awe and fear of the divine majesty. Both texts are ancient and holy, but Keter emphasizes the intimate, co-creative partnership between Israel and God, while Na'aritzcha emphasizes the majestic distance and our trembling reverence before the King of Kings.

The Halakhic Debate over Piyutim: Karo vs. Isserles

Another fascinating contrast lies in how the Sephardic and Ashkenazic world resolved the tension between Piyut (liturgical poetry) and Halakha (law).

During the Middle Ages, both Sephardic and Ashkenazic communities loved to insert complex, beautiful poems into the middle of the statutory prayers—especially during the blessings of the Shema and the Amidah. However, as the centuries progressed, halakhists began to worry about the problem of hefsek (interruption). Is it permissible to speak or sing non-talmudic poetry in the middle of a blessing that was ordained by the Men of the Great Assembly?

• The Sephardic Resolution: Rabbi Yosef Karo (1488–1575), the author of the Shulchan Aruch, ruled strictly against inserting piyutim within the blessings of the Shema or the Amidah Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim 68. He argued that even though these poems are beautiful, they constitute a halakhic interruption.

  As a result, Sephardic communities did not throw away their poetry; instead, they repositioned it. They began singing these soaring piyutim before the service began (such as the Baqashot sung in the early hours of the morning), or they sang them during the Shabbat meals, or they integrated them into parts of the service where interruptions are halakhically permitted (such as the Pseukei D'Zimrah—the verses of praise—or during the taking out of the Torah).

• The Ashkenazic Resolution: Rabbi Moses Isserles (the Rama, 1530–1572), in his glosses on the Shulchan Aruch, ruled that the ancestral custom of reciting Yotzrot (liturgical poems) inside the blessings of the Shema should be preserved. He argued that because these poems are related to the theme of the blessings themselves, they are not considered an interruption.

This creates a beautiful, paradoxical contrast: the Sephardic community, which birthed the golden age of Hebrew poetry in Spain, eventually restricted its use inside the formal liturgy out of a strict devotion to halakhic structure. Meanwhile, the Ashkenazic community, which was often more conservative regarding liturgical changes, preserved the insertion of these ancient poems directly inside the blessings on special Sabbaths.

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Home Practice

The beauty of the Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage is that it is not meant to be admired from afar; it is designed to be lived, touched, tasted, and sung. Here is one simple, beautiful practice inspired by Chullin 92a that anyone can adopt to bring the texture of this tradition into their own home:

Adopting the Shabbat Table Piyut: The "Three Branches" of Song

In Chullin 92a, Rabbi Yirmeya bar Abba compares the "vine" of the butler's dream to the Jewish people, and the "three branches" to the three pilgrimage festivals (Shalosh Regalim), which bring the community together in joy and song.

To bring this spirit into your home, you can adopt the Sephardic practice of singing Piyutim at the Shabbat Table, transforming your dining room into a sanctuary of communal melody.

Step 1: Choose Your Piyut

Instead of singing only standard Shabbat songs, select one classic Sephardic piyut. A perfect entry point is "Dror Yikra" (He Will Proclaim Freedom), written by Dunash ben Labrat (920–990) in Baghdad/Fez. Dunash was the first to introduce Arabic poetic meter into Hebrew verse, giving this song a bouncing, rhythmic, and incredibly joyful feel.

Step 2: Use the "Usual" Communal Sing-Along (The Kahal Method)

In the Sephardic tradition, the leader does not perform for the family. Instead, the singing is highly democratic:

• The head of the table sings the first line.
• The entire table responds in unison with the chorus or the next line, keeping a steady, driving rhythm.
• Use your hands to drum gently on the table. In many Sephardic and Mizrahi homes (particularly Moroccan and Yemenite), the table itself becomes a percussion instrument, mimicking the rhythmic clatter of the ofanim (wheels) of heaven.

Step 3: The Scent of Rosewater (Mayim Vardin)

Before you begin singing, or right before the blessing over the bread (Hamotzi), pass around a small vial of rosewater or orange blossom water. Sprinkle a few drops on the palms of your family members and guests.

This simple sensory act is a classic Mizrahi custom. It immediately wakes up the senses, cleanses the hands, and fills the dining room with a fragrance that evokes the ancient gardens of Spain and Persia. It reminds us that our table is an altar, our food is a sacrifice, and our songs are the sweet incense of the temple.

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Takeaway

The Talmudic journey of Chullin 92a takes us from the highest heavens—where the ofanim shake the cosmos with their cry of "Blessed be the glory of the Lord from His place"—to the earthly realities of Jewish leadership, and finally to the image of the Jewish people as a lush, spreading vine.

This is the ultimate takeaway of the Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage: there is no division between the celestial and the earthly, between the intellectual and the sensory, between the law and the song.

When we study a page of Talmud, we are not just analyzing cold logic; we are listening to the heartbeat of our ancestors. When we sing a piyut in a traditional maqam, we are not just performing music; we are joining the wheels of the divine chariot in their eternal dance.

Like the three branches of the vine, we are rooted in the ancient soil of our history, nourished by the waters of our halakha, and stretching our leaves toward the heavens, ready to burst into sweet, triumphant song. Let us carry this melody forward, proud of its history, textured in its practice, and open to all who wish to sing along.