The Talmud has recently been exploring whether Samaritan-slaughtered meat is kosher. On yesterday’s daf, the discussion turned to a related concern: the accidental consumption of untithed produce. In both cases, the problem is that food does not immediately look forbidden or permissible. One must know a food’s history to know its status and to avoid making a mistake — a recurring source of anxiety in this tractate. Several times, the Talmud reassures us with a maxim:
If even for the animals of the righteous, the Holy One, Blessed be He, does not generate mishaps, then is it not all the more so true for the righteous themselves?
This is meant to calm suspicions about rabbis who appear to act laxly or inadvertently transgress the laws of kashrut. Today’s daf offers the story behind it.
Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair, en route to redeem captives, encounters the Ginai River and commands it to part. When the river resists — arguing that God has commanded it to flow — he threatens it. The river yields and, like a new Moses, Rabbi Pinchas proceeds. As an added bonus, he commands the river to part for two others as well. Once safely on the other side of the river, he stops for the night:
He happened to come to a certain inn. His hosts cast barley before his donkey. The donkey did not eat it. They sifted the barley, but the donkey did not eat it. They separated the chaff from the barley, but the donkey did not eat it. Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair said to his hosts: “Perhaps the barley is not tithed.” They tithed it, and the donkey ate it. Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair said: “This poor animal is going to perform the will of its Maker, and you are feeding it untithed produce?!”
Like Balaam’s donkey, Rabbi Pinchas’ animal intuitively senses what others miss. The rabbis’ maxim follows: If even the animals of the righteous are protected from error, surely the righteous themselves are as well.
Yet the donkey’s high standards are not met with rabbinic approval. The Talmud interrupts the story to tell us that food intended only for animals need not be tithed. So too, Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair is a bit of an imperious maverick. In his interaction with the river and the innkeeper, he holds himself to an extreme standard; he bucks the laws of nature and etiquette. In the next part of the story, we learn that he is known to avoid eating in other people’s homes at all costs.
When Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi excitedly invites him to dine, Rabbi Pinchas initially accepts, but then explains: He usually avoids eating in others’ homes because he can never be sure of the host’s true feelings. Much like the problem of the invisibility of kashrut, he prefers not to risk a hidden stumbling block. For Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, he will make an exception, but he is presently occupied with a mitzvah. He will return.
When he finally does, Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair finds another reason not to dine with his esteemed would-be host:
He happened to enter through that entrance in which white mules were standing. He said, “The Angel of Death is in this person’s house, and I will eat with him?”
White mules were “known” to be dangerous animals. When Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi hears of his guest’s discomfort, he immediately offers to sell the mules. But Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair chides him that this only puts the buyer at risk from those dangerous animals. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi offers solution after solution: to declare them ownerless, to disable them, or even kill them. Rabbi Pinchas rejects each in turn — each option, in his view, creates a new ethical problem. They continue to argue until:
A mountain rose between them. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi wept and said: “If during their lifetimes it is so that the righteous are great, after their death it is all the more so true.”
Pinchas ben Yair is saved miraculously from having to compromise on his overly scrupulous standards. And Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi is awed by the fact that nature itself intervened to help him remain unwaveringly punctilious. Though this wacky story may seem a mere digression from the nitty gritty of the laws of tithes, it reflects the same problem we began with: Kashrut is essentially invisible. And the threat of making a mistake can divide people into the scrupulous and the suspect, preventing them from sharing a basic meal. The rabbis respond not by denying this tension but by managing it — developing tests, probabilities and legal flexibilities that allow people to live without paralysis. Most of us, after all, have no miraculous donkey to guide us.
Read all of Chullin 7 on Sefaria.
This piece originally appeared in a My Jewish Learning Daf Yomi email newsletter sent on May 7, 2026. If you are interested in receiving the newsletter, sign up here.
Help us keep Jewish knowledge accessible to millions of people around the world. With your help, My Jewish Learning can provide endless opportunities for learning, connection and discovery.
