Today’s daf wraps up our discussion of Judaism’s three cardinal sins, the singular cases in which one should choose death rather than transgression, with a spicy story:

Rav Yehudah said in the name of Rav: There was a certain man who set his eyes on a certain woman and passion rose in his heart. They came and asked the doctors, who said: “There is no cure until she engages in sexual intercourse with him.” The sages said: “Let him die — she shall not have intercourse with him.” The doctors said: “Let her stand naked before him.” The sages replied: “Let him die — she shall not stand naked before him.” The doctors said: “Let her talk with him from behind a fence.” The sages replied: “Let him die — she shall not talk with him from behind a fence.”

A mortally ill lovesick man can only be healed, according to his doctors, by feeding the urge — either through intercourse or, barring that, seeing the object of his desire naked or hearing her disembodied voice through a fence. But at every turn, the sages forbid him to satisfy his longing, even when the encounter seems more innocuous and even at the potential cost of his life. This melodramatic narrative raises many questions but the one the Talmud asks might surprise you.

Presumably, the sages insist the man must die because the woman is forbidden to him — perhaps married to someone else. This would make sense in context, with the story functioning as a demonstration of the Talmud’s larger point that one should choose death over adultery. Yet, the story doesn’t specify that the woman is married to someone else and the Gemara states explicitly that the rabbis are divided in their opinion with some maintaining she is not married to someone else.

If the woman is unmarried and adultery is not an issue, the Gemara wonders why the sages did not permit the man an encounter that would relieve his suffering. Rav Pappa suggests that the sages wished to prevent a blemish to the woman’s family name. Similarly, Rav Aha son of Rav Ika suggests that the sages wanted to discourage Jewish women from becoming promiscuous. Neither of these explanations provide a halakhic reasoning for letting the man die rather than speak to the woman in question. In asserting their authority this way, the sages ventured beyond the bounds of Jewish law.

The Talmud is aware of this problem. Indeed, the anonymous voice of the Gemara now proposes an obvious solution to the man’s dilemma:
 
But if the woman was unmarried, let the man marry her!

If the man simply marries the object of his obsession, then there is no legal or even cultural barrier to satisfying his urge. But the sages argue this would not succeed:

His mind would not have been eased by marriage, in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Yitzhak who says: Since the day the Temple was destroyed, sexual pleasure was taken away (from those who engage in permitted intercourse) and given to transgressors, as it is stated: “Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.” (Proverbs 9:17)

Rabbi Yitzhak’s dark perspective on this situation is that legitimizing the relationship will not solve the man’s dangerous longing, because Israel has been punished and can no longer derive gratification from permitted sexual relationships. This is why marrying the object of his desire will not solve this man’s problem.

This story not only plays without the boundaries of halakhah — with the sages articulating a rule that is beyond the scope of Jewish law — it tests the limits of the sages’ authority. It’s no accident that the rabbis are seen in competition with doctors for dictating this man’s actions — and seem to win over them. But ironically, the last line of this discussion in many ways undermines this authority. The sages conclude that they live in a chaotic world and can only enforce their rulings if people are willing to accept them. In the end, they come up against an inability to enforce the authority it seems they wield. 

The story, then, pushes us to a broader understanding of halakhah — we see that decisions are made using considerations that seem outside the technical scope of Jewish law, taking into account broader societal concerns. It also pushes us to question the halakhic authority with which we are presented. The sages seem to have authority over the doctors, even over this man’s life, but, in the end, this authority is subtly questioned. To what extent does the ruling prohibiting the man from curing his obsession remain intact? Does the man follow it in the end? We are left with more questions than answers, which is perhaps one goal underlying this story: The depths hiding in even the shortest talmudic narratives seem fathomless.

Read all of Sanhedrin 75 on Sefaria.

This piece originally appeared in a My Jewish Learning Daf Yomi email newsletter sent on March 2, 2025. If you are interested in receiving the newsletter, sign up here.