Our Gemara on Amud Beis continues discussing the status of deathbed gifts. One feature of these gifts is that if the person miraculously recovers, the gifts are reversed, as it is assumed the person most likely did not intend to give them away if he were going to survive. However, strong evidence is required to support this assumption, and thus the rule only applies if the person gives away all of his possessions, leaving nothing behind. Such actions clearly indicate someone who believes he no longer need anything in this world. If the person recovers, we assume he had an implied condition: that the gifts were made only because he thought he was going to die. However, if the person leaves even a small portion of his possessions for himself, it suggests he may have been hedging, intending to give away most of his assets but saving a bare minimum for himself in case of recovery. And that means at the time that he gave the gift, he knew full well and already anticipated that he might recover and gave it anyway.
This principle seems straightforward, but complications arise when a person enumerates various gifts to multiple recipients, which in aggregate include all their possessions. Does this mean only the final gift—the one that left him with no assets—is reversible, as it was the act that definitively left him with nothing? Or should we view all the gifts from that session as part of a single transaction, implying that all of them are reversible if the person recovers?
The Mishna (146b) states that if a person on his deathbed granted all his property to others but reserved any amount of land for himself, the gift remains valid even if he recovers. If no portion was reserved, the gift is invalidated upon recovery, because it would seem that it did not even occur to him that he was going to recover hence he gave it all away, but with a clear implied condition that this is only because he was ill and not expecting to survive.
Rav Yosef bar Minyumi, quoting Rav Naḥman, explains: If a person on their deathbed writes a deed granting all their property to others, the manner in which the property was divided is crucial. If it appears that they intended to divide their entire estate among various recipients, then if they die, all recipients acquire their gifts. If they recover, however, they can retract all the gifts, as per the Mishna’s ruling.
Rav Yosef Engel (Beis HaOtsar, pp. 116–117) explores a Talmudic inquiry in Chullin (39b) regarding whether one can infer intent from subsequent actions. For example, if a person slaughters an animal with the intent of offering it as a sacrifice to an alien god, the meat is forbidden and must be destroyed. But what if the person slaughtered the animal without expressing intent and only later sprinkled its blood while making an idolatrous declaration? Does the later statement reveal that their original intent was idolatrous as well? On the one hand, the proximity and connection between the sprinkling and the slaughter make this a reasonable assumption. On the other hand, since heresy is a severe degradation of one’s status as a Jew—a status established by prior behavior and family—the presumption of innocence (status quo) should apply until proven otherwise.
The Gemara in Chullin connects this issue to a dispute between Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel and the Sages regarding a person who initially remains quiet but later objects to a gift being transferred to them. Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel holds that a person’s ultimate actions reveal their original intent. In this case, the person’s later objection shows they never wanted to accept the gift, even if they initially remained silent.
Rav Engel applies this principle to the case of Molech worship analyzed in Sanhedrin (64b). While one incurs the death penalty for sacrificing a child to Molech, a person who sacrifices all their children is exempt, as it says: “Of your offspring,” implying but not all your offspring.
Why is a person exempt despite committing the seemingly graver sin of sacrificing all their children? One explanation is that capital punishment allows for atonement and repentance, and this sin is so severe that it places the sinner beyond the possibility of atonement (Rabbenu Bechaye, Vayikra 20:2). This parallels the case in Makkos (5b), where false witnesses are not punished if their perjury is discovered only after the court has already executed their victim. Alternatively, I suggest, there is a simpler explanation: sacrificing all one’s children to Molech is fundamentally irrational and does not align with the idolatrous logic of currying favor with a deity. Lehavdil one sacrifices a portion (like Bikkurim or tithes) to sanctify and bless the rest; so even though it is idolatry, we can understand the rationale of sacrificing some children in order to bring blessing upon the others. However, sacrificing all one’s children is an act of derangement rather than deliberate idolatry, and not punishable under that particular penal code.
Tosafos (Sanhedrin ibid.) asks: How is it possible to exempt someone who sacrifices all their children? After all, the person becomes liable for the death penalty after sacrificing the first child, as the others are still alive. Tosafos offers two answers:
- If the person had only one child, sacrificing them constitutes sacrificing “all.”
- If all children were sacrificed in a single act, it is treated differently.
Rav Engel questions why Tosafos does not simply invoke the principle that “ultimate actions prove original intent.” If all sequential deathbed bequests are treated as a single act, demonstrating an implied condition of imminent death, why not apply the same reasoning to Molech worship? The final act of sacrificing the last child could reflect the intention behind the first.
Rav Engel anticipates a potential distinction: financial matters versus spiritual matters. Perhaps one should never assume heresy until explicitly proven. However, Rav Engel rejects this, noting that the Gemara in Chullin draws no distinction between financial and spiritual changes of intent when it offers the dispute between Rabban Shimon Ben Gamliel and the sages as a parallel discussion.
Yet, Rav Engel does not explain why this distinction is not made. Would it not be reasonable to assume that a person’s heretical act is a new development rather than an ongoing state? I propose that heresy differs fundamentally from other sins. While most sins are impulsive or situational, heresy represents a culmination of corrupt attitudes and beliefs, long fomenting beneath the surface. This may explain why idolatrous intent is punishable (Kiddushin 40a, Ben Yehoyada), while sinful intent in other areas is not. Unlike other sins, heresy is not an act of passion but the result of a deeply rooted ideological deviation.
Translations Courtesy of Sefaria, except when, sometimes, I disagree with the translation 
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