What applies to love applies equally to hate -- and maybe also to fear

The mishnah at Avot 5:19 begins with the words:

Any love that depends on a specific thing, if that thing is lost, to too is that love; and if it doesn’t depend on anything, it is never lost.

In “Hate: Curable and Incurable”, Covenant and Conversation: Deuteronomy, Renewal of the Sinai Covenant, 2019) Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks opens the possibilities contained in these few words by arguing persuasively that this proposition does not apply to love alone. It also applies to hate. In doing so, it explains an apparent anomaly in the Torah’s commands. This anomaly relates to how the Children of Israel should view the Egyptians, who had enslaved, oppressed and exploited them for centuries, even attempting genocide, and the Amalekites, who attacked them just once in the desert. 

The Torah commands that we are not to hate the Egyptians (Deuteronomy 23:8). We are however obliged to maintain perpetual hostility against the Amalekites (Exodus 17:16), even though we suffered far more at the hands of the Egyptians. Why should this be? 

An explanation is offered that, while both the Egyptians and the Amalekites hated the Children of Israel, the Egyptians had some reason for doing so: they saw this strong and increasingly populous alien tribe within their borders as a threat to their security (Exodus 1:19-20).  This reason might have been irrational and unfounded, but it was genuinely held. Once this alien tribe had departed, the reason for the Egyptians’ hatred departed too and, with it, the hatred itself. The hatred of Amalek however had no cause. A hatred that has no cause is a hatred that has no end.

It is worth considering whether this argument can be applied not only to hatred but to another word that is regularly contrasted with love: fear. Prima facie, the answer is yes, or at least it should be. If there is a reason why a person is afraid of anything—be it a dog, the dark, an unwelcome event, or another person—it is possible to address the cause of that fear. But where a fear is not conditioned upon anything it all and is quite irrational, it may never be possible to eradicate it. 

Dissociating from the collective: what is Hillel's real position?

Why should we go back to synagogue? This is the question posed by Rabbi Yosie Levine in his opinion piece for yesterday's Jerusalem Post. This piece asks, quite reasonably, why people should wish to return to synagogue prayer even when it is safe to do so once the threat of the coronavirus has finally abated. The rabbi, who gives various answers, also invokes the authority of Avot when he writes:

The notion of community serves as the animating force behind the project of building the mishkan. In describing its construction, the Torah tells us that God said, “And they shall make for Me a sanctuary so that I may dwell within them” (Exodus 25:8). Rabbi Moshe Alshich (1508-1593) notes that, conspicuously, the verse does not read “and I shall dwell within it.” It’s not the edifice that brings holiness into this world. It’s the people. An institution absent its adherents is no institution at all. It’s by virtue of coming together as a community that we bring holiness into our lives. That’s why even the sage Hillel, who was tolerant of virtually everyone, had no tolerance for those who dissociated from the collective (Pirkei Avot 2:4) [in many siddur editions the citation is 2:5].

Hillel certainly teaches that a person should not separate him- or herself from the tzibbur, the congregation. Avot does not however provide evidence that Hillel failed to tolerate those who do dissociate themselves from the collective. Since in the previous perek of Avot Hillel urges people to follow the path taught by Aaron the Priest, to "love peace and pursue peace", we might more reasonably expect him to adopt a position of keeping the dialogue going and even being initially quite conciliatory in the hope of getting the dissociating party back on board.

Another point on which we might reflect is that, where the collective is split between those who return to synagogual worship and those who prefer the outside option, people are damned if they do and damned if they don't since whichever side they follow will require them turning their backs on the other side.

A translator's problem, a metaphor and the path to harmony

One of the most difficult mishnayot to translate into English [1] is the one that opens the second perek of Avot (i.e. 2:1). There, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi teaches:

 רבי אומר, איזו היא דרך ישרה שיבור לו האדם--כל שהיא תפארת לעושיה, ותפארת לו מן האדם

I like to translate it like this:

Which is the right path that a person should choose for himself? Any one that enables him to experience self-respect and to earn the respect and admiration of other people.

This is not a literal translation, though. The Hebrew word תפארת (tiferet), which appears here twice, poses a stiff challenge for at least four reasons: (i) the word possesses many meanings; (ii) it is employed in relation both to God and to man, with obviously different connotations; (iii) in the context of this mishnah, it expresses a concept for which there is no obvious colloquial English equivalent and (iv) it is by no means clear what verbs—if any—are the right ones to use with it. 

The range of translations preferred by various authors is reflected by the chart below:

תפארת לעושיה  (translated above as “self-respect”)	ותפארת לו מן האדם  (translated above as “the respect and admiration of other people”)
Whatever will be of benefit to him	and earns him the respect of other people [2]
Honorable to one who chooses it	and honorable in the eyes of others [3]
Whatever is a credit to himself	and earns him the esteem of fellow men [4]
One which reflects credit on him who does it	and which also reflects glory on him [in the eyes] of men [5]
Whatever is harmonious for the one who does it	and harmonious for mankind [6]
One which is honorable to thyself	and without offense to others [7]
All that is desirable for the one doing it	and desirable to him from mankind [8]
That which is distinguished, honorable for him who adopts it	and brings him distinction, honor from people [9]
Whatever brings glory to himself [before God]	and grants him glory before others [10]
Any that is an honor to him that does it	and gets him honor to him in the sight of men [11]
That which is an honor to him	and gets him honor from men [12]

My preferred translation gives the meaning as “self-respect” the first time it appears and as “respect and admiration” the second, since it is not normally regarded as praiseworthy for a person to pat himself on the back and applaud his own actions in the manner in which he might greet the same actions when done by others.

Of the options listed above, Chabad.org's "harmonious" approach has been preferred in a Times of Israel blog by Ethan Yakhin entitled "My experience interviewing R. Shlomo Katz". This piece, unsurprisingly since Rabbi Katz is an authority on the work of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, is as much about the controversial composer as abour Rabbi Katz himself. In the course of it Ethan Yakhin writes:

In Pirkei Avot, we find wonderful advice. What is a straight path that man should choose? A path that brings harmony to the person and harmony between him and others (Pirkei Avot 2:1). In other words, “Be yourself.” Perhaps this is what Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach had in mind when he encouraged our individuality.

While it strays a long way from the literal meaning of the text, the use of "harmony" as a music metaphor when describing Rabbi Carlebach is most effective and, within that context, may well reflect Rabbi Yehudah's meaning.

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[1] This is not only a problem for the English. Translating into German, Rabbi Marcus Lehmann, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth, makes exactly the same observation.

[2] Rabbis Avie Gold and Nahum Spirn, Alshich on Avos.

[3] Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Authorised Daily Prayer Book.

[4] ArtScroll Publications.

[5] C. H. Moore, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth.

[6] Chabad.org.

[7] Jewishvirtuallibrary.org.

[8] David N. Barocas, Me’am Lo’ez.

[9] Irving M. Bunim, Ethics from Sinai.

[10] Torah.org.

[11] R. Travers Herford, The Ethics of the Talmud.

[12] Herbert Danby, The Mishnah.

Ben Azzai, social inclusion and a little extra sunshine

I have only recently become aware of the Jewish Disabilities Awareness, Acceptance & Inclusion Month, thanks to this piece--a guest column posted in the Cleveland Jewish News and written by Jay Leberman. In the course of his piece, which argues for replacement of the word "inclusion" (which suggests the possibility of "exclusion") with the more suitable term "belonging", he writes:

Ben Azzai taught in the “Ethics of the Fathers,” “Do not disdain any person; do not underestimate the importance of anything – for there is no person who does not have his hour, and there is no thing without its place in the sun.” Although we dedicate the month of February to a greater awareness of people who are different than us – our sacred texts provide us with an imperative to recognize the uniqueness of every individual, regardless of mental ability and or physical limitations throughout the year. We are given the challenge as a community to ensure that those among us who are different are never neglected, never sidelined, never underrated, and never underappreciated as human beings capable of giving back to our community in their own individualized ways.

This blog has sometimes commented on the inappropriate use of mishnayot from Avot in the columns of both Jewish and non-Jewish publications. Here, however, it is good to be able to welcome a citation of Ben Azzai's teaching (at Avot 4:3) which seems entirely apt. 

One quick question remains: does any reader know where the translation of Avot containing the words "under the sun" comes from? These words are not in the original Hebrew and I wonder if they have been "borrowed" from Ecclesiastes (Kohelet), where they appear on several occasions. 

Suffering and learning Torah: where coping is key

The sixth perek of Avot contains a celebrated baraita (Avot 6:6) that lists what are claimed to be the 48 "things" through which Torah is acquired. One of them is the acceptance of one's suffering.

In popular culture, human suffering is often glamorized.  People who struggle with their disabilities and go on to achieve great things are the stuff of inspiration and folklore, as well as bread and butter for the entertainment industry. Ludwig van Beethoven toiling to compose musical masterpieces despite his encroaching deafness, Helen Keller reaching out to the world despite losing both her sight and hearing as a child, musicians resuming professional careers despite the loss of fingers or even an arm—these are all heart-warming narratives of succeeding against the odds. 

In the world of Torah too, we are enthralled by tales of how people overcome illness, hardship and poverty in order to achieve wonderful things in the fields of Torah and good deeds. It is easy to promote the virtues of afflictions when one is not suffering. One relatively contemporary rabbi goes so far as to describe afflictions as a “chavruta with God.”  But do we really believe that suffering is a good thing?  This baraita appears to suggest that this so, listing it as a route to acquiring Torah learning, and it is not the only baraita in Avot that seems to send out this message.  However, it is appropriate to ask whether the message we are picking up is the message that our Sages are transmitting.

The position of the Babylonian Talmud is that, in essence, when a person suffers he should examine his conduct. If he has not found that he has done anything wrong, he should ask whether he has neglected his Torah study. If he has not, the afflictions are likely to be yissurim shel ahavah (literally “afflictions of love”), suffering that he should experience in this World so that he can enjoy a better World to Come. However, when offered the opportunity to suffer afflictions and receive a reward for so doing, three notable Sages—Rabbi Chiyya bar Abba, Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Elazar—give the identical response: “neither them [i.e. the sufferings] nor their reward” (Berachot 5b).  If these great rabbis regard such afflictions as unnecessary and unwelcome, where does this leave our baraita?

In truth, the force of this baraita is not directed to encouraging anyone to seek out suffering and afflictions but to urging them to accept them when they happen. Each individual has a different level of tolerance. Some people can learn Torah day and night despite the pain or crippling disabilities that hamper them, because they can blot these terrible things out of their minds and accept them as part of their condition of life: they waste neither time nor emotional energy in complaining about them. Others, made of less stern stuff, struggle to cope with even a runny nose, a mild headache or the absence of a comfortable cushion on their chair. Coping is the key and that is an important part of pressing on with one’s Torah-learning agenda.

Creation, kindness, and an apparently irrelevant detail

Avot 5:8 teaches that 10 things were created on the eve of the first Shabbat, though it ultimately raises the total to 14 (listed below). So what?

From our viewpoint as inhabitants of the 21^st century, it makes little practical difference to our daily lives whether the 14 things listed in this Mishnah were created just as the Six Days of Creation were drawing to their close, earlier in the week or even after the first Shabbat. In any event, our consumerist habits tend to direct our attention towards when things expire or pass their use-by date, not the precise moment in time in they were manufactured. The mishnah however teaches nothing in vain. So why do we need to know this detail? Rabbi Yehudah Assad, Chidushei Mahari’a al Pirkei Avot, explains that this apparently redundant piece of information teaches that all 14 of these creations reflect God’s chesed (kindness) towards His people.  How is this so?

A verse in the Book of Psalms records in part that “[In] kindness the World is created” (89:3), What is the significance of this? This verse hints that, when God created the World, he did so during the hours of daylight. Day is divided into 12 hours. Six days of 12 hours duration gives a total of 72 hours. The word for “kindness” in Hebrew is חֶסֶד (chesed). The numerical value of the Hebrew word חֶסֶד is also 72 and twilight on the Sixth Day of Creation represents the point at which the 72^nd and final hour of the working week literally shades off into night. The 14 creations in our Mishnah were therefore brought into existence as a matter of chesed. 

This message might seem a little cute and contrived, but it carries a powerful point: if all these things were created as an act or sign of God’s kindness, then the damaging forces called mazikim [discussed at length on 13 October 2020 here] must have been created as an act of kindness too. Bearing this in mind, it is worth considering afresh what they are and why God should have troubled Himself to create them.

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 The first 10 things are (i) the mouth of the Earth; (ii) the mouth of the well; (iii) the mouth of the ass; (iv) the rainbow; (v) manna; (vi) the staff; (vii) the shamir worm; (viii) writing; (ix) that which is written and (x) the tablets.

The four additional things are (xi) damaging entities (mazikim);  (xii) the burial place of Moses and (xiii) Abraham's ram -- and some say also (xiv) tongs that are made with tongs.

Avot in Retrospect: a summary of last month's blogposts

 In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in January 2021:

Sunday 24 January 2021: Lions' tails and foxes' heads: a fresh perspective: When Rabbi Matya ben Charash says it's better to be the tail of a lion than the head of a fox, is his message for the public at large or for the sages of his era?

Wednesday 20 January 2021: The Shemonah Perakim: are they really a preface to Avot? Maimonides says they are, and he should know because he wrote them -- but do they fulfill their stated purpose? 

Sunday 17 January 2021: The moral behind the miracle: a crowded Temple and the need to make room for others. A 19th century German rabbi finds a powerful message in an apparently descriptive mishnah.

Thursday 14 January 2021: When I have the time ...:  Again on Avot 2:5, what message does it have for the person who finds it tough to squeeze a Torah learning routine into his or her busy schedule?

Sunday 10 January 2021: Not in front of the children. What does Avot have to say about letting things slip out in front of the kids -- even if they can't understand what they've heard?

Thursday 7 January 2021: Keeping in with the crowd, even at a distance.  Hillel the Elder teaches (Avot 2:5) that a person should not separate himself from the community. Can this be done metaphorically? 

Sunday 3 January 2021: What does "Be exiled" mean?: In Avot 4:18 we learn of the importance of being exiled to a place of Torah. How literally do we take this injunction?

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Avot Today blogposts for December 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for November 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for October 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for September 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for August 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for July 2020 here

Lion's tails and foxes' heads: a fresh perspective

In Avot 4:20 Rabbi Matya ben Charash teaches that one should be the "tail of lions" and not the "head of foxes". We all know that lions are supposed to be lordly and majestic, while foxes are menial and crafty. There are however many explanations of what this Rome-base rabbi meant.

One such perspective on this mishnah comes from Rabbi Yehoshua Heller's Toledot Yehoshua. It focuses on the relative status of Israel and the various lands into which its Jewish inhabitants were exiled. Israel is the natural home for Torah learning and for living one’s life in accordance with its precepts. By the time of the Roman occupation, “Israel” as a country was however only a geopolitical synonym for Judah, the southern kingdom based largely on the territory of Yehudah after the dispersal and loss of the Ten Tribes following the Assyrian conquest in 722 BCE. The symbol of Judah is the lion. Alluding to the tail of the lion, Rabbi Matya ben Charash is effectively teaching that it is better to serve the more exalted chachamim of Israel than to be regarded as a chacham among the less learned Jews who inhabit the lands of exile.

The Shemonah Perakim: are they really a preface to Avot?

 Many scholars past and present have written introductions to Pirkei Avot. Some are majestic and inspirational, like that of Rabbi Yehudah Loewe (the Maharal) in his Derech Chaim. Others are quite prosaic, largely explaining that Avot is based on mussar and middot rather than on halachah, that it contains five chapters of mishnayot and a chapter of baraitot, and that it is (or was) read every Shabbat between the end of Pesach and Rosh Hashanah. 

Rambam has provided two introductions to Avot. The first is of the short, simple variety. It explains that, while most of the content of Avot is straightforward and easy to understand, it is hard to apply in practice. Also, it helps a person become a chasid (an almost untranslatable term that mainly suggests someone who seeks eagerly to do God's will even before he is commanded to do so). Finally, Avot has character-building or even character-changing qualities that demand a lengthy preface. This preface is effectively a second, lengthy and complex introduction that goes by the name of the Shemonah Perakim (the "Eight Chapters").

The Shemonah Perakim are always treated as Rambam's second introduction to Avot, which is not surprising given that Rambam himself calls it a preface to that tractate. I should like however to put on record my opinion that it is no such thing. If we were to ask anyone who read it, not knowing what it was supposed to be, what he or she thought it was, I very much doubt that anyone now or even in Rambam's time would imagine that it had anything to do with Avot at all. There is scarcely any reference or allusion to anything one finds in Avot. Instead, one finds the following things:

• A disquisition on the soul and its powers, together with the positive and negative qualities that may be found within it;
• An explanation of spiritual sickness and how it can be treated;
• How our thoughts can control and govern our souls;
• Contrasts between someone who is an actual chasid and someone who is able to control his desires;
• Man's shortcomings and the manner in which they affect his perceptions;
• The composition of human nature.

This content could serve just as well, if not better, as a preface to Hilchot De'ot in the Rambam's Mishneh Torah. It would be good to know if readers agree. The mismatch between Avot and the Shemonah Perakim might account for the reason why so few commentators on Avot feel the need to make any reference to it at all.

It is my intention to return to the Shemonah Perakim from time to time, making reference to elements of its content that do seem relevant to Pirkei Avot and, if possible, explaining why.

The moral behind the miracle: a crowded Temple and the need to make space for others

One of the more mysterious mishnayot in Avot is 5:7, which lists 10 miracles that are said to have taken place in the Temple. Some commentators examine them simply in terms of their miraculous content. Others however, mindful of the role of Pirkei Avot in conveying moral instruction, look beyond the miracles on the ground, as it were, and seek to frame them within a larger or more contemporary setting. 

A good example of this can be found in relation to the miracle that, though the Temple was extremely crowded and the order of the day was "standing room only", there was always enough room for worshippers to bow down. Rabbi Eliezer Prins (author of the second half of the Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth) explains this part of the Mishnah figuratively, sending out a powerful message to late 19th century German Jewry that has a curiously contemporary ring to it:

 [W]e see that this miracle still happens today. When all people stand up and oppose one another, there is never enough room for everyone; but when each individual gives way to the next man, all find a place. It is ironic that our fathers managed to earn their daily bread in the narrow ghettos into which they were crowded, and yet had time to maintain their spiritual life, to learn and fulfil the Divine Torah; our generation, however, enjoys the freedom of the whole world but complains that the world is too narrow, competition too great, the fight for existence too severe to allow study of the Torah and fulfilment of its precepts!

A point well made, if ever there was one.

When I have the time ...

Still on Avot 2:5, Hillel's final teaching is "Don't say 'when I'm free I will learn, because perhaps you will never have the time". 

There are times in many people’s lives when their physical and mental resources are stretched to the point that meaningful Torah learning is impossible. The Torah sages are right to say that it should always be possible to make time to learn and that each moment that passes can never be reclaimed. However, in earlier generations and to a great extent in our own, those who teach this message have the privilege of being in full-time learning or Torah teaching themselves, with wives who were supportive to the point of unselfishly and unstintingly sacrificing their strength and any personal aspirations in order to enable their rabbinical husbands to fulfil their Torah commitments to the maximum possible. 

This level of commitment to learning is often impossible for a modern family man to attain, despite his wish to do so. Two or three daily visits to his synagogue to pray,  an hour’s commuting to work and the same again to return home, the best part of the day spent working for a living, taking children to school a couple of mornings a week, helping at home as a dutiful husband and father—all these things can leave a man with little time and peace of mind to address his duty to learn Torah. It is not unreasonable for such a person to say “when I’m free to learn, I shall do so.” The big problem for him, though, is to recognize the point at which he has to stop saying it. Otherwise, once he has settled into his no-learning routine in order to feed, clothe, educate and marry off his children, pay off his mortgage and put himself on a secure financial footing, he will simply start over and do the same thing for the next generation and will never get round to learning at all.

Not in front of the children

 In the second chapter of Avot, there is a teaching by Hillel (Avot 2:5) that one should not say things that cannot be understood, if one's intention is that they should ultimately be understood. This is based on the rendering of the words שמוע and הישמע as being connected with understanding. Their original meaning is however connected with hearing, as Rabbi Eliezer Papo notes.

In his Ma'amar HaKavod Rabbi Papo explains that anyone who speaks words that are not meant to be broadcast to a wider world takes a great risk in saying them when there are small children present—even if those children do not understand what one is saying at all.  The ability of children to pick up words, phrases and names say them over again, even if it is just because they like the sound the words make when they say them, is a well-known phenomenon. 

The Talmud itself recognizes that the sometimes outrageous things children say in public can be directly attributable to what they hear their parents say in private but would never dream of articulating in public. This is found in Sukkah 56b, which relates the episode of Miriam bat Bilgah. The daughter of a Kohen, this young lady kicked the Temple Altar and shouted at it, "Wolf, wolf! For how long will you consume the Jews’ money but not stand by them in their poverty?” Miriam’s entire family was punished for this outburst. Abaye explains why: a child's words are invariably opinions that have been repeated from what has been heard at home.

Keeping in with the crowd, even at a distance

Hillel the Elder teaches (Avot 2:5) that a person should not separate himself from the tzibbur (usually translated as "community" or "congregation"). This is usually understood in physical terms. There is however another dimension to it.

Even if one is quite detached from one’s fellow Jews in both physical and communal terms, one can still be at one with them. The template of the thrice-daily Amidah prayer couches the words of each blessing in the plural, irrespective of whether it is an acknowledgement of God’s existence and His qualities, an expression of gratitude for His kindness, a plea for forgiveness, or a request for the provision of something necessary that is lacking in one’s life. Correlative to this is the need for every Jew who launches into his Amidah to be conscious of the fact that he is only an individual, a small part of a greater entity. 

When we pray for good health, for sustenance, for justice, peace or anything else that is encoded into the Amidah, our thoughts should therefore be united with others, our brethren who have the same human needs and requirements. To pray only for one’s own health, or only that of one’s family, but not empathize with the needs of others, is effectively to separate oneself from the tzibbur. This point is stressed by Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe (Alei Shur, sha’ar 3: Tefillat Shemonah Esrei, at p 378, where he cites Rabbi Yisrael Salanter as the source of this idea in general terms but makes no reference to this mishnah).

What does “be exiled” mean?

Rabbi Nehorai (Avot 4:18) taught: "Be exiled to a place of Torah; don't say that it will follow you, because your colleagues will help you retain it, so don't rely on your own understanding". Anyone who reads this mishnah might assume that its addressee is someone who is already in a place where Torah is being learned and that its message is this: “if you have to leave the place where you are engaged in Torah study, you should make sure that your destination is also a place where you can pursue the same activity—a place where Torah is studied, where its precepts are respected and kept".  The text of the Mishnah is however phrased as an imperative: “Be exiled!” In the second volume of his work Elef HaMagen Rabbi Eliezer Papo (a.k.a. the “Pele Yo’etz”) takes this to mean that you should move to such a place in order to learn Torah even if it means exiling yourself and traveling far away.

There is however no need to take the concept of exile as a physical reality; it can also be a metaphor. “Be exiled” is an imperative, an order to a person to leave the comfort zone of his learning and stretch his mind, taking it beyond the same familiar areas of study. Why, for example, spend another year just going through “Chumash with Rashi", when you can try out another commentator for a change? Why not sign up for a daf yomi learning programme that takes you to the outer reaches of the Babylonian Talmud instead of just learning the most popular bits? Why not change your brand of mussar (moral chastisement) for a while and see if it changes you? 

The mishnah also contains a caveat. If you do venture beyond your comfort zone, don’t think you can do it all by yourself. You may find that you are in difficult and uncharted learning terrain. Nachmanides’ commentary on the Chumash is written in the same Hebrew as Rashi’s, but his conceptual vocabulary is quite different, as is his methodology, and tractates of the Babylonian Talmud may be incomprehensible when they are built on the structure of mishnayot with which you are unfamiliar. Take a friend with you in your exile, keep a chavruta alive in this zone of unfamiliarity, and then you will have a better chance of surviving in your new environment—and even of thriving.

Avot in Retrospect: a summary of last month's blogposts

In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in December 2020:

Sunday 27 December 2020: Rabbi Akiva, free will and God's foresight again: a mishnah for the month of Elul. Here's an imaginative and fanciful approach to one of the most puzzling and enigmatic mishnayot in Avot, Rabbi Akiva's teaching at 3:19.

Friday 18 December 2020: A Rabbi? Not Quite? Distinguished theologian, scholar and commentator on Avot R. Travers Herford is many things -- but is he really a rabbi?

Friday 18 December 2020: Rabbi Akiva, free will and God's foresight: Avot 3:19 is a difficult mishnah as it stands. It can however be read together with Avot 1:18, with interesting results.

Monday 14 December 2020: Time and Tithe. Is it possible to tithe one's time?

Friday 11 December 2020:  Epispasm: No Great Disguise. Some thoughts on circumcision and attempts to conceal it -- a pointless exercise if one considers how many people seem to be able to identify Jews as such even when they are fully clothed.

Monday 9 December 2020: Competition Among Sages: Where is it? Pirkei Avot is cited as the source for the proposition that competition among Sages promotes wisdom -- but which mishnah might furnish that source?

Sunday 6 December 2020: "Stolen" Torah: more on Shammai and making Torah "fixed". An apparently outrageous chasidic interpretation of Shammai's teaching on making one's Torah "fixed" is based on quite firm premises. 

Thursday 3 December 2020: Shammai and the Three Pillars on which the World stands: Two mishnayot with a motif of "three things" appear to complement one another.

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Avot Today blogposts for November 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for October 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for September 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for August 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for July 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for June 2020 here
Avot Today blogposts for May 2020 here