Bo (5764)

From the book Mida Tova: Articles on the Hermeneutical Principles by Rabbi Michael Avraham. Translated from Hebrew using gpt-5.4 (reasoning_effort=high, batch API).

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With God’s help
Midah Tovah — Sabbath eve of Parashat Bo, 5765

Questions

• Returning to the schools of Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Ishmael.
• What is offered as the Passover sacrifice?
• Can one live with contradictions?
• What does the phrase “until the third text comes and decides” mean?
• How many kinds of decision are there?
• How does decision operate in halakha (Jewish law) within the Oral Torah?
• What does the question of “two texts that contradict one another” have to do with consolation after the destruction—or, Rabbi Akiva as an antinomian?

A. Can one live with contradictions?

“And it shall be for you”—to include the Passover offering of later generations, which may come only from sheep and goats; these are the words of Rabbi Eliezer. Rabbi Yoshiya says: “[The verse says,] ‘You shall take.’ Why was this said? Because it says, ‘And you shall sacrifice the Passover to the Lord your God, flock and cattle’ (Deuteronomy 16:2). [This means:] flock for the Passover, and cattle for the hagigah (festival peace offering). Do you say so, or perhaps both this and that refer to the Passover itself? And how then do I uphold ‘a male without blemish’? [I would say:] that refers to the Passover of Egypt, but the Passover of later generations may be brought from both. Therefore Scripture says, ‘From the sheep and from the goats you shall take.’ Since it need not have said ‘you shall take,’ why does it say ‘you shall take’? To teach that the Passover of later generations may be brought only from sheep and goats. These are the words of Rabbi Yoshiya. Rabbi Yonatan says: flock for the Passover, and cattle for the hagigah. Do you say so, or perhaps both this and that refer to the Passover itself? And how then do I uphold ‘a male without blemish’? [I would say:] that refers to the Passover of Egypt, but the Passover of later generations may be brought from both. Therefore Scripture says, ‘And you shall perform this service in this month’ (Exodus 13:5): just as you performed it in Egypt, so shall you do for future generations. These are the words of Rabbi Yonatan. Rabbi Eliezer says: flock for the Passover, and cattle for the hagigah. Do you say so, or perhaps both this and that refer to the Passover itself? And how then do I uphold ‘a male without blemish,’ etc.? [I would say:] that refers to the Passover of Egypt, but the Passover of later generations may be brought from both. Therefore Scripture says, ‘And you shall observe this thing as an ordinance for you’ (Exodus 12:24). The Passover of later generations has already been stated. If so, what does ‘And you shall sacrifice the Passover to the Lord your God, flock and cattle’ teach? Flock for the Passover, and cattle for the hagigah.”

“Rabbi Akiva says: One text says, ‘And you shall sacrifice the Passover to the Lord your God, flock and cattle,’ and another text says, ‘From the sheep and from the goats you shall take.’ How can these two verses stand? You say: this is a principle in the Torah—two texts stand against one another and contradict one another; they remain in force in their place until a third text comes and decides between them. Scripture says, ‘Draw out and take for yourselves flock according to your families, and slaughter the Passover offering.’ Flock for the Passover offering, and not cattle for the Passover offering. Rabbi Ishmael says: Scripture is speaking of the hagigah brought on Passover. Do you say so, or perhaps it speaks only of the Passover offering itself? When it says, ‘a male without blemish,’ the Passover offering itself has already been stated. What then does ‘And you shall sacrifice the Passover to the Lord your God, flock and cattle’ teach? Scripture is speaking of the hagigah brought on Passover. Rabbi says: Scripture is speaking of a sacrifice that comes from cattle just as it comes from flock. And what is that? It is the peace offering. From here they said: surplus peace offerings remain peace offerings, and surplus Passover offerings become peace offerings.”

Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael, Bo, tractate Pisha, section 4, s.v. “And it shall be for you”; Midrash Tannaim on Deuteronomy 16:2, s.v. “And you shall sacrifice.”

Introduction

This midrash (rabbinic exposition) discusses a contradiction in the laws of the Passover sacrifice as they appear in the Torah. On the one hand, the verses in our Torah portion emphasize that it must be a lamb and that it must come “from the sheep and from the goats,” that is, from the flock. On the other hand, in Parashat Re’eh the verse commands us to offer “flock and cattle.” How are we to relate to these contradictory commands? Must we offer cattle, or flock, or perhaps both?

The course of the midrash

The first part of the midrash, brought here only as background and not to be discussed in detail, presents three different tannaitic positions. All three propose resolving the contradiction by distinguishing between the Passover of Egypt and the Passover of later generations, and in the end all three reject that distinction, each for a different reason. Their conclusion is that the verse speaking of flock and cattle refers to the hagigah, whereas the Passover offering itself comes only from the flock.

Rabbi Akiva now enters and argues that there is a Torah principle of “two texts that contradict one another,” and that in such a case we must deliberate in light of a third text that decides between them. With regard to our case, his conclusion is that the Passover offering comes only from the flock. Rabbi Akiva, unlike the three before him, offers no resolution of the contradiction between the verses. There is not even a hint that he accepts the view shared by all his predecessors—and also by Rabbi Ishmael—that the command concerning cattle refers to the hagigah and not to the Passover itself. On the contrary: Rabbi Ishmael’s position, which is brought immediately after Rabbi Akiva, appears to disagree with him, precisely because it resolves the contradiction by assigning cattle to the hagigah and flock to the Passover offering. Rabbi too resolves the contradiction differently, by taking the verse in the direction of surplus Passover offerings, which are treated as peace offerings.

All this makes it quite clear that Rabbi Akiva does not resolve the two verses in this way; indeed, it seems that he does not resolve them at all. The phrase “this is a principle in the Torah” also indicates that Rabbi Akiva seeks to introduce a different exegetical principle, one not found in the other views.¹ We shall spell this out below.

Rabbi Akiva’s exposition

Rabbi Akiva begins by citing two contradictory verses: on the one hand, “from the sheep and from the goats,” and on the other, “flock and cattle.” He decides the contradiction by means of a third verse: “flock according to your families.” Several serious difficulties arise in Rabbi Akiva’s exposition:

1. Why did the Torah formulate this law in such a convoluted and confusing way? Why did it not simply say that the Passover offering comes only from the flock?
2. Once the Torah did formulate it this way, what exactly is Rabbi Akiva’s resolution of the contradictory verse? Where do we apply the rule of “flock and cattle”?²
3. Why does Rabbi Akiva decide that the contradiction is between the two verses he cites, and that the third is the decisive one? One could also see the second verse as deciding the contradiction between the first and the third.
4. Why does he not accept the compromise adopted by those who disagree with him?
5. The principle of “two texts that contradict one another” closes the list of principles in the baraita of Rabbi Ishmael. Here, by contrast, it seems to be Rabbi Akiva’s principle, and Rabbi Ishmael specifically disputes it.

Some of these difficulties require separate treatment. Here we shall focus on understanding the principle of “two texts that contradict one another,” and therefore we begin specifically with the last difficulty.

B. “Until the third text comes and decides”: what is “decision”?

The principle of “two texts that contradict one another”

As noted, this principle appears at the end of Rabbi Ishmael’s list of thirteen hermeneutical principles at the beginning of the Sifra. Let us quote the illustrative baraita:

“Two texts that contradict one another, until a third comes and decides between them”—how so? One text says, “The Lord descended upon Mount Sinai, to the top of the mountain,” and another text says, “From heaven He made you hear His voice, to discipline you.” The third decided: “From heaven I spoke with you.” This teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, bent the highest heavens down upon Mount Sinai and spoke with them. And so David said in the Book of Psalms: “He bent the heavens and came down, and thick darkness was under His feet.”

It is clear from this passage that the principle of “two texts that contradict one another” means that the third text teaches us to remove the contradiction between the two conflicting verses—to harmonize them.³ Each of the contradictory verses is interpreted in a different way, and we arrive at an intermediate picture. The contradiction is removed by compromise, or by averaging, between the opposing poles.

In light of this, it is easy to understand why the Raavad, in his commentary on the baraita of the thirteen principles—a view also cited by Rabbi Jacob Hagiz in Tehillat Hokhmah, in his commentary on the thirteenth principle—reached the following conclusion:

And from this decision, by which the third text decided and corrected two texts that contradict one another, the sages learned elsewhere, in cases of two contradictory texts where no third came to decide, as in what we learned in the chapter “On That Day” in tractate Sotah: “One text says two thousand cubits, and one text says one thousand cubits. How is this so? One thousand cubits is the Sabbath boundary.” Thus they decided between them on their own, according to their proofs, just as they learned from an a fortiori argument, and so forth. And when it teaches, “until a third text comes and decides between them,” the same applies: when two texts contradict one another, you are not permitted to reject them and treat them as corrupt; rather, you must continue trying to resolve them as much as you can, until a third text comes and decides between them, and then you should act in accordance with whatever decision appears correct.

The Raavad explains that this principle teaches us to reconcile two contradictory verses even in ways that seem plausible to us without any third verse deciding between them. In other words, the principle means finding a reasonable solution that removes the contradiction, even in the absence of a third text. This is a reasonable and even compelling conclusion from the way the principle is understood in Rabbi Ishmael’s school.

By contrast, above we saw a completely different appearance of the principle of “two contradictory texts” in Rabbi Akiva. He argues precisely that there is a Torah principle in which two texts contradict one another and no reconciliation exists between them. The third text decides only the practical question: according to which of the two contradictory verses are we to act? The two contradictory texts remain in contradiction just as before.⁴ This is a different principle from Rabbi Ishmael’s principle of “two texts that contradict one another,” according to which the third text compromises between the conflicting texts.

Rabbi Ishmael’s principle is interpretive—how to read—whereas Rabbi Akiva’s principle is halakhic, that is, concerned with how to act in practice. This explains why it is Rabbi Akiva who uses this principle here. The principle that appears in Rabbi Ishmael’s baraita is a different one: compromise rather than decision, and therefore it is not relevant to our midrash.⁵

The principle and the meaning of the term “decision” in the Talmuds

It is interesting that this principle does not appear at all in either Talmud. It is used only in the midrashim, and generally in aggadic midrashim, that is, non-legal rabbinic exposition.⁶ Our case is exceptional, since the matter treated by the principle is a legal one.

We noted above that according to Rabbi Akiva this principle is exclusively a legal one, not an interpretive one. On his view it is clear that it cannot be applied in aggadic midrashim. If we do not reconcile the two interpretations of the contradictory verses, the third verse has no meaning there. Only in legal contexts can the deciding verse be used to determine practical law even without deciding the interpretation. It is therefore no surprise that the unusual appearance of this principle in our context, which is legal in character, is specifically in Rabbi Akiva’s voice.

What does appear in the Talmuds is a similar rule regarding disputes among sages, where a third sage decides between the disputants; see, for example, Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 43b; Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 39b; and elsewhere. But this does not concern the decision of contradictory verses. There is, however, one Talmudic formula reminiscent of a similar application to contradictory verses, and it is built like this; see Babylonian Talmud, Arakhin 29a; Temurah 14b; Niddah 70b; and many other places:

One verse says A, and another verse says B. A is impossible, because… and B is impossible, because… How then is it to be understood? …

Here the decision is made by reasoning, and no third verse is mentioned as decisive; nor is the verb “decide” used. Such passages appear dozens of times in both Talmuds. What varies among them is the description of the contradiction—“A is impossible, because…” Sometimes that element is absent altogether—and also the forms of harmonization, which are quite diverse.

The only exceptional case we found in the two Talmuds that comes close to this principle itself appears in Jerusalem Talmud, Sotah 1:7. The wording there is somewhat different from the standard formulation of the principle, but the discussion concerns verses, and decision by means of an additional verse is also mentioned:

One verse says… and another verse says… and yet another verse says… Can one verse decide two verses?… Reason decides…

In that sugya the first two verses point in the same direction, and the third contradicts them. The Jerusalem Talmud asks: how can one verse decide against two? The answer is that the decision is made by reason. Still, one may infer from this that the opposite situation seems reasonable and intelligible to the Jerusalem Talmud as well: that two verses can decide against one, when reason is balanced and cannot decide. This is an implicit hint to the principle of “two texts.”⁷

It is clear that the meaning of the term “decision” here is like Rabbi Akiva’s view, not Rabbi Ishmael’s. The third verse is supposed to decide against the other two, not to mediate between them. Throughout the Talmudic corpus, the verb “to decide” means to tip the scales with greater weight against the opposite side, which has less weight; see, for example, Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 88b. The sense of “deciding” as mediating or reconciling, as in Rabbi Ishmael’s version of our principle, does not appear in the Talmuds at all.

“A third, mediating ruling is not decisive”

There is, however, one expression in which the Talmud directly addresses the meaning of “decision”—not between verses but between opinions of sages—in the sense of mediation or compromise. In three sugyot in the Babylonian Talmud—Nazir 53a, Pesahim 21a, and Hullin 137a—the rule appears: “A third, mediating ruling is not decisive.” That is, when there are two opposing views and a third opinion rules in one case like the first and in another case like the second, this is not a binding halakhic ruling; rather, it is a third opinion.⁸

Rashi, in the sugya in Nazir, s.v. “Since a decision…,” writes:

Any decision that is partly like this one and partly like that one is not a decision unless it is wholly like one of them, for “decision” is a term of weighing, by which one weighs the words of two more than one…

A question arose here whether “decision” can be understood as averaging or mediation, but that possibility was rejected: the term “decision” is interpreted as Rabbi Akiva understood it, not as Rabbi Ishmael did. As for Rashi’s language of “weight,” see Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 88b. This sharpens our linguistic difficulty with Rabbi Ishmael, who interprets “decides” in the sense of “mediates,” not in the sense of “overcomes.”

In the sugya in Pesahim 21a, Rashi and Tosafot disagree about this rule. Rashi distinguishes between two situations. If Sage A explicitly states that his ruling applies both in situation A and in situation B, and Sage B disputes him and explicitly states that his opposing ruling also applies both in situation A and in situation B, then if a third sage rules like A in situation A and like B in situation B, he counts as deciding between them. But if the disputants themselves do not mention that distinction, and the deciding sage introduces it on his own, then he is not considered to have decided between them; rather, he is a third opinion. Tosafot there holds that no such distinction should be made.

What underlies Rashi’s view? Apparently he holds that if the disputants did not mention the distinction introduced by the deciding sage, then it is not a natural distinction. It is a contextual restriction that the mediating sage invents now; indeed, one of the disputants may even agree with him. In such a case he is not deciding; he is generating a third opinion, if anything. But if his distinction arises naturally from the case under dispute, then his ruling counts as a decision in the dispute, not as a third opinion.

In any event, according to Rashi it emerges that the language of the sages does sometimes allow “decision” to mean compromise. Thus the term can indeed sometimes appear in the sense of compromise and averaging—namely, when the distinction that underlies the compromise is natural and not a strained, artificial contextual restriction. Below we shall spell out how this applies to our subject.

C. “Two texts that contradict one another”

The novelty of this principle in Rabbi Ishmael’s school

We have seen that Rabbi Ishmael explains this principle as mediation effected by the third text between the conflicting verses. We find an explanation that gives each its place and removes the contradiction. If so, what is the novelty of this principle according to Rabbi Ishmael? Without it, would we not have tried to reconcile two contradictory verses and eliminate the contradiction between them? More than that: what novelty did the Raavad add when he derived from this principle the sages’ method of removing contradictions? Presumably the sages did what anyone would do upon finding a contradiction, so as “not to leave the corruption standing,” in the Raavad’s phrase. Without the principle of “two texts,” would we have left a corruption in place when we were able to resolve it?

It seems very likely that the novelty is precisely that without the principle we really would have left the verses in contradiction and drawn no conclusions from them. Such an attitude is not plausible with regard to opinions of sages, or to contradictions between statements of some sage. There it is reasonable that we should reconcile the statements so that they do not conflict, as we always do in rational interpretation—“not to leave the corruption standing,” in the Raavad’s words. But with respect to verses of the Torah, it may be that we are not permitted to rely on distinctions that occur to us.

Against this background, one may notice that Rabbi Ishmael formulates the principle as follows:

And likewise, two texts that contradict one another—until a third text comes and decides between them.

At first glance the wording should have been: “And likewise, when two texts contradict one another, a third text comes and decides between them.” Why use the phrase “until a third comes”? Perhaps because those two verses are meant to remain as they are until the third arrives, and only it can decide between them. When no third verse exists, we have no authority to impose such a contextual restriction on Torah verses.

The Raavad’s comments, cited above, sharpen this point. He understands that from this principle we learned that it is permissible to make a mediating distinction between contradictory verses even when there is no third verse. In other words, the principle taught us that contradictions in Torah verses should be treated with the same ordinary human logic as any other contradiction.

According to the Raavad, the principle does appear in the Talmuds

It should be noted that, contrary to our earlier statement, according to the Raavad the principle of “two texts” appears many times in the Talmud, including in clearly legal contexts. All the examples cited above—such as “One verse says… and another verse says… how is this so?…”—are precisely applications, albeit non-canonical ones, of the principle of “two contradictory texts,” in which we decide between them without a third verse.

Take one example among many. The sages ask about the contradiction between the verse regarding a Hebrew slave whose ear was pierced, which states, “and he shall serve him forever” (Exodus 21:6), and the verse (Leviticus 25:10) stating that such a slave goes free at the Jubilee. The midrashic resolution is found in Babylonian Talmud, Kiddushin 15b: “for the duration defined by the Jubilee.” Which of the thirteen hermeneutical principles underlies that exposition? Is it some other principle? Which one? On our approach, this is the principle of “two texts,” even though there is no third verse.⁹

At this point there is good reason to distinguish between a case where the mediating distinction arises naturally from the case under discussion, and a forced contextual restriction—an ukimta—that divides the verses artificially. As we saw above in Rashi on the sugya in Pesahim, in the first case we are not generating a third opinion, that is, an opinion that contradicts the two conflicting verses in the Torah—our own view cannot stand against Torah verses—and therefore it can be relied on. But when we produce a strained ukimta that artificially distinguishes between the verses, that is already a third opinion.¹⁰ To disagree with what emerges from the plain meaning of Torah verses requires the authorization of a hermeneutical principle.¹¹

This distinction also solves the problem of the meaning of the word “decides” in Rabbi Ishmael’s school. We noted that in rabbinic literature the term “decision” usually means deciding in favor of one side, not compromise or averaging. But we also noted that in Rashi on Pesahim there is room to understand “decision” as a kind of averaging or mediation when the averaging is natural. The same phenomenon appears here: when we decide in favor of one verse in situation A and in favor of the second verse in situation B, that is a form of decision that is also mediation. It is a kind of interpretation of the verses, not a decision in the sense of rejecting one for the sake of the other. Rashi’s approach to “a third, mediating ruling” solves the linguistic problem we raised regarding Rabbi Ishmael.

The principle of “two contradictory texts” in Rabbi Akiva’s school

Up to this point we have been discussing Rabbi Ishmael’s method. When Rabbi Akiva encounters in the Torah two contradictory texts, especially when the contradiction lacks a natural distinction that would reconcile it, he apparently does exactly what would have happened in Rabbi Ishmael’s school had this principle not been given: the situation is frozen. No legal conclusion can be drawn until a third text arrives. Even when the third verse does arrive, we decide rather than compromise.¹²

Against this background, it is worth noticing the wording in which this principle appears in Rabbi Akiva in our midrash:

This is a principle in the Torah: two texts stand against one another and contradict one another; they remain in force in their place until a third text comes and decides between them.

Rabbi Akiva’s wording makes it quite clear that without a third verse each of the two conflicting verses remains standing in its own place. In our case, it is strained to split the verse between hagigah and Passover; for that reason this option arises in the midrash only after the more natural possibility has first been tried, namely, distinguishing between the Passover of Egypt and the Passover of later generations. Rabbi Ishmael nevertheless does so, because his principle allows it.¹³ Rabbi Akiva, by contrast, offers no resolution at all in such a case, and certainly is not willing to divide the verse between hagigah and Passover.¹⁴

In such a case, according to Rabbi Akiva’s school, we decide to act according to one of the verses—the one supported by the third verse. We saw above, in Jerusalem Talmud, Sotah, that two verses can decide against one. The second verse, by contrast, remains without an adequate legal interpretation. Perhaps in our midrash Rabbi Akiva would understand it to mean that surplus Passover offerings go to peace offerings, like Rabbi’s interpretation at the end of the midrash, or as in Sifrei on Parashat Re’eh, section 129, that both the Passover offering and the hagigah must come from non-consecrated property.

It is possible that Rabbi Akiva too concedes that where there is a reasonable and natural distinction, one may adopt an interpretive decision that is an averaging rather than a straight decision. If it had been possible to distinguish between the Passover of Egypt and the Passover of later generations, Rabbi Akiva would have accepted that even without a third verse. That distinction, however, is rejected by other sources; see the beginning of the midrash above. This may explain his formulation: “two texts stand against one another and contradict one another.” The midrash stresses that we are dealing here with a case in which the two verses clash head-on, not merely “stand opposite one another.”

This also explains Rabbi Akiva’s phrase: “This is a principle in the Torah.” He must justify why we should choose precisely the seemingly non-intuitive path he proposes: that there is a superfluous, or at least unexplained, verse in the Torah. Why not follow the sensible path suggested by the other sages in the midrash—namely, find some reconciliation between the verses?[^^15]

Returning to the difficulties raised above

Several difficulties were raised above concerning Rabbi Akiva’s midrash. The last one—how Rabbi Ishmael can dispute this principle, and why it is Rabbi Akiva who uses it—is now resolved. This principle is indeed distinctive of Rabbi Akiva, and Rabbi Ishmael truly disagrees with it. Rabbi Ishmael continues trying to reconcile the contradictory verses, unlike Rabbi Akiva, who remains with the problem posed by the verse “flock and cattle.” More than that: in our midrash Rabbi Ishmael resolves the two verses by simple interpretive reasoning, without recourse to a third verse. This fits thoroughly with the Raavad’s conclusion about Rabbi Ishmael’s method, as discussed above; see also Mishnah Arakhin 8:7.¹⁵

Rabbi Akiva does not accept the distinctions made by those who disagree with him, because he is unwilling to adopt strained and unnatural distinctions in interpreting verses. At most, he is willing to decide practically how we are to act. His approach indeed leaves us with two difficulties: first, the verse “flock and cattle” remains unexplained; second, it is not clear why the Torah did not write the matter more simply—namely, that the Passover must be offered from the flock, and no more.¹⁶ But Rabbi Akiva does not revise his conclusions because of these difficulties.

Perhaps this depends on Rabbi Akiva’s general approach. Unlike his colleague Rabbi Ishmael, he holds that the Torah does not speak in human language; see the pages on Parashat Toledot and Vayetze. If so, one cannot ask of the Torah why it did not choose a simpler formulation. This is what Rabbi Akiva means by the words: “This is a principle in the Torah.”¹⁷

D. Akiva, you have comforted us

It is very hard not to notice the resemblance between Rabbi Akiva’s approach here and the two well-known stories at the end of Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 24a-b:

Once Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Joshua, and Rabbi Akiva were walking on the road, and they heard the roar of Rome’s multitudes from Puteoli, one hundred and twenty mil away. They began to weep, but Rabbi Akiva laughed. They said to him: Why are you laughing? He said to them: And why are you weeping? They said to him: These idolaters, who bow to images and burn incense to idols, dwell secure and at ease, while the house that is the footstool of our God has been burned by fire—and should we not weep? He said to them: That is precisely why I laugh. If such is the lot of those who transgress His will, how much more so the lot of those who do His will.

Again, once they were going up to Jerusalem. When they reached Mount Scopus they tore their garments. When they reached the Temple Mount, they saw a fox come out from the place of the Holy of Holies. They began to weep, but Rabbi Akiva laughed. They said to him: Why are you laughing? He said to them: Why are you weeping? They said to him: The place of which it is written, “The outsider who comes near shall die”—and now foxes walk through it; should we not weep? He said to them: That is precisely why I laugh, for it is written, “And I will take for Myself faithful witnesses to attest: Uriah the priest and Zechariah son of Jeberechiah.” What connection is there between Uriah and Zechariah? Uriah was in the First Temple, while Zechariah was in the Second Temple. Rather, Scripture linked Zechariah’s prophecy to Uriah’s prophecy. Concerning Uriah it is written, “Therefore because of you Zion shall be plowed as a field…” Concerning Zechariah it is written, “Old men and old women shall yet sit in the streets of Jerusalem.” Before Uriah’s prophecy was fulfilled, I feared that Zechariah’s prophecy might not be fulfilled. Now that Uriah’s prophecy has been fulfilled, it is known that Zechariah’s prophecy will also be fulfilled. In this language they said to him: Akiva, you have comforted us! Akiva, you have comforted us!

Rabbi Akiva stands before the sharpest and most painful contradictions and fills his mouth with laughter. He is satisfied with what he knows, and he refuses to become entangled in contradictions or to draw pessimistic conclusions, even when the situation—or the verse before him—remains unexplained. Sometimes, when there is no explanation, or when the explanation is strained, this is the better way to proceed. “This is a principle in the Torah”…

Footnotes