Pirke Avot, verse five: the Wise
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets all cranky about the Wise.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets all cranky about the Wise.
In Which Your Humble Blogger just plain talks overmuch.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has a household, which I suppose is the first step.
In Which Your Humble Blogger refrains from drawing a connection between leaving one’s door open wide and the wise tramping dust all over the house, not to mention the heating bills.
In Which Your Humble Blogger opens a can of worms.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would have written more, and more coherently, if the server with the circulation catalogue didn’t go boom. As an excuse for neglecting my studies, well, it’s not very impressive, is it?
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t need to draw the distinction between on the one hand, giving the best chair to the oldest rabbi in the room, and on the other, giving the Chairmanship of a Legislative Committee to the longest-serving Senator. Right?
In Which Your Humble Blogger notes that it really is a good feeling when you make your place the place that people want to meet at. We haven’t managed it for years, but when it happens, the pride is powerful, personal and, er, something else that begins with a p. Pleasant? Profound? Pickle?
In which Your Humble Blogger also has a son with bad habits. Maybe someday he will buy a fish with a pearl in it! Probably not, though.
In Which Your Humble Blogger pretends to have read Kirkegaard, which, you know, not so much.