According to the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva presided over 24,000 students until a terrible plague decimated nearly all of them (only 5 survived) in the 2nd Century CE. “Why did these students die?” asks the Talmud. The answer: “Because they did not show honor to one another.”
There are many questions one may ask about this story, but none is as troublesome as this: Rabbi Akiva was known as a lover of all, and he taught the same to all his students. Indeed, Rabbi Akiva is best known for the following statement: “Love your Neighbor as Yourself – this is the great principle of the entire Torah.” So I could understand Rabbi Akiva’s students failing to show up on time for morning prayers. And it is not inconceivable to imagine them being lax in some other ritual matter. BUT TO NOT SHOW HONOR TO ONE ANOTHER — that seems difficult to accept. They were Rabbi Akiva’s students! Respecting one another was his main lesson — and legacy. How is it possible that they failed to heed this message?
One possible answer can be gleaned from a proper understanding of the historical context in which Rabbi Akiva — and his students — lived.
The Temple had just been destroyed and Jewish national sovereignty suspended. According to the Talmud, the reason for these tragedies was sinat chinam, senseless hatred. People simply did not respect one another.
One might think this was a social plague of the common people alone, but clearly the scholars of the day were also involved. Consider but one of the distressing stories the Talmud shares with us in this regard. A certain student of Rabbi Akiva had become ill. The students of Torah are informed of his illness and his need for assistance … yet no one lends a hand. To the contrary, every student buries his head in his holy books instead and completely ignores the plight of their fellow student. Eventually Rabbi Akiva himself hears about the situation and visits the ill student. He had nearly died by this time, but is immediately refreshed by Rabbi Akiva’s visit. “You have saved my life!” he tells Rabbi Akiva. A happy ending, maybe, but where was everyone else?
So this was the sad state of Torah scholars in the time of Rabbi Akiva. What I would like to suggest is that the situation was even worse prior to Rabbi Akiva entering the scene.
Consider the following.
The story is told of Rabbi Akiva as a young man. He is a shepard, supposedly an ignoramus, not even able to read the alep-bet. Rachel, the daughter of the employer of Akiva (for he is not a Rabbi at this time) sees something special in this simple Shepperd. They fall in love and decide to get married — with one condition: Akiva must go to the beit midrash and learn Torah. Prior to this moment in his life – he is now 40 – he had never set foot into the beit midrash. Yet he agrees. Rachel’s father, Kalba Savua, is quite upset. Although quite wealthy, he refuses to support Rachel and Akiva in any way whatsoever. They marry and live in poverty, but Akiva becomes a great scholar.
Up until now, I’ve shared the traditional way this story is understood. But there are other Talmudic sources that suggest an alternative reading. For example, we are told that Akiva was not simply an ‘ignorameous’ — a person who couldn’t read the aleph-bet, presumably because he never had the opportunity to learn before – but rather, he consciously chose to remain outside the world of the beit midrash. In fact, the Talmud tells us that Akiva, prior to becoming one, hated the Torah scholars of his day. If he met one along the way, he would have ‘bitten him like a donkey.’ We see, therefore, that Akiva’s lack of Torah knowledge was not an accident; he purposely did not avail himself of the Beit Midrash world, and actively tried to avoid it. Why?
Perhaps part of the answer is that the early Akiva was very similar to the late Akiva, at least in the ways it mattered most. He may not have been a Torah scholar, but he certainly possessed the same love and respect for others that he preached about later. This, of course, makes sense; after all, we are told that Rachel saw something special in Akiva. He was a sensitive soul. He respected people. He didn’t raise his voice. He was caring. He was honest.
Would such a person want to become a Torah scholar in those days – when Torah scholars were known to use their Torah to lord over others, to disrespect others, to be selfish? Of course not. Rabbi Akiva was not an ignoramus. He was not a bore. To the contrary, he was a sensitive, principled man. He simply lacked Torah knowledge, which for him, was not considered so valuable given the results it produced in others. This is why he hated the beit midrash. Not because he was afraid that he couldn’t learn Torah, but because he was afraid that he might unlearn his basic principles.
We perhaps can say the same about Rachel’s father, Kalba Savua. His refusal to help his daughter is difficult to understand. The Talmud tells us he used to support the entire city of Jerusalem. In fact, even his name suggests his generosity. Poor people would come to his house hungry as a dog – Kalba in Aramaic – but leave fully satisfied - savua – after he gave them a meal. So he, too, was a tzadik, a righteous person. And he, too, might have ‘hated’ the world of the beit midrash for the same reasons his son-in-law did. They represent Torah, and yet they treat each other so poorly. I don’t want anything to do with that world. I refuse to support it in any way at all.
But then Rachel convinces Akiva to enter the Beit Midrash. What a betrayal to their shared enmity, thinks Kalba Savua. Akiva used to be a good guy, a righteous fighter against the hypocrisy of the selfish Torah scholars of his day, but now he is prepared to join them. I won’t have anything at all to do with them.
Before we tie all this together and answer the question of how is it possible that Rabbi Akiva’s students didn’t show respect for one another, let us consider one more story about Rabbi Akiva. We are told that one day he saw a stone with a hole in it, a hole formed by years of water dropping on it. He is moved by this scene. If a stone, which is hard, can be penetrated by water, which is soft, then certainly a man’s heart, which is soft, can be penetrated by Torah.
Usually, we understand this metaphor to suggest the following. Yes, Rabbi Akiva doesn’t know anything when he starts his long Torah journey at age 40, but if he perseveres — as he does — he will acquire a great deal of knowledge. Anything is possible with the proper commitment. But perhaps there is another way of understanding it. Perhaps Rabbi Akiva was not afraid about not being able to learn Torah because he was already too old, but rather he was afraid about not being able to make a difference in the Torah world because the scholars of his day were already too selfish. I believe in ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ he says to himself. But maybe I’ll never be able to convince the scholars of the importance of this phrase. They’re already too ensconsed in their warped way of life. … And then he sees the impression the water made on the stone. “It’s possible to make a difference!” he gasps to himself.
Rachel, of course, had always believed this. She conditioned their marriage on him entering the world of Torah, becoming prolific in it, and providing a model of what a Torah scholar can and should be. He hesitates at first (indeed, the Jerusalem Talmud says he doesn’t go to learn right away but waits 5 years), but is finally convinced that Rachel is correct by the water/stone analogy.
So he takes the plunge. He becomes a great scholar – for true change can only take place from within, from a position of knowledge. And then he tries to influence the scholars of his day. One example: In one Talmudic statement, we are told that there are 24,000 students. Elsewhere, however, we are told that Rabbi Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students. Why the different language? Perhaps the first thing Rabbi Akiva did was to ‘pair’ all his students together. You can’t be a great scholar — and decent human being — unless you lose your selfishness and join with others. So there cannot be 24,000 individual students; there must be 12,000 pairs.
But, alas, Rabbi Akiva is too late. Although he preaches day in and day out that “love your neighbor as yourself is the great principle of the Torah’ too much damage has already been wrought. The plague hits his students despite his best efforts of turning them around.
***
The plague ends on Lag B’Omer. But that is not the reason why we celebrate this day as a festival. As I noted earlier, the plague spared 5 students. These students, apparently, learned the lesson of Rabbi Akiva and DID respect one another. With these 5 as the foundation, Rabbi Akiva begins to teach once again. With these 5 it is possible, and eventually, Rabbi Akiva builds up 40,000 students from these original 5 — more than the number he had from before!
On Lag B’Omer we celebrate Rabbi Akiva’s spirit to try again. Yes, he failed miserably. And, of course, this was not his only failure. He also supported the Bar Kochba revolt, and that, too, ended in disaster. But no matter. He had the lesson of the water and the stone. Anything is possible; one just needs to never give up. And so Rabbi Akiva begins anew on Lag B’Omer and the Jewish nation begins anew as well. And this time, with the proper foundation — the foundation that Torah scholars must be mensch’s, that “Love your Neighbor as Yourself” must be the great principle of the Torah.
And one more thing. Now we can perfectly understand a second reason why we celebrate Lag B’omer. It was on this day, we are told, that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai passed away. Why celebrate the day of his death? Because it was also on this day, the day he knew he was going to die, that he shared all his secret Torah knowledge, knowledge that ‘lit’ up the world. And who do you think was Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai’s teacher?
That’s right, Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Shimon was one of his 5 remaining students. It thus makes perfect sense that his Torah is taught to the world on the day that Rabbi Akiva teaches all of us that one must never give up. After all, if he had, perhaps we would have never had a Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.
