“Eizehu chacham?” Pirkei Avot asks. “Who is wise?”
“Ha-lomed mikol adam (the one who learns from everyone).”
I never imagined I’d see this teaching come to life at a poker table.
Recently, when I was playing, the conversation turned to deceit—not bluffing, but real dishonesty. People began sharing personal stories and reflections, exploring the roles of lying and enabling.
In a pause, I offered a quote: “It takes two to lie: one to lie, and one to listen.”
The dealer stopped, looked up, and said, “That’s life-changing.” He asked who said it.
He took a guess. “Gandhi?” Nope.
“MLK?” someone suggested. Nope.
“Mother Teresa?” Not this time either.
It turned into a full-on guessing game, eventually even 20 questions. After several minutes (and definitely more than twenty questions), someone finally landed on the answer.
Not a saint. Not a prophet.
Homer.
And not the poet but rather Homer Simpson.
And maybe that’s the deeper point.
Sometimes a line sounds profound enough that we instinctively attribute it to the most morally courageous voices we know. But wisdom doesn’t always arrive wrapped in moral authority. Sometimes it shows up in unlikely, even buffoonish places… and still asks something real of us.
“Eizehu chacham?” The one who learns from everyone.
