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It wasn’t a fair fight. In one corner was Sisyphus, a gigantic heavyweight, who was used to pushing boulders up a hill for eternity and then some. In the other corner there was me, a scrawny flyweight first-year yeshiva student wearing a white Shabbat shirt, who was used to sitting by a bookstand and struggling with difficult Tosefta. The ring stretched across the very short corridor next to the lavatory. The...