Like many confirmed bloggers and Facebook post-creators, I spend more time writing my own material than I do in reading what others have to say. I do however try to allocate some time each day to reading the posts and comments of my Facebook friends, most of whom I have never met in person.
I recently read a Facebook post (see link below) that
greatly moved me. The author is Eliezer Diamond and it leads with the words “This is a tough one to write”. The reason why this post was difficult to
write is apparent from the opening paragraph, which reads:
I had an appointment with my
prostate cancer oncologist this past Wednesday. My children have stressed to me
the importance of one of them being present at my appointments going forward,
and so one of my daughters, who is a medical professional, was part of the
virtual meeting. The doctor in question was the one with whom I have had a
difficult relationship, but in this appointment she was a model of clarity and
patience – due, in part, to my having asked in a recent message that she
address me as Rabbi Diamond. I hated making that request – our rabbis tell us
not to use a rabbinic title as “a shovel with which to dig,” in other words as
a means of receiving preferential treatment, but playing the rabbi card was the
only means I could think of to get her to treat me respectfully. I thanked her
at the end of the appointment for her having explained my situation so clearly.
According to the World Cancer Research Fund, prostate cancer
is the fourth most commonly suffered form of the disease. The American Cancer
Society adds that it affects one man in every 12. Rabbi Diamond writes about
his condition in a way that is both matter-of-fact and sensitive. I wish him a refuah
shelemah, as I’m sure other readers will do too.
I was particularly struck by Rabbi Diamond’s sensitivity to
the rights and wrongs of asking to be addressed as “Rabbi”. Hillel touches on
this issue at Avot 1:13 where he teaches that one who exploits the crown of the
Torah will fade away, but the metaphor of using the Torah and, by implication,
one’s status as a Torah scholar as a “spade to dig with” comes from Rabbi
Tzadok at Avot 4:7 where he builds on Hillel’s apothegm and says:
אַל
תַּעֲשֶֽׂהָ עֲטָרָה לְהִתְגַּדֶּל בָּהּ, וְלֹא קַרְדּוּם לַחְתָּךְ בָּהּ,
וְכַךְ הָיָה הִלֵּל אוֹמֵר: וּדְאִשְׁתַּמֵּשׁ בְּתַגָּא חֲלָף, הָא לָמַֽדְתָּ,
כָּל הַנֶּהֱנֶה מִדִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, נוֹטֵל חַיָּיו מִן הָעוֹלָם
Do not make the Torah a crown to
magnify yourself with, or a spade with which to dig. So Hillel used to say: one
who make personal use of the crown of Torah will fade away. Accordingly anyone
who benefits from the words of Torah removes his life from the world.
Should one make use of one’s Torah status for personal benefit?
Our sages were clearly anxious not to do so. In one famous episode (Yerushalmi,
Shevi’it 4:2, 35b) R’ Tarfon, caught by guards when eating what turned
out to be his own figs, saved himself from a beating by crying out “Prepare
shrouds for Tarfon”. Even though he
didn’t invoke his rabbinical status, the fact that his unusual name, linked with
his massive repute as a Torah scholar, led to his being spared was something
that troubled him for the rest of his life.
In our daily lives, living within society at large, taking
advantage of one’s name and status is not seen as a harmful practice per se.
Indeed, it is often regarded as one’s entitlement or as a necessity—even if
there is arguably an element of deception at play. I can cite an example drawn
from my own experience.
Back in 1977 my wife and I moved into a house on a new
estate at the edge of Dublin. When we moved in, the public telephone network
had not yet been extended to our area. Eventually, telephone services became
available but it was difficult to get a phone line. After we had been on the
waiting list for well over a year, it became apparent that a small number of
our neighbours had been given phone lines. These fortunate souls, by some strange
curious coincidence, were all connected by bonds of family or friendship to the
Fianna Fáil party, which was then in office. At this point my wife decided to
take the initiative. She called the telephone company and insisted that it was
imperative for “Doctor Phillips” to be given a telephone at the earliest
possible opportunity. The person at the other end of this call did not ask what
sort of doctor I was, and therefore never knew that I was not a doctor of medicine but a
doctor of philosophy. Even now, nearly 50 years after the event, my feelings
are split between guilt at leaping up the queue for installation of our phone
and delight at having secured a positive result in the absence of local protetzia.
To conclude, my admiration for Rabbi Diamond’s sensitivity
to this issue and I’m sure that, had I been a rabbi, I would have done exactly
the same thing.
For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.
