A spade to dig with

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.

This respect that Rabbi Tarfon had for the principle of not using Torah as a spade to dig with is all the more remarkable when one considers that what is at stake here is only a middah, a character refinement, and not a mitzvah, a commandment. In the case of almost every commandment, when one’s life is in danger one is not merely permitted but required to transgress it. However, where all that was at stake here was a recognition that it is best practice not to take advantage of the Torah or one’s Torah status, there is somehow less leeway.

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.