Flying to Cyprus Erev Pesach, a Chanukah bris in Monte Carlo, walking miles through London to get home for Shabbos… it’s about meeting Klal Yisrael wherever they are
It was February 1995 and I was doing my weekly Thursday night shift as a junior doctor in Shaare Zedek Medical Center, when I received a phone call from the department head.
“I am admitting Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach to the ward. All the paperwork is done. Just take bloods and start antibiotics.”
I had been working in Shaare Zedek for a couple of years by then, and had treated rabbanim and dayanim before, but this was a different level altogether. This was the leader of our generation, the master of the Torah world. Jews flocked from around the globe to see him and seek his counsel. When Rav Shlomo Zalman spoke, his words carried steely authority, yet his face — his sparkling eyes and endearing smile — was all warmth and compassion.
And now he was my patient! I was excited, nervous, worried — the gadol hador in the ward, and little me in charge. I had to take blood from the gadol hador! What if I took more than absolutely necessary? What if I caused him pain?
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