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y schedule was packed that particular day, but I was always happy to help Rabbi Silver.

In fact, I was so happy to help him out that I even answered the phone in the middle of my chavrusa when my phone vibrated with his name on the screen.  Of course, I didn’t really have a choice, as he had called me six times in a row, but nonetheless Rabbi Silver always put a smile on my face and I wanted to do my best to help him out. After all he ran a top kollel in Jerusalem and his talmidei chachamim were certainly doing more than their share to protect Klal Yisrael.

“How can I help you out, Rabbi Silver?” I said as I picked up the phone once outside the beis medrash.

“I really hope I’m not bothering you, Dr. Yaakov,” he responded, “but one of my best talmidim is having horrible panic attacks and I want to make sure that you’ll be able to see him today.”

I was incredibly busy and had at least eight back-to-back patients already scheduled for the afternoon. People were going on vacation and wanted to be seen before they left, and people were returning from vacation and wanted to be seen upon arrival. And yet I knew what a lovely man Rabbi Silver was and how dedicated he was to his students, and therefore I felt it necessary to do my best to help him and his talmidim.

“I’ll be leaving the Old City after morning seder finishes around 1 p.m., and as soon as I can run to my office I’ll meet him,” I promised. “Just tell me his name so that I can finish my learning in his zechus.”

“Yehoshua Ben Chanah. Thanks Dr. Yaakov. Zei gezunt and yasher koyach!”

Baruch Hashem I was able to finish the seder with my longtime chavrusa Reb Zeev, who was more than understanding of the need to answer calls from time to time — he himself was still an active physician even after half a century in practice.

When seder was over and I made my way to Jaffa Gate, I decided it would probably be faster to run to my office than take my chances with the buses. As my good fortune would have it, an empty taxi pulled up right next to me as I waited to cross the street. Reconsidering my timetable, I motioned to the driver, who rolled down his window to discuss price and destination — and just as I was about to open the door and climb in, an avreich jumped into the back seat and slammed the door shut.

I was so shocked I couldn’t even react as he yelled to the cabbie, “Drive drive drive! I’m late!” As they sped off, I couldn’t figure out who was the bigger ganef — and I had to do some serious self-searching to remain calm. Maybe the driver was drunk and Hashem was rescuing me? Maybe he was going to charge me triple the agreed-upon fee? There were a million possibilities, but still, it was hard not to be angry as I stood there dumbfounded.

A moment later the honking of a second cab brought me to my senses and I had a whole ride to decompress as I made it to the office. Due to some traffic, I called Rabbi Silver to let him know that I’d be late and was relieved to hear that his talmid was also running behind schedule.

Before I knew it I’d reached my office, jumped out of the cab, and made a mad dash up the stairs. As I opened the door to my waiting room, I was shocked to see the same Yid who had stolen my taxi.

“Oy vey,” we said simultaneously.

“Uhhhhhhh,” he began to mumble. “I know this is awkward, but I’m Shuki and Rabbi Silver sent me here to see you…”

“…for help with anxiety attacks,” I responded. “Don’t worry, I don’t want you to have another one on account of this.”

We sat down, and I took his hand and felt his pulse. “Reb Shuki, it’s okay. I promise I’m not upset and that I won’t tell Rabbi Silver you stole my cab. We can either look at it that way, or we can praise you for doing your best to get here on time,” I said as I noticed that his elevated heart rate matched his anxious look.

“I… I… I didn’t want to be late and I—” he stammered as I cut him off.

“Listen, Shuki,” I told him. “We’re all human and you and I are both good people so let’s just put it behind us. I’ll tell you a story that I remember hearing a number of years ago back in medical school. There was once an top eye surgeon who was famous for his ability to repair traumatic eye injuries. He was also famous for his punctuality, arriving at 5:45 a.m. every morning for his first case. One morning as he walked outside, he was unpleasantly surprised to find that a crook had broken into his Ferrari and had stolen his radio and any other valuables that were removeable. As this famous doctor called the police to file a report, he found out that he wasn’t the only one on his street who was robbed, and that multiple luxury vehicles had been targeted.

“The doctor was pleased to hear that, in fact, the crook had been caught. In fact, one of his neighbors had found the fellow fiddling with his door and had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. ‘Serves him right,’ thought the doctor to himself, as he drove into the office that morning in his Ferrari minus the radio and the change in the glove compartment. As he entered the operating room, the nurses were surprised to see him 30 minutes late and told him that he needed to hurry up, as his first case was waiting. Boy, was he surprised to learn that the man lying there had been brought in by police in an ambulance after being hit in the head with a baseball bat while breaking into a car in the doctor’s own neighborhood. Without saying a word, the ophthalmologist went into operating mode and left all of his emotions outside, and he deftly repaired the criminal’s face with the same expert care he used with all his patients.”

“Dr. Freedman, I didn’t rob you or anything and it wasn’t even my fault, I mean I guess it was but I wanted to do the right thing and help you out by being here early. Gosh, I’m really sorry.”

“Listen Shuki,” I said. “Don’t worry — I caught another cab two minutes later. You’re a good guy and I’m here to help you .I told you the story because if that doc could come around, then who am I to bear a grudge?”

“That’s it?” asked Shuki somewhat incredulously, looking like he was expecting some kind of punishment.

“Shuki, it’s getting close to Chodesh Elul and if I’m asking Hashem for forgiveness, then I’d better emulate that myself. So, I’m mochel you,” I said. “Now, let’s see about these panic attacks — it’s a tough enough place out there without adding more unnecessary stress. And besides, next time you jump into a cab like that, the driver might think you’re a terrorist.”

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 721. Jacob L. Freedman is a psychiatrist and business consultant based in Israel. When he’s not busy with his patients, Dr. Freedman can be found learning Torah in The Old City or hiking the hills outside of Jerusalem.  Dr. Freedman can be reached most easily through his website www.drjacoblfreedman.com.