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

Photos: Mendel Photography

A Blessing on My Head

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?

I looked at the medical folder and the sticker that bore his name. It said simply: “Auerbach, Shlomo Zalman.” Was it possible that they didn’t know who this man was? I told the nurses that Rav Shlomo Zalman was on the ward, and was stunned to discover that they had, in fact, never heard of him. Unfortunately, they were to understand his unique position in the hearts of the Jewish People a week or so later, as hundreds of thousands of mourners flocked to accompany him to his final resting place.

But for now, I would just be taking blood. I approached his room and passed the small cortege that was accompanying him. I was grateful that I managed to take blood efficiently enough, and carried on with my work. The next morning, I decided to wish the Rav a good Shabbos before going back to yeshivah, where I was studying for semichah.

By this time the entourage had multiplied, and as I approached a black wall of men in the Rav’s room, I heard a voice whisper, “Dos iz der doktor.” The human wall duly parted, and I walked straight to the edge of the Rav’s bed. He was sitting up and looking much better than the previous night. His famous smile illuminated the entire room.

I wished him a good Shabbos, and he gave me the greatest gift a person can receive — the brachah of a gadol at the pinnacle of his greatness, who was soon to rejoin Hashem in purity and completion. It was an awesome moment for me, to which I’ve attributed any future success that has or will come my way.

Within a few years, I earned semichah under Rav Yitzchak Berkovits and trained as a mohel under Rav Yossel Weissberg. Within days of qualifying as a mohel, I performed the bris of my firstborn, Avi, and a few months later, my wife Shanni, baby Avi, and I moved to London.

We’ve now been married for about 25 years, and in 2020 I was zocheh to be the mohel for Avi’s own bechor. With a generation of experience in the great mitzvah and privilege of helping families bring their baby boys into the Covenant of Avraham Avinu, I’ve been exposed to diverse and eclectic Jewish families, from struggling single Jewish mothers to media moguls and business tycoons, from the unaffiliated and antireligious to prominent rabbis and leaders of Jewish institutions. I have traveled to far-flung places in the UK and beyond, and have come to realize that Jews, irrespective of their backgrounds, are irrepressibly connected to the mitzvah of bris milah. But most importantly, I have seen over and over that Hashem runs the world and is intimately involved in our lives. Read on and you’ll see it, too.