I was stunned. Where did he get the idea of an autograph from? Unsure how to respond, I simply said, “It’s not a Yiddishe thing to do.” My son dropped the matter and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Something about this brief exchange continued to bother me, however. What, I kept asking myself, was wrong? Why did the notion of my son seeking a singer’s autograph bother me so much?

I thought back to a scene that had occurred a number of months earlier. I had the zechus of taking a group from our shul on an Elul chizuk trip to Eretz Yisrael. The trip was a whirlwind of experiences and inspiration as we met with one memorable individual after another. Friday night found us at the home of Chaim Dovid Saracik, fondly known throughout the Jewish music world as Chaim Dovid. If you haven’t heard of him, you may have heard the song “Yamamai,” or some of his other musical hits. Together, we sat on Chaim Dovid’s rooftop overlooking Har Habayis as we sang late into the night. It was powerful, uplifting and very inspirational.

But here’s the funny thing. As impressed as we were by this famous singer’s talents, the word “autograph” never crossed our minds. And that wasn’t simply because it was Shabbos. Nor was it because we were adults, too mature for that kind of thing. Sitting together on a rooftop overlooking Har Habayis, bonding together through songs of dveikus, something as immaterial as a human signature faded into absolute nothingness. Had my nine-year-old been present, I have no doubt he would have shared that feeling.

But that brings me back to the question: Why, in fact, did my son desire a singer’s autograph? What was the difference between the fundraiser and Chaim Dovid’s rooftop?

The answer, I think, lies in the nature of the singer’s presentation. Some singers sing with the crowd; others sing to them. Our kumzitz with Chaim Dovid was an experience of a talented individual bonding with fellow Yidden through song. His musical talents and gifted voice were merely a means toward a common, elevated end.

But then there’s the singer who performs for you. You may watch and enjoy the performance, but the experience isn’t bonding. If anything, it’s divisive. The singer’s talent has become an end unto itself, his unique abilities setting him apart from his less talented peers.

In the secular entertainment world, autographs are sought, cherished, even auctioned. Because the performer’s identity has taken on exaggerated value, his G-d-given talents result in little more than a glamorous external image.

The concept of a celebrity is antithetical to everything we Yidden stand for. The word “celebrity” comes from the word “celebrate,” meaning that we celebrate an individual for his talents and abilities. The obvious problem is that talents, like everything else, come from HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and don’t truly belong to the one upon whom they were bestowed. Autographs make sense in a world that celebrates people’s externals.

Klal Yisrael, too, celebrates certain individuals. When an adam gadol comes to visit, from Eretz Yisrael or elsewhere, he is greeted with pomp and grandeur. Festivities are held in his honor, music blares, and banners are waved. The critic may point to this and say, “See? You, too, cherish your celebrities, place them on a pedestal, and value them more than the average citizen.

As a community rav, I can respond to this claim based on firsthand experience. As any rav will tell you, the most crucial requirement in our line of business is having a rebbi — a reliable source of daas Torah upon whom we can rely when questions are too difficult for us to manage alone, as is often the case. I have the zechus to be in constant contact with two roshei yeshivah, Rav Elya Brudny shlita and Rav Yosef Elefant shlita, whom I am fortunate to call my rebbis. These are probably two of the busiest people in Klal Yisrael, involved in hundreds of pressing issues at any given time. And yet… whenever I call, they respond. It may be a few hours later, but they respond. And they listen. And they care.

Our gedolim may be celebrated, but they’re not celebrities. Celebrities are wrapped up in themselves and preoccupied with the image they seek to project. In their “it’s all about me” philosophy, answering phone calls is hardly a priority. But for our gedolim, our cherished, and, yes, celebrated gedolim, the focus is on others. They see it as their sacred duty and invaluable privilege to answer that phone call.

Celebrities create an aura where you want to ask for their autograph. We somehow feel compelled to feed the over-inflated ego that they have cultivated as their life’s mission. When they grant us their autographs, they are taking far more than they are giving, reveling in the adulation the request represents.

Gedolim, on the other hand, create an environment in which you feel the love they want to shower upon you. We celebrate them, we wave banners and play music, because we know they’re here for us. They’ll answer our phone calls, listen to our problems, and answer our questions.

Recently, our community had the great privilege to host Eitan Katz, another incredible Yid who fuses neshamos together through the power of his Torah and song. I told him the story of my son and the autograph.

He looked at me and said, “When someone asks for my autograph, I give them a hug — that’s my autograph.”

His autograph is the signature of one Yid embracing and giving to another.

Now that’s an autograph.

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 737. Rabbi Avrohom Weinrib is the rav of Zichron Eliezer in Cincinnati, rabbinic administrator of Cincinnati Kosher, and assistant executive director of AKO.