The Saga of Itzhak Rabine

There is, residing in a town which is neighbor to my own, a man named Itzhak Rabine. Now, I must tell you that his name is not really Itzhak Rabine. I have changed the name to honor the privacy of the man. I must also tell you that if I mentioned his real name, it would mean absolutely nothing to you because, beyond a very small circle of followers and friends, this man is unknown. Even so, the story that I am going to relate to you should be held in the strictest confidence, because Rabine is a very proud man and I would not want anyone even to try to guess what his real identity might be.

Itzhak Rabine is a rabbi. He is a member of an extremely orthodox sect and he oversees a congregation which must be considered, by any standards, small. When I tell you that it is at times difficult for the Rabbi Rabine to gather a minion which is a group of ten male parishoners necessary for the conduct of religious services-- a spiritual quorum so to speak-- you can appreciate that his congregation is small. Knowing that his congregation is so small, you must also surmise, and you are correct, that the Rabbi has a very small income. He augments his small salary by officiating at weddings and at funerals by special arrangement with a local funeral parlor. He also performs certain other rituals following the birth of male children which we need not dwell on here. And, by a stroke of fortune-- since his brother-in-law is the manager of a pickle factory in Brooklyn-- he more or less blesses Kosher pickles for a small annual stipend plus all the pickles he can eat.

The problem is-- put all his income together and Rabbi Rabine cannot provide for a wife and eight little Rabines. At least, the Rabbi was a medical indigent long before the term became popular with Health and Welfare Departments. But, the Rabbi was too proud a man to become a client of the Health and Welfare Department.

By chance, the Rabbi had in his congregation a certain Dr. Leon Edelstein, a general practicing physician who happens to be one of the best doctors around and who also happened to agree with the Rabbi. He also was too proud a man to see a Rabbi become a client of a Health and Welfare Department.

So, when the Rabbi started bringing his family to Dr. Edelstein for medical care, Dr. Edelstein recognized the financial problem and the need to keep the Rabbi from the necessity of becoming a client of the Health and Welfare Department even before the Rabbi told him. As a matter of fact, he came to consider it a kind of special privilege, and possibly a slight "in" with God, to treat Rabbi Rabine and his family for nothing.

When the time arose that the Rabbi or a member of his family needed care which was beyond the scope of Dr. Edelstein's practice, it became part of the good doctor's covenant with God to obtain the services of specialists and to convince each one of them to make his service also free of charge.

When my turn came, the process had become so refined, that each of the members of this

medical team had himself become a proselyter. So, I was not approached by Dr. Edelstein, but by Dr. Greenfield who was the team dentist. When he reeled off the names of the Rabbi's medical staff, it sounded like Who's Who on Long Island. It was a symbol of arrival to join such an illustrious company and, for one brief moment I must confess, I felt unworthy. However, the status alone of joining such an outstanding group finally overcame any misgivings I may have entertained and I agreed.

Shortly thereafter, the Rabbi appeared at my office accompanied by his eldest male child, Eli. Now, if I say that the Rabbi Rabine was an imposing man, I want to be sure that no one takes this amiss. What I mean to say is that the Rabbi was a man of imposing appearance. If you happen to have a copy of John Stuart Curry's portrait of John Brown, take it and color in the hair of the head and the generous beard jet black. Then you will have a reasonable likeness of Rabbi Rabine.

The Rabbi was a huge and powerful man. When the Rabbi shook your hand, all of you shook. I couldn't help thinking that this man must be endangering the careers of some of the most talented professional men in the area every time he shook hands with the members of his health team.

There he stood, a figure made even more impressive by a tent-like, overly long outer garment of black and topped by a black Homburg with an unbroken crown. Beside him stood Eli. Like everyone else, he looked frail standing next to his father. He seemed elongated, somewhat tall for his age. He, too, was dressed in black, but he favored a black snap-brim fedora which seemed positively rakish next to his father's Homburg. Even if you might expect it, it is a little startling when Eli removes his fedora to see that he wears a second hat underneath. This is, of course, a yarmulka, a skullcap, and Eli is a yeshivabucher, a student at a religious school. Keeping the yarmulka balanced on Eli's head while installing a full set of orthodontic bands turned out to be diverting to say the least.

The Rabbi Rabine was a no nonsense man in the upbringing of his children. When he said to Eli, "Eli, I want my eldest son to study for the rabbinate", the thing was already settled. Such was the father-son relationship. Therefore, when it came time for Eli to wear a headgear and rubber bands, all that was needed was for Rabbi Rabine to say to his son, "Eli, I want you to wear these things exactly as the doctor says" and it was as good as done. If I were to say that Eli wore his headgear and rubber bands religiously, you will understand the level of cooperation that I had.

I have said that the Rabbi received his medical and dental care free of charge. That is true. None of us ever sent the Rabbi a bill. However, it would be inaccurate to say that the Rabbi made no payment. He did. Once each year, just before Passover time which corresponds roughly with Easter, the Rabbi would appear at the office and leave some Passover wine and some of his wife's sponge cake. The amounts of these things varied from year to year and I never asked the Rabbi how he decided on the amount. One year there would be one bottle of wine; another year, two. Some years I received no sponge cake. But, best of all, on these occasions the Rabbi pronounced over me and my staff a blessing of great beauty, eloquence and length. I never felt that the quality or quantity of that varied, or that the Rabbi had a relative value scale for the length and depth of his annual blessing.

One day, when Eli had been under treatment for about ten months, the Rabbi came to me and he said, "You know, doctor . . ." and his head was nodding up and down with the words. And my head began nodding in phase with his, because I did know. "You know, doctor," he said, "Eli's teeth are beginning to look so beautiful that my daughter Esther is becoming jealous. Would you have a look at her teeth please and make her beautiful too?" I wound up treating five cases of jealousy in all, or six of the eight Rabine children. I must say that I have rarely had more cooperative or more appreciative patients. Still, if I make many more deals like this one, my transportation to heaven may be taken care of; I'll just have to worry how I'll get along until I'm ready to leave.

And, in a beautiful switch, the Rabbi has placed me on retention. Even though all the childrens' treatment has been completed, Rabbi Rabine dutifully shows up every Passover with Passover wine and a blessing upon me, my children and my childrens' children. On the most recent occasion, he

drew me aside-- this in an empty waiting room-- and he confided in me that his wife was expecting. "May this child be as beautiful as the others," he said, "and may this child not require orthodontic treatment." To which I can only add, "Amen" and "Let us pray".