A weird experience

I went today for an ultrasound on my legs. The appointment was for 8:15 AM and since I don't have a car, even though in America I had two, I left the house at 7:15 AM. This means 1/2 mile walk in the boiling heat and waiting 15 minutes for the bus in the boiling heat. Covered in sweat is not the ideal way to arrive for a medical appointment. The bus ride is 20 minutes to the most Haredi part of the city.

So I arrived at 8 AM and the woman at the desk, who spoke a bit of English, tells me to wait outside room 5 where the technician will call me. She was all business. 

I'm the first one there. Then an older Charedi man arrives. The door opens at 8:10 and, without glancing at me, the man rushes into the room. The door closes. To judge him for the best, I theorized that maybe his appointment preceded mine and that he had already communicated with the technician. It's possible, although in America and the UK and many other places it is customary to say, I hope you don't mind I was here earlier.

As I sat waiting, a middle-aged secular Israeli arrives with an elderly woman who seemed to be his mother. He was quite a sight for an Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood. Shorts, sandals, a tight t-shirt that barely hid his big belly, and a shaved head. He pulled out a smart phone and was glued to it, his face impassive and grumpy. His fat face needed a shave. It was not a pretty sight.

20 minutes passed. It was 8:30. The door opened, but the technician did not emerge to announce anybody. The man in shorts and sandals rushed ahead of me, held the door for his elderly mother who entered. Somebody from inside closed the door and the man sat back  down in the waiting area, without looking at me, and went back to staring into the phone from his grumpy fat unshaven face.

I started to doubt that the technician was actually going to call anybody and that if I didn't get aggressive I was going to sit there all day. Another secular Israeli arrived, in jeans and a t-shirt. The man in sandals looked up without smiling or acknowledging the man in jeans and looked back at his phone. The man in jeans pulled up a chair and moved it to another room to sit by himself, where he stared into his phone.

I wondered what are these Chilonim doing here? Aren't there health clinics where they live?

20 minutes passed during which time I read this week's Toras Avigdor which explains sever panim yafos. He says:

Shammai says, הֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת – You should receive all people with a pleasant cast of countenance (Avos 1:15). Shammai said only a few words, less than ten words, but it’s full of information. Now, I’m not capable of understanding the depths of a mishnah, but my regular customers know that this maxim has at least four parts to it.

First of all, it says, “kol ha’adam—all people.” It means not only the person you like, who smiles at you. Kol ha’adam means even a nudnick, even someone you don’t like. Some people are not so pleasant. Sometimes a fellow likes to talk a lot, and you’re in a hurry to get rid of him. But still, a smile you can afford to give him. That’s the command of the Torah—you should greet every man with a pleasant cast of countenance. And so, that’s number one to think about this week: Kol ha’adam. Every person deserves from you a seiver panim yafos.

Now, seiver panim yafos is three things. It says seiver and panim and yafos. It means three different things. I’ll explain that.

First of all, it includes panim. You must show your face to a person, not your ear. Panim means you show him the front of your face, not your profile.

Let’s say you walk into the house tonight and your mother says, “Hello, Chaim. Were there many people at the lecture tonight?” You’re passing by, going to your room, so without turning your head you say, “Yes, Ma. It was crowded.” That’s wrong. It says panim. It means, turn your face around.

When you come home from the Bais Yankev, and your mother is standing in the kitchen, are you going to walk by the kitchen and just show your mother your ear? Show your face to your mother, not the back of your head. You have neck muscles. That’s what they’re for, so you should show your mother your face.

Not only in the house. When you’re passing by a frum Jew on the street or someone in the hall of the yeshivah, in the hall of the Bais Yankev and the person greets you, don’t greet that person with your profile. Turn your face. That’s number one—panim. Greet people with your face.

The second thing is, it says seiver. Seiver is from the word sevara. Sevara means thought, intention. Showing your face sometimes can be as full of expression as turning the bottom of a pan toward them. You might turn your face to your mother, your sibling, your fellow Jew, but your face is deadpan. Oh, no; the face is only part of the story. There must be some expression, some interest in your face. Show you’re interested.

There must be some seiver, some thought in the face. Show that you’re thinking of that person when you look at him, that you’re interested in him. Not merely a look, a stare, a meaningless expression—put some sevara into it. Think about what you’re about to do when you smile at him. You want to make his day, his life, more pleasant by looking at him in a friendly way.

And the third part of your smile is yafos—a pleasant face! You show your face, and it’s a thoughtful face, but there’s a scowl? No. No! יָאִיר פָּנָיו! Shine your smile on him. Show him a thoughtful smile.

I chuckled at the contrast to his words that was my experience in this medical clinic.

The door opened and the elderly lady exited and the man in jeans bounded in from the other room. I blocked him from entering the examination room. Even though I had been in the waiting area when he had arrived he started to argue how he should go next. The technician made an appearance finally, and I announced my name to her. She looked at a paper and told me to enter. The man in jeans backed down.

She was a Dati Leumi woman whose accent seemed to be Russian. She wore tight fitting clothes. Without saying hello or good morning or telling me her name she took the approval paper from me. A big tefach of her hair appeared below her giant sized multi-colored bright head covering. She closed the door and looked at the paper, said something about reglaim, legs. I said yes. Then she told me to take off my shoes, socks, and pants.

My pants? I was surprised that she didn't hand me a robe or a sheet with which to cover myself. Since my Hebrew is still so incredibly weak, I have learned to be passive in these situations. When you are in country whose language you don't speak, your brain goes numb. You just nod and agree. So I took down my pants in front of the religious married woman in less than modest clothing, and sat on the table. She told me to lay down.

As she did the ultrasound test, I noted that the machine was made in America. It seemed to work just fine. The only normal part of my day so far was the part where the American made machine was the main actor.

When it was over, I headed for the bus where again I waited in the heat for 10 minutes. 15 minutes later I was near my house but stopped off to pick up a salad because I was famished. I had not been given instructions as to whether I needed to fast, just as before my recent blood test I had not been given instructions but did need to fast. So I mostly fasted today and was hungry.

The women at the salad bar were as unfriendly as the people at the medical clinic. Israelis generally look right through you as if you are not a person. I felt the Toras Avigdor with the discussion of seveir panim yafos crinkle in my pocket.

I thought as I often do that it's incredible to me that aliyniks calls this "coming home." 

If this were Atlanta, there might have been an exchange like this:.

"Well hello. What can I get you today?"

"One of your delicious salads is all I want."

"Well thank you for appreciating it. We do try. 

"And you succeed. I love the tuna."

"Well bless your heart. I made that myself. My mother gave me the recipe."

"I'll bet she's a great cook."

"She sure is. Bless your heart."

"Bless you too. And thank you for the salad."

"Have a great day now."

"You too honey."

Now that's seveir panim yafos. 

But that's Atlanta. And Memphis. In Michigan you get a slightly pared down version of the same.

It's like this:

And then there's Israel where you sit in a Haredi neighborhood surrounded by unfriendly Sabras who cut in line at the medical clinic as if you aren't even there.