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In his book, "The Anatomy of Hope: How People Prevail in the Face of Illness," Dr. Jerome Groopman shares the following story:

Barbara received another three courses of chemotherapy, but the tumor seemed to shrug off the drugs. The deposits grew in her liver and in her bones. She lost weight and spent most of the time in bed. After the last cycle of chemotherapy, I admitted her to the hospital with a high fever. Antibiotics stemmed an early bacterial infection.

As Barbara slowly recovered from the infection, I told myself that I knew of no drugs, either standard or experimental, that stood a real chance of ameliorating her condition. The time had come for me to tell her.

I chose to visit in the early evening, when the hubbub of the hospital had settled down, so there would be less chance of distraction and interruption. Barbara greeted me warmly, as she always did. I moved a chair close to the bedside and grasped her hand. She returned the gesture, but it had little force. After we chatted for a short time about several articles in the day's newspaper, I began to break the bad news.

"Barbara, we've known each other for well over a year, and we've been honest with each other every step of the way." Briefly, her lips trembled, and then she regained her composure. Her eyes told me she knew what I was about to say.

"I know of no medicines that I can give at this point to help you."

We sat in heavy silence.

Barbara shook her head. "No, Jerry," she said. "You do have something to give. You have the medicine of friendship."

I shared this story recently at the Chemed Medical Ethics Florida Summit in an effort to encourage medical practitioners to see their work as much more than a profession or source of income, but rather as a remarkable platform and opportunity to perform acts of chesed, to the share the medicine of friendship on a daily basis.

Indeed, according to Halacha, Jewish Law, doctors are not even permitted to be paid for treating or healing patients. The Talmud (Bechoros 29a) rules that one may not be compensated for fulfilling a mitzvah (religious duty) . The Divine says, in essence, "Just as I share Torah and heal people without compensation, so too those who emulate Me must provide those services at no cost."

So how do doctors, educators, or rabbis Halachically charge or receive payment? Our rabbis rule that it is permissible to collect a fee, not for the healing or teaching, but for schar batala, the time spent on the noble activity that could have been used to earn a different income instead. Or they are paid for schar tircha, compensation for the trouble or effort exerted. Alternatively, for schar halicha, the travel expense incurred.

While Halacha provides a legal mechanism to be paid, medical providers should still be mindful that the remuneration is not coming for their healing and treatment, which must remain sacred acts of chesed, gestures of lovingkindness.

Following my presentation, one of the participants, a gastroenterologist, shared with me the following story: When he was in in 40's, he developed regional migratory osteoporosis, a rare condition where a person experiences severe, excruciating, migrating joint pain. A flare-up would hit, last eight to nine months, and then go away. There is no treatment for the condition and during an episode it is nearly impossible to find relief.

He had suffered for nine years on and off from the condition and one time found himself going through a bout. The pain was so severe and his joints so compromised that he could only get around with crutches. "It was motzei Yom Kippur," he told me. "I was in unbearable pain, truly suffering. We were supposed to go to Israel for Sukkos and I could barely get around. After breaking the fast, I went up to my bedroom and just cried. I was so low, depressed, frustrated, angry, and I called out to G od asking Him, why would you give me this rare condition? Why would you put me through such pain? What are you trying to tell me?"

Just then, a Talmudic passage (Bava Metzia 85a) he had previously learned popped into his head. Rebbe Yehuda HaNasi, the great direct descendant of King David and the editor of the Mishna, was minding his own business when a calf that was being led to slaughter came running toward him to hide. The calf nuzzled inside Rebbe's robe and began to weep in fear. Instead of protecting or comforting the calf, Rebbe scolded it and said, "This is why you were created, go back to your owner." He then sent it on its way to meet its demise.

At that moment, it was decided in Heaven that since Rebbe hadn't shown compassion toward the calf, he wasn't worthy of compassion and would suffer great pain. Beginning then, Rebbe suffered six years of kidney stones and seven years of scurvy. The pain was so intense, the Talmud relates, that Rebbe's scream could be heard by the sailors out at sea.

One day, Rebbe's maid was sweeping the house when she encountered young weasels. She was disposing of them when Rebbe said to her, "Let them be, after all, the verse says, v'rachamav al kol ma'asav, the Lord has mercy on all of His creations." At that moment, it was determined in Heaven that since Rebbe was compassionate, he would receive compassion and his suffering ceased.

The doctor shared with me that it occurred to him, maybe his suffering from this rare disorder was meant to teach him to have more compassion for his patients. He realized that night that for his whole career, he had practiced very clinically, impersonally, quickly going from patient to patient, expediting their visits as quickly as possible. That night, in his bedroom, he wiped away the tears and felt Hashem had answered his question, He gave this physician insight into his suffering and he knew what he had to do differently.

The very next morning, someone stopped him in shul and asked for his help with a GI issue he was having. Instead of blowing him off or answering on one foot, he sat down with the person, looked him directly in the eye, listened to his issues, felt empathy for his situation, and recommended a remedy.

Almost immediately, his own pain began to dissipate and disappear. He returned to his practice a transformed man, intentionally connecting with and feeling sympathy for those in his care, not just seeing them as a patient but as a person. He healed not only from that particular episode of regional migratory osteoporosis, but the condition went away entirely and never came back again.

He finished the story by suggesting that maybe this is what King David means in the verse (Psalms 94:12): Ashrei ha'gever asher teyasrenu Kah u'mitorasecha selamdenu, "Happy is the man whom You discipline with suffering, the man You teach from your Torah." He had looked in the Torah to make sense of his situation and he walked away having learned a lesson that changed his life.

Early this year, a study was published in the Journal of General Internal Medicine showing that meeting a patient's eye level while talking about their diagnosis or care make a huge difference. Making the effort to sit in the office or hospital when speaking with a sitting patient, being on the same level and looking them in the eye, brought about a better outcome and helped patients recover quicker and better.

A recent study showed that all it takes is eight minutes with a caring friend to significantly decrease anxiety, depression, and loneliness. Eight minutes of a conversation, visit, or even text exchange.

You don't need a medical license or the ability to prescribe to dispense the medicine of friendship. You simply have to care, to literally or metaphorically get to someone else's eye level for eight minutes, look them in the face, make them feel seen, and care to show the kindness of companionship. 5

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg is the spiritual leader of the Boca Raton Synagogue.