I remember sitting in a corner during a break between two sessions at a congress of the American College of Surgeons when I saw a group of surgeons rushing towards one of the lecture halls, followed by other groups coming out of other halls and quickly heading towards the same hall. I thought to myself, what is going on in that hall and what important lecture is going to be given that a flood of surgeons has been sent that way!? Curious, I also went to that side and with difficulty found a place in a corner and stood there eagerly. When I noticed the title of the lecture: “The Business of Inguinal Hernia Surgery,” I was even more surprised, because what are these more or less elderly surgeons, each of whom has certainly performed a large number of hernia operations, looking for when they have gathered here with such eagerness! What do they want to hear that they don’t know? I was in this state of confusion when the speaker, who was probably about eighty years old and very elegant and well-groomed, entered, and all the sitting surgeons stood up and applauded him for a long moment. He began to speak and spoke in a very eloquent and attractive manner about his valuable business: many points that we knew and some of his personal experiences that we learned, and it was interesting that there was a silence that filled the entire hall. At the end of the professor's speech, his eyes fell on several of his fellow American surgeons who were among the participants. I took the opportunity and shared my surprise with them as to why there was so much enthusiasm and welcome for this professor? They all praised the speaker and his teaching experience and his passionate classes, emphasizing that this is a professor from whom desirable words should be heard. Truly, hearing from a professor is something for which there is no substitute, even if that professor is old and retired. ... I remembered that one of the old professors gave a lecture at Sinai Hospital. In the corridor leading to the conference hall, I saw two assistants talking. I said, "Aren't you coming to the hall?" They gave me a questioning look - I don't know, maybe even mocking - and one of them said: "We know what that professor wants to talk about." The other reached into his pocket and took out his smartphone and, pressing a few buttons, said: "All of the professor's words are here, and there's no need to waste any more time!" They said this and headed towards the exit of the corridor. ... And I was left with this question: despite all the technological advances in the virtual world, can the Internet replace the words of the professor? I don't think so, because: One must learn love from the lover's butterfly. Whoever learns something must learn it from the professor.