"Like Getting Hit By a Mack Truck": One Woman’s Fight with Cancer

Elana Waldman is fighting for her life.

At an ICRF luncheon, Elana Waldman spoke about her battle with ovarian cancer. (click here for the video).

“……….I was diagnosed 20 months ago on August 19, 2005. Time is running.

On September 23, 2005, after extensive surgery, I was told the cancer was stage 3c despite my doctor’s earlier belief that it was not that advanced. The diagnosis meant that I needed chemotherapy and only had a 30% chance of surviving 5 years from that point. At 32 years old, while trying to build my family and with a 2 year old daughter, this news was devastating.

When I was told the statistics though, I guess I couldn’t wrap my head around them because I never thought I would die. No one I knew had ever died from cancer. My own mother had fought and beat the disease twice. I knew I had a tough road ahead of me but I always focused on the light at the end of the tunnel and just did what I had to do to get better. It was hard but many others had done it before me and I knew I could and had to do it for my family…..

My cancer has returned. When I was told this time, the news hit me like a Mack truck. The numbers for a recurrence are even worse than for an original diagnosis and my chances for survival are small. I understood the numbers this time and the implications for me and my family. The diagnosis shook me to my core and I had a huge reality check. I have cancer, a potentially fatal disease. This is not something that regular medication can treat and I am now literally fighting for my life, everyday. I have given up my career to focus on my health and my family. I want to enjoy as much time as I can while I feel strong and healthy. I want to be a spokesperson for ovarian cancer for a long time but more importantly I want to see my daughter grow up and I want to grow old with my husband.

These simple goals in life that I now set for myself are in jeopardy so I have truly learned to enjoy all the everyday miracles that I do have – my daughter’s smile, my husband’s kiss, my mother’s laugh. I am more than this disease and I do not want to let it take away everything else that makes me the person that I am. I am asking you to help me continue to enjoy these miracles. Your donations and your generosity allow our scientists to do cutting edge research which will hopefully lead to a cure for cancer. Your support for ICRF directly benefits people who are battling cancer and on all their behalves, I say thank you.”


Watch the video. It will hit you like an emotional Mack Truck.

Elana’s courageous battle with cancer will touch your heart.

Elana’s appreciation for everyday miracles will open your eyes.

Elana’s determination to help others will inspire you to become a Happiness Warrior.


May God give Elana a speedy recovery.


courage

cancer survivor

elana waldman

Life in the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Grief is an uncomfortable suit; no one knows how to wear it properly.

Some friends callously urge the mourners right after *shiva “to move on with life”. The mourners are pressured to do things they are not emotionally ready for, like get rid of clothing, go out and party, and smile all the time. These friends, unable to deal with their companions’ grief, just want the mourners to act as if nothing happened.

On the other hand, some mourners can’t let go. Because mourning is an act of respect for the dead, it can become a prison: either you experience the pain of mourning, or the pain of feeling guilty for not mourning. Every smile feels like an act of disrespect to the deceased.

The upshot of all this is that grief becomes a minefield of emotional contradictions. What the Book of Psalms calls “the valley of the shadow of death” is a place where every smile and every sob has complex meaning.

But everyone must try navigate this minefield. Susie Weiss, in an article in today’s Jerusalem Post, writes about one such attempt, for families like hers, the families of fallen Israeli soldiers:

It was the first day of the Pessah vacation……As we go through our morning routine, my 13-year-old daughter, Ayelet, is particularly excited today as she anticipates quality time with Mom, at the Luna Park in Tel Aviv. Bubbie, visiting from the States for the Pessah holiday, cannot for the life of her understand how I have nothing better to do today than go to an amusement park with my daughter. "Doesn't she have girlfriends she can go with?" I'm lectured.

Fortunately, Ayelet has no girlfriends who can share this Fun Day with her at the Luna Park. Today is strictly for siblings of fallen soldiers, sponsored by the Israel Defense Forces, at no charge to the participants…….

So off we marched. As I was dragged from one stomach-churning ride to another, the scene before us was surreal. The place was packed with kids and families, as well as soldiers who work with bereaved families. The IDF marching band was winding its way around the park throughout the day while costumed dancers and entertainers spoiled the kids with prizes, balloons and candy. Children and adults from all segments of society - including several Druse families - had their hands full of cotton candy, stuffed animals and food, running madly from ride to ride, packing in as much as possible in this one magical day.

MY HEAD was spinning with this scene of a typical day at the amusement park, yet I knew that each and every one of us was here for the same grim reason: Each of us will soon weep at our son's or brother's grave on Remembrance Day. Ari was our ticket for the day, and I hated it. Who were we all fooling?

Susie’s visit to the amusement park was filled with ambivalence. How can you party in a graveyard?

But she went to the amusement park anyway, along with hundreds of other families. At times, grief is the greatest honor one can give to the deceased. We literally stop our lives to sit and cry, paralyzed by overwhelming pain.

But at some point, we start to honor the dead by living. We continue to live because we must, and because every day appreciated and enjoyed is a tribute to those who have left us.

Or, as Susie puts it:

The army wants to make sure that bereaved siblings growing up in the shadow of their fallen brothers and sisters are not neglected or pushed aside by eternally grieving parents.

They are entitled to have some fun too, in spite of the tragedy that has touched their lives…....

Of course, while one can honor the dead by living, you still cry anyway. Susie concludes by writing:

Taking the bus home, exhausted, loaded with souvenirs and still nauseous from all the "fun" rides, Ayelet thanks me for a wonderful day. I feel bad when the tears well up in my eyes as I tell her to rest on the bus ride home. She knows all too well that Fun Day is over - it's time to return to Life.

Today, on Israel’s Memorial Day, my heart goes out to all those who live life in the valley of the shadow of death. May God stand with them, today and always.


* Shiva = the Jewish seven day mourning period following the death of a family member

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Environmentally Sound Blogging: A Recycled Post

The following is my upcoming Canadian Jewish News column, which recycles these two posts (this one and this one). Let me know what you think!

My Secret: The Wisdom of 400 Funerals

A new DVD + Self Help book phenomenon has arrived: The Secret.

What is The Secret? It’s the “Law of Attraction”. “Based” on Quantum Physics, the Law of Attraction asserts that our thoughts change the actual energy of the universe, reshaping reality. In other words, what you think physically changes the world. The “Law of Attraction” is “the secret to unlimited joy… everything you have ever wanted”.

Frankly, this is solipsistic superstition that only a narcissistic coward could love. The Secret appeals to people who are afraid to accept how dangerous the world can be, and are so self absorbed they think they can change the world with their own daydreams. In real life, puppies die. Car accidents happen. Hurricanes occur. All the visualization in the world will not change this.I know this because I’m a Rabbi, and I’ve officiated at over 400 funerals.

But I have a “secret” of my own. My excessive funeral attendance has actually left me with a renewed sense of purpose.

Every life is too short. I remember attending the funeral of a 103 year old woman, and watching her daughter cry at the cemetery. Most people would accept 103 as a ripe old age. So why did the daughter cry? Anticipating my question, she said to me: “it doesn’t matter when they go.... it’s always too soon”.

Life is often bitter as well. As prepare for the funeral with the deceased’s family, I often hear about struggles with bankruptcy, tragedy, and illness. Indeed, personal difficulties are so ubiquitous one is inclined to agree with Buddha that “life is suffering”.

But at these 400 funerals I discovered something else: Life is wonderful.

Eulogies are the core of a Jewish funeral. They come to honor the dead, by explaining how the deceased made a difference. And sometimes, the difference the deceased makes is with the little things they did. Like how they hugged their grandchildren, or the corny jokes they used to tell that somehow brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Even the shortest, toughest lives are filled with meaningful moments.

More inspiring are anecdotes of struggle. A father, weakened by chemotherapy, who takes his young son to the movies. A mother who perseveres in making a family dinner right after undergoing surgery. A grandfather who spends his final day writing a letter to his grandchildren.
At one such funeral I came to a realization:

The awareness that life is tough is a prerequisite to finding happiness.

Expecting everything to be alright sets you up for disappointment. If you truly want happiness, you have to fight for it. I learned the only alternative to denial and cynicism is to become what I call a “happiness warrior”.

Happiness warriors accept the harsh landscape of life, and are willing to commit themselves to the battle for happiness.

That’s my secret, the combined wisdom of 400 funerals.

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Why I Became a Happiness Warrior:
The Combined Wisdom of 400 Funerals

I go to way too many funerals. As a Rabbi, I’ve officiated at over 400 funerals.

You might imagine that excessive funeral attendance would leave me with a sense of hopelessness. In actuality, it has left me with a renewed sense of purpose.

Yes, every life is too short. I remember attending the funeral of a 103 year old woman, and watching her daughter cry bitterly at the cemetery. Now most of us could accept 103 as a ripe old age, so why did the daughter cry? Anticipating my question, she said to me: “it doesn’t matter when they go.... it’s always too soon”.

It’s always too soon, and life’s always too short.

And yes, life is often bitter as well. As I talk with the deceased’s family in preparation for the funeral, I often hear about their struggles with bankruptcy, tragedy, and illness. Indeed, personal difficulties are so ubiquitous one is inclined to agree with Buddha that “life is suffering”.

Life is tough.

But at these 400 funerals I discovered something else:

Life is wonderful.

In eulogies, I have heard multiple anecdotes about how the deceased made a difference. Sometimes it was by the way they warmly hugged and kissed their grandchildren, or the corny jokes they used to tell that somehow brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Even the shortest, toughest lives are filled with meaningful moments.

Even more inspiring are the anecdotes of struggle. About a father, weakened by cancer and chemotherapy, who takes his young son to the movies. About a mother who perseveres in making a family dinner even though she has just undergone surgery. About a grandfather who spends his final day writing a letter to his grandchildren, telling them how much he loves them.

I don’t know when it happened, but at one funeral I came to realization:

The awareness that life is tough is a prerequisite to finding happiness.

Soft and naive romantics, unprepared for the difficulties of life, have little hope of finding happiness. Expecting everything to be alright simply sets you up for disappointment.

If you truly want happiness, you have to be willing to fight for it. In short, I learned the only alternative to denial and cynicism is to become a happiness warrior.

Happiness warriors accept the harsh landscape of life, and are willing to commit themselves to the battle for happiness.

Having joined the cadre of happiness warriors, I can now pick them out of a crowd. No, they don't wear uniforms; but you can tell who they are because they're the ones with the chicken soup and corny jokes and..... quiet courage.

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Postscript: Post on Darfur in National Post!

Also, this post appeared in today's National Post. (The link is here.) I am still shocked and amazed at how many other silly events get endless media attention (e.g., Anna Nicole Smith), and an ongoing genocide is ignored by the media and the international community (if you can call it that.)

The Passover Paradox

Why do we spend so much time talking about slavery at the Passover Seder?

The Mishnah (Pesachim 10:4) tells us that we tell the Passover story by “beginning with humiliation and ending with praise”. In other words, we need to start with the tragic days of slavery, and then conclude with the redemption from Egypt.

This is an understandable way to present the Exodus story. Good dramatic structure requires a conflict and struggle before the joy of redemption. It makes sense to begin with slavery in order to facilitate a discussion of the joys of freedom.

But the ritual symbols at the Seder do not follow a straight linear path from slavery to joy. Indeed, there seems to be a weird mixing of symbols, were most ritual items at the Seder symbolize both slavery and freedom. For example:

Matzah: Mentioned in Exodus 12 as a symbol of freedom, reminding us of the hasty exodus from Egypt. Yet in Deuteronomy 16, Matzah is called a bread of affliction, which is understood by several medieval commentators as a reference to the fact that slaves eat a simple quickly baked bread like Matzah. So Matzah was also eaten by the Jews when they were slaves!

Matzah is now a symbol of both slavery and freedom.

Passover Sacrifice and Bitter Herbs: The Passover sacrifice is there to remind us of the salvation on the night of the Exodus. The bitter herbs, according to the Mishnah in Pesachim (10:5) is there to remind us of the bitterness of slavery. Yet according to Hillel, we eat bitter herbs and the Passover sacrifice wrapped together!

We insist on mixing the symbol of freedom and the symbol of slavery.

Charoset: This food, warranted by the Mishnah, is also a dual symbol. According to the Talmud (116a), it is either a symbol of the remarkable ability of the Jews to survive and even grow in population during slavery, or a bitter reminder of the straw and mud the Jews used in their construction work in Egypt. Again, another dual symbol!

Four Cups of Wine: The Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 6:26) says the four cups symbolize a variety of things. One is the “four languages of redemption” used by God to describe the redemption. Another is that the four cups symbolize the four different exiles predicted by Daniel. Again, another ritual that represents both exile and redemption!

There are multiple other examples of this as well. Red wine can represent the blood of the children killed by Pharaoh, or the redemptive blood of the Passover sacrifice painted on the doorposts. Eggs can be a symbol of mourning for the destruction of the Temple, or they can be a "round" reminder that the circle of history can swing from exile to redemption very quickly. And such is the case with nearly every ritual at the Seder. Years of interpretation have embedded each ritual with a dual nature, and virtually everything we do is a reminder of both slavery and redemption.

So what is the meaning of this paradox? Well, all good paradoxes don’t have a “solution”. They are meant to encourage ongoing thought, to force us to come up with new insights year after year.

So instead of offering my own interpretation, I leave you with this paradox, and hope it gives you some food for thought at the Seder.

Chag Sameach!!

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