Chapter Three

The Rabbi

Five years before Hope’s death her cancer came back with a vengeance. The ominous part was the cancer had lodged deep in her abdomen, next to the spine. The surgery Hope was about to undergo was difficult: Her stomach and surrounding organs had to be removed to get to the cancer. At the time there was no other method to treat it. We agreed to the operation knowing how dire her situation was. Stage IV cancer surgery is very risky, and Hope suffered a complication from it: a tear formed in her intestine. A massive infection spread throughout her already weakened body. For three months she fought the infection like a soldier — a stalemate with no side winning or losing but carnage mounting in her body.

Death did not win and neither did health. At its height, the infection produced an unbelievable scene: One day as the doctors were inspecting Hope, a boil slowly developed on her abdomen. Brimming with pus, it grew like a volcano waiting to explode. And that is what occurred. The boil grew and grew in front of us as we watched in disbelief. The doctors were as spellbound as we were watching the skin rise and stretch, and then it broke, spewing ounces of infection in rhythm with Hope’s heartbeat. How our body tries to heal is amazing.

The next day, my father came to relieve me for a few hours. We all felt death was near. I was physically and mentally exhausted, I needed the rest. As I walked out of the hospital room I noticed an Orthodox rabbi dressed in his classic long robe and wide-brimmed hat, with tzitzit (ceremonial tassels) showing below his inner jacket. At this time in life I had become an agnostic, perhaps even an atheist. I’d lost all belief in Divinity. How could a wonderful woman like Hope be made to endure the constant torture of this horrific ordeal There could be no Divine that would permit this, I thought.

With the tired, worn soul only a long-term intensive caregiver wears, I approached the rabbi. He instinctively understood my mental and physical predicament, delicately accepted my approach, and offered the comfort that only a man of the cloth can provide. I broke down in uncontrollable tears, and said, “How can there be a G-d who is making my wife suffer so much? I used to believe in Him so faithfully, but now I feel He doesn’t exist.”

The rabbi responded with a parable I don’t remember clearly, but I do recall his final words of Divine wisdom: “G-d has a plan and one day you will understand it. There will be signs and unexplainable coincidences. Once you recognize and acknowledge them you will know He exists and there is a purpose.”

Hope survived that three-month ordeal. She left the hospital weighing ninety-six pounds, frail but alive and full of belief that she would live to see her grandchildren. I shared the rabbi’s words with her. Over the next several years of her illness the signs started to multiply and our understanding and belief in the Divine returned. After Hope’s death the signs continued, including her visitations to me and to her closest friends and relatives. Hope died believing there was more than this human existence; the smile on her face as she took her last breath was the evidence.