When The Sun Came Out

 It was cancer, but no one dare say the word. As if uttering it, even sotto voce, would cause it to metastasize throughout the community, as easy to catch as the common cold or the latest divorce.  The doctors called it an unpronounceable name that sounded far from benign. “Epithelial tumors of low malignant potential”, otherwise known as a borderline ovarian tumor.  We had always called it “THAT disease” in order to distance and fool ourselves into thinking that our loved ones wouldn’t get it, but we were wrong. 

She was only 16 and she was my niece. My younger brother’s beautiful blue-eyed and vivacious daughter and we were terrified and devastated.

My brother is a very religious Rabbi in Paris.  He has six kids and struggles financially, but serves as a confidante and strong spiritual shoulder to many who struggle emotionally and need his simple, common sense solutions to their problems. In private, he’s just the younger brother who inspired me to compose my first song in Yiddish at the age of 6., which literally translates to “Stay away from my brother, he is very wild”.

Even now, when I see him speaking eloquently at many prestigious and large forums, I can’t seem to reconcile the two.  The family “terrorist” with the bearded, soft spoken and compelling orator who has been living in France so long, that he even thinks in French. 

Though he never told me that his child was even slightly sick, I learned through my parents that he had been consulting with the most renowned pediatric oncologists in the U.S. and abroad to vet the right surgeon that would eradicate this demonic disease and ensure his eldest daughter a healthy and viable future.  At a time when parents and daughters should be arguing over boys and curfews, my brother and sister in law were facing something way more aggressive and insidious. Having had a heart attack in his early thirties, himself, he always faced his trials with a superior belief in a benevolent G-d whom he never questioned, but that didn’t stop any of US from asking “Why?”, but never to each other. 

Each sibling knew, but feared discussing it amongst ourselves or even to my brother himself, lest we bear the wrath of my parents, whose mottos have always been. “Don’t tell anyone” or more commonly known as “don’t ask, don’t tell.” My younger sister was actually the only one to openly discuss this with me. It was when we both traveled to the Holy Land to visit one of my sons who was doing his post-graduate year and a half at a yeshiva in Jerusalem.

It was an atypical winter in the holy land.  It was raw and the heavens spewed forth its hail on the slick Jerusalem stone.  The weather was as tumultuous and stormy as I used to be when I was married.

We were jet-lagged and cranky, but mostly dreadfully frightened of the upcoming surgery that would be taking place in Paris the next day.  If there was a vortex to the heavens to binge-pray, we knew this was the place.  Not only because it was the Holy Land,  but because my maternal grandmother, who was the most righteous woman we had known, was buried in Jerusalem on Har Hamenuchot.  We were planning to go in the relentless rain to pour our hearts out at her resting place.  I assured my sister that our “bobby” would never let anything bad happen to our precious girl.  I even joked that she probably had an “in” with G-d himself, for she had earned prime real estate in the world to come through overcoming many difficulties with kindness and service to others.  (I’m relying on her to reserve center-row orchestra, aka “house seats” when my time comes. After all, doesn’t it ALWAYS come down to whom you know?)

After an evening of nearly hugging my son to asphyxiation, I attempted to sleep, but couldn’t.  I couldn’t fathom the anguish my brother and sister-in-law were experiencing.   I have had my good share of challenges, but the worst fear of any parent was painfully being actualized before me.  I had a long conversation with my entourage of entities. (my grown up version of “invisible friends” that I speak to and yes, sometimes they speak to me too)

I even attempted to negotiate with G-d.  Apparently, I’m not that good at it, since my stint in Real Estate was lackluster to say the least.  I tried anyway and e- mailed a prayer group of women to add my niece’s name to a “tehillim” list, since there is strength and power in numbers.  We needed all the help we could get.

The next morning, we hailed a cab driven by a boisterous Yemenite spitfire with sunglasses on his head, even though it was foggy and frigid.  Again, my weak negotiating skills were highlighted by our overpaying the guy about twenty dollars for a fifteen minute ride to the cemetery, but I didn’t care.  My sister had generously procured us a beautiful apartment owned by her brother and sister in law and the free accommodations were a perk that I appreciated immensely (again, it’s all whom you know).

A cemetery on a gloomy day is a cliché and we were right in the thick of it.  My sister, who is a Floridian through marriage, was reacting to the cold like we were trekking up a mountain in Nepal.  These were the hills of Jerusalem,  a place where we were accustomed to the light and warmth of our ancestral home not wondering why we didn’t pack ski masks and a sherpa.

We carefully climbed the stone steps to the gravesite and tried not to slip and fall, since I didn’t know how good the ambulance chasers were in Israel and I wasn’t in the mood for a hospital or a lawsuit.  Thankfully the rain had tapered off and we stood before the sacred tombstone etched with the epitaph of our personal woman of valor, Pesha Bas Yehoshua Leib of blessed memory.

“Bobby, you HAVE to help us! Please ensure that our prayers are received and accepted by our merciful creator”.  We recited Psalms and cried out to the heavens.    I closed my eyes and pictured my niece on the operating table with a bright healing light enveloping her and shining on her body.  At that exact moment the strangest thing happened.

THE SUN CAME OUT.

I smiled and even laughed as I rejoiced in the fact that I KNEW our prayers were accepted and that my niece would be just fine and she is.  She is happily married and expecting her second child.  Who says there are no such things as miracles?