Rabbi Twerski illustrated this idea with two beautiful stories. The first story is something that I think we can all relate to. The second story is so powerful that I — for one — cannot directly relate to it.
Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky was at a wedding and needed a ride back to Monsey. A single fellow was asked if he would mind driving Rav Yaakov home. The fellow jumped at the opportunity. When he offered the Rosh Yeshiva a ride, Rav Yaakov asked him if he would mind first showing him his car. When Rav Yaakov was taken to the car to look at it, he opened the back door and climbed in, to sit in the back seat. A few moments later he emerged from the car, closed the back door, and told the young man he would be happy to go to Monsey with him.
He explained that his wife would also be accompanying them, and he had to be certain that the back seat would be comfortable for her, before accepting the ride. He was not checking whether he would get to ride home in a Cadillac or a Mercedes. He wanted to make sure the back seat was comfortable enough for his Rebbetzin.
The other incident involved Rabbi Twerski’s father [Rabbi Yaakov Yisroel Twerski, Rebbe of Hornistaiple-Milwaukee]. Two months before the senior Rabbi Twerski died, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He called in his son, Rabbi Abraham Twerski (who is also a medical doctor) to discuss his situation. The senior Rabbi Twerski had been a rov for over 50 years. He had visited many patients, and he knew exactly what his prognosis was with such a diagnosis. He told his son, “They want to give me chemotherapy. It is not going to work, is it?” The son, based on his medical knowledge, confirmed his father’s prediction. The father then added, “I am going to suffer terribly from the chemotherapy.” The son nodded. The father then said, “It is really not worthwhile for me to do it. It is not going to help. It is only going to cause me pain and suffering. I believe the wise decision is not to have the chemotherapy.” The son confirmed his father’s analysis and he told his father that the decision was up to him (his father).
While they were having this conversation, Rabbi Twerski’s Rebbetzin was in the hall talking to the attending physician. She asked him if the chemotherapy would help her husband and he told her that his estimate was that the chemotherapy might add a couple months to his life. She said, “If he will live a couple of months longer, then we want it. If he will live a couple of days longer, we want it!”
She came in and told her husband that the doctor said the chemotherapy would help and it would give him a couple more months. She said, “I want you to have the chemotherapy.” She then walked out of the room.
The older Rabbi told his son, “We both know that this is not going to help. We both know that this is not going to give me another two months and we both know that it will cause me added pain and suffering. But if I do not take it, she will feel guilty for the rest of her life. Therefore, I will take it so she won’t feel bad.” He took the chemotherapy and he suffered from it. But he did it for his Rebbetzin - to spare her from guilt and to spare her the typical anguish of survivors (“had only I insisted... he may have had extra time in this world”).
