The period after receiving the cancer diagnosis was the darkest time of our lives. We found comfort and hope in the Rebbe’s letters to others in similar situations.
A friend, whom I had not subjected to a full description of my pains and complaints, sent me a letter the Rebbe had written to someone who was gravely ill. The Rebbe encouraged him to study Shaar Habitachon three times and truly internalize it.
When the friend called the next day to ask how I was feeling, I answered, “It’s complicated.”
“Didn’t you read the letter I sent you?” he scolded. “What gives you the right to talk like that? Internalize the bitachon, and you’ll know it’s as simple as simple can be. Nothing complicated about it!”
His strong words were just what I needed to hear to lift me out of my despondency and encourage me to carry on!
The doctors advised me to travel to Florida for extensive treatment. It felt wrong to leave our shlichus; to leave the Holy Land. But we read a letter from the Rebbe that comforted us and showed us the way forward. The Rebbe wrote to a man who needed to travel from Eretz Yisrael to America for medical treatment, explaining that the reason his treatment was taking him to America was because he had a specific mission to fulfill there. He needed to spread Torah and Yiddishkeit to the people of that community. The more he focused on his mission, the quicker the doctors would be able to fulfill their mission of curing him, and the sooner he’d be home in Eretz Yisrael.
This letter reminded me of my mantra: Lech Lecha!
When I arrived in Miami, I told Rabbi Lipskier that I wanted to be available for the community in any capacity I could. He could always call on me to give a shiur, farbreng, meet with someone, or anything else he thought could be helpful. Even when I was completely depleted after a chemotherapy session, I still tried to show up and fulfill my mission.
One day, I was visited by Mark*, who attended one of the nearby Chabad houses. He’d heard about my illness, and wanted to share his own experience with the dreaded disease. He wanted to encourage me, to show me recovery was possible and to inspire me to continue the fight. As we spoke, we touched on the fact that he wasn’t married yet.
“Rabbi, one day, I’m going to get married, and you are going to officiate under the chuppah,” he cried, emotionally.
“Amen,” I said, privately wondering if I’d even be alive by then.
Although the doctors were pessimistic about my chances, by Hashem’s miracles, I survived.
I’m looking forward to next month, im yirtzeh Hashem, when I’ll be flying to Florida to officiate under Mark’s chuppah.
