Rabbi David Wolpe’s writing is sometimes lyrical, sometimes incisive, often conveying insights in the turn of a phrase. He has written seven books, and given innumerable sermons that may one day be read as literature.
But nothing he has written to date quite compares to “My Last Cancer Treatment,” about his experience with lymphoma (which followed his brain tumor, which followed his grand mal seizure, which preceded months of chemotherapy for the lymphoma, which preceded two years of remission-extending drug infusions that he has now just finished). His new essay looks backward and forward:
. . . I have been here before; my wife was diagnosed with cancer when she was 31. Our daughter was ten months old, and we waited. Following my brain tumor and surgery, we waited. We thought then we were done. No more bullets in the chamber. We felt safe, but tentative.
A swollen lymph node was the first warning of this new cancer. A biopsy confirmed our unspoken fear. It seemed incredible, overwhelming to think it was happening again, happening anew. The doctor called me at work. I came home to tell my wife and she was in the shower. I walked in fully dressed and we held each other; our tears combined with the cascade of water.
I had the strange, surreal experience of hearing my congregants' shock that this could happen to the family of the Rabbi -- as though professional piety was a shield against disease. As though God played favorites. . . .
Read it before Shabbat, and then appreciate Shabbat with your loved ones, friends and family.
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