Light and joy

While there has certainly been tremendous progress in the diagnosis and treatment of cancer over the past 50 years, none of us need look very far beyond his or her circle of close friends and relatives to know people who have died of this disease. But one thing is for certain: for those who do not survive, young or old, death comes far too soon.

I started thinking about this on hearing the news that a long-time friend died on Monday of the cancer with which he had been diagnosed nearly two years ago. He was only a few years older than we are, the father of five children and nearly twice that many grandchildren, the oldest of whom is 15. This especially resonates for me, because for the last three years, my most fervent wish has been that I will dance at my grandchildren’s weddings; our friend will never have that joy.

Unlike the vast majority of men around our age, this friend was relatively unique in that he served in Vietnam. That experience certainly contributed to his personality, providing him with a somewhat different perspective on life from many of his “baby boomer” peers. The experience may well have also exposed him to chemicals that eventually caused the disease that ended his life.

Our friend’s Hebrew name was שִׂמְחָה (Simcha), which means joy, and his wife’s name is אוֹרָה  (Ora), which means light. The expression אוֹרָה וְשִׂמְחָה (light and joy) appears in the story of Queen Esther that we read on Purim, and has been incorporated into Havdala, the brief service conducted at the end of every Sabbath, a ritual marking the transition from the joy and tranquility of the Sabbath to the mundane concerns of everyday living:

 לַיְּהוּדִים, הָיְתָה אוֹרָה וְשִׂמְחָה, וְשָׂשֹׂן, וִיקָר.

 The Jews had light and gladness, and joy and honor.

Although, with the loss of their husband, father, and grandfather a big part of this family’s joy has ended, we hope that they will continue to appreciate the light that still burns in their lives.

Love,

Rebecca