“Mishenichnas Adar Marbim B’simcha”
With the arrival of the month of Adar, our joy increases. (Ta’anit 29a)

Monday night, we began the Hebrew month of Adar, defined by a central commandment to increase joy. This reaches its climax on the 14th of the month (night of March 2) as we celebrate the holiday of Purim, the day when Mordecai and Esther triumphed over the wicked Haman. To learn more about Purim happenings (and there are plenty of celebrations) in our community, please click here.

My Adar began with a heavy heart, but it has since been filled with a profound sense of gratitude that I feel compelled to share with you.

Recently, my wife and I received a call from our old friend, Deborah (not her real name), whom we have known for over 30 years, yet not seen in a decade. She shared the difficult news of a terminal diagnosis. She may only have months to live. The shock was immediate! So was the realization of what needed to be done. We put aside our schedules and traveled east to see her, not knowing if it would be our last opportunity. We went to offer comfort and strength, while focusing on the quality of the remaining time rather than solely on the medical outcome.

I will share that this is the first longtime friend being diagnosed with a terminal illness. I did lose a former colleague and a colleague's spouse to cancer, both far too young. And my wife lost her childhood best friend at the age of 43 after suffering with cancer for years.

When we arrived, it was as if time stood still. We did not miss a beat and picked up from when we last saw one another. Deborah was in good spirits. Her husband and children were there. And no one was in denial of what will eventually happen.

The visit made me think of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s "Five Stages of Grief" in her book, On Death and Dying. These stages were originally developed based on her work with terminally ill patients coping with their own impending death. The model has since been widely adapted to describe the grieving process for survivors as well.

The five stages include: Denial…Anger…Bargaining…Depression…Acceptance. We were not there when Deborah was first diagnosed, but I have no doubt she has gone through her own stages of reflection. For me, I found Deborah “calm.” No one is ever “happy” or “okay” with this type of diagnosis, but I also did not feel she was fighting the inevitable. My wife and I were the ones trying to hold it together.

The old adage, never wait to tell someone how you feel about them rings true every day. None of us know what tomorrow may bring.

When my mother passed away 18 years ago, she was in a rehab center after being in the hospital for a few days. No one thought anything was life threatening. That morning, my father was in the shower before going to see my mother. He missed a phone call. When he got out of the shower his phone rang again. He answered. It was the rehab center telling him my mother had passed away. The phone call minutes earlier while he was in the shower was my mother. He went to his grave wondering what she was going to tell him. Did she know she was going to die? Was she calling to say goodbye? Or that she loved him? He never forgave himself for missing her call.

None of this is easy. We are never good at talking about it. Judaism, fortunately, approaches illness with a profound respect for the sanctity of life, balanced with compassion for the suffering of the individual.

Our Jewish community has many resources. Community rabbis are available to talk about death and dying. Jewish Family and Child Service and Nehamah (Jewish chaplain services) are available to provide support. And, JADE, the Jewish Association of Death Education, provides information and guidance. I hope that people make use of these.

In our tradition, the mitzvah of bikkur cholim -- visiting the sick -- is paramount. We often think of it as a duty to ensure the sick do not feel abandoned. But sitting with Deborah, I realized it is also a gift to the visitor. We went to offer comfort, but we received life lessons in return.

Despite the dark shadow of her illness, our time together was not defined by the end, but by the present. We laughed, we reminisced, and we simply were.

I remember a rabbi once saying, "Judaism treasures life not just for its duration, but for its depth." There is a deep sacredness in simply showing up, being there for a friend’s journey, and ensuring they know they are loved.

I am writing this to you not to sadden you, but to encourage you. We never know what tomorrow brings. My father carried the weight of a missed phone call for the rest of his life. We should not have to carry such weight.

If there is a friend you have not spoken to, call them. If there is love you have not expressed, share it. And for those who are ill, be there for them. The perfect time is right now.

Though my heart aches for Deborah and her family, I am comforted by the peace of our visit. I realized that while I cannot change the outcome, I could celebrate the greatest gift possible: the gift of time shared together.

May we all find the strength to be present for one another, in times of joy and in times of challenge. And pray for a refuah shlemah, complete healing, for anyone who is ill.

Shabbat Shalom.

PS -- For those who would like to watch the Jewish State of the Union address from Thursday, the recording can be found here (35min). Or you can read about it here.