TRAVELING LIGHT

By Zehava Kaner

Courtesy of Family First Magazine

Many of us pick up our emotional baggage over the years and end up lugging it around.  For Devorah Farrell, it took a life-threatening disease to get her to finally put her bags down—and even toss a few away.  “I just didn’t have some baggage,” quips Devorah, who has stage four cancer and a total of twelve tumors in her body.  “I had a bunch of suitcases, some of them matching.”

Cancer isn’t the first nisayon Devorah has faced—she spent years trying to recover from a painful childhood, is trying to raise a son with a mental illness, and after a business venture failed, she went from giving tzedakah to receiving tzedakah.

Yet being diagnosed with cancer turned out to be the biggest test of all, one that pushed Devorah to completely rethink her perspective on life.  “In fact,” she says with a refreshing openness and candor, “it’s not an exaggeration to say that I’m a lot happier sick than when I was well.”

It is her ability to wrest joy from despair that makes Devorah such an inspirational woman and public speaker, a role she fell into after she was diagnosed with cancer.

As we sit down to chat in the Boro Park home of her friend I quickly learn to appreciate the witty and wise comments she makes on any and all aspects of life.  “Chocolate,” she says, taking one from the tastefully arranged coffee tray on the table, “is one of the incontrovertible proofs that there is most definitely a G-d.”

The Wagon Driver

Like me, most people who speak with Devorah want to know the same thing:  How do you deal with the nisayon of cancer?

“The crux of the nisayon is not actually dealing with the cancer,” Devorah asserts.  “It’s something else completely.  The question is, can I maintain a warm and positive relationship with Hashem?”

“When I was first diagnosed, I thought, Hashem must hate me if He has given me this disease after a life filled with so many challenges. But after a lot of soul searching, I realized that it just wasn’t possible.  He is my father, and I know He loves me.  So He must have a different plan, one that I cannot see.  This must be of benefit to my nishamah. Do I really believe that He is the Source of everything?  If I truly do, then there is nothing bad—not even stage four cancer.”

To describe how she came to terms with her own mortality, she uses the parable of a man carrying a huge boulder on his shoulders.  “One day he looks down,” she explains, “and he realizes that he’s been traveling in a wagon the entire time.  He can put down his rock since the Wagon Driver is carrying him.”

When I got my diagnosis, it became clear that the notion that I was responsible for everything around me was false.  I realized that everything was being carried by Hashem.  I could stop worrying so hard.”

Devorah, whose family yichus could easily place her on the “Whose Who of Orthodox Jews,” didn’t actually grow up in a religious home.  She began her journey to frumkeit, along with her husband, when she was in her early twenties.  Bracha Zaret, director of Ashreinu Los Angeles, was an instrumental part of the process.  “My husband and I were actually her first students,” says Devorah.

Her interest in Torah was originally piqued by an insatiable intellectual thirst. “I distinctly remember taking college classes where the professors would go to the end of the semester and say, ‘that’s it, this is as far as our research goes.’” Devora recalls.” With Torah, there was just no end to the questions, to the answers, to the richness. I really think I became frum because I simply couldn’t master the Torah. Whenever I thought I was finished, there was more and more to learn.”

The once ultrafaminist Californian girl also experienced the sweetness of Torah as a child: “when I was a little girl, I used to play with a chassidishe girl who lived nearby. Amazingly her parents didn’t object to our friendship and they were extremely warm to me. I had a lot of positive memories and associations with frumkeit. I can still smell their delicious chicken soup!”

Put To The Test

From an early age, Devorah had to work through major life challenges: “I had a very difficult childhood, and this caused me to suffer from depression. I spent years in therapy to deal with that, and eventually ended up on medication to help me with it.”

As a mother, she faced another serious test when one of her children showed symptoms of bipolar disorder at a young age. “the school refused to believe us and give us the support we needed to help him,” she relates. “It was extremely difficult. They blamed his behavior on our parenting skills. As he passed into adolescence, it became clear to everyone that he was bipolar. But for many years,  we all suffered not only with his condition but also with the terrible feeling of being unsupported.”

Part of the problem, Devora contends, is that people perceive mental illness as “all in the head,” which makes it that much harder for families who are dealing with the issue. She is quick to point out that “mental issues are physical; they have their roots in biochemistry in the brain. Society needs to perceive them the same way they perceive physical illness like cancer.”

Getting across this idea is one of the main reasons Devora speaks so candidly about her life: ‘I want to help remove the burden of secrecy and the stigma of mental and physical illness.

“If Hashem gave a person an ailment it means that it is what’s best for that neshamah. When we conceal illness, either physical or mental, what we are really saying is that there is something imperfect about that person, something wrong in the way Hashem made them, something that needs to be kept hidden away,” says Devora. “Every neshamah, no matter its challenges, deserves to be treated with respect and dignity”

As for the fear that revealing a mental illness in the family might ruin shidduchim chances for our children, Devorah believes this is one of the places we’re tested as to how deep and true our  emunah is:  “We believe Hashem is ‘Hakol Yachol’. So is He not capable of finding shidduchim for our children?”  In fact, Devora confides, when she was looking for a shidduch for her daughter, she deliberately looked for a boy who had some connection to disability:  “I felt that such a boy would have more emunah and greater emotional fortitude.”

From Giver To Taker

Devora has also bee plagued by parnassah problems.  “My husband used to have a very successful business, which completely fell apart,” she says.  “I went from being able to dispense largesse to having to take money from others.”

This too, she says, built her character and prepared her for the challenges she is dealing with now, one of which is learning to accept help from others graciously.  “I used to be able to help others financially, to pay for them to have discounted therapy sessions, to give women new shaitels, and other similar things.  I’m an extremely independent person.  It was very difficult to go from being able to give to having to take.”

It wasn’t only in money matters that Devora needed assistance:  “Sometimes I need to ask for help making change when I’m shopping,” she says.  “What a comedown this was for me, someone who has always defined herself by her intellect!”

To take the sting out of being someone else’s chesed case, Devora shifted her perspective.  “Taking from others may not be comfortable, but it really depends how you look at it.  I try to reframe it in my own mind.  Rather than looking at it as me taking, I look at it as giving someone else the opportunity to give.  And, since everything belongs to Hashem, isn’t it really Him giving to me?” she posits.

It also comes down to letting go of control.  “Being sick forces you to relinquish control of everything you thought was yours—your body, your mind, your independence.  Being sick forces you to face the truth in life: that Hashem is the One in control.  It’s all about the sublimation of self to Hashem’s will.”

Devora is so grounded and serene that it’s hard to imagine her otherwise.  “Of course there are times when I’m not.  Of course I get scared,” she admits with characteristic frankness.  There are days I really feel sad, or weak, or sick.  Sharsheret, an organization that helps cancer patients, has provided a wonderful therapist for me.  I pour out my heart to her when I need to.  I cry if I have to.  But I don’t let myself fall into despair.

“Venting is okay,” she asserts.  “Kvetching is not.”

To handle the inevitable downs of illness, Devora has “a whole arsenal of things I do to make myself feel better.” As she says this her cell phone rings, with the “Holey Pokey” ring tone.  She picks it up with a smile and explains, “That’s my reminder not to get upset or angry about anything.  It’s part of the work I’m doing for my mussar vaad. It’s programmed to ring at high stress times of the day, like the morning rush or when the kids come home from school.”

Devora is a firm believer that you have to do whatever you can to cheer yourself up:  “I love to have flowers around the house, to blow bubbles, go window shopping.  Holding babies really works well, too.”

When she’s stuck in the hospital, she tries to pursue her own personal goals for  chesed and Kiddush Hashem. “I take along a basket of snoods and scarves for other patients who have lost their hair and might not have something to cover up with,” she explains.  “Anyone who wants is free to take.  I’ve gotten amazing feedback from Jews and non-Jews alike.”

Devora’s recent speaking engagements have also been a great source of comfort and chizuk. “I’ve spoken to women from all ends of the frum spectrum and knowing that they’re uniting in their tefilos for me makes me feel as if I am helping create achdus, and bringing us closer to Mashiach.”

When Devora speaks in front of an audience, she is also able to become a “giver” again.  “There’s so much I want to share with other frum women.  We’re so hard on ourselves!  Our expectations of ourselves are so great.  We don’t have to work so hard.  We need to know that we will make mistakes, that we don’t have to be perfect all the time.  We just need to go where Hashem leads us.  If we’d only focus on the ‘coulds’ in our lives rather than the ‘shoulds’, we would be a lot happier.

Preparing For The Future

As optimistic as Devora is, she knows that if the cancer keeps progressing, her children may have to face a grim reality in the future.  “I talk to my children about my condition, though I’m careful to keep it age appropriate,” she explains.  “I try to be available, to be fully present emotionally, to talk to them about their fears whenever they want to .  I encourage my children to see their siblings as a source of support for each other.”

Devora is also creating a storehouse of memories for her family. “I’m working on a box for each child with cards, gifts, recipes, and other items that I want them to have from me,” she says.  “Many of these objects are connected with milestones, such as graduating, having a baby, making an upsheren, etc.  It my way of showing my children that whatever challenges lie ahead, I love them and I’m confident they’ll get there.”

One of Devora’s friends is a former film director, and she and Devora are in the process of shooting DVDs for Devora’s children to watch when they grow older.  “There are lots of things I’d lie to tell my kids, but not everything is appropriate now.  I hope to watch the DVDs with them one day, but if not…I want them to know what’s in my heart.”

Incredibly, Devora has even discussed the possibility of remarriage with her kids.  “I’ve told my children that it’s okay, that I would want them to accept that if it happens, that they don’t need to feel that they must never allow anyone in my place.  As hard as it was to talk about, I don’t want to burden my children with feeling that it’s somehow wrong for them to be happy.

“I want to give my children a legacy they can be proud of.”

Borrowed Time

“We’re all on borrowed time,” says Devora.  “We just don’t want to face it.  But if we did—how differently we would live.”

To make the most of the time she has left (may it be until meah v’esrim), Devora has been working on expressing thanks to people who have helped her throughout her life.  “I’ve been trying to find my childhood friend who gave e such a warm welcome to Yiddishkeit.  I owe her so much!”

Devora’s strong sense of gratitude has, perhaps, affected her marriage the most:  “When people are busy with the day-to-day grind of regular life, it can take its toll on their marriage.  They begin to take each other for granted.  They can forget to appreciate how lucky they are to have what they have.  Being sick has reset my appreciation of life and marriage and has enhanced my relationship with my husband, Al.  we treasure every day.  We know there are no guarantees about tomorrow.”

Devora is also trying to make peace with people with whom she had less than ideal relationships.  “I’ve been tracking down people that I feel I need to ask mechila from.  There’s a lot of satisfaction and closure in doing that,” she says.

“I want to get rid of as much of my baggage as possible.  Whenever I go to the Next World, I want to be traveling light.”

Please daven for Devorah Chiyenna bas Eliyitta.

Devorah can be reached through the Mishpacha office.