Bernard Axelrad Scholarship Fund

Every Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at the afternoon service we recite the stirring prayer which begins "on Rosh Hashanah our destiny is inscribed and on Yom Kippur it is sealed; how many shall pass away and how many shall be brought into existence; who shall live and who shall die..."

It is a passage that never fails to move me since I verily believe that our fates are not solely in our own hands. With the random and inexplicable way death strides among us, how can anyone question the possibility of our destiny being preordained.

For over 70 years on every High Holiday, the Hebrew phrase "me yichya, me yamus - who shall live and who shall die" - resounded within me. This year it had a very special personal significance for me.

Well over 12 years ago, I was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer which had spread to my lymph nodes. I had some treatment which was of limited duration and efficacy and hoped that the cancer was slow moving. It was.

Unfortunately, a bone scan taken six months ago revealed that the cancer had extensively spread to my bones. That is not a good omen. Nevertheless, at the present time, I am asymptomatic - feeling no pain.

In recent months I consulted with six oncologists - and they split evenly, three for treatment and three feeling it would neither cure nor measurably prolong my life and deleteriously affect the quality of my life. So it was my choice!

Since I had kept informed over the past dozen years about this disease, it was frustrating, but not surprising, that medicine had no definitive answers for me. Great strides had been made in the diagnosis and treatment of prostate cancer but presently there was no cure for my indolent but long existing cancer.

The various doctors' differing advisories was dictated more by their individual predilections as human beings than by any difference in medical knowledge. Some doctors are more activist in their treatment even in the most hopeless of cases, while others are more concerned with the quality of remaining life.

My wife, Lillian, and my four children had become quite informed about the nature of my disease and were my brain trust in all decisions. Lillian and my sons, Kevin and Adam, came with me to all the oncologists and their input was invaluable.

After digesting all the information and views, I have opted to do nothing at the present time - no treatment.

This is not a comfortable decision as every octogenarian ache and pain in my back and ribs raises more than the usual quota of alarm. However, the fears of problematic chemotherapy versus my present good quality of life dictated my decision.

The most difficult aspect of my present situation is the mental one - how to expunge my condition from my thoughts. I try to go on with all my activities as hitherto but it 'ain't easy'. Doing nothing can in some ways be harder than undergoing treatment. I feel I am in a nether world - neither here nor there. Everyday mundane matters and conversation seem more trivial than ever before - but in all fairness to those around me I must go on as if nothing has changed. The hardest time comes at bedtime, with no distractions and when I am alone with my thoughts.

I take solace in having a most wonderful support system among wife, children and friends. After the initial diagnosis, I dropped all of my previous long term travel plans and embarked, with my wife, on a steady stream of foreign travels to all the places I had dreamed about. We made nine memorable trips to Israel to visit children and grandchildren in those dozen years.

I now aspire to adjust once again to my latest situation by calling on my spiritual and religious resources. At this point I feel beyond mortal succor and in the realm of a Higher Authority who determines "who shall live and who shall die" during the ensuing year.

The inconceivably monstrous events on Sept. 11 are persuasive testimony as to how fragile and transient life is. The thousands of lives, snuffed out in a murderous instant, were young, innocent and not cancer-ridden. Their destiny led them to a most untimely and harrowing end.

I pray that I can continue to go on with grace and good will, with compassion and contrition, and that once again I will be present for Kol Nidre in the year 5763.