A Punch to the Gut

It happened last February while I was on vacation with the kids. My sister called urgently, telling me she was flying to California to save our dad. He wasn’t feeling well, and we didn’t yet know why. Dad, who was always strong and resilient, never really believed in doctors, especially in the United States. But this time, things escalated quickly: hospitalization, kidney failure, and suddenly, we were all drawn into a frightening new reality.

My brother, who lives in Peru, stepped up to manage the situation. Amid the confusion, the decision was made: the best place for treatment would be in New York. My mom, dad, and brother embarked on a journey to bring him to treatment—a tumultuous journey filled with pain and uncertainty.

After a series of tests, the news hit us like a punch to the gut: Dad had cancer. The ground beneath us collapsed, our breath was taken away. But the doctors reassured us: “This is treatable. Everything will be fine.” We took a deep breath and began the treatment journey.

During those days, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything Dad had done for me and for all of us. I was blessed with a heroic father. Maybe that’s something everyone feels about their fathers, but my dad truly is a hero—a hero of Israel’s wars, an officer who fought in almost every war you can think of.

He was one of the founders of Moshav Naviot, where my three siblings were born. When it came time to make peace, he released the land he had worked so hard on, transformed the desert into a flourishing garden, and moved the family to Costa Rica. There, he decided he could do more, moved to the Dominican Republic, and became one of the first in the world to grow and market organic fruits and vegetables to the U.S. and Europe—in the 1980s, long before it became trendy.

We didn’t grow up in a conventional family. Even when we returned to Israel, Dad lived on a flight schedule—leaving on Sunday nights and returning Friday mornings to be with us. It was unique and even strengthened us. He never missed a significant moment—school events, ceremonies, military enlistments. He was always there.

Saturday mornings were our special time. He would sit with me, reading Maariv for Youth with me despite my dyslexia. He taught me that perseverance and determination lead to success. To him, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome—you just had to work hard and believe.

One of the most important traditions Dad created for us was family time during the summer and holidays. He always made sure to take us on trips around the world—pure family experiences and quality time. During these trips, he would repeatedly emphasize the most important thing in life: that we have each other. For him, family was the ultimate value. No matter what happened around us, he would always say, “Nothing really matters except family. Everything else is nonsense.”

He instilled in us values of hard work, love for family, endless giving, and indeed, everything else was nonsense to him.

And now, seeing him fight, enduring pain, battling for his health—it feels like a punch to the gut. No one prepares you for this kind of fear. He has always been our anchor—loving, connecting, and full of a joy for life I’ve never seen in anyone else.

My dad didn’t grow up in such a family. He chose to rewrite his narrative, chose my mom—a warm and loving woman—and built himself a new world, so different from the one he knew. I admire him for that.

My dad—my hero.