The Survivor

There is a man who works at the bakery I go to every Friday for my challah and Shabbat treats. I do not know his name. He is an Israeli fellow who is often on the phone when I come in to order so that I have to wait for him to finish his call, or at least his story, before he helps me. Sometimes, he stays on the phone, continuing his conversation while he is bagging my cookies.

This man is very animated. He has big, expressive eyes that kind of pop out of his head, which is barely covered with hair. I do not know if he shaves his head or he has advanced male pattern baldness that he keeps shorn. He always has a 5:00 shadow, no matter what time of day it is when I see him.

He has made bad, offensive jokes to me in the past which made me irritated with him. However, he is boisterous and chatty, and I do not think he means any harm.

Last week, I saw him at the local supermarket buying groceries. He started joking with one of the cashiers (who also has a second job working at the bakery where he works and who also is from Israel). He talked about taking a creative writing class at the local community college. When the cashier said she would like to join, he teasingly told her not to because he wanted no Israelis in the class with him. They had this conversation in Hebrew. He then turned to me to explain what he said to her, smiling and winking.

Today, when I went into the bakery there was a big sign up with his picture attached soliciting sponsorship for a marathon in support of leukemia and lymphoma research. I asked him about the run as my mother died from Hodgkin's lymphoma. My mother in law, and my sister in law, each had lymphoma as well. I also told him my husband had cancer last year.

"I am a survivor," he said.

He told me that he was diagnosed with lymphoma about eight months ago. They took a tumor out of his cheek. He lost four teeth, but he doesn't mind because they will fix it. He took a couple of doses of oral chemo, but that is all. The doctors wanted him to undergo radiation, but he refused. At his three-month follow up he was clean. He hopes he will need no further treatment.

I gave him a check and wished him luck.