Ty —

Ty Redler and his Fiancée, the soon-to-be-doctor Kira Dubester

At this point in my life I’ve been an ordained rabbi for more than 40 years (41 to be precise). In all that time I’ve never considered it a job or profession . . . as normally understood. No, to me, it’s always been somewhere between a passion and an art form. I did spend many years serving various congregations in Ohio and mostly Florida, but eventually discovered that as much as I loved the art form, I really, truly did not like the job; too many bosses exercising far too much authority over a single human being and his family. As a rabbi, I’ve officiated at easily more than 500 weddings, trained at least 1,000 b’nai, b’not mitzvah (bar/bat mitzvah students) and presided at well over 3,000 funerals. “How in the world,” people have long asked, “can you maintain emotional stability when you’re around so much death and dying?” A good question indeed. If there is an answer, it comes from my mentor, the late Rabbi Emanuel "Manny” Schenck (1909-1991).

Upon arriving in South Florida in July of 1982, Manny sort of attached himself to me and I to him. He would grill me on texts, watch me give sermons and offer advice . . . whether or not I asked for it. Manny was a no-nonsense kind of rabbi; heck, he spent WWII as a chaplain with the 4th Armored Division, a part of Gen. George S. Patton's famed Third Army. He was even the presiding rabbi when U.S. troops liberated the Nazis' Buchenwald concentration camp in Germany at war’s end. I well remember him telling me one day how to emotionally survive as a rabbi: “At day’s end, open the bottom drawer of your desk, stare into it, and then slam it shut.” I have followed his advice ever since.

As mentioned above, I’ve officiated at thousands of funerals. Many died of what we Stones call “terminal longevity.” Others succumbed to long-term illness; some died at birth or in accidents; some were murdered or committed suicide; many died of AIDS or sudden cardiac events. I have buried thousands I never knew as well as my own parents, grandparents, mother-in-law and close friends. The most difficult task of all, is officiating at the service of a current or former student.

Today . . . and tomorrow . . . and for a long time into the future, I/we (including my wife Annie) mourn the passing of one of our all-time favorite students, Ty Redler. So long as we may live, we will always have vivid memories of Ty sitting at our kitchen table, our Chocolate Lab Ginger Rogers Stone (the dog with the “Shabbos pearls”) at his feet, chanting his haftara in preparation for becoming a bar mitzvah. Ty and I would spend tons of time discussing the one thing we had most in common: Crohn’s Disease. By the time I met Ty, he was in the very early stages of diagnoses; I, on the other hand, had first been diagnosed back in the late 1960s when it was still called “Terminal Ileitis.” I had already gone through 5 surgeries tons of medications, and bouts of being fed nothing but T.P.N. (Total Parenteral Nutrition) through what is called a “Hickman Catheter.” The whole contraption is attached to a large bag containing a solution of water (30 to 40mL), energy (30 to 45kcal), amino acids, essential fatty acids (1 to 2kg), vitamins and minerals. It is then carried around in a canvas should bag. When speaking of whether or not some day he would have to go around wearing a TPN bag, he asked me “what does it taste like?” Smiling, I asked him if he remembered studying about the manna G-d provided the Israelites throughout their 40 years in the wilderness. “And do you remember how the rabbis answered your question?” I asked him. “Oh yes,” Ty said, brightening; “whatever food they thought about while eating the manna, that’s what it would taste like!” “Precisely,” I told him . . . “another miracle!”

The one thing I tried to get across to my young student was that in the long run, attitude was as important - if not more so - than medicine, surgery or prayer. “Just remember,” I would tell him over and over, “You are a healthy person who, it so happens, has a serious condition; you are not sick. That attitude can and will add so much to your life.” For me, that attitude has served as the motivation for entering the world of medical ethics and pouring over tens of dozens of clinical trials dealing with gastroenterological deficits. For Ty, it led him to earning a B.S. in Molecular Biology, co-authoring research papers on the development of the intestinal ecosystem, and eventually going to work for the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of America.

Despite his Crohn’s and Achalasia (an aftereffect - or sequela - of Crohn’s), despite being fed via TPN and eventually submitting to an Esophagectomy (a surgical procedure to remove some or all of the swallowing tube between your mouth and stomach [esophagus] and then reconstructing it using part of another organ), Ty kept up a solid and seemingly endless social life. Indeed, he was a healthy man with a serious condition. He even fell in love with a medical student, Kira, whom I understand is going to make pediatric gastroenterology her medical specialty.

Ty’s passing hits so very close to home. That he should have left this world in his latter 20s, while I, his rabbi, teacher and friend should continue soldiering on into his 72nd year, makes no sense whatsoever. To his parents Sandi and Artie, his brother Gage, Kira, whom I have never met, and Rusty, his beloved service dog, all I can say - beyond the usual words of sympathy and condolence - is that in his all too brief life, Ty managed to accomplish something very few ever do: make the world a better place. Both his memory and his accomplishments are eternal. In Ty’s memory, please consider making a contribution to either the Humane Society of North Florida or the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation of America . . . the first for Rusty, his four-legged “Partner in Crime,” and the second, for a young healthy man who, most regrettably, was saddled with a serious condition.

May Ty rest in peace . . . and may his memory be a blessing for us all.

Be healthy . . . regardless of whatever condition G-d may have saddled you with.