How Asher Yatzar Became My Anchor After a Shocking Diagnosis

"Five years ago, during COVID lockdown, I  signed up with Partners in Torah to learn with a chavrusah. By the time I connected with my wonderful chavrusah, I had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. My doctor gave me a ballpark figure of a survival of about 3 years...but my beloved grandfather zt'l came to me in a dream and told me I'd be OK, that this diagnosis was a gift to help me evolve. 

I was all alone in COVID lockdown, facing this diagnosis and very fatigued. My chavrusah started me off with saying Asher Yatzer each time I used the bathroom -- which was very often. Reminding myself of how well my body was working was so uplifting. With time, it turned out that the cancer was very non-aggressive and responded beautifully to new oral chemo agents. 5 years later, I'm doing well and the cancer is being controlled into dormancy the same way HIV can now be controlled into dormancy.

I still say Asher Yatzer many times a day and it always reminds me of how lucky and well functioning my body is."

 

                             

 

When the doctor's voice delivers words that change everything, cancer, chronic illness, degenerative condition, the world seems to tilt on its axis. In that disorienting moment and the challenging days that follow, I discovered an unexpected anchor in the ancient words of Asher Yatzar.

 

This blessing, traditionally recited after using the bathroom, acknowledges the miracle of bodily function. Its words recognize that our bodies contain "many openings and many hollows," and that if even one of them were to malfunction, we could not survive. Before such a diagnosis, one recites these words countless times without truly absorbing their meaning. Now, they become a lifeline.

 

When illness strikes, our relationship with our bodies fundamentally changes. The body we once took for granted becomes unfamiliar territory, sometimes even feeling like it has betrayed us. Asher Yatzar offers a powerful reframing of this relationship. By acknowledging both the fragility and the resilience of our physical form, it creates space to recognize that even in illness, much continues to function properly.

 

Each recitation became a moment to acknowledge what still works despite the diagnosis. The lungs still draws breath. The heart still pumps blood. The eyes still perceive beauty. These are not small mercies but profound gifts, easily overlooked in the shadow of illness.

 

The blessing's conclusion, thanking the Divine for "healing all flesh and doing wonders"—takes on new significance. It reminds us that healing comes in many forms. Sometimes it's complete recovery. Other times, it's finding peace within limitation or discovering strength we never knew we possessed.

 

In the sterile hallways of hospitals and the quiet anxiety of waiting rooms, Asher Yatzar becomes a practice of radical hope. Not a naive expectation that everything would return to normal, but a grounded recognition that even in brokenness, wholeness can be found.

 

When illness threatens to define us, this ancient blessing reminds us of a fundamental truth: our bodies may be imperfect, but they remain miraculous. And in that recognition lies the strength to face whatever comes next, not with false optimism, but with genuine gratitude for the gift of each moment we're given.