My Dad, Yefim Lev Sandler (05.07.1936 - 01.23.2002), was a remarkable man. He died from multiple myeloma, blood cancer. The onset of the disease came as a shock to me because I always view my Dad as invincible; somebody who can't be defeated. It all started with a backache. ...and then I will never forget a stern look on a doctor's face in a hospital rushing toward me and telling me that my Dad was in a serious condition. I do not think I grasped seriousness of the situation fully at that time. After all, he survived World War II; together we survived Byelorussian anti-Semitism; unexploded German bomb at the porch of our house; and then radiation from Chernobyl nuclear plant explosion. So, in my naïve mind some multiple myeloma did not stand a chance to win. Thus, with an absolute determination, I turned to him and said, "We'd go through this just like many times in the past, and we'd celebrate your sixty sixth birthday in Israel." He cried when he heard me. That was the second time I saw him crying. The first time was when I was nine. Our house was leveled to the ground. The entire Jewish street was liquidated, and everyone had left. My Dad stayed in protest. I remember the warmth of his palm as he was holding my hand and telling me, "Remember this; I want you to remember this." And a tractor was killing our trees... You see - we had many trees- apple, pear, cherry trees; and many berry bushes. I grew up with apples, collecting them, sorting them, storing them in boxes with straw for a winter, and delivering them to people, so that they have fruit for a long cold winter. I learned how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide with apples. It was our time together, his and mine, sacred time. When it was announced that the street would be liquidated, everybody left. So, it was easy for Byelorussians to loot. Often times we saw strangers in our yard wandering around and taking anything they wanted. One time as we were driving and had to stop at a traffic light, we saw a woman at a corner selling our apples. We immediately recognized them. They were our apples. Nobody in the neighborhood had apples like this. My Dad got out of the car and quietly asked her how much she wanted for the apples. The woman was pretty aggressive and told him that they were premium apples, so accordingly the price was high. My Dad gave her a weekly wage at that time and told her that he would buy all of the apples. Her jaw hit the floor, and she eagerly helped him load the apples in the trunk. When he got back in the car, he simply said, "My apples are not for sale for as long I live!" Yep, that was my Dad. So, the second time he cried was because he knew it was a different kind of a battle; he knew he would not be able to defeat multiple myeloma. For the first time he would not be able to deliver his 'little and naïve' daughter's request; and he would not celebrate his sixty sixth birthday in Israel. He quietly turned his head to the wall hiding his tears and said, "Remember to live." It took me a long time to see goodness around me; to appreciate and celebrate small things in life.. To honor and remember his resilient name - Chaim Leyb Sandler (Soviet - Yefim Lev Sandler) - I toast "L'Chaim! To Life!