Six and a half years ago, my husband suffered a massive left-sided ischemic stroke. The stroke took almost all of his memory, including the Torah he had learned, left him without the use of his right arm, and caused chronic pain, weakness in his right side, neuro-fatigue, and aphasia. While we quickly learned what these words meant, we had no idea what their full implications would be.
Aphasia is a language disorder caused by damage to the part of the brain that controls language. It can affect speech, reading, writing, and comprehension. For Eitan, it has taken away much of what we take for granted in daily communication. His Broca’s aphasia means he still has some words, but expressing himself is a struggle. Reading becomes difficult when there are too many words on a page, reading aloud is a challenge, and writing is laborious. All of this makes interacting with others both frustrating and isolating.
Communication is the foundation of any relationship, so one of our greatest challenges has been navigating how aphasia has impacted our interactions, including Eitan’s relationship with Judaism. So much of Jewish life is rooted in speech, language, and communication. From God speaking the universe into existence to the central role of words in our Oral and Written traditions, communication is essential in everything we do as Jews. The ability to participate in discussions, prayers, and learning can feel out of reach for someone with aphasia, leading to a deep sense of isolation.
As we approach Pesach, a holiday centered on storytelling and communication, we are reminded of the commandment to “והגדת לבנך”—to tell the story of the Exodus to our children. Before his stroke, Eitan loved the Seder. He was “Mr. Seder,” meticulously organizing the divrei Torah for the night, with his Haggadah filled with notes. After the stroke, though, the Seder became a source of frustration and sadness. The things he once loved about the night were now out of reach, and it became painful for him.
Two years ago, with the help of Rabbi Johnny Solomon, we created a Haggadah supplement using Eitan’s old notes and ideas. We condensed and simplified his thoughts, printing them in large text to make them more accessible. This allowed Eitan to take an active role again at the Seder, not as a bystander but as a partner. Watching him read along with me, excited and engaged, was transformative. It was a reminder that with just a little support, something as simple as a booklet could make a world of difference.
Thanks to the positive response we received from family and friends, we expanded the supplement into a full-sized Haggadah. This new version includes not only Eitan’s ideas but also contributions from others who face similar speech and language challenges. We included reflections from rabbis, rabbaniot, speech pathologists, and voices of those no longer with us, like Ari Fuld Hy”d and Maia Dee Hy”d. We also honor the heroism of individuals like Roey Weiser Hy”d, Uriel Peretz Hy”d, and Eliraz Peretz Hy”d.
One of Eitan’s poignant contributions to the Haggadah is his reflection on “Moshe of Few Words”:“When Moshe was commanded by God to take the Jewish people out of Egypt, he said: ‘I am not a man of many words.’ However, tonight we read how Moshe led the Jewish people from slavery to freedom, which shows us that even with limited words, we can achieve great things.”
Eitan’s insight reminds us that great things can be accomplished even with limited words, and that communication comes in many forms. This is a lesson we can apply to all of our relationships, especially in marriage, where communication evolves constantly. We must continually think about how to connect with our partners in verbal, physical, and emotional ways.
The Haggadah was not only a labor of love but also a way to strengthen our relationship. Working on it together gave Eitan a renewed sense of confidence and purpose. Our hope is that this Haggadah will pave the way toward a more inclusive Judaism, one that gives voice to those who might not otherwise be heard.
The cover of the Haggadah symbolizes what Eitan often feels—hidden. It reminds us that we don’t always know what another person is going through or what they are unable to express. This Pesach, may Eitan’s story inspire us to make our Seders and communities more inclusive and to foster meaningful communication in all of our relationships.
Leora Ashman is an educator in formal and informal education. Her husband Eitan, a volunteer paramedic in MADA (Magen David Adam), CrossFit coach, business owner, and Torah scholar, suffered a massive stroke in the summer of 2018 that he barely survived. After years of rehabilitation, Eitan has made a surreal comeback in his journey of recovery.
Leora and Eitan launched the Koach Eitan Initiative, an organization that strives to educate, advocate, support, and raise awareness about stroke, aphasia, and disability. Eitan and Leora live in Efrat with their family.
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