In November 2014, exactly ten years ago, Brittany Maynard fulfilled her final wish. At just 29 years old, she ended her life to avoid the prolonged suffering and decline brought on by the devastating illness she had been battling. Featured on the cover of People magazine and in numerous news outlets, Brittany’s story became a symbol of the complex ethical debate surrounding assisted dying.
A post on her website explained her decision: “Brittany made a thoughtful and informed choice to die with dignity rather than endure the pain and decline of an incurable illness. She moved to Oregon, where she passed away in a cosy yellow house in Portland, a city she cherished.” Compassion & Choices, an advocacy group for end-of-life options that supported Brittany, stated she “died as she intended—peacefully, surrounded by her loved ones in her bedroom.”
Diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour, Brittany underwent multiple surgeries. When the tumour returned, doctors gave her just six months to live. Relocating from California to Oregon to utilise the state’s Death with Dignity Act, she found relief in knowing she could control the terms of her passing.
Brittany shared her perspective in a CNN interview, poignantly stating, “I don’t want to die. But I am dying. And I want to have control over the process. This choice has brought me peace during an otherwise terrifying and painful time.” In an opinion piece, she elaborated, “I wouldn’t tell anyone else what to do in my situation, but who has the right to deny me this choice? Why should I be forced to endure unbearable pain and suffering when my death is inevitable? No one should decide that for me.”
Her words fuelled a broader conversation about assisted dying, often framed under the concept of “death with dignity.” Proponents argue it provides a compassionate option for those facing terminal illnesses. However, critics caution that such narratives risk devaluing the courage and dignity of those who choose to endure their suffering, potentially framing their perseverance as less meaningful or noble.
In the UK, a bill proposing assisted dying for terminally ill adults is under consideration. Those opposed to its legalisation urge a response rooted in compassion and ethical reflection, highlighting the need to uphold the sanctity of life.
If Brittany had sought my counsel, I would have expressed deep empathy for her fears and struggles. Yet, to her question – “Who has the right to deny me this choice?” – I would answer, “Only the Creator who gave us life has the authority to take it away.” Life, even in the face of suffering, holds intrinsic value. Ending one’s life, whether by suicide or assisted means, contradicts the divine intention for our existence.
Certainly, compassion compels us to acknowledge the fear of pain and suffering. Yet faith reassures us that no one’s concern surpasses that of a merciful Creator. Trust in divine wisdom reminds us that even in moments of profound hardship, there is purpose, often revealed only in hindsight. As the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard said, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” For those enduring pain, faith offers a profound challenge: to trust that the value of their life extends beyond human understanding.
Assisted dying raises troubling questions for society. Who determines when a condition is “terminal”? What safeguards exist to protect vulnerable individuals from external pressures, such as financial strain or family influence? In some countries, like the Netherlands, the practice has expanded to include euthanasia for infants with disabilities, raising moral concerns about valuing lives based on perceived quality.
There is also a slippery slope in equating disability or suffering with a lack of worth. Societies that embrace such notions risk marginalising the most vulnerable, echoing historical atrocities where lives were deemed expendable. For example, Nazi Germany’s euthanasia programs began with individuals considered “unfit” before escalating to genocide.
On a personal level, a few years before Brittany Maynard, my father received an identical terminal diagnosis, with doctors predicting no more than nine months to live. Yet he lived for three more years; years filled with new memories, experiences, bonding, years that neither we as a family, nor he as our father would have ever wanted to forgo.
Assisted suicide doesn’t eliminate suffering – it eliminates hope. It precludes the possibility of unexpected medical advancements, divine intervention, or simply more time with loved ones. I grieve for all those who felt they had no other option. While I do not condemn their choices, I pray that future discussions around this issue will prioritise hope, compassion, and faith over despair and abandonment.
Rabbi Yitzchak Schochet is a writer, broadcaster and international lecturer. www.Rabbischochet.com