“An excruciatingly prolonged relationship with Mr. Not-Even-Jewish consumed the balance of my 20s. He was black and his cultural identity was a hugely significant part of his life. That motivated me to look more deeply into my own cultural identity.”
“When he sings Eyshet Chayil before kiddush, he reaches across the table for my hand. Not one convert, but two, we’re partners on the journey in the fullest sense of the word; soulmates, beshert.”
“For Arie, it was love at first sight when I entered the Zolla Lieberman Gallery on the near north side of Chicago in the spring of 1979. For me, it was the glowing images on the walls of the cavernous loft. Light reflected from aluminum extrusions upon a white canvas created an evanescent aura of rich pastel colors. I had to meet the creator.”
Some days are made from “Who says life has to be fair?” Some days you get a bolt of beshert from the blue.
“David was four years younger than me. I fell hard. Lying next to him in the night, I wanted him to teach me everything he knew.”
“We decide not to send the wedding invitations. Instead, I spend the day canceling the venue, florist, photographer and the princess style dress fitting while hot tears flow onto the unsent invitations.”
“Now, when the world feels too unpredictable, I remind myself that sometimes the exact thing we need is something we would never think to ask for, and that sometimes it—or he—is right around the corner.”
I first met Dawn in October 1982, by the punch bowl at a monthly singles event organized by the Northern Virginia Jewish Community Center. I was 27 and had relocated to Virginia from California that January to do a post-doctoral fellowship at the US Naval Research Laboratory in DC after getting my Ph.D. in theoretical physical chemistry. Dawn, 24, had moved to Virginia from Ohio that spring for a job after getting a master’s in gerontology.
“Most nights, there was one stray ticket that theaters were happy to sell cheap to a college girl with a debit card and frizzy hair. Not the case at The St. James Theater on West 44th Street, home to The Producers. You couldn’t get this ticket at TKTS and it was years before you could buy resold tickets online. Night after night, The St. James was my first stop to see if there was a ticket for sale. And night after night, the same ticket lady would turn me away. Until now.”
