As a young woman, Rabbi Judith Edelstein longed for a deeper connection to Judaism. She found it by chance when she picked up a flier at her son’s nursery school.
This was clearly a shidduch just waiting to happen. I knew nothing about Dina or Michael beyond what their fathers told me. But there were so many common threads: they were both in their early thirties, worked in the entertainment industry in L.A., and their parents wished they were more observant.
My father, Jack, escaped Nazi Germany in 1939, making a dangerous journey from Frankfurt via Belgium to New York. He met my mother, who had escaped Vienna, and they settled in Washington Heights in northern Manhattan.