Author Archives: Marilyn Shapiro

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About Marilyn Shapiro

After thirty five years in education, I have retired and am free to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a freelance writer. Inspired by my mother, who was the family historian, I am writing down my family stories as well as publishing stories my mother wrote down throughout her life. Please feel free to comment and share.

Dr. Phibes May Live Forever!

Horror fans who were in or near Santa Monica, California, on October 26,2018,  had the wonderful opportunity to attend a Halloween Double Feature at the Aero Theater.  The Abominable Dr. Phibes, a cult classic with fans around the world, was one of two films showcased. And sitting in the audience was the film’s creator, an 86-year-old Troy native whose vivid dream inspired it.

William Goldstein was born on July 10, 1932, in Troy, NY. He and his family attended Temple Berith Sholom. After his bar mitzvah, Goldstein taught Hebrew school.

Upon his graduation from Troy High in 1950, Goldstein attended  Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy for two years before realizing that chemistry, not engineering, was his interest. He transferred to Columbia University. After his graduation he took a job in medical research at Albany Medical Center.

One year later, Goldstein moved to San Francisco, where he worked in cancer research at UC San Francisco. Goldstein married Barbara Ellen Lipp in 1955, and they had two sons, Adam and Damon.

Tragically, Barbara died in 1961, leaving a bereft widower and two young boys. Soon after her passing, Goldstein had a vivid dream about a man who brings his wife back to life. Goldstein developed the dream and its theme of revivification into The Abominable Dr. Phibes —a 1920s tale of a disfigured half-dead madman bent on retribution after his wife of two years dies in surgery. 

His victims— all members of the operating team—are horrifically, grotesquely murdered one by one through a bizarre ritual based on  the Ten Plagues of Pharaoh from the Book of Exodus. These included bats blood, frogs, biting insects, boils, rats, hail, locusts, death of the first born and darkness. “The G’tach is a device that perfectly fit the needs of the story,” said Goldstein. “A rabbi who explains the Biblical connection to the  detective trying to track the killer is  a key element in the plot.

During this period, Goldstein changed careers to become Manpower Director of San Diego’s Equal Opportunity Commission. There, he met up with his old friend and classmate from Troy, James “Jim” Whiton, who was living in Hollywood and had had some success as a television writer.   The Phibes story sparked Whiton’s interest, and the two men collaborated on the original Phibes screenplay

Whiton’s agent showed the script to Samuel Z. Arkoff, studio head of American International Pictures (AIP). Arkoff and his creative partner James H. Nicholson were known for their campy, “B” movies with titles like The Crypt of the Vampire, How to Stuff a Wild Bikini, and Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs. The Abominable Dr. Phibes was to make them A-listers.

The company filmed Goldstein and Whiton’s screenplay at Elstree Studios in London. Robert Fuest directed Vincent Price, an AIP regular, and a cast of other British actors, including Joseph Cotten, Terry-Thomas and Peter Jeffrey.

On May 18, 1971, Goldstein and his second wife, Mozella, flew in from San Diego for the film’s premiere. As they approached the Pantages Theater in their taxi from LAX, the Goldstein’s encountered a traffic jam. It was not until they got closer that they realized that the flashing marquee, the red carpet, the packed crowds, the searchlights probing the night sky were for his film’s opening. It was the first time he and Whiten were viewing their movie.

Even though AIP gave Dr. Phibes’ premiere the Red-Carpet treatment, all involved in the project were surprised and delighted when the film became a box office hit. Critics praised the horror film for its dark humor, art deco sets lush musical score, and nasty but inventive murder sequences. Gene Siskel gave the film three-and-a-half stars, calling it a “stylish, clever, shrieking winner,” though he disliked “the lack of zip” in the ending. Varietypraised the film for its “well-structured” screenplay, “outstanding” makeup for Vincent Price and “excellent work” on the set designs.

Goldstein and Whiton were commissioned to write a sequel, with plans in the works for several more Phibes movies starring Vincent Price. Goldstein moved to Los Angeles, where he continued to write Phibes novels as well as work in other fields. “With my wife and our blended family of four children at home, I followed the paycheck.” He found employment the federal government, in state colleges, and most recently, in rental real estate.

Unfortunately, 1972s Dr. Phibes Rises Again was put in the hands of different writers and lacked much of the humor and horror of the first. When Nicholson left AIP in 1972 to become an independent producer —he died soon after of a malignant brain tumor—the future of the series died as well. Goldstein experienced another tragedy when his son Adam died mysteriously in 1981 in Bombay (now Mumbai). Interpol has never solved the case.

By the 1980s, the Dr. Phibes movies, through their re-showing and availability on VHS, were becoming “phan phavorites,” The audience became international, expanding from the United States to other countries including Canada, Spain, France, Japan, and Australia. 

By the 2000s, the Internet introduced a new generation of readers and movie-goers to Dr. Phibes through YouTube and sales of books and DVD’s on Amazon. Movie critics continued to heap praise on the now cult classic. Christopher Null wrote of the film, “One of the ’70s juiciest entries into the horror genre, The Abominable Dr. Phibes is Vincent Price at his campy best.” Steve Biodrowski of cinefantastique.com  wrote that the movie was “the perfect combination of horror and humor.” Gerry Shamray of yourmovies.com called it a “deliciously dark and hammy horror flick.”  Alan Jones of the radiotimes.com wrote, “Full of gaudy Art Deco excess, surprise charm and sardonic violence, this deadpan send-up is a classy fright delight.” Vincent Price’s performance was called “deliriously appealing” (Dennis Schwartz ,Ozus’ World Movie Reviews) and one of his “signature roles.” (Tim Brayton, Antagony & Ecstasy)

In response to the international following, Goldstein completed two more books, In the Beginning (2010), a prequel which explained the origins of the “phantom-phantastic” and other characters in Books One and Two and Vulnavia’s Secret (2013). 

Goldstein’s son, Damon who had worked with his father on the Phibes’ characters’ design since the 1970s, has built the Phibes presence on Facebook, Pinterest, and Instagram. More recently, several fan-generated “Phibes Phan Clubs” have Facebook followers. 

Famous phans include Tim Burton, Ken Russell, Quentin Tarantino, Stephen King, and Andrew Muschietti, the director of the 2017 Stephen King-based movie, It. Kumail Nanjiani built a scene around it in his 2017 critically acclaimed movie, The Big Sick. “So many movies have stolen from it,” tweeted Nanjiani on May 27, 2018, “but it remains the strangest, coolest, funniest, and most gorgeous of them all!” Great Britain’s daily newspaper, The Telegraph ranked it among the fifty best horror films of all time, and The Museum of Modern Art in New York City screened it in February 2018.

Interest in the series also resulted in the 2017 publication of The Dr. Phibes Companion, by film historian Justin Humphreys, subtitled “The Morbidly Romantic History of the Classic Vincent Price Horror Film Series.” Humphreys, Goldstein, and Damon will all be at the Aero Theater on October 26 to discuss their books, reveal the future of Dr. Phibes, and answer questions from their “phans.”

Goldstein attributes the success of Dr. Phibes to people’s need to root for the underdog. For all his strangeness and brutality, the grotesque half-dead monster is on a quest to avenge the death of his beloved wife, whom he feels was murdered by incompetent physicians. As David Kehr, a Chicago-based critic stated, “Price’s performance suggests that, underlying the madness, there is a real and damaged human being who deserves your support.” Like Frankenstein, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and The Incredible Hulk, the mad doctor is just another misunderstood monster trying to get the bad guys. Combine that with humor, an unforgettable score, and great performances. What more could horror movie lovers want?

Although Goldstein has no immediate family left in Troy, he keeps in touch with two nieces in Troy. The former Hebrew school teacher is now a member of Temple Emanuel, in  Beverly Hills,  California.

Is there another Dr. Phibes movie in the future? Goldstein confidently states “Yes!” In 2015, Goldstein and Damon had a chance meeting with Malcolm McDowell, the prolific English actor known most for his iconic role in A Clockwork Orange. McDowell expressed an interest in stepping into the late Vincent Prince’s shoes, fell in love with their Forever Phibes screenplay. Goldstein and his son are considering production offers.  Dr. Phibes may live again!

Trees sing to the heart as we note Tu B’Shvat

On a beautiful, chilly January morning, my family and I made our way up the path in Muir Woods National Monuments. As part of a planned family reunion, our children had made early morning reservations. A weak sun shone through the trees, a small creek caught the light, the redwoods soared above us. I was in the woods again—an absolutely pristine national monument that had survived fires and earthquakes to awe us with its beauty.

Muir Woods, managed by the National Park Service, is located on Mount Tamalpais near the Pacific coast in southwestern Marin County, California. It contains 240 acres of old growth coast  redwoods, formally known as Sequoia sempervirens. Although ancestors of these trees covered the United States millions of years ago, the Sequoia is now only found on a narrow, cool, damp strip of land on the California coast.. 

About halfway through our adventure, I stopped to observe unusual signage. With its large caption, “History Under Construction,” the board told the background of the Monument as it was first written and later updated to reflect not only the contributions of its original supporters but also the hereto unmentioned role of the Native Americans, whose stewardship had started thousands of years before the original timeline and ended when they were literally wiped out by disease and public policies. Updated information also included the role of the women who were critical in saving Muir Woods from commercialization and logging.

Most importantly, the updated board unblinkingly took an honest look at the complex legacies of the park’s founders, many who believed in white superiority that extended beyond the park’s borders. John Muir, for whom the park was named, used racist language when writing about Native Americans. William Kent, championed as a conservationist for donating the land to the federal government as well as authoring the legislation that established the United States National Park Service, also lead anti-Asian policy and rhetoric, He and the other “champions,” Gifford Pinchot, Madison Grant, and Theodore Roosevelt, were all proponents of eugenics, the set of beliefs and practices which aimed at improving the genetic quality of the human population, in part by forced sterilization the members of disfavored minority groups. 

“The role of the National Park Service is to preserve history – the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between,” stated in 2023 article on the US National Parks Service website, “History Under Construction.” “It’s not our job to judge what history is worth telling, but to share an accurate and comprehensive history.” I appreciated the way in which Muir Woods had not “cancelled” history but revised the way it was presented to show a more realistic, unbiased view of the park.

It was not until Larry and I were flying home from our California trip that I realized the timing of our visit was also significant on the Jewish calendar. Tu B’Shevat, known as Israel’s Arbor Day, is held on the 15th of the month of Shevat. This year, it occurs on January 25th.

The importance of trees and the environment dates back Biblical descriptions of the Garden of Eden and its reference to a tree of life. Post-biblically, Tu B’Shevat started out as an agricultural festival that helped farmers mark the passing seasons, one of four “birthdays” in the Jewish calendar. Based on, in my opinion, a fairly complicated connection to taxes and tithing, the holiday disappeared after the destruction of the Second Temple. In the 16th century, the Kabbalist Rabbi Yitzchak Luria of Safed and his disciples revived it by instituting a Tu B’Shevat seder in which the fruits and trees of the Land of Israel were given symbolic meaning, with the belief that prayers offered at the ritual meal would bring. humans and the world to spiritual perfection. 

On Tu BiShvat 1890, Rabbi Ze’ev Yavetz, one of the founders of the Mizrachi religious Zionist movement,and his students planted trees in the agricultural town of Zikhron Ya’akov in Israel. The Jewish Teachers Union adopted it in 1908. It was later taken over by theJewish National Fund (JNF) established in 1901 to oversee land reclamation and afforestation of the Land of Israel.

Modern Jews view the holiday as the opportunity make a Jewish connection to contemporary ecological issues, including responsible stewardship of our planet and ecological activism. This was most clearly pointed out to me in Hazon’s Tu B’Shevat Haggadah.  Along with the explanation and prayers for the four glasses of wine and four fruits, the booklet (available online here) offers way in which one can get involved in climate action, food sustainability, soil advocacy, and educational resources especially focusing on the environment. 

Meanwhile, we can continue the custom Rabbi Yavetz and his students started 133 years ago: planting trees. Since 1901, JNF has planted over 250 million trees, created and built over 240 reservoirs and dams, developed over 250,000 acres of land, and established more than 2,000 parks. As suggested on Clifton Park’s Congregation Beth Shalom website, trees can be planted in support of the hostages, in support of Israeli troops, in memory of a loved one, or just because you would like to plant a tree in Israel. In addition, JDF is provided extended services since the October 7 attack on Israel, both physical, medical, and emotional support as needed. Furthermore, the organization gives the communities devastated by the war “the promise of rebuilding for tomorrow.”

For those of us who care deeply about our planet’s future,  we need to continue to visit  beautiful places like Muir Woods and celebrate beautiful holidays like Tu B’Shevat. Chag Sameach!

A version of this story is found in the January 25 issues of The Jewish World and the Heritage Florida Jewish News.

The text in white was featured on the original timeline. Everything in yellow was added by the United States Park Service 

An explanation and an apology!

If you clicked on a link on my “Marilyn’s Published Articles From Around the World” and found yourself here, this explains it!

Dear Blog Subscribers,

For the past several months, I have been working on my blog, There Goes My Heart. I have been correcting several missing or defunct links, updating stories, and making sure each of the over 220 articles that I have posted have related pictures and images.

Most importantly, I have been adding in stories that I realized had never been published.While working on this, I have tried to set up later publishing dates. For example, the updated story of our Hallmark Hanukkah was supposed to be sent out on December 10, 2024, to coincide the the holiday. Unfortunately, my technical skills failed me, and within an instant, I had accidentally published the story. I will be working with WordPress, my platform, to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I also revised my “Marilyn’s Books” page, which lists books and provides a link to Amazon if you are interested in purchasing them.

If you feel overwhelmed by the number of articles you have found in your inbox recently, apologies! I try to send out one blog post every two weeks, maybe once a week if I am catching up. Going forward, please be assured that I will limit my posts to that number.

If you are enjoying my blog, I’d love to hear from you in the comments section. Please feel free to share my posts and even my blog address with friends and family who may enjoy them.

By the way, if you click MENU tab, you will see a link to “Marilyn’s Published Articles Around the World!” That page has a list of all my articles that have been published literally around the world going back to 2013 and even earlier. Each one (with a few exceptions which I am still working on) contains the link to the actual article or my blog post. You may enjoy browsing the page to dip further into my library.

Thanks so much for following my blog. I so appreciate your support. Keep reading! Keep commenting! Keep sharing!

Warmly,, Marilyn

Never mind the bucket list! Just live life!

Never Mind the Bucket List! Just Live It!

One winter afternoon while living in the Capital District, Larry and I had lunch at a Chinese restaurant with a former co-worker of his who was planning on retiring in a few more months.

“Can you two give me some guidelines as to what I should do when I leave the job?” she asked. She knew that she had to do something. She couldn’t picture herself just sitting home and having no structure to her life. “I certainly don’t want to be bored!” she explained.

Four years earlier, Larry and I were both in our last months of work after long careers in public service and education. People were continually asking us what we were going to do after we retired. Larry had a simple, straightforward plan: We would travel, and we spend more time volunteering for Special Olympics. 

I, however, fearing boredom, felt the need to line up more ducks to keep me happy. What would I do with my life once I did not fill my time with a forty plus hour a week job? I too sought advice from friends and relatives who had retired before me on how I could survive all the “free time.”

“What free time?” commented a former superintendent of schools, who has spent his retirement volunteering on numerous boards and organizations. “If you want to be in control of your time, keep on working.“ 

“You’ll never look back,” a former co-worker stated. “You will wonder how you ever worked as your days will be so full.”

I wasn’t convinced.

Larry retired in May 2010, but I still headed to the office for seven more months. I left the house at 7:30 each morning after kissing my sleeping husband’s head as he nestled under the covers. He made up for it by having dinner ready for me when I arrived home. However, my desire to join him pushed me into a pre-retirement blitz at work. I confirmed my retirement date with my boss, went to a New York State Education Teacher’s Retirement System seminar to line up the paperwork, and began cleaning out my files. Then I turned my attention to creating and implementing my retirement bucket list.

First on the list were all those hobbies that had been put on the back burner. The short list, in addition to travel and Special Olympics, included the following:

  1. Read all the books on my “Read Before I Die” list;
  2. Complete the crewel piece I started twenty years earlier;
  3. Learn how to knit;
  4. Update my fifty photo albums;
  5. Organize the two drawers in my file cabinet filled with my children’s artwork, report cards, and special projects; 
  6. Relearn French;
  7. Learn Spanish;
  8. Put together all of my stories and my mother’s stories into a book. 

Yes, this woman was going to be productive in her golden years!

Although I already had a number of unread books on my book shelves, I hit a couple of used book sales and downloaded numerous classics onto my Nook. I purchased orange and royal blue yarn and needles to knit Larry a Syracuse University scarf. On impulse I also bought Red Sox theme flannel to make him a throw to commemorate his favorite baseball team.

At the office supply store, I selected new photo albums to replace the ones that were falling apart as well as file folders, labels, and markers for my home organization project. I downloaded a language app for my français redux and purchased a Spanish for Dummies for my español. Mom’s files were piled six inches thick into a drawer, ready to polish and publish.

Throughout this entire process, Larry looked on with a mix of mild amusement to outright incredulity that I needed to prepare so much. And he feared all these projects and books and anticipated classes were going to fill my dance card so much we won’t have time to just be.

After all the planning and anticipation, my last day of work arrived. On December 17, 2010, I fought the traffic on the Northway and Route 7 one last time. I completed the required written instructions to my successor, signed my exiting papers, and said my final goodbyes. Then I drove my last rush hour trip home to Clifton Park. It was time to tackle that bucket list!

I reflected on all this planning over the dinner with Larry’s co-worker. I thought of the hundreds of unread books on my shelves that had been passed over for more current ones in the local library. An added bonus: I could get them in big print, a big advantage for my “golden years” eyes.

I tried to work on the Elsa Williams crewel piece. My eyes had changed since I started it, and I doubted it would ever be finished. 

The knitting? Abandoned after four unsuccessful attempts at learning how to cast on. The Red Sox throw? I pinned it together, but I never took out the sewing machine to stitch up the sides. 

The pictures were still in envelopes, the photo albums still unwrapped. This was 2014, the digital age, and I needed to think of tossing most of them, scanning the favorites, and putting them into a digital album. My children strongly encouraged me to toss—not organize—all the childhood memorabilia I had saved. I haven’t had time to refresh my French or learn Spanish; I needed time to work on my own English as I edited and re-edited my stories and my mother’s story for The Jewish World. At least I was working on one of those items on my bucket list. 

So what did we do those first four years since we retired? We traveled to Machu Picchu, the Galápagos Islands, the Danube, Bryce and Zion. When we were home, we spent time volunteering for Special Olympics—coaching track and field and bowling. Yes, in the end, Larry’s simple, straightforward approach to retirement was the most realistic.

Most importantly, the most satisfying activities of the retirement years in Clifton Park were in many cases activities that were never on my radar. Weekly visits to a couple of friends at Daughters of Sarah nursing home evolved into my volunteering at their memory enhancement unit. After taking Zumba at a local elementary school, I realized how much I loved exercise classes and joined the YMCA. 

Over dim sum on that cold winter afternoon, Larry and I offered this advice to our friend: Yes, you can speculate as to what you would like to do once you leave your job for the last time. However, you may never get to many of them. As a matter of fact, you should just kick the bucket—the bucket list that is. Let life take you where you had only dreamed of going. And that is actually the best retirement advice of all.

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.

Melanie Gall: The Canadian songbird

 Sweet and nostalgic, [Melanie Gall] is  like a Disney princess from the Lower East Side” Uptown Magazine (2012)

My mother loved Judy Garland and Deena Durbin. She would have loved Melanie Gall.

My husband Larry and I first became acquainted with Melanie, a Canadian chanteuse, in 2019, through our friends Mike and Teri Chaves. The three had met in a Cancun resort, where Melanie was on vacation the week before her performance at the Orlando International Fringe Festival. The Chaves, with whom we had already made plans to go to the event, insisted that we join the three of them for dinner.  

Over white wine and baked trout. I learned more about Melanie and about what we had in common. We both grew up Jewish in a small town. We both loved the Great American Songbook. We both loved Judy Garland, and in her Orlando Fringe show, Melanie was going to be performing several of Garland’s songs, including “Over the Rainbow” (my favorite song of all times). Melanie was the same age as my son, and she reminded me of Adam in her adventurous and independent spirit.

That evening, we joined our friends to see her one-woman show, Ingenue: Deanna Durbin andJudy Garland. One of 150 performances scheduled across Loch Haven Park and Lowndes Shakespeare Center. Melanie’s one-hour tour-de-force told the story of the friendship and the Hollywood-created rivalry between Judy Garland and Deanna Durbin, two 1940s superstars. 

We enjoyed her performance so much that we went back the next night to watch it again. Each time I heard Melanie sing Durbin and Garland songs, I kept thinking how my mother—whose iPod shuffle contained songs by only two artists, Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra—would have loved to be sitting in the audience.

Melanie’s show not only played to sell-out performances, but won top prize for Best Solo Show, Musical.  When we hugged goodbye, I promised to write a story about her before she returned in 2020 for next year’s Fringe. Of course, that didn’t happen. Nor did it happen in 2021. But two weeks ago, Mike emailed me: “Guess who is coming to Orlando! Melanie Gall!” This May, Melanie will be back in a new production at Orlando International Fringe Festival, A Toast to Prohibition, her fourth time at the festival. 

The four of us quickly bought tickets for both her shows. Soon after, I sent Melanie an email sharing news of our purchase and asking if she was still interested in the article I had promised before COVID. Within an hour, she wrote back, “I’m so excited to see you at my show, and of course I’d love an article!” 

After some background research, I learned that Fringe Festivals are arts festivals featuring alternative or experimental performances and exhibitions. The concept of Fringe Festivals began in Edinburgh, Scotland, when eight theatre companies turned up uninvited to the inaugural Edinburgh International Festival in 1947. With the International Festival using the city’s major venues, these companies took over smaller, alternative venues for their productions. The initial Fringe Festival in Scotland established the two elements of the event: the lack of official invitations to perform and the use of unconventional venues. 

There are now over 300 festivals held across Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand, and North America. Edinburgh remains the largest in the world with over 55,000 performances of 3,548 different shows in 317 venues. The second largest is held in Adelaide, Australia, and features more than 7,000 artists performing in 1,300 events. Edmonton Fringe, the first in North America, was held in 1982.

No matter where they are held, all fringe festivals have some common features. Acts invited to the event are not judged or juried, often chosen by lottery if size constraints are needed. The casts of the shows are small, with one-person shows common. Shows are typically one-hour, single-act productions, and the sets and other technical theater elements are also kept simple. The shortened time frame as well as the lower priced tickets allow audiences to attend multiple shows each day.

The Orlando International Fringe Theatre Festival, the oldest fringe festival in the United States, is a 14-day annual arts festival held during the month of May at various venues including Loch Haven Park, Lownde Shakespeare Center, and  Renaissance Theatre. Although a seasoned Fringe performer around the world, Melanie first performed in Orlando in 2011 with her show My Pal Izzy, based on the early life of Irving Berlin (another one of my mother’s favorites).Melanie grew up in  St. Alberts, Alberta, the oldest child of Karen and Gerald Gall. Melanie’s grandmothers were born in Canada and the States, but her paternal and material grandfathers were immigrants from Russia and Poland, refugees from anti-Semitism and the rise of Hitler. Her parents were founding members of Temple Beth Ora in Edmonton, where Melanie became a Bat Mitzvot. Ironically, I learned during the pandemic that my cousin, Rabbi David A. Kunin, had served in her synagogue and Karen had participated in some Torah studies with him before Rabbi Kunin relocated to the Syracuse, New York, area, my husband’s family’s home.

Growing up Jewish in St. Albert was, according to Melanie, “Dire.” She recalled that only two Jewish families lived in the city, and several of her teachers were overtly anti-Semitic. “There was no reference to any culture aside from Christian/Catholic culture,” said Melanie, “And my fellow students were taught in their churches on Sundays that Jews had killed their God.”

Melanie found joy and solace in her musical family. Her great-grandfather had been a cantor, and one of her grandfathers was the frontrunner for the Jack Young Orchestra, a big band in the 1940s. Melanie’s mother, Karen, spent years as a cantorial soloist in their synagogue. “Music has always been a part of my life,” Melanie recalled, “and I could sing before I could talk.”Although her brother is not involved in music, her sister Wendy is a bassoonist. 

Her small high school did not offer ways to use her musical talents. Melanie took private voice lessons, and after graduating high school, she pursued her passion with her bachelors in music from University of Alberta. Melanie continued her musical education with professional diplomas from the University of Western Ontario, and the Glenn Gould School (formerly the Royal Conservatory of Music) in Toronto. She holds a masters of music degree from Brooklyn College and an advanced Professional Studies Degree in Opera from Manhattan School of Music. She also studied at the Mozarteum in Salzburg, Austria. 

 An internationally acclaimed vocalist, Melanie has traveled to Africa, South America and the Caribbean for both solo recitals and opera performances. Between 2013 and 2018, she performed in both English and French in several countries that had been under-represented theatrically, including Zimbabwe, Algeria, Morocco, Chad, Sudan, and Zambia. While there, she led outreach programs for children and young artists in local schools and orphanages. In addition, Melanie has worked with First-Nations Communities in Northern Manitoba, fostering a love of music and building performance skills in youth. Melanie has sung at both Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall, and performed her Vera Lynn cabaret in London’s Royal Albert Hall. Her voice and talent has led her to performances at fringe events in Australia and New Zealand. 

Melanie has written and internationally toured in several award-winning solo shows.  These include The Sparrow and The Mouse; Piaf and Brel: The Impossible Concert; In the Mood for Love, with songs from ‘American Songbook’s women composers; and Opera Mouse, a children’s introduction to opera; In 2014, she starred in  Red Hot Mama: A Sophie Tucker Cabaret, an off-Broadway one woman tour-de-force written and produced by Eric DeWaal 

During the pandemic, Melanie’s performances were curtailed, but it didn’t stop her creative talents. Melanie’s book: Deanna Durbin, Judy Garland and The Golden Age of Hollywood, the first-ever biography of 1930s superstar Deanna Durbin and her relationship with Judy Garland, was released in July 2022 by Lyons Press. She is now working on her second book, about the history of house sparrows in North America and the people who have adopted these “wild” birds as pets.

Melanie has never specifically built a show based on her Jewish background, but she references Jewish composers and artists in every one of her shows, including Irving Berlin and Sophie Tucker. She also was pleased to make a connection between Durbin and Anne Frank, a fact she includes in her book. “Deanna was Anne’s favorite star,” Melanie said. “Anne pasted her picture on the wall of the family’s hiding place, and it can still be seen today.”

Melanie is a leading expert in historic knitting music from WWI and WWII. Her interest led to her recording several albums on the topic, as well as two shows: More Power to Your Knitting, Nell!  and A Stitch in Time. For over twelve years, Melanie and her sister Debbie hosted the popular The Savvy Girls Podcast that offered “a playful and thoughtful look at knitting, travel, and life,” with a regular listenership of several thousand.

Melanie’s goal? “My long-term goal as a recording artist is to make ‘lost’ popular historic music available once more, she said, “And to ensure that the popular music tradition from the early 20th century is not forgotten.

Sadly, I didn’t get to go to see Melanie in 2022, as I came down with COVID earlier that week. Larry, COVID negative, got to go. Larry said the show was terrific. He came home with a small table Melanie had used as a prop, and we use it every night when we eat outside on our lanai. Just a “fringe” benefit of our knowing this lovely and talented woman.

More information on Melanie Gall can be found on her website at http://www.melainegall.com. More information on Orlando International Fringe festival, can be found at orlandofringe.org.

Versions of this story were published The Jewish World and the Heritage Florida Jewish News.

Melanie Gall’s book on two of her favorite Hollywood icons.

Russian-American artist finds comfort, purpose in his paintings

Israel Tsvaygenbaum views what is happening in Israel since October 7, 2023, as a painful reminder of his own family history. His father was 29 when he fled Poland in 1939 to escape the Nazis. The Nazis murdered his remaining family members in Auschwitz-Birkenau. “I have always reflected in my paintings the theme of the Holocaust and human tragedy, the loss of people close to us,” said the Russian-American artist, whose magic realism artwork is known worldwide.

Israel has worked to find comfort and purpose in his artwork. In our interview, he cited three works that were especially meaningful to him during this time of war. In The Holocaust, two white doves join blood-red angels on a darker red background. The Tree of Weeping depicts draped hooded figures with their arms outstretched in supplication. Prayers at the Tree of Life portrays an Orthodox Jewish man praying to a tree made of bright branches. “At some point in our lives, our prayers turn to a Tree of Life where each branch represents the prayers of a generation,” Israel said. “We all have our Tree of Life that hears our prayers.”

Immediately following the October 7, 2023, Hamas massacre, Israel began work on his latest piece. The Broken Jar features a fractured vase holding red roses on a background of yellow sunflowers. “Their yellow color represents the anxiety that the Israeli people are now experiencing while waiting for their kidnapping loved ones,” he said. “The hearts of the Israelis are now broken like the jar in my painting, but their souls, like those roses, have preserved their integrity, unity, and harmony.”

Israel was born in 1961 in Derbent, Dagestan, Russia, the youngest child of a Polish Holocaust survivor and a “Mountain Jew” a mother who was a descendent of Persian Jews from Iran. As a result, the Tsvaygenbaum children were raised in a uniquely Jewish household, a mixture of Ashkenazi (Eastern and Central European) and Sephardic (Spanish) traditions and customs. Although often struggling financially, the family kept a kosher home and observed Shabbat and all religious holidays. His father, respected for his erudition and prior religious education, served as a “spiritual bridge” to fellow survivors who had settled in Derbent.

Adding to young Israel‘s cultural experiences were his interactions with both Christian and Muslim neighbors. “The memory of these people prompted me to create some of my paintings,” he said. “They were sources of my inspiration.”

Israel chronicles these events in his 2023 memoir, My Secret Memory: The Memoir of the Artist, describing how the ideas for his paintings came to him. The book outlines key events in his childhood that shaped his paintings later in life, including frank and often graphic descriptions of violence and sexual encounters. These dramatic events and the tragedies of his own family members, especially the loneliness and sadness experienced by his father because of the Holocaust, are major themes of his writing. “I pour my soul into my painting,” Israel said in his YouTube video. Most importantly, his art represents universal themes of kindness, peace, and our shared humanity. 

Israel’s artistic interests and talents began at an early age. By eight years old, he was asking his parents to purchase painting supplies so he could capture important moments on canvas. He obtained both undergraduate and graduate fine art degrees from Russian art institutions. From 1983 to 1985, he pursued an acting career, which inspired him to paint pictures of fellow thespians. In 1986, Israel organized an artist’s group called Coloring, an association of artists based in Derbent. Museums and private collections throughout Russia showcased Israel’s art.

In 1994, Israel held two successful solo shows in Moscow. This was to be his last in his home country. The escalating conflict between Russia and Chechnya, which bordered Dagestan, made it too dangerous for Israel and his family to remain in the war-torn area. In 1994, he, his wife Katerina, their three daughters ranging in age from 14 months to nine years; his mother, and his maternal grandmother immigrated to New York State’s Capital District to be close to his brother, a Saratoga County resident. The family quickly settled in Albany, New York, as he felt the bigger city would provide more opportunities to build a new life for him and his family. 

“Time has shown that I was right,” he remarked. Israel has enjoyed a successful career in the state’s capital. Russia and the United States have exhibited his extensive collection of paintings, which are also part of private collections in nine countries, including Austria, Bulgaria, France, Israel, the Netherlands, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the US. Israel’s two ink on paper graphical works—The Sarcasm of Fate and The Grief of People—are in the Museum of Imitative Arts, Derbent, Dagestan, Russia.

In 2001, Israel began a collaboration with Judy Trupin, a choreographer and poet who created dance compositions based on nine of Israel’s paintings. Worlds in Our Eyes, created to elicit memories of Jewish life in Eastern Europe and Russia while touching on universal themes, was performed in several cities in New York State. Israel dedicated the performance to the people of his home city, Derbent.

Israel also has found success and pride in his family life, especially in seeing that his love for Judaism continues in his children and grandchildren. “I always wanted to pass the baton that I got from my parents,” he said in My Secret Memory. “I am happy to realize I made it.” He and Katerina’s three daughters, all graduates of Albany High School with professional careers, have instilled Jewish values and traditions in their own families. Six out of eight attend Jewish schools. 

“Everything in this world is interconnected,” Israel wrote in My Secret Memory. He hopes what he has created from his patience, his passion for the conceived idea, and his dedication to work will make the world a little kinder place. Just like the roses in The Broken Jar, he hopes his life and legacy will reflect integrity, unity, and harmony.

Originally published December 15, 2023.Updated May 26, 2025.

Versions of this story were published The Jewish World and the Heritage Florida Jewish News.

Israel Tsvaygenbaum’s memoir

Tsvaygenbaum, Israel. My Secret Memory: The Memoir of the Artist. (2023).

www.israelartgold.com

www.wikipedia.com

A “Chili” Story for A Chilly January

In mid-December, Central Florida was experiencing a cold snap, and I decided to make chili. I had the canned tomatoes and chopped green chilis and the soy meat crumbles for the recipe, and I had all the ingredients for cornbread, a must whenever I made it.

Once I checked my pantry, however, I realized I was out for canned beans. No problem! I had been meaning use up the dried red kidney beans tucked away for a while.

What I quickly realized that the “while” was at least 9 years. Yes, as evidenced by its Price Chopper label, I had brought the beans with me when we moved here in 2015. Meanwhile, I had no idea how long ago before our move from Upstate New York to Florida when I had purchased them. I knew that archeologists had found barley and other foodstuffs in storage in Masada, and a woman in Minnesota had grown pole beens from 15,000 year old seeds. What did I have to lose? 

So, on that cold Friday, as per instructions, I soaked the beans overnight. The next morning, I boiled the beans and then let them simmer for another hour. As I was going to make the chili on Monday, I put the beans in a large container, covered them with water, and placed them in the refrigerator. The beans weren’t as soft as they should be, but I figured the extra soaking would do its magic.

On Monday morning, I placed the drained beans in my slow cooker with all the other ingredients for the dish. Despite the 36 hour soak, the beans STILL were a little hard, but I reasoned ten hours in the slow cooker would resolve the issue. 

That evening, I made the cornbread and assembled the shredded cheese, onions, and sour cream to top the chili. We were ready to eat. I dished out two large bowls for Larry and me.

My teeth bit into a red kidney bean. Al dente is fine for pasta, but for chili? The dish was barely edible. We picked around them and filled up on cornbread and the other chili ingredients. The glass of red wine also helped. 

As we began to clean up, I realized we had made only made a small dent into the chili. “Maybe if we freeze the leftovers, they will soften a bit,” I told Larry, portioning out another meal into a frozen container. I still had another meal in the pot.

Time to consult Chef Google! The first thing I learned was those ancient beans and barley may have been found, but they had not been cooked. And nine-plus-year-old-beans were too old. Farther down the website, Chef Google suggested adding baking soda to beans to soften them. 

Okay! I pulled out my Arm and Hammer and spooned out a heaping teaspoon into the still warm chili. Immediately, the mixture began to erupt like a volcano. Fearing they would explode out of the crock pot, I screamed to Larry to empty the sink so I could dump the mess down the garbage disposal. Fortunately, they stopped their explosion and even didn’t result in a clog.

I guess I should have read the instructions better. The baking soda should have been added to the “virgin” beans when I first boiled them. Adding the sodium bicarbonate to the chili mixture, which contained acidic tomatoes, replicated what happens when one combines baking soda and vinegar. Remember your childhood/children’s science experience? Yep! That kind of explosion.

Over the next few days, I shared my experience with several friends. Betty, a retired home economics teacher, suggested newer beans. Several others suggested using canned beans. Marcella, who grew up in Costa Rica and was an expert on rice and beans, suggested I trade in my slow cooker for a new appliance.

“I make beans in my Instant Pot© all the time,” Marcella told me. “They cook in 20 minutes.”

Five days later, Amazon had a 9-in-1 Instant Pot© on sale for 40% off. What perfect timing! I quickly ordered it and, a day later, took it out of the box. 

I was a little intimidated with the instruction manual, which began with 27 IMPORTANT SAFEGUARDS!!! along with two more pages of warnings that rivaled those found at nuclear power plant. A highlighted block stating “Failure to adhere to safety instructions may result in serious personal injury or property damage” was repeated five times. 

After doing a test run, I spent the next few days trying out my new toy. Hard boiled eggs? Perfect! Rice? Perfect! A whole roasting chicken in 28 minutes? Perfect! Butternut squash? Perfect! The only fail was my attempt at mashed potatoes. The finished spuds were brownish grey and turned into a sticky mess when mashed. Those went in the freezer (Maybe they could serve as a base for my potato latkes later that month?) next to the container labeled “11/20/2023 Chili with Bad Beans.”

And the chili? Larry purchased a fresh, one pound package of red kidney beans on one of his recent shopping trips. They are still sitting in the pantry waiting for another cold snap.

As I write this, we are approaching the secular New Year’s Day, January 1, 2024. According to Southern tradition, eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day will bring a year’s worth of good luck and/or monetary gain. Google came up with over 5 million hits for “Black Eyed Peas Chili. [Black-eyed peas are also traditionally served on Rosh Hashanah. Who knew?] Maybe it’s time for another run to the supermarket to start our own tradition, hopefully sans Mount Vesuvius. I’ll keep you posted. 

Versions of this story were publishedinThe Jewish World and the Heritage Florida Jewish News.

More beans than I ever imagined at the Ferry Building Farmer’s Markey, January 6, 2024

Aunt Rose and Uncle Ruby by Frances Cohen

The article below was written by my mother, Frances Cohen. It is part of Fradel’s Story, a collection of stories I edited and published in book form in September 2022.

I’m so lucky that my mother had lots of siblings. I was surrounded with lots of loving aunts, uncles, and cousins. Of all the relatives, I was closest to my Aunt Rose, Uncle Ruby, and their older son Elliot.

My first memories of my Aunt Rose were when I was very young as she spent a great deal of time with me. She made clothes for me and even sewed some of the clothes for my trousseau. After Bill and I were married, Aunt Rose taught me how to cook. As the mother of two sons, she treated me as the daughter she never had.

Aunt Rose and Uncle Ruby had a wonderful marriage that lasted almost a half a century. They met under very romantic circumstances. Rose worked in New York City in a factory. One rainy day, she was walking home from work and went into a restaurant on Delancey Street to get out of the downpour. As fate may have it, Uncle Ruby was her waiter. Visiting over coffee, Ruby told the poor girl, who was drenched and disheveled, that he was to be finished very soon for the day. Since he had an umbrella, he would be glad to walk her to her home, which was just across the near-by Williamsburg bridge.

When Aunt Rose arrived home, her mother saw how infatuated Aunt Rose was with this tall, handsome guy. Her mother invited Ruby to stay for dinner. That first dinner led to many other dinners. Vichna, ready to feed everyone, would serve herring, boiled potatoes with sauerkraut, and homemade cake and challah. The romance flourished, and they were married within the year.

Soon after they were married, Uncle Ruby lost his job as a waiter. It was the Great Depression, and restaurants did not need as much help. Aunt Rose and Uncle Ruby moved up north to join the family in working at one of the many Pearl’s Department Stores. Ruby eventually opened his own store, Ruby’s, in Brushton, New York

Everyone loved Ruby as he had a wonderful sense of humor. When one of his customers complained that the underpants she bought at his store had holes in them, Ruby said that those were for ventilation. Uncle Ruby hated the Yankees, and he rarely missed their game on the radio just to cheer on the opposite team. At family get-togethers in our home in Keeseville, he would often sneak out to his car, turn on the radio, chew on Chiclets gum, and curse out “those damn Yankees!”

Aunt Rose and Uncle Ruby lived happily in Upstate New York and, although the only Jews in the town, were beloved by everyone. When Aunt Rose died just before their planned fiftieth anniversary party, her funeral was held in Burlington, Vermont. Even though that was 100 miles from their hometown, all the stores in Brushton were closed for the day so that everyone, including the local priest and the minister with his family, could attend the funeral,

Ruby missed his Rose. When he got lonesome, he would put a sign in the window of his store that stated, “Closed for Jewish Holidays” and travel to visit his children and grandchildren.

Ruby lived until he was ninety years old. His funeral, which was held in Burlington, Vermont, was also hugely attended as he was beloved by all the family and the many friends he and Rose had made during their lifetimes. During his eulogy, the rabbi said, “Ruby was not a religious man, but he took more time off for the Jewish holidays than anyone else I ever knew.”

As I mentioned before, Ruby and Rose had two sons, Elliot and Sol. I was especially close to their elder son, Elliot. When things were bad during the Depression, Elliot would spend the summers with my family in New York City. I’m forever grateful to him for introducing me to my husband. Elliot was best man at our wedding, and he drove the car that we took from New York City up north after our honeymoon. It an unforgettable trip. I sat in the front seat with Elliot and Aunt Rose. Bill sat in the back seat with all the wedding presents, including a floor lamp that Bill had to hold for the eight hours. As adults, we remained very close and have spent much time together in Florida and up north. Elliot and his wife Florence were at our fiftieth wedding anniversary. After Florence passed away, Elliot remarried. We have remained very close to Elliot and his second wife Marty. In May 2010, I went down to Staten Island to celebrate his daughter’s sixtieth birthday. I sat with Elliot and visited as if we were still children.

I am very grateful for our relationship with Ruby, Rose, and their family. They very much enriched Bill’s and my life.

Photo of Fran’s aunts and uncles is from Marilyn Cohen Shapiro’s family photo collection. Both Ruby and Rose are standing in the back row. Ruby is second from left; Rose is third from left.

Yes, I am a woman now….

In today’s crazy world, it is hard to find things for which to be thankful. So I have been trying to find gratitude in the small things: a FaceTime with my children and grandchildren; a good cup of coffee with a piece of warm challah; a special moment with Larry. Recently, I reached back fifty four years to remember an evening that still holds a special place in my heart 

 In 1969, my brother Jay, who was going for his Masters at Cornell University , invited me out to spend the weekend.Jay arranged for me to stay with Leslie, his girlfriend—and his future wife—on the Ithaca College campus.

As a freshman at Albany State, and I was looking forward to the weekend.What made it especially exciting was that Jay and Leslie had arranged for double dates for both Friday and Saturday. 

After bringing me back from the bus stop to his dorm, Jay introduced me to Date One: his roommate Charlie. My first impression of him was not favorable; he looked like a computer nerd and acted like he was roped into an evening for which he had little interest. We all agreed to meet back in Jay’s room after dinner. 

I guess Charlie’s first impression of me was not any better. Charlie was a no-show. Leslie and Jay insisted that it was Charlie, but I was hurt and embarrassed. In my mind, I believed he was turned off by my own nerdiness and my before-contact-lens-coke-bottle glasses. “He probably took one look and headed for the hills,” I thought.

Despite the rough start, the three of us enjoyed our evening and the next day. I already loved Leslie and knew she would be in our lives for a long time. Saturday night, I got ready for Date Two with a great deal of trepidation. Would I be stood up again? Thankfully, Jay’s choice for Date Two made up for Charlie tenfold.. Denny was a Robert Redford doppelgänger: tall, blonde, with a British accent to add to the allure.

Our plans for Saturday evening were to see Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, who was my favorite musical group at the time.I was not alone in my passion. They were one of a very select group of touring acts to achieve prominence worldwide.In 1968 , they earned six consecutive gold records and sold more 45 rpm records than any other recording act-including the Beatles. They played a command performance at the White House for Prince Charles and Princess Anne by special invitation of the president.I had worn out my 78 rpm recording of their first eponymous album, swooning to “Woman, Woman;” “This Girl Is A Woman Now,” and “Young Girl.” Seeing them on stage, live, with handsome, sweet, attentive Denny at my side was special.

When Denny said goodnight, he gave me a gentle kiss—a kiss I still remember for its compassion and kindness. Did Jay tell him about the Charlie catastrophe? Or did Denny just sense my vulnerability and lack of confidence? I never saw Denny again, but I will never forget that cold night in Ithaca, New York where a kind stranger made me feel like a beautiful “woman woman,” with no cheating in her heart.

Move ahead to July 2023. An email blast from one of our social clubs announced that Gary Puckett and the Union Gap on was performing in our 55+ community’s ballroom on Sunday, November 6. Despite Larry’s ambivalence (he barely remembered the group), I scooped up two tickets for the 8 pm show. I was psyched, despite the fact that Gary Puckett had just turned 81 two weeks before the concert. Judging from his website, he didn’t look like the handsome young man in the group’s trademark Civil War uniform I knew back then, but—heck— I was also a little older looking myself.

We arrived a half an hour before the show and took our seats.Soon, the seats next to us were taken by my friend Maryellen. She introduced us to her husband Ed. We commented on the large crowd who had come to see the the show. “I am looking forward to this,” Ed said. “The last time I saw Gary Puckett and the Union Gap was at Cornell in 1969.” I gasped and stared at him. “I was at the same concert,” I told him. 

At 8 pm, the lights dimmed, the three “Union Gappers” took their places on the stage. As the introductory chords played, Gary Puckett burst onto the stage, singing “Lady Willpower.” I am not sure if he asked the audience to sing along to warm us up or to rest his old vocal cords. but we all fell right into his warmth and charm.

Gary Puckett still had a great voice, albeit a little choppier and less smooth than I remembered.He missed a few high notes and forgot some of the lyrics to a song by the Beach Boys. He turned to the audience, apologized, and asked“So, how is your memory doing?” The audience roared with laughter.

A little over an hour later, the group finished off with “Young Girl,” which is how I felt that evening. There was an opportunity to wait in a long line for a picture, but Larry, who had enjoyed the concert more than I hoped, agreed that I probably would be walking home if I stayed.

So, I am thankful. Thankful for that memorable evening in Ithaca. Thankful that Jay married Leslie and gave me a much beloved sister-of-my-heart.Thankful that Gary Puckett was still alive and kicking and entertaining the crowd. And, most of all, thankful that Larry—not Charlie or even Denny—was sitting next to me. As we walked to our car, my husband of almost 50 years, gave me a not-so-gentle kiss. Yes, that girl is a woman now, and she knows how to live.

The art of listening: Advice for the new year

When you talk, you are only repeating what you already know. But if you listen, you may learn something new. Dalai Lama XIV

So many stories if we just listen. Sitting next to someone on a plane, we often stick earbuds in our ears to make sure they don’t prattle on about nothing.  But sometimes there is much to be learned from hearing—and really listening—to what others have to say. 

Some of us are experts at listening. Lou, a friend and former co-worker, not only hears what the person is saying but engages his entire body: he leans forward, plants his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees,  and looks the speaker in the eye. He nods in agreement. You know he cares about what is being said. 

I think of Lou, and I want to emulate him. I am as guilty as anyone, often not really paying attention.

How many times have I sat through a rabbi’s dracha —sermon— and spent too much of my time checking my watch? Even when I have signed up for a lecture sponsored by my community’s book circle, I often find myself thinking about what I need to do later that day rather than focusing on the topic being discussed. I have missed much by not being not more mindful.

Our failure to focus often carries into our daily conversations. We often are not listening to what the person is saying but rather waiting for the moment to express our own “pearls of wisdom.” And, what is worse,  what we want to say takes the conversation in a different direction. “That’s great,” we comment. “That reminds me of the time I…..” Note the emphasis is on the word “I.” To quote John Wayne, we are “short on ears and long on mouth.” 

We can learn from Lou and other good listeners. Young adult author Sarah Desson describes them well: “They don’t jump in on your sentences, saving you from actually finishing them, or talk over you, allowing what you do manage to get out to be lost or altered in transit. Instead, they wait, so you have to keep going.” 

How much richer our lives can be if we allow the speaker to continue talking.

Larry and I recently spent time with a group of friends in in Key West, Florida.  Before the trip, Larry had played pickleball with several people in the group, and we both had shared time around the pool and eaten lunch together. But being together for a week gave us more time to learn about each other.

Stories abounded. One woman had contracted polio when she was six, just months before the polio vaccine had come out. A very attractive woman who was visiting from England had become an actress in her sixties and is a regular on a British medical drama. A couple’s son had left his career as a graphic designer behind and became a tattoo artist. Several in the group had served in the military and regaled us with their stories about their experiences in basic training, in fighter planes, in submarines. Again and again, I thought to myself, “Who knew?”

Four days into our trip, Larry said to me, “I love hearing everyone’s stories!” And so did I. So many stories, so much to learn. And as my friend Lynn tells me about her own life, “You can’t make this stuff up!”

In the months ahead, I will be sharing people’s stories with you.  My friend’s son, who we have known since childhood, is now a rabbi in New Orleans. A friend in our 55-plus active adult community has turned his lifelong interest in the Titanic into a post-retirement career, as he travels the world giving lectures on the infamous boat and its many passengers. A friend of mine, a thirty-eight year old resident Daughters of Sarah Nursing Home, was paralyzed from the neck down in a freak motorcycle accident when he was sixteen. Each has a story to tell, and we can  all learn by listening. 

At one of the recent meetings of my writer’s group, one of the members shared a poignant story she had written about woman she had met twenty years earlier on a train stuck outside of Washington, D.C.  The writer—who was not wearing earbuds to block out conversations with strangers—learned that the woman was recently married to her childhood sweetheart. A month before the wedding, he was in a terrible accident and had suffered traumatic brain injury. Despite warnings from friends and family to back out of the wedding, the young woman realized her vow to love one another through sickness and health was sealed before the ceremony. By the time she finished reading her story, many of us were in tears. “How did you learn so much about a complete stranger?” we asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “She talked, I listened, and I remembered.” Good advice for all of us. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the November 10, 2016, Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.