How a Convert to Judaism Learned to Make Gefilte Fish
The only person ever to admonish me to do something specific to “become a proper Jew” was my husband’s Aunt Rachel of Queens, New York. By then my conversion to Judaism was a few years old. Having moved from Germany, my husband Harry and I had made a nice Jewish life for ourselves as graduate students at the University of Chicago, replete with kosher kitchen and attending services at our local Hillel.
One afternoon in the summer of 1992 found Harry and me at Aunt Rachel’s dining room table. We were in New York to attend a friend’s wedding, and of course we had to visit Aunt Rachel and her husband, Uncle Max. Both had survived Auschwitz, and family was immensely important to them as they had so few relatives. Had we lived in New York, we would have had to spend every holiday with them.
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