Y ou don’t know me and I don’t know you. But I know what you look like from the pictures on your fridge. I know that you paint from the paintings adorning your walls. I know where you live — I’ve stayed there. Three times in fact.
I can tell we’re very different — I’m gefilte-fish-and-cholent Ashkenaz you’re obviously Sephardi. My apartment isn’t always gleaming whereas I’ve never not been able to see my reflection in your floors.
The only thing we actually do share is a rebbetzin. Our rebbetzin lives around the corner from you and far from me so whenever you go away for Shabbos she invites us to stay in your apartment and spend Shabbos with her.
The first time we came you were just out of your sheva brachos week. We could tell by the printout on the fridge of a sweet-looking girl and her chassan standing by a bunch of lavish flowers and looking shyly at each other. Obviously the chasunah photos hadn’t come in yet.
