I was weeks from my wedding — and then came the diagnosis
IN the summer of 2015, I traveled from my home in Mexico to Miami to visit my friend, Chana Koskas. The last thing I expected was for her father, Rabbi Koskas, to redt me a shidduch.
“Uh,” I stammered, “my parents don’t want me to start shidduchim before I turn nineteen….”
“I understand,” he said, waving his hand. “But an opportunity like this doesn’t present itself often. I have an amazing boy. I think he would be perfect for you. How about I call your parents and ask them? If they agree, would you like to meet him?”
“Um. Yes, I guess….” I said.
“Okay,” said Rabbi Koskas. “I’ll call your parents. What’s your father’s number?”
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