Stick a pin in the phonebook. See where it lands. Make the call. Does everyone have a story? Five writers find out
In a world of blue surgical masks, Charna is the rose-gold sequined one. She texts to let me know that, so I can identify her at the pizza shop she likes to frequent. New Jersey has just recently reintroduced indoor dining, so this is an exciting first. But though de-masking for eating is now okay, you still need to wear masks while you’re, say, sitting around waiting to meet a journalist.
As I slide into the booth across from her, I immediately chastise myself for falling into the trap of snap stereotyping that I’ve always deplored in others.
When Miriam Milstein told me to pick a name at random, I was fairly certain I knew what to expect.
I’d struck out only once before getting an easy consent from Charna. I noted the address — typical Lakewood development. I got this. I figured I could probably write the story before meeting her. Mid-thirties or forties, kollel wife or recent-ex-kollel-wife, six kids, a Sienna, a townhouse, and a job in medical billing or special ed.
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