I’m never surprised where my writing inspiration comes from. And often it arises from the most unlikely places. Last month I received a resume from a candidate named Christina in response to a healthcare related ad I had posted on one of the popular job boards. The position was in a large Midwestern city and this candidate lived a bit of a distance from the job, in a small town I had never heard of. I called her anyway as she could have been open to relocation and/or loved to commute. I left her a voice message on a Friday, and she responded with a lovely email thanking me for contacting her, but since she observed Shabbat (Sabbath), she would not be available for a phone conversation till Sunday or Monday. For those not familiar with Orthodox Judaism, adherents are not allowed to participate in any type of work, including using all electronics, driving and phone calls. Being very familiar with these rituals, I honored her wishes, planning to call her back on Monday.
The fact that her name was Christina gave me pause, as I don’t know anyone named Christina who is Jewish. I assumed she married into the faith and converted to her husband’s religion, a not-so-uncommon occurrence. Honestly, I was more intrigued by her religious beliefs than in her qualifications for the role. It’s the writer in me and I often struggle with curbing my curiosity. I enthusiastically anticipated our conversation at which time I would ask her about it. If she were a convert, she’d be more than happy to offer the details.
From Tragedy to Salvation
When we connected the following week, I asked her about her career goals, including the reason she was seeking a new opportunity. Satisfied with her answers, and fifteen minutes into the call, I decided to pivot and ask her about her religion. After all, she did bring it up in her email; she’d left that door slightly open. She giggled as if she were used to people asking her about being Jewish with a Christian name, and said it was a long story. She was forthcoming and willing to talk about it, saying it all started with the events of 911 and losing her parents in the North Tower.
Without a photo of her, it was hard to determine her age, as she had a young sounding voice. You never know how old someone is when you speak with them on the phone and if you ever see them in person, you’re either shocked or impressed. Interestingly, the more Christina spoke, the more I detected an accent that I could not identify. It sounded like a blend of a Southern drawl and the King’s English. I was about to ask her where she grew up when she quickly continued with her story. She and her family were in New York on 911 due to her father being on loan from Scotland Yard. He’d been teaching NYPD detectives effective interviewing techniques utilized in the UK. At age 10, she had been in New York for a short time when her parents and brother—her only sibling—died on that day.
Divine intervention came in the form of Rabbi Akiva, affiliated with the worldwide Chabad organization. Rabbi Akiva had lost his own daughter and believed that God had sent Christina to him and his family. This seemingly incongruous duo built a deep friendship, and the Rabbi eventually became her “second father.” Three years later, just prior to her 13th birthday, he flew her home to England and asked her family if she could convert to Judaism. As a Jew, I can tell you it is not an easy undertaking to convert to Judaism at any age, much less at 13. And the Orthodoxy practiced by Chabad members requires years of study and commitment.
Timing is Everything
I was not prepared for the specifics of her story. There was a lot more she told me about her education at the University of Alabama (is that where the Southern accent came from?) and then relocation to the Midwest at the behest of a friend. And she may have wondered why I took such an interest in it. Fascinated by her courage and joie de vivre despite losing her immediate family to one of the worst acts of terrorism, I wrongly assumed others who’ve heard her story would want to write about it. She said no one ever offered to do so. I told her I’d stay in touch to both continue our conversation about her life as well as to let her know when I had a suitable job opportunity. As it turns out, the job she’d applied to online was with an employer she’d already interviewed with the week before.
Timing. It’s everything in life. Had I not posted that job and had she not responded to it, I would have never had the opportunity to virtually meet Christina—who was given a Hebrew name after her conversion—and to hear another inspiring story about the incredible, indomitable spirit we humans possess.