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During my divorce in 1999, I moved into a little one-bedroom apartment that was a few blocks away from the Quaker meeting house, where my synagogue held Friday night Shabbat services once a month. For about a year, on that last Friday of the month, I’d invite a few girlfriends over, and we’d eat a simple meal, chat and laugh, before walking the ten minutes to the Quaker meeting house, where I would lead services.
It was a rough year in many ways, but those conversations over Shabbat dinner were points of light. Just thinking about them makes me smile.
