I was worried about the package. I’d hoped it would arrive by Hanukkah, but it was a long way from Portland, Oregon, to my new friend Luke, in Mullaloo, Australia. I’d connected with Luke through a Jewish genealogy website while trying to track down information about my grandmother’s family.
All the records I found were in Polish. He offered to translate them for me, at no charge. Luke was raised Christian in Krakow, Poland, but had recently discovered that his mother was born Jewish. He was trying to learn about Judaism. To thank him for his help, I decided to send him his first Hanukkah gift.
“No package yet,” Luke e-mailed. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” At least I hoped he would.
The next week, I reached out to Luke again. “Still no mail,” he replied, “but I did have a dream last night. You brought me soup and we had a pleasant visit.” Several days later, another message. “You sent me a coffee mug this time…in another dream! I filled the mug with soup. I rarely have soup so I don’t know where this is coming from.”
I did. That weekend an e-mail popped up in my in-box: “Your package arrived on the shores of Mullaloo! I laughed out loud when I opened it and saw the book.”
Not just any book. Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul.
