Several months ago I opened a Rosh Hashanah e-card from a fellow former ulpan student.
She asked if I remembered her.
Really, how could I forget her; she was a four-and-a-half foot-tall ball of fire—a feisty, opinionated Latina grandmother.
On the surface we had little in common besides our low-level Hebrew course at Jerusalem’s Ulpan Beit Ha’am.
I was a semi-newly minted metal smith and Judaica artist in search of a better Jewish education, and she was a retired secretary fulfilling her dream of making aliyah.
But there we were together, comparing our homework assignments at 7:15 each morning, five days a week for four months...