Seven Orthodox Jewish siblings, ages 5 to 16, died early Saturday morning of March 21 in a raging Brooklyn house fire that sent their mother Gayle Sassoon, and teenage sister Siporah (15) smashing through second-story windows to escape. Their father was at a religious retreat in Manhattan at the time. The fire was the city’s deadliest since March 2007.

The medical examiner said Elaine (16), David (12), Rivkah (11), Moshe (8), Yeshua (10), Sara (6), and Yaakob (5), died of smoke inhalation. I pray that’s how they died.

As of March 21, Siporah was in critical condition at Staten Island University Hospital North, while her mother was placed in the hyperbaric chamber at Jacobi Medical Center in the Bronx as she fought for her life.

The smoky inferno was ignited by an untended hot plate used to keep food warm in the first-floor kitchen, as the Sassoon family slept upstairs on the Sabbath, officials said. Their home had no smoke detectors.

News of this disaster brought back my own horrific memories of my mother’s “accident.” When I was fourteen years old, we had a cooking fire in our home, and my mother suffered devastating third-degree burns.

The memory of the suffering and pain my mother endured for years, made me extremely vigilant about cooking with oil, candles, fireplaces, fire detectors, electric cords, and the like.

When I became a mother, I never allowed my children to light candles, or come anywhere close to the stove or extremely hot liquids.  I embedded into their brains the importance of fire safety. Unfortunately, it took the “accident” to educate me about home fires and the crushing destruction they can cause.

I wrote the short story below when I was in high school, several months after the fire in my own home, and amidst a very dark time in my life.

MOMMY

Machines were doing her breathing, and a heart monitor loomed near her bed.  She was a tangle of needles and tubes, unmindful of the nurses, doctors and commotion surrounding her.  I sat there in a dream, no a nightmare–wishing to awake.  But there would be no waking from this nightmare.  I reached for her hand, searching for a place to caress. A small spot free of burns and bandages.

“How do I look?”

There she stood, like a movie star.  Tall and slim, she wore a magnificent suit of hunter green velvet.  The long, straight skirt fashionably hugged her curvaceous figure.  The tightly fitted jacket accentuated her small waist and long slender neck.  Her shoulders back, her head high, she was a vision of loveliness in her dark green suit.  Green was her color.  It matched her eyes so well.  Those captivating green eyes of hers.  Everyone who saw them commented.  “They shine like emeralds.” … “Eyes like a cat.”… “Green like the sea.”…

But to me, they were the eyes of a queen.  Queen green.  Sparkling, radiant, luminous.  Magazine eyes.

Her eyes provided a mere backdrop for the rest of her face.  Her ivory complexion laid the foundation for her stunning silhouette.  The chiseled nose was a perfect ski slope, and her ruby red lips made her teeth look even whiter.  Her ash blonde hair, pulled into a chic French twist, framed her elegant features. 

Her style was unquestionable.  Her beauty formidable.

“Well monkey face, how do I look?”

Seventeen years older than me, she bent close to me for my answer.  Mischief, youth, and excitement filled her amazing green eyes.  The scent of sweetheart roses permeated the air around us.

“You look like Grace Kelly mommy.  No, I take that back…More beautiful than Grace Kelly.”

She raised herself then, with a satisfied smile on her face.  And she ruffled my hair, pulling herself straight like a marionette.  I fell to my knees and hugged her legs, gently stroking the soft green velvet.  Closing my eyes, I held her adoringly.  

When I opened my eyes the room was cold.  The rough material of her hospital gown and bandages chafed my cheek. 

Whenever I hear the phrase “Born on the 4^th of July,” it reminds me of my own special birth mantra: Born on Good Friday.

As a child, I was often reminded by my Catholic maternal grandmother, who raised me and raised me up, that because of my Good Friday birthday, I was forever blessed.

As Friday’s child, she would tell me that I was loving and giving because this was my destiny.

She also believed that as a Good Friday child, I would be forever protected because Jesus gave His life that day so that all may live.

Ironically enough, as a young child growing up in the slums of Bridgeport, Connecticut, I didn’t feel protected or blessed at all.

Heck, I wasn’t even born Catholic. I was baptized Greek Orthodox at birth and was subsequently baptized Catholic at age six in order to attend first grade at St. Ambrose Catholic School. My entire public school kindergarten memory is filled with bullies and getting beat up every day—totally and wholly unprotected. Being baptized Catholic created for me a glimmer of hope that my bullying days would finally be over, although that’s not how it went down.

I spent the next 24 years as a practicing Catholic until, at age 31, I converted to Judaism, a nerve-wracking decision that caused a stir in my Catholic family.

The stir did not include my grandmother — she died at age 64 when I was 30 years old and one year before I converted. (Yes, you’re reading our age difference correctly.)

Had my grandmother lived, I would have never converted to Judaism because my final decision to walk away from my religion was based on an unfortunate decision a Catholic priest made — denying her of her Last Rites. And although I converted, I was never able to denounce my Catholic beliefs.

The great religious celebrations of Easter and Passover are very special and significant for me this year because the first evening of Passover coincides with the solemn Christian commemoration of Good Friday.

I feel incredibly pious and faithful because what this convergence means for me is that the celebration of the Catholic Paschal Triduum (Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday) will be aligned with the Jewish Passover feast.

If you check the Jewish calendar, Jesus died on April 3, 33, which is also the date of Good Friday this year. And based on my research, the last time that the Roman calendar, the Jewish calendar, and the Western Liturgical calendar coincided was in 1863.

And since Passover starts every year on the 15th day of Nissan, and the Hebrew months are based on a lunar (moon) cycle, the first night of Passover, when Jews sit down to their Passover Seder, is always a full moon.

But the coincidence and confluence that makes this occasion so very special and blessed for me is that my birthday is April 3, and this is the first time it has fallen on Good Friday since the year I was born.

My grandmother waited and waited for Good Friday to fall on my birthday again, but it never did. And after she died, I waited and waited for Good Friday to fall on April 3 again, in the hopes of some sort of karmic connection, but it never did.

How utterly thrilled and moved I was when I discovered that not only was my birthday going to fall on Good Friday this year but also that it would fall on the first night of Passover.

So when I say my prayers on Good Friday and the first night of Passover, April 3^rd, as an ex-Catholic and practicing Jew, and gaze upon the radiance and splendor of the full moon, I will fondly remember my grandmother and hope that her spirit will be all around me, blessing and protecting, just like she always did in life.

I am very happily married, but if I were in search of a soul mate, I would definitely ask the questions below, spread out evenly over date #1 and date #2.  They aren’t in any particular order, and I would personally jump right in with the deep water questions, but you may prefer to wade around in the shallow end.

Are you pro-choice or pro-life? (Definitely a deep water question, and could be a deal breaker.)

Who did you vote for in the last election and why? (Before Trump I  thought: You don’t have to agree with each other, but mutual respect on this issue is desirable. But after Trump? This would be a deal breaker for me. )

Do you snore? (I would personally ask this question on Date #1.)

What did you do on your last day off? (Be concerned if the answer to this one is that the person waited in line for 30 hours to buy some new product on its release date.)

Are you jealous or possessive in relationships? (My experience with possessive and jealous people is that they get jealous over things that might happen, things that didn’t happen but could have happened, and things that haven’t happened but will probably happen. Toxic, toxic, toxic.)

How long was your longest romantic relationship? (Helpful to know if there are any long term possibilities.)

How long was your most recent romantic relationship? (Ditto re my note to the question above.)

Do you have any phobias, and if so, what are they? (Having recently blog posted about phobias, this would be one of my date #1 questions as well.)

What is your all-time favorite book and why? (The importance of this question is not the what but the why.)

Who is your hero? (If the answer is snoop dogg, I would delve deeper.)

Does religion play an important role in your life? (This is a great way to get the “what religion are you” question asked without actually asking.)

Who hates you and why? (This is one of my fave questions.)

How many times a week do you call your mother or father? (If the answer is 10-12 times a day, know up front that the family will be in control.)

How is your relationship with both of your parents? (My very wise grandmother told me years ago, to carefully observe how a man treats his mother because he will in all probability treat his wife the same way.)

Have you ever been arrested?  (Not enough people ask this question.)

If the answer is yes to the above question, the obvious follow up would be:

Were you convicted? (Call me naïve, but a yes to this question might also be a deal breaker.)

Do I remind you of anyone else you know? (If the answer to this question is a recent ex, run.)

Do you have any concerning diseases? (If the answer to this question is long and involves anything communicable, run run.)

Are you now, or have you ever been married? (Date 1. Duh.)

Do you gamble? (A question not asked enough.)

Who is your least favorite relative and why? (The answer to this question could be extremely foreboding.)

What is your favorite television show? (“Dating Naked” would be a red flag for me.)

Do you blame your parents for any issues that you have? (If ever answering this question, just say no.)

What do you do for a living?  (I leave it to you to determine what careers are acceptable.)

The question above makes for the perfect segue below:

Do you spend more than you earn or earn more than you spend? (I like to think that wealth is determined by the quality of one’s experiences, not one’s material assets. Just saying.)

Good luck and happy dating.