I’ve been reading all of these stories, so similar yet each one so unique. Mine begins in November 1975. I was Jessica Rochmis then, on a weekend trip to Jerusalem, a break from the kibbutz/ulpan group I was with in Northern Israel. On a walk through the Arab Shuk on a Shabbos morning with my friend from the group, we’re approached, asked the now familiar questions, and went on our way. Rabbi Schuster, thank you for not giving up. Thank you for sending a card inviting us to come to Neve to learn about Judaism. And once I was there, thank you for coming back again and again to check on how I was doing. Thank you, Rav Meir Schuster for caring and for saving my life. And thank you, many years later, for coming to my eldest son’s wedding after I sent you an invitation with a letter enclosed. And you didn’t really remember who I was, how could you, I was one of thousands, but you came, and it meant so much to me.