“You’ll know when he’s ‘the one’,” my mother said. She died when I was 20, leaving no further guidance. At 23, I was stale inventory by Jewish matchmaking standards. Despair settled in. Until one Shabbat afternoon when Phil, an old friend of my roommate, breezed into our 93rd Street apartment. He was cute, interested in my aspirations and favorite author. My roommate asked how his birthday had been. “When was it?” I asked. He replied, “September 14.” My mother’s birthday. Serendipity or shidduch (a match)? I know which. He was her gift to me. Twenty-three anniversaries later, I still know. — Gila Pfeffer

Positively Purging-I welcome your feedbacks in the comments and your likes and passing the real life wisdom on to others as I embark on this new venture of “positively purging“, as I know each of these pieces represents something…