Crossing Paths Over 45 Years

By Eleanor Kazdan, January 9, 2020 — I have never been one to believe in miracles, magic, or the extrasensory. However, there have been some occurrences in my life that defy rational explanation.

In the early ’70s, Bob joined a choir I had been in for a few years. He and his wife Cynthia had just moved to Toronto. Over the next few years, we became friends both in and out of the choir and sometimes went out as a foursome. It left the choir and lost touch with Bob. I heard with a shock that Cynthia had been diagnosed with breast cancer at age 30. Then I heard that they had moved to New York so Bob could become a cantor. A few years later I moved from Toronto to the Princeton area for my husband’s job. I joined a music club that met in people’s homes. The second time I decided to go to the club there was a terrible snowstorm. I risked my life to drive an hour. I knocked at the door of an old Princeton house. The person who answered looked familiar. I was dumbfounded to see that it was Bob! He and Cynthia lived in Princeton. We renewed our friendship, did music together, and socialized.
Cynthia died. I lost touch with Bob and heard he had moved to Vermont. I didn’t think about him for years. One day, after moving to Center City, I walked along Spruce Street. Passing by a synagogue, I noticed that the billboard said “Cantor Robert Friedman.” It had to be Bob, and it was. Once again we connected for a few years, then lost touch.
Last year, we took our annual trip to Mexico, this time with Carole, a friend from Toronto who also had known Bob. When I met her at the airport in Oaxaca, she told me Bob and his wife Sally had been on her flight. A few days later we were at a small textile museum. I was sitting on a bench. A man in front of me was looking at a plaque above my head. His face came into view. It was Bob!