“Shabbat shalom, friends,” Ringelblum said. “What news do you have to report?” “A wedding,” I said, startling myself, as I was rarely the first to speak. Ringelblum nodded, made a note. “A religious wedding?” he asked. “Or courthouse?” It had been a religious wedding, overseen by a rabbi who lived on the top floor of our building, in the courtyard of the bride’s family’s apartment building on Leszno Street. “Wonderful,” Ringelblum said. “You attended?” “The groom has been my housemate for over a year,” I said. “I stood in attendance by the chuppah.”
