Stick a pin in the phonebook. See where it lands. Make the call. Does everyone have a story? Five writers find out

I was in, as soon as I heard about this project. It was Elul; what better time for me to break through natural reserve, reach out to an unknown Jewish sister, and build a bridge of words, a bond of shared experience.

I was spurred on by the lockdown experience, where our world narrowed to only those within our walls, and we lost the opportunity to smile and connect with a wider circle of humanity.

I love real-life stories, I believe in the premise that everyone has their own journey, and I’m good at entering others’ worlds. So I was ready to roll.

I wasn’t too worried I’d prick a name I knew, because I moved here as an adult and always say that I don’t know anyone in town. Yet my first few tries turned up acquaintances.

A student’s mother, whom I did not want to sit across the café table from — nixed. A girl who was in my school, the grade below me, and we chat a little when we meet. I know her background, does that disqualify her? Bassi responded that as long as I wouldn’t invite the lady to my son’s bar mitzvah, I can use her. My son’s a year old, how would I know, so I just called her. Voice mail, a whole bunch of times. Move on.

The next time, I pricked a cell phone number. I dialed and blurted out the reason for my call “I’m writing for Family First, and we’re doing a really unusual project for Succos. Different writers in different locations are calling ladies from the phonebook at random…”

The lady listened to my shpiel and said she reads Mishpacha occasionally. She wasn’t sure if she could help me, because she was on vacation. She’d be back in town in a couple days, but then have to quarantine for two weeks. I imagined myself standing in a garden, outside an open, barred window, hands cupped behind my ears to hear the lady’s story. It was too impractical. I needed someone I could actually meet.