From the “Truth is Stranger Than Fiction” department:

Aliza Davidson Feldman, my mother-in-law, would have celebrated her 89^th birthday on April 1, 2026. She was born in Beirut, Lebanon in the year 1937 to a Jewish woman who was married at age 14, had her first child at 16, and was divorced by age 19. When Aliza was three years old, her mother’s new Christian husband declined to raise Jewish children in his home, and Aliza and her older sister were sent to a Catholic convent. Their four years in the convent were extremely hard, for the girls suffered physical and emotional abuse in addition to isolation from their family and community. One day, an uncle, who could not tolerate the notion of these Jewish children living as orphans in a Catholic institution, arrived in his motorcar. He told the nuns he was taking the girls on an excursion, but instead spirited them across the border to Palestine. The children found a safe and nurturing environment in their adoptive community of Kibbutz Maoz Haim, yet Aliza’s abandonment by her parents remained a life-long source of pain.

Contemplation of this incredible life story provided the inspiration for Joseph Friedmann, the protagonist of my novel The Wolf Shall Dwell with the Lamb, launching May 1. 

Despite the hardships of her childhood, Aliza grew into a remarkable woman. She was a champion swimmer and sharpshooter, a talented musician, a creative cook. The absence of a suitable role model did not prevent her from being a caring and inspirational mother; she raised four fabulous children. She was kind and empathetic, but she enjoyed teasing people. One day, while I was struggling to win the affections of my future wife, Arica, Aliza dryly informed me when I called the house that her daughter was “upstairs with her boyfriend.” She had an infectious zest for life. My heart slowly broke and finally shattered when Aliza passed away from cancer at age 61 after an eight-year illness. 

Aliza’s astonishing beauty and modest charm captivated all who met her, as they did me. It was said that the famous Israeli poet, Chaim Chefer, caught a glimpse of her in the kibbutz dining hall one day and was inspired to write He Didn’t Know Her Name, a haunting ballad of unfulfilled love between a nurse and a fallen soldier during Israel’s War of Independence. 

In spite of her many strengths, there was always an aura of vulnerability about Aliza, the residue of her former trauma. Yet as I think of her today, it is her resilience that stays with me. What a blessing to have her in my memories.