It is 4 am and I finished off a carton of ice cream, so I am writing this article.

When I was young, back in 1993, I went to my first Israeli Dance camp, which was at Blue Star in Ashville, North Carolina and the mother of all Israeli Dance camps, lasting seven days.

I met a women there who was half a generation ahead of me, but seemed a lifetime away. I will call her Esther. She was widowed and had grown children. She was nice enough, but I did not think much about her, as I ran around doing my own thing.

My community started holding the dance camp Machol Miami in the winters in Ft. Lauderdale. Each year Esther came and she always made a point of talking with me and getting in a partner set a night.  She made friends with another good friend of mine too. She liked to do the partner sets and she figured she had to line up partners. Not that I felt used.

I saw her around the country a bit at other camps and sessions on some of my travels. In a strange coincidence, it turns out at her regular group she dances with my second cousin-once-removed. Whenever I see her, she tells me my cousin says hello, which is a sweet connection.

For no other reason than our times of life, I never would have thought we would have become friends, but I have gotten used to seeing her and enjoy her company.

We have a good rapport. With some people you find you always have good conversation. This year at Machol Miami, I found myself hanging out and dancing with her as much as anyone else.

You never know where your  friends are going to come from.