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I have been visiting Sophie through Jewish Family and Children's Services for close to two years. I think in the beginning we had a difficult time finding ourselves with one another.

We started out with a friendly visit an hour or so each week. Sophie is Russian and lived in Israel for many years. English is a new language for her. Early in our relationship, it was made clear Sophie didn't want to talk about her life, her past — "What's to tell? I lost everything during the war." And for her, the minutiae of daily life was just not worth talking about.

After some time, Sophie and I shifted our friendly visits and I began providing transportation to her physical therapist. She had a need, and I filled it. Until Purim.

Purim brings hamantaschen. And, the place where Sophie truly becomes alive is in the kitchen. Sitting across from her working at the counter was pure joy. She slowly prepared the "douf," rolling out the batter, cutting the circles with a kitchen glass. It was a beautiful sight. Sophie's arthritic fingers danced, folding and squeezing each soon-to-be delectable pastry.

We talked, we laughed and the hamantaschen baked. The apartment filled with the warmth and scents that women all over the world shared with us, in this singular activity.

It's time, the hamantaschen are ready. Still warm, I bite into the first pastry.

I smile, now knowing Sophie and I have found our place in one another's lives.