My wife and I had just been introduced to a very nice couple at our synagogue, Wendy and Richard Morrison, and we shared a hearty laugh at the coincidence.
The Morrisons had just moved to The Hague as Richard owned his own rescue boat (he referred to himself as as a "water paramedic"), and Wendy was a blogger and former forensic pathologist, daughter of a former Atlanta police superintendent.
The Morrisons, who were not Jewish, were attending Friday night services at the reform synagogue in The Hague to "catch a glimpse of Judaism" as they had been invited to an upcoming Jewish wedding and wanted to immerse themselves in some of the rituals and traditions of Judaism.
After the religious service, we went into the foyer for the blessing over the wine and to enjoy some homemade challah and cakes.
The rabbi had bestowed upon me the honor of reciting the Kiddush, the blessing over the wine.
After observing me chant the blessing, Wendy (Morrison) told me that I had been saying part of the Kiddush wrong and proceeded to give me a lengthy explanation (drawing diagrams on a paper napkin) of why my version wasn't exactly correct.
Then I woke up.