Leslie Broome Yoffie walked into Shabbat services in Havana expecting nothing. Her search for family had stalled before. Names had disappeared. Hopes had narrowed. She had learned to brace for disappointment.

Then the guide led her to a bench.

“Leslie,” he said, “meet your cousin Olga.”

They spoke for hours.

Later that evening, Leslie connected by phone with Olga’s twin sister, Perla. The in-person meeting would have to wait. By the end of the weekend, they were sitting across from one another at dinner, trying to compress decades into a single meal.

But to understand how this Jewish family reunion in Cuba unfolded on a synagogue bench, you have to rewind.

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The backstory

Before this trip, Yoffie’s relatives in Cuba existed only as fragments.

“My relatives in Cuba were just cousins I had heard about,” she said. “I didn’t know their names or how we were related, and finding them felt like too much to hope for, but I knew I wanted to try.”

When she heard the Jewish Federation of St. Louis was offering a delegation trip to Cuba, she knew she had to go.

“I felt it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit the place where my father’s family story began,” she said. “Cuba was where my grandmother lived after leaving Poland, staying there until my grandfather became a U.S. citizen and brought her to America. This brought up the hope of meeting my cousins.

“I was also particularly interested in exploring Cuba through a Jewish lens,” she added.

Yoffie’s father died in 2022. The connection to Cuba ran through him.

At first, she had been told the relatives were on her grandmother’s side and that there was no one left. Later, she learned it was actually her grandfather’s family. By then, the details were thin. Names were gone. Memories blurred.

She made calls. Followed leads. Eventually, she stopped.

“I was sad and defeated,” said Yoffie.

Then, two weeks before departure, a cousin found a letter dated 1994. Inside were two names — Olga and Perla Stolik. Yoffie later learned their grandfather had changed the family name, which explained why the trail had vanished.

With names finally in hand, the Federation contacted Cultural Cuba, their partners in Cuba. The guide knew her cousins or at least knew of them. One had once attended synagogue regularly but had stopped due to serious illness. There was no phone number. No direct contact.

The advice was simple. Ask once you arrive.

She carried the letter with her.

A name on stone

During a visit to a Jewish cemetery, Yoffie found the grave of her cousins’ father. His name matched the letter she held.

“It provided some sense of peace, not knowing if I would ever meet my cousins,” she said.

After a lecture at the Jewish Community Center, she approached the speaker, Lisette, and asked if she knew Olga. She did. Yoffie asked if she would call and invite her to Shabbat services.

“She agreed,” Yoffie said, “but offered me little hope.”

She went to synagogue prepared for silence.

Instead, she was led to a bench.

Shabbat in Havana

They spoke for hours.

“My walls came down when I learned that we weren’t distantly related,” she said. “Our fathers were first cousins who grew up together in Brooklyn.”

The following night, Olga and Perla joined the delegation for dinner. It was the first time Yoffie met Perla in person. Perla, who works as an English translator, helped the conversation flow.

“Welcoming Shabbat in Havana by adding new members to my family was an amazing feeling,” Yoffie said.

Then came the moment she did not anticipate.

“When Olga took her face mask off, she looked so much like my first cousin,” she said. “Seeing the family resemblance started the first of many tears flowing.”

The grief that followed

What she carried home with her is not simple.

“The grief,” she said. “I know that some of their simple needs are not met, which I would have tried to remedy. Thankfully they seem so resilient and asked for nothing.”

Now, when she watches the news about Cuba, it feels different.

“I’m watching the news regarding Cuba with a different lens now that I’ve traveled to Cuba and met my cousins,” she said.

What once felt abstract now has names. Faces. A synagogue bench in Havana.

Family.

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