I've been in the public eye for thirty years now (my first book became a best seller in 1976) and during that time I've been contacted by literally scores of people who wonder if we're somehow related. Most often, these contacts arise because of my distinctive last name ("Medved" derives from the common word for bear, in Russian, Hungarian, Czech and other Eastern European languages) with other Medveds assuming we must share a common ancestry. In every case that I've been able to check out (until now), these potential connections never applied -- the other family is from the wrong part of Europe, they don't share our Jewish heritage (most "Medveds" in America are Catholic or Eastern Orthodox), or there's simply no basis (other than the same last name) to assume shared family background.

   This morning, however, through a complicated series of coincidences I met a delightful guy who is, without question, my cousin--- my real cousin--representing a branch of the family we previously knew nothing about. The fact that we also turn out to share political and religious values also says something powerful and haunting about the impact of a shared bloodline.

   Rabbi Jonathan Hausman of Massachusetts initially made contact with one of my Israeli nephews after seeing his name on a list of bicyclists for a hospital fundraiser. My nephew put him in touch with my cousin Dvorah, also a Jerusalemite, and our unofficial family historian. She quickly determined that Rabbi Hausman (whose mother's maiden name was "Madwed," based on an odd Ellis Island transcription of the original Russian) descended from immigrants from precisely the same villages in Ukraine from which we came. Moreover, we identified the fact that his great-grandfather and my great-grandfather were brothers -- living (and dying) in Ukraine more than a hundred years ago. Meanwhile, these two brothers each named one of their sons Harry-- so that Rabbi Hausman's grandfather, Harry Madwed and my grandfather, Harry Medved, were first cousins. They were both working men, with limited formal education-- his grandfather a blacksmith, mine a barrel-maker. It appears that they definitely visited one another, getting together in Philadelphia, after they each immigrated to the United States. Rabbi Hausman specifically remembered his New York grandfather talking about going to Philadelphia to visit cousins named Zelda (that would be my vividly, fondly remembered Aunt Zelda) and Avraham (that would be my notorious Uncle Abe, known to all in our family as "Uncle Abe the Bootlegger.")

   The whole thing is so bizarre -- to sit down and talk about shared family lore from thousands of miles away and many decades in the past. Rabbi Hausman came out to Seattle for a Bar Mitzvah of another cousin--- Michael Madwed (I've never met him!) More over, both families are full of the same names-- Michaels, Jonathans, Davids, and, of course, Harrys. On a balmy Sunday morning the Rabbi drove out to our house and we sat outside in the summer sunshine, looking at the view of Mount Rainier, marveling at the parallels in our lives. He's the oldest of four boys; I'm the oldest of four boys. He tries to be religious, having moved years ago in a more traditional direction than the rest of his family; the same is true for me. He's an impassioned political right-winger, at variance with the members of his Conservative congregation; I'm also proud of the fact that my conservative politics places me outside the typically liberal "mainstream" of the Jewish community.

   Above all, I liked this guy-- and appreciated his determination in coming out to meet me. Soon he'll travel to Israel and meet my Dad, and my brother Jonathan (his namesake). The morning we spent together reminded me of the preciousness of extended family -- and left me feeling a bit chagrined at my lack of regular contact with those cousins I've known about all along. One of the disadvantages of the tremendous mobility we enjoy in this country is the vast distances between family members. It's too bad that our ridiculous schedules and geographic diaspora make it difficult to sustain the relationships that would have allowed his grandfather and mine, Harry Madwed and Harry Medved, way back in the 1920's, to take their family connection for granted as an organic, natural, nourishing force that enhanced their lives in the wonderful and challenging New World.