Ellen Chowdhury, Dix Hills, NY
Meet our Guest: A Case of Serendipity: by Ellen Chowdhury
Unlike many who have contributed to this platform, my story is a little different. I am a Jewish woman who spent nearly six decades married to a Muslim man. My beloved husband, Dr. Faizur Chowdhury, passed away in 2023 after 57 years of marriage. Our marriage was not just of two individuals, but of two cultures, two faiths, and two worlds. It was not always simple, but it was deeply fulfilling. And in many ways, it mirrored the kind of world I believe we can all build: one rooted in respect, compassion, and love.
I write this not as a religious scholar or community leader, but as someone who has lived a life that quietly affirmed the power of unity across difference. This is our story.
From East Pakistan to Brooklyn: Two Worlds Meet
My husband came to the United States from what was then East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) in 1959 to pursue a career in medicine. After training in several states, he arrived in Brooklyn in 1963 to begin an endocrinology fellowship at the Jewish Hospital of Brooklyn. I, meanwhile, was a student nurse at that very hospital. It was there that our paths crossed.
We met in the hospital corridors, in classrooms, and in the cafeteria. Over time, our acquaintance grew into a friendship, and that friendship eventually turned into something more. Of course, falling in love is never the hard part—what follows can be. We faced opposition from family members and others who didn’t understand how a Jewish woman and a Muslim man could possibly make it work. But we believed in each other. And we believed in the life we could build.
At the time, Faizur’s visa required him to return home for two years before applying to immigrate permanently to the United States. Therefore, in 1964, he returned to East Pakistan. He later completed his visa requirement in London, while I finished my nursing degree in New York. Despite the distance, our connection held strong.
Building a Life Together
We reunited in London, where we were married. I became pregnant with our first child shortly thereafter, and just before her birth, we were able to return to the United States together. Faizur took a position setting up an endocrine lab at Methodist Hospital in Brooklyn, and I worked evening shifts as a nurse at the Brooklyn VA, allowing him to care for our daughter during the night.
Eventually, we moved to Long Island, where he opened a private practice in endocrinology. Our family grew—we had two more children—and I stayed home to raise them until our youngest reached junior high. Later, I would return to nursing and, eventually, diabetes education, a field that became a passion for both of us.
Living with Two Traditions
People often ask how we navigated raising children in an interfaith household. The truth is, it wasn’t nearly as complicated as people might imagine. We approached our differences not as obstacles, but as opportunities. We shared religious holidays, honored each other’s customs, and made space in our home for both traditions.
Our children learned to appreciate the beauty in diversity. They lit Hanukkah candles and observed Ramadan fasting. They listened to Hebrew prayers and attended Eid celebrations. Rather than choosing one path over another, they were gifted with a broader view of the world—a view rooted in empathy, curiosity, and shared humanity.
Grief and the Power of Action
In 1994, our world shattered.
Our son, home from his first semester at the University of Vermont, went out one night with friends. One of them had just been gifted a brand-new sports car. Young, excited, and eager to show off, the driver sped through our local roads—and lost control. The crash injured several passengers. Tragically, our son, seated in the front, suffered fatal injuries. He slipped into a coma and never woke up. He passed away after 12 heartbreaking days.
There is no pain like losing a child. In the aftermath, I found myself searching for something—anything—to prevent other families from going through what we had endured. I began visiting local high schools, speaking to students about reckless driving and the lifelong impact of one poor decision. We brought in trauma survivors with visible brain injuries to share their stories. The aim wasn’t to scare—but to make the consequences real.
We also worked with school administrators to create mandatory parent programs, linking them to driver’s education. We spoke not just about safety, but about responsibility—about the shared role of families in shaping young drivers.
To sustain this work, we established a nonprofit foundation in our son’s name. Through generous community support and annual tennis tournaments, we raised substantial funds. We used those resources to send healthcare providers to seminars on brain injury treatment and to award scholarships to high school seniors who were active leaders in safe-driving programs.
When Faizur’s health declined, we made the decision to close the foundation and donated over $100,000 to the Head Injury Association, ensuring that our son’s legacy would continue in their life-affirming work.
Finding Purpose Again
In the years following our son’s death, I returned to work in a new capacity—joining my husband’s medical practice to teach his diabetic patients how to manage their condition. My background in nursing and growing expertise in diabetes education soon led me to pursue professional certification.
I studied intensely, trained at a renowned diabetes education program in Kansas, and—perhaps most importantly—learned from my husband. He was my mentor, my partner, and my teacher. In 1990, I passed my certification exam and was offered a role as clinical coordinator of the diabetes program at Good Samaritan Hospital in West Islip, NY. I spent over two decades educating patients and healthcare providers, helping people navigate one of the most prevalent health challenges of our time.
This work gave my life renewed purpose—and reminded me of the power of service, something both Judaism and Islam hold dear.
A Shared Journey Toward Peace
My husband retired in 2014; I followed a year later. We lived a whole and meaningful life, marked by love, loss, resilience, and deep mutual respect. Despite coming from different religious backgrounds, we found common ground not in doctrine but in values. We believed in kindness, in justice, and in charity. We believed in family. We thought that differences need not divide.
In a way, our marriage became a living example of what’s possible when people choose understanding over suspicion and love over fear. We did not need to erase our identities to be together—we simply needed to honor them.
A Message for Our Times
As the world grows increasingly divided by lines of religion, race, and nationality, I believe our story carries a quiet but urgent message: that it is possible to build bridges where others see walls. That love, when rooted in respect and humility, can transcend boundaries.
At the end of the day, we all seek the same things—meaning, connection, dignity, and peace. We may follow different paths, but we walk toward the same horizon.
I am honored to share this story with the MMS Foundation, whose mission resonates with the very principles that guided our lives: unity in diversity, faith in action, and the shared human spirit that unites us all.
Let our lives—yours and mine—be examples not just of coexistence, but of genuine connection. That, to me, is the truest kind of serendipity.