Maryland day 2, including District of Columbia

October 4

Today's planned itinerary was to take us into Washington DC to see the sights and then to meet my cousin Guy at the end of his work day at the Department of Agriculture and go with him to his home in Wheaton, MD where his wife Hannah would get to meet us. That was the plan, at least.

Razelle didn't realize how long it would take us to travel from Baltimore to Washington, nor were the logistics of getting around in Washington clear to her. I had done the research and had failed to paint the full picture for her. So, as the day progressed, we found ourselves with less time to work with and progressively more adjustments to make to have the original plans come off somehow. Razelle had expressed a great interest in seeing Washington. Fulfilling her request was my noble intention.

Before we left Ralph's place I made several trips out to the van to bring in all the pieces of our baggage that we didn't want to lose while the van was left vulnerable all day in a metropolitan DC parking lot. We had the luxury of keeping it all in Ralph's house so we took advantage of that.

I set our GPS to take us to the Silver Springs, MD Metrorail station because there is a ticket agency near it where 1-day passes can be purchased. These passes cannot be purchased within the stations. It took us an hour to reach Silver Springs and when we got to the Metrorail station there, expecting everything to go smoothly, we found that a lot of construction was going on and there were no free parking lots. There were multistory parking garages, but the clearance at their entrances were too low for our van. We tried parking up the street at a lot in front of a pharmacy, but the sign said, "1 hour customer parking only." I returned to the ticket agency and sent Razelle in with instructions and money for the 1-day passes while I sat in the van beside the construction site. When she came out she told me they advised against 1-day passes so she didn't get them.

I could see that this Metrorail station was a bad choice, so I reprogrammed the GPS to take us farther away from the District to the White Flint Metrorail station in North Bethesda, MD. There were some open-air parking lots here, but they didn't look like we could use them. The multi-story parking garage entrance did have enough clearance so we pulled up to the gate. The woman at the gate had a terrible speech impediment; we strained to understand her instructions while still remaining sensitive to her disability. It eventually became clear that we had to buy two rechargeable magnetic cards that would have enough funds on them to cover the cost of our rides and still have enough left over on one of the cards to pay for parking when we returned.

Having parked the van, we headed for the station, but Razelle was hungry and didn't expect to find a place to eat along the National Mall once we got there. Across the boulevard we saw places to eat. Razelle settled on a bagel deli that looked just perfect. I had no appetite so I drank a couple of bottles of Snapple Pink Lemonade.

We then returned to the Metrorail station and finally were on our way into DC on the red line (the color was important to keep track of so we could get back to this station at the end of the day). After transferring to a blue line and riding two more stations we got off, took the escalator up and popped up out of the ground into a lovely warm sunlit fall day near the Smithsonian. As we looked around us we saw serious-looking government buildings, joggers on the paths in the National Mall, and the phallic spire of the Washington Monument poking skyward. To help Razelle orient herself I walked with her out toward the middle of the Mall so she could see the Capitol Building at the far end (the Lincoln Memorial and reflecting pool at the other end were obscured by the mound that the Washington Monument sits upon.

Razelle saw the distances and decided she couldn't walk toward the Lincoln Memorial and all the war memorials at that end. She said, "Just take me to see the Smithsonian Museum and that will be enough." She wasn't aware that the Smithsonian is actually more than a dozen museums spread out all along the Mall on both sides, and elsewhere around the District. She was getting more frustrated by the minute. Her knees hurt and her pain was increasing with each step. There were no benches to sit on and nubile joggers passing along the running paths only served to make her feel worse. She headed for the Smithsonian Castle with me in tow, but found that this was not a museum. She next went to the Hirshhorn Museum, where we found chairs to sit on in the outside courtyard. After she had rested a while we continued onward to the National Air and Space Museum. This was a museum that appealed to her very much. We went in and I left my driver's license with the concessionaire who gives out wheelchairs. Now we could relax and enjoy ourselves.

There is a lot to see in this museum. We paid to view a movie in the IMAX theater. In her wheelchair Razelle got VIP treatment. We took an elevator to the upper-level seats and an usher moved the velvet rope aside so Razelle and I could go in the exit and get comfortable. We watched "To Fly!" Razelle had to remove her 3D glasses to watch it because it was giving her motion sickness. I think the effect would have been more dramatic had we sat closer to the screen. I envied those who sat below us in the closer seats.

We toured most of the galleries and revisited a lot of history we ourselves had lived through. The space program began when we were impressionable children. The Wright brothers and Neil Armstrong and John Glenn were natives of Ohio, so the educational system where I grew up took pride in extolling the deeds of these "favorite sons." I also grew up near Cape Kennedy/Canaveral, and my father worked in the space industry so I followed all that very closely as a kid. Razelle, by the same token, worked for the Israel Air Force as a teacher, so all the aeronautics on display were systems she had taught about. Sikorsky helicopters were made in Connecticut near where she had lived so she took pride in that, too.

A sliced and polished piece of moon rock brought back from the surface of the moon was on prominent display in the museum. I wheeled Razelle up to this rock so she could touch it. I remarked that our round-the-world trip now included a trip to the moon as well. We posed "No-Evil" our stuffed toy monkey with this moon rock. The Japanese tourists enjoying the museum along with us found this to be endearingly amusing.

The museum closed at 5:30 PM and we were herded out at that time. Guy had finished work at 5:00 PM, but didn't mind letting us stay right up to closing time. I turned in the wheelchair and got my driver's license back. We met Guy on the street in front of the museum and walked with him to the nearest Metrorail station at L'Enfant Plaza. We waited with peak-hour crowds for a train that took us three stations to the Metro Center station so we could transfer to the red line. We caught that train and Razelle and I were able to sit, while Guy stood.

Along the way we had the chance to talk with Guy about all kinds of things, from his job to our genealogy. Guy spoke with Hannah on his cell phone about when we could be expected, but Hannah told him she'd be delayed because she was having the car serviced. The ride out to our station was sufficiently long that we had time to think of alternative plans because of the unavailability of their car. Guy and Hannah had a restaurant in mind near their home that served genuine Israeli cuisine. I got the address and programmed my GPS. Since we were going past the White Flint station on this line, we decided we'd get off there, pick up our van and drive ourselves to the restaurant to meet Guy there. It was a perfect plan, and that is what we did.

We met Guy at the Pita Hut. What a catchy name for an Israeli restaurant in the middle of Rockville, MD! It was the real deal, too, with an array of salads and a basket of pita and hummus and olive oil on the table to nibble on while we waited for Hannah so we could order. She called several times to let Guy know that the tire change was taking a lot longer than it was supposed to. She finally called to tell Guy to go ahead and order. Razelle ordered skewered meat and I had kebobs. For the hour we waited for Hannah in that restaurant we might as well have been in Israel. We soaked up the atmosphere while we listened to Israeli music in the background and heard Hebrew spoken among the staff. The only person in the room who couldn't speak Hebrew was our waitress.

Guy showed me material he had brought along that his great aunts in Arizona had sent him. These are the same nonagenarian sisters Razelle and I had met in Phoenix, and the same stories they had told us, word for word. I gave Guy some of my ideas about a restructured family circle, and reported to him how our visit to his great-aunt Belle and cousin Fred had gone in Columbia, SC. I also told him what I knew of the towns in Ukraine where our family may have come from. This is not definitive information, but a direction for further research.

Hannah was finally able to join us. She apologized profusely, but we told her it was not her fault. Guy handed her her food and she ate with us. We related some of our round-the-worldly experiences to her, and told her of our exploits with the van we'd been driving with all its foibles. I've always admired her gift of expression when she writes and I told her so. Razelle and Hannah talked about Hannah's job, which made for fascinating listening. I'm only sorry that we didn't have more time to spend with Hannah. We took Guy and Hannah out to see our illustrious "bordello-on-wheels" as Razelle calls our van. In the dark our mood lights looked really impressive, setting off the ceiling mirror the way they did.

We then got into our van and waved goodbye to Guy and Hannah. We still had the road back to Baltimore to traverse. All in all, what started out as a day that didn't meet our original expectations of doing Washington, DC justice turned into a day we really did enjoy. We had a good time touring the one museum we saw thoroughly, we got to ride the rails of Washington's train system and we got to spend time with Guy and some with Hannah, too. There's no point in dwelling on what could have been. It really couldn't have been or it would have been. Besides, we will be in Baltimore a few more days. We might have another chance to come back here. If we do, we will know how to do it better next time.

The road back to Baltimore was not illuminated by overhead lighting, so the headlights in my rearview mirror were especially annoying and fatiguing. I couldn't wait to finally reach my exit in Baltimore so I wouldn't have to endure those lights. But the exit I wanted was closed for construction at that time of night and we had to go several miles farther before we could get off onto a major city street and double back. We had a long way to drive on this thoroughfare, past a lot of commercial centers and gas stations. I made a mental note of the prices for gas and the names of the shopping outlets we passed. By the time we turned off the van at Ralph's my stamina had been spent. It wasn't long before I was in bed, asleep.

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RAZELLE'S PHOTO FROM THIS DAY

Sculpture at Entrance to Air and Space Museum,
Smithsonian Institution, Washington DC

Maryland day 1

October 3

After yesterday's arduous long-haul to Baltimore, neither Razelle nor I felt driven to accomplish much today. We had reached safe haven at Ralph and Anita's and we stayed put until the evening. The house was quiet when we woke up. Ralph had already gone to work and Anita was out of the house, too. Razelle's nephews, Yehudah and Yair were home, but fast asleep. Their pet guinea pig in its living quarters in the living room was awake, but not a substitute for human conversation. I got out my laptop and got busy on several fronts at once. Razelle found reading matter to occupy herself with while reclining in bed so she immersed herself in that. There is no television in Ralph's house, so silence reigned supreme for most of the morning. The weather outside was cold and overcast and the ground was wet from rain that had come down when we weren't looking, matting fallen brown leaves on the ground where they'd landed. It wasn't very inviting weather, so staying in had that much more appeal.

Ralph had several containers of loose change from charity organizations that he was in the process of sorting and wrapping for them so the coins could then be taken to a bank. They were already separated into bins by denomination, and I found myself picking through the quarters to see which states were on the reverse sides. This turned into an engrossing project, and soon I had an array of quarters on the table, state-side up, arranged alphabetically, just to see if all the states were in there. All but one – Missouri was missing; a no-show-me state, if you will.

I caught up with my email and sent out a few answers. One answer was to a yahoo-group in Beer Sheva I have signed into. Some of the answers to my posting that immediately returned were from people who thought we were already back in Beer Sheva. Soon, my dear friends, soon … 16 more days to touchdown in Israel.

My blog has fallen so far behind by now that its original purpose of keeping people informed of our whereabouts has been lost, so it is understandable that they had lost track of our location. I still want to record events so they won't fade from memory or all blur together. I used this quiet morning to make lots of notes to myself in outline form so I could put them together in the blog later; even though the entries have fallen behind, they will still reflect the events of the day as if they were fresh memories.

This morning Razelle told me she hadn't been to Washington since she was 8 years old. I hadn't realized this when I originally left Washington off the itinerary. She insisted that visiting the sights there was important to her. I immediately started putting together a plan. I spent the morning researching transportation options into and around Washington, DC. In 2002, when I was in Baltimore with Shalev, our cousin Mel took us from Baltimore to Washington and back, several days in a row. We drove to a train station in Maryland on the edge of the District and parked the car in a huge, free parking lot, then took the train into the heart of DC. I envisioned doing the same with Razelle. I couldn't remember which station it was, but I didn't think that was very critical.

There are a few important people in Baltimore I had hoped to visit during this trip. Two of these are the abovementioned Mel and his wife Tania, who live very nearby, and two more are my friend Bill and his wife Paula, who live just as close by. Mel and Tania knew we'd be in Baltimore – just not precisely when; but I hadn't had any contact with Bill or Paula since my previous visit to Baltimore in 2009 during my mother-in-law's Shiva mourning period. I'd have settled for a nice chat on the phone with Bill and Paula, but they insisted on having us over this evening.

Yehudah and Yair eventually awoke and came downstairs to make themselves a meal. We had a chance to chat and soon Razelle came down to join the three of us. She and her nephews then spent a good deal of quality time together around the table, talking with her about their hopes and dreams and career choices. I listened from the next room and was pleased at how well this family reunion between nephews and aunt was going. (Not having a TV translates into people spending more time relating to each other; having an open laptop running in your lap kind of defeats this.)

Ralph returned home at the end of his workday. We finally got out of the house. We had dinner at the "Kosher Bite," a kosher eatery practically around the corner from where Ralph and company live. The Kosher Bite had a very eclectic selection of dishes to chose from. The Jewish part of Baltimore that Ralph lives in is pretty closely packed with kosher eateries and synagogues and Shabbat-observant families, so, naturally, all of these are relatively nearby. That's what appeals to the Jews who choose to live in this part of Baltimore. At the end of a truly filling meal we parted company with Ralph, Yehudah and Yair and drove off to visit with Bill and Paula.

Bill and I had walked a section of the Appalachian Trail together, along with my two brothers and another guy. We had been in boy scouts together, and his family and mine and one other were the only three Jewish families in our old neighborhood in Toledo, OH. We had a lot of memories in common from our teenage years. In November 2009 I was able to visit with Bill and meet Paula for the first time since I emigrated to Israel. It was a very special reunion, then. All our Appalachian Trail stories were fresh and spellbinding and entertaining for Paula to hear. I wanted to introduce Razelle to them and vise versa this time. It was late in the evening of a long work day; they had a guest from Israel visiting them who is an American expat living in Beit Shemesh, and their daughter needed help with math homework, so the circumstances of the previous visit were not repeated during this one. I am very glad that I was able to see them again and grateful they made time to include us in their evening. We will have to do this again someday, but plan it farther in advance next time. We left so they could get enough sleep to function the following day.

We drove back to Ralph's and found Anita helping Yehudah and Yair study for an imminent exam at their college. We left them to it. Anita found some books Razelle was interested in reading, which made Razelle very happy. I had travel arrangements to go over for tomorrow and contacts to follow through on for stops we plan to make during the final days of our trip. These were what occupied my thoughts. I worked on my laptop within earshot, but soon found myself nodding off. I excused myself and joined Razelle upstairs where she was already starting one of the books she'd just received.

South Carolina, through North Carolina, Virginia and District of Columbia to Maryland

October 2

Razelle and I woke up early this morning. We had planned an ambitiously long drive to leap-frog over several states to reach her brother Ralph by the end of the day, over 500 miles to the north and at least 9 hours of driving time away (I expected it to take us as much as 12 hours with stops). We set our alarm for 6:21 AM, that magic hour our talking alarm clock once got stuck on at home in Beer Sheva and which we have continued to use as our wake-up time during all the years Razelle needed to get up for work.

Belle was up and dressed when I passed her door on the way to the bathroom for the morning routine. We got to talking about family history and some of the events her sisters had related to me while we were in Arizona. She told me how our family made the transition from Ukraine to US, based on all the stories she had listened to and absorbed as a child at family gatherings. We were involved in this conversation when Fred and Irene reminded me that we had planned to get an early start.

Razelle and I put our stuff in the van and shivered in the morning cold until the van warmed up. The sun had just risen and was slanting into our eyes; it hadn't had time yet to chase away the cold. It hasn't felt this cold in the van since Butte, Montana. We followed Fred, Irene and Belle to an IHOP out by the highway. We passed the same synagogues again and I pointed them out to Razelle. I wondered aloud what the congregation that meets at the conservative synagogue might be like. It was intriguing to think about it.

We were seated for breakfast at the IHOP near a table full of policemen. Apparently Columbia's finest appreciate the fine cuisine here, too. Seeing the policemen reminded Fred to tell me that in South and North Carolina the highway patrol allows some leeway with driving speed, but he warned me that speed limits in Virginia are strictly enforced. I told him I'd keep that in mind while in Virginia. Fred and Irene were annoyed that our waiter was not getting our order out to us, and he and Belle let the waiter know that Razelle and I had a lot of traveling ahead of us and he was delaying us. Their indignation got results. I had my usual bowl of grits. What better meal than grits could there be to start a Carolina morning?

I shared my information about aid to Israel with Fred this morning. He thanked me for looking it up and said he would read the websites I'd gone to. We talked some more about economic philosophy at the table and I was pleased by how politely this went. We hadn't met all the family members in Columbia, SC that I had anticipated meeting, but we certainly spent wonderful "quality-time" with Belle, Fred and Irene.

Fred showed me that I-20 was just up the street and after a few group pictures in the IHOP parking lot we were on our way again – pointed east, to go north. When I-20 crossed I-95, we made the switch in cardinal directions (and interstates) and drove the van on a heading that pointed us toward Maryland (and ultimately to New Jersey in just 12 more days). Upon entering this major artery (I told Razelle that from our perspective it was actually the inferior vena cava of the east coast because it was taking us toward the heart – meaning Manhattan – of the US) I saw license plates from Florida to Maine traveling with us. The license-plate game I started out west only ended here in South Carolina on I-95 when we finally, after more than 2 months and more than 10,000 miles, finally saw our first Delaware and District of Columbia plates.

We cruised along on cruise control, watching place names pass in accord with the GPS display until we reached the frontier between the Carolinas. Large billboards enticed us with witty advertising, directing us to stop "South of the Border." I had intended to. I wanted to give Razelle the opportunity to see it and compare it to our experience at Wall Drugs in Wall, SD. I'd been to this place before at night on a trip to Florida with my mother in 1981. It rivaled Las Vegas at night then, in terms of the brightness of its flashy signs and floodlights. This time Razelle and I arrived before noon on a weekday after Labor Day, and the place was practically empty. It was still a sight to see, with a towering figure of Pedro wearing his sombrero and with a lot of other brightly painted kitschy themed buildings. South of the Border was a success because in the 1950s it sold cold beer to travelers on the South Carolina side of the border who couldn't legally buy it on the North Carolina side (Wall Drug, by comparison, gave away free ice water). South of the Border also did a big business selling fireworks.

We spent over an hour here at this "schlock market," as Razelle called it, without realizing that that much time had passed. Inside the large gift shop we saw a lot of really cheap merchandise, but still, we found things we deemed worth purchasing. I bought some backscratchers, and we bought a canvas tote bag that looks like it will last. We also bought a souvenir refrigerator magnet. They had coffee mugs that have "SOB" (South of the Border) on them, but I couldn't bring myself to get one. Razelle chatted with the cashiers, whose southern accents were the thickest we'd encountered during our entire time in the South. They were required to stand the entire time they were on duty. If they sat they would be fired. We really felt sorry for them.

We crossed into North Carolina right here and entered our 30th state. There must be a lot of good reasons to take one's time seeing things in this marvelous state … but we didn't. We fixed our eyes on the road ahead and drove. Well, I did, anyway; Razelle had her eyes closed in slumber most of the time. We eventually did stop to fill the tank and take care of our needs at a "Travel Center" truck stop in Kenley, NC (you'll need an atlas to find it). I tried out my credit card at the pump, but when asked to enter my zip code it didn't recognize it. I know the drill by now. I went to the cashier and waited for verification. The cashier on duty didn't know what she was doing and messed up. She had to wait for a manager to push the right buttons and undo what she had done. This was a tense moment, because I didn't want to go through what I'd gone through in Florida all over again. The problem was solved and I bought my gas. Razelle and I toured this truck stop; we looked at a display devoted to Edward Teach, AKA Blackbeard the Pirate; we looked at merchandise that catered to professional truckers and, of course, we used the bathrooms. This place also had hot showers and a lounge and game room with a TV in it. Sunday football was on and I could hear the men roaring their reaction to a play on the football field all the way from the bathroom.

In the parking lot, we ate in the van before we drove off. Razelle watched a lower-class family of several adults and several children interacting among themselves. One of the kids pretended to use a payphone and his father squelched the child's imagination by telling him it was a foolish thing to do. This cultural vignette gave Razelle, herself an educator, a pique of sadness to observe. She said that this father had no idea what kind of damage this does when he mocks his son's imagination.

Driving ever-northward we next entered Virginia, our 31st state. I felt the need to pull off the highway at the tourist information rest stop we came to just inside of Virginia. While we were here, we saw some other interesting characters using this place for the same purposes. The one that caught Razelle's eye was a young man in a grey jumpsuit bound with ankle and wrist chains being escorted by a pair of female officers. We watched him shuffle out of a prison van, past our van and disappear with his guards into the building.

We were not making good time today, and the widest part of Virginia lay between us and Ralph. I remembered what Fred had said about speed enforcement (and I remembered the convict in chains) so I set my cruise control for exactly the posted speed and watched other motorists pass me for a while. Eventually, though, I bumped up the speed on my cruise control a bit more until all of us were traveling north at about the same pace.

Not long after the first pit-stop in Virginia I had the need for another. I wondered what I'd eaten or drunk that made this next stop so urgent. We found an exit and a place to go and I took care of it. However, the farther north we went, the more often and more urgently I needed to go again; and again and again. I wasn't able to last more than 20 minutes to half an hour. I was getting very worried. This was beginning to look like a major health crisis and I didn't know if it was going to get worse or finally go away. To make matters worse, we went through Petersburg and Richmond on I-95 in very heavy traffic that at times slowed to a crawl. And, with a light rain and dusk becoming darkness, the lights were distracting. I was not a happy camper. One of our stops was at a rest area between Richmond, VA and Washington DC, where a large tour bus also stopped. The men's room was free, but the women's room had a line out the door, so Razelle had to be patient. By the time we left this rest stop I must have finally drained my kidneys. The rest of the way into the District of Columbia was a lot easier to cope with, and the traffic had thinned out.

I had programmed the GPS to take us right into Washington, DC, past the Washington Monument and Capitol Building and out again toward Baltimore. The idea was to reach these national landmarks during daylight. But alas, it was after 9:00 PM by the time we saw these. Everyone had gone home, and the streets were conveniently empty; but we didn't see much. We recognized the Pentagon, the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building as we passed by them. But we didn't stop to admire the view. Our day wasn't over until we could turn off the van in front of Ralph's home in Baltimore. So we pressed on.

We entered Maryland, our 32nd state, and drove on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway (Razelle said it reminded her of the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut), past Columbia, MD to the Baltimore Beltway around the west side of the city. Eventually, we reached our exit and I urgently needed to go again, but at least I'd lasted close to an hour, which meant my problem was subsiding.

We reached Ralph and Anita's home by 11:00 PM. It had taken us 15 hours to get here. It was an ordeal, I must admit. We traveled from Columbia, SC, through the District of Columbia, past Columbia, MD, to get here. The grass was wet outside Ralph's home. We dragged a minimum number of items across their wet tree-lawn and into their house and called it a day. I was too exhausted for much of a visit with my in-laws, but Razelle had slept enough during the day to do the visiting for both of us.

Georgia to South Carolina

October 1

October has arrived. Today we reached South Carolina and are now one state closer to New Jersey. We have 13 more days left to do everything we have left to do and to see everyone we have left to see before we return the camper in New Jersey; and we have 15 more days left before we leave the US on the next flight of our round-the-world ticket. We haven't been on an airplane since the last day of July.

We awoke this morning in Dunwoody, GA and all ate a nice breakfast together, thanks to Uncle Sandy's toaster and coffee maker. By now, Uncle Sandy, albeit with some reluctance, allowed me to show him that I understood how to make myself a cup of coffee with his machine. Razelle and I then dressed for Shabbat, gathered our belongings, packed them into our travel bags and stowed these in the van. We had arranged to arrive at Belle's place in Columbia, SC today at 5:00 PM, so we needed to hit the road right after services.  

This Saturday was Shabbat Tshuvah, the Sabbath that occurs during the days of repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Congregation Or Hadash assembled at their usual place of worship for these services – not at the nearby Jewish Community Center, but a bit farther away in the Weber Jewish Community High School. Razelle and I arrived early enough to take seats I was happy with. A while later, Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy arrived and, this time, they were pleased with my choice of seats and sat with us.

Today was a bat mitzvah. Both of the rabbis again took turns running the service, and did so in a way that put everyone at ease as they smoothly shared the tasks at hand with each other and with everyone else who had a role in it. The bat mitzvah girl did a great job, and her speech afterwards reflected the quality of the education she had received.

After services, we joined the congregants in the reception hall. During conversations at the table with Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy we learned that this building is a high school connected to the Conservative Movement and that Atlanta's Conservative Jewish community also has an elementary school and a middle school, too. The Reform and the Orthodox movements also have their own respective elementary, middle and high schools. There is a Hillel Organization for Atlanta's many university students; Habad is active in Atlanta; and, as we saw earlier, there are all kinds of study groups, social events, youth programs and summer camps for Atlanta's Jewish community. Razelle and I found all this information to be very impressive.

I wasn't originally sure why Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy chose to live in the Deep South, in Atlanta, but from what Razelle and I saw during our time in this community, especially among the congregants my aunt and uncle chose to join, I can understand now why this community appealed to them. Interestingly, this congregation has only been in existence for eight years. Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy explained that Rabbis Mario and Analia were originally leaders of a different congregation in Atlanta that didn't renew their contracts (their Argentinean accents were too strong then). So they started their own break-away congregation, called it Or Hadash (new light) and a majority of the original congregants followed them. In the short time that Congregation Or Hadash has been in existence it has outgrown one building after another. It now has a property of its own and fund-raising is going so well that construction of its permanent home will soon begin.

After we had eaten and schmoozed, I went looking for Rabbi Mario to introduce myself as a member of Congregation Ashel Avraham in Beer Sheva, Israel. When our own Rabbi Mauricio left Argentina to go to Israel, it was Rabbis Mario and Analia who took over his congregation in Argentina before they, in turn, went to Atlanta. Rabbi Mario remembered me from last December's visit and greeted me warmly. Then I went looking for Rabbi Analia. I found her working with children from the pre-school and elementary school. They were rehearsing the reading of the Book of Jonah, which they would be reading and enacting during Yom Kippur services next Saturday. Kids too small to even be in first grade were reading and chanting the Biblical text perfectly, while their proud parents hovered in the doorway. I was so moved by the sight of this. A new generation of competent Jewish children is coming up, here in Atlanta, here at Or Hadash, under the leadership of these two rabbis, husband and wife. I left the building with a warm feeling about this place.

Before Razelle and I drove off, Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy, Razelle and I posed for pictures of each other as testimony of our time together. I told my aunt and uncle how very sincerely pleased I was that we had chosen their congregation to be the one we prayed at during Rosh Hashanah as we traveled around the world. Uncle Sandy said he was impressed with how knowledgeable I was. His praise meant a lot to me.

We drove off and soon entered the interstate highway system on the ring-road around Atlanta (I-285) going east. We passed the exit to Stone Mountain we'd taken several days ago and recognized where we were. At the interchange onto I-20 the ramp was closed. We drove two more exits beyond it before we resigned ourselves to being stuck joining all the other cars on the exit ramp making the same back-tracking maneuver. The station wagon creeping up the ramp in front of us was rocking as if some amorous couples were arduously going at it. We saw forms switching seats as if several large restless dogs were going from window to window to look out. We never did figure out what was going on in that car. It went in a different direction at the top of the ramp and left us guessing.

Interstate 20 took us into South Carolina, our 29th state. We took this route all the way to Columbia, SC without any delays. We remarked to each other how funny it is that a drive of five hours doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary now, after all the distances we've covered in this van. We reached Columbia about half an hour later than scheduled and drove directly to the address I'd programmed into my GPS. When we reached the street with the correct name I noticed that all the homes had three-digit addresses, not four. The demographic was also wrong. Turns out Columbia has two streets with the same name. (Now I understand why people keep giving me their zip codes when they give me their addresses. I never bothered with zip codes before. Live and learn.) I rechecked my notes to find out what I'd done wrong, made a quick call to let Fred and Belle know I was in town and reoriented myself to get to the right address. We saw a bit more of Columbia, SC than we'd planned – the correct address was on the opposite side of town – but we reached our destination.

Fred came out to greet us. It was perhaps an hour before sunset by now, and there was a definite nip of coldness in the air. We hurried indoors to find Irene and Belle waiting inside. I was concerned that our lateness and confusion had make us late for the reception of relatives Belle said she was arranging, but the three of them were all we found waiting for us. Several other relatives from this side of my family live in the area, but none of them could make it.

Belle is 98 years young. Her mind is sharp and her memory of names and relationships of family members covering generations before and after her own is phenomenal. She is a family treasure. Belle has been keeper of the family chronicles for as long as I have been cognizant of such things. Belle is witty, but she also has strong convictions when it comes to the current economic and political issues of the day. Razelle and Belle and Fred debated these issues and all three of them thrived on this repartee.

The five of us piled into Fred's car (Irene, Belle and Razelle in back, Fred and I in front) and we headed to a restaurant. Fred pointed out some of the important landmarks of Columbia we passed along the way. We passed two synagogues. The first was Congregation Beth Shalom, affiliated with the Conservative Movement and running a Jewish Day School. The entrance sign by the road has a menorah on it and clearly states that this is a synagogue. The second was the Tree of Life Congregation, affiliated with the Reform Movement. Fred explained how far back the Jewish community goes and how prominent it was in Columbia's history. I had grown up thinking that Jews in the Deep South had to be weary of discrimination. Fred said that this is definitely the Deep South, but being Jewish here never was a hazardous thing in his experience.

At the restaurant I ordered a lettuce salad. This is a quarter of a head of iceberg lettuce with the dressing of your choice poured over it. I tried to amuse our young waitress by asking her if she knew what a "newlywed salad" is. She didn't. When I told her the punch line, "lettuce alone without dressing," she didn't get it so I found myself explaining it (let us alone without dressing). When she brought it to the table, though, she said with a smile, "Here's your newlywed salad, sir." I think she belatedly got the joke while she was in the kitchen.

Belle's age has not affected her ability to keep up with the rate of conversation at the table; the only problem is that her hearing is not so good and the restaurant was a bit noisy. Once we were back at her place where it was quieter, we talked at length about our trip and our meeting with her sisters in Arizona and about ideas for updating the Serbin Circle genealogy chart. Fred and I were on the same wavelength. I believe that in the electronic age in which we live, family-members-to-come will more likely refer to computer displayed versions of the chart than to a paper version in a frame on the wall. The outer edges of the chart are growing fast enough by now that the print has to be made smaller and smaller to get it all to fit in a picture frame. I proposed some other shapes for wall display, because that is what Belle insists on. I've had the entire journey across the US to think about these ideas, but when I explained them to Belle they didn't appeal to her. I have a .pdf file of the chart in my laptop to refer to when I visit my far-flung relatives. I attached it to an email and sent it to Fred's smart phone. He was thrilled to be able to carry it in his hand-held device and view it whenever he wants, and to be able to forward this file to others who request it. Fred gets my point; Belle doesn't.

During our conversations, Fred and Belle expressed opinions about US aid to Israel and about how Israel uses the aid it receives from charitable organizations. After we'd all called it a night and retired to our bedrooms, but before I fell asleep, I searched the Internet for factual answers to the issues they raised. I will let Fred and Belle know what I found when I see them in the morning.

Georgia day 5

September 30

Today was the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Because we had to sit where we could find available chairs yesterday, Razelle and I were determined to get to services earlier today so we could pick where we wanted to sit rather than have chance determine that for us. The large hall set up for services had so many chairs that there ended up being four different kinds of these. I studied them yesterday and considered which type of chair looked most comfortable to me and I also considered where I'd be most comfortably positioned among the congregants. Razelle and I left ahead of Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan and by doing so we reached the gate to find no line of cars waiting to get in and after I dropped Razelle off at the entrance I found a place to park the van in the primary parking lot. We were not encumbered today with prayer books because we knew from yesterday's experience that there were plenty of these available inside.

Razelle and I met in the lobby and she let me lead her to the chairs of my choice along the central aisle, far enough back that I could see a large part of the congregation. Razelle knows from experience that I have an obsession about where I sit in theaters and auditoriums and restaurants and at dinner tables. I don't have a good name for this syndrome, so I just call it claustrophobia. Some find this endearing about me; others, I suppose, find it exasperating. A short while later Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan arrived and I motioned them over to where we were saving seats for them. Yesterday, Uncle Sandy had been eying the cane-bottomed chairs in the section closest to the stage. He mentioned to me that those were where he had hoped to sit today if he had the chance. Today he indicated to me that there were still several available seats up there and he wanted all of us to follow him to those seats. I was happy where I was and would not have been happy that close to the stage with the congregation at my back, so I stayed put. In the end, Uncle Sandy chose to sit where he wanted and Aunt Joan followed him, and I sat where I wanted and Razelle stayed with me.

Today's service ran as smoothly as yesterday's service. The second day of a two-day holiday is usually a bit more relaxed than the first one. From my vantage point I could watch the congregants coming and going and I felt very comfortable being among them. I noticed how they dressed, who greeted whom, who sat with whom; I noticed that I was one of very few men without a suit and tie, but this didn't make me feel at all self-conscious. There was very little ostentation in the way either gender dressed.

Across the aisle from me sat a woman with a stroller and a young toddler of 14 months (so I was told by her mother). This little girl was extremely charming and sociable. She crawled and stood, and even walked a few steps before plopping onto her bottom and grinning. She offered what she was holding in her hand when she saw I was watching her, then withdrew it with a smile and crawled off to flirt with someone else. I couldn't help but realize as I watched this little one and her mother how much of our granddaughter's development we were missing during this protracted trip of ours around the world, and how much I looked forward to seeing our children and grandchild again when we reached home. That will be in 20 more days. Could it be that soon? Yes, that soon.

The sermon was delivered today by Rabbi Mario Karpuj. He and his co-rabbi/wife both have a synergism between them that is inspiring to watch. One of the first things he said before getting down to the sermon itself was that he promised it wouldn't be too long and that today the service would end at a reasonable time so that people could stay to the end without worrying about the guests they had invited to their homes. I found this very refreshing. This rabbi and his co-rabbi/wife understand their congregation on a human level that is endearing. He and she both have a charisma that is beyond anything we had seen so far. It was a joy to watch them in action. This was Razelle's first real exposure to the power of Rabbi Karpuj's oratory. We glanced at each other as he spoke and understood that both of us were equally moved by his words.

The shofar blowing today was an exact replica of yesterday. The man who blew the shofar was so consistent that one had to marvel at that very aspect of his execution. I would guess that he plays a musical instrument in "civilian life." His long blasts today matched his times for yesterday. At the end of the last long blast he returned to his family, who met him with congratulatory handshakes and hugs. I identified with his sigh of accomplishment at a task completed. I know that moment. I didn't have that moment this year. I wonder who blew the shofar in my absence, back in Beer Sheva.

When services were over today, in the timely manner the rabbi had promised, most of the congregants were still there. We flooded into the lobby and mingled a bit before heading out of the building. An alert policeman in a smart uniform stood at a convenient vantage point and watched over us all as we milled around. I walked up to him and thanked him for keeping us safe. He actually smiled to hear this from me. Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan introduced us to a few of the well-wishers who came up to them. Kids with pent up energy chased each other in the courtyard near the fountain. We stepped into sunlight and basked in the warmth it provided. This was another bright and clear autumn day.

We all returned to Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy's home, kicked off our dress shoes and changed into more comfortable leisure clothes. Lunch today was just the four of us. Rosh Hashanah segued into Shabbat and we continued to relax. Razelle, who has been perennially starved for news had her pick of cable news channels to surf among (CNN actually broadcasts its domestic version from right here in Atlanta). She hasn't had such a luxury anywhere else we've been on this trip … until now. This was a special treat for her; I wonder if Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy realize how special it was. We got to watch a rebroadcast of Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show" with a face-to-face interview he did with Bill O'Reilly of Fox News. Oh, the sparks that flew between them during that one!

Not being as easily hypnotized by the boob-tube, I eventually returned to my laptop to work on my blog some more and post one more entry before I called it a day.

Georgia day 4

September 29

Today was the first day of Rosh Hashanah.

We ate breakfast and got ourselves organized for this special Holy Day with anticipation. Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan left in their car shortly after we left in our van. We had our invitation to the services with us and knew the address of the Jewish Community Center where the services would take place. The GPS was already programmed and all was in order. The route we took led us past an orthodox synagogue and we easily identified the people walking along the sidewalk toward it as fellow Jews on their way to praying for atonement on this solemn occasion. We reached the parking lot and waited in line behind the other vehicles; then, when our turn arrived, we presented our invitation and were waved right in. We were pleased to see the level of security at the gate, but a little surprised that we were asked no questions, as we might have been had we been in Israel.

I dropped Razelle off by the entrance and found a parking space in the secondary parking lot because the primary lot was already full. It was a bright sunny autumn day with crispness in the air and a tinge of color in the foliage of the trees. I locked up and secured the van and followed the others walking toward the building to find that Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan were approaching the entrance too. We had brought prayer books with us but inside we found a large stack of them available on the table. We found Razelle waiting for us in the lobby. Uncle Sandy led us all to seats half way to the stage. Most of the closer seats were already occupied. We had arrived in time for the Torah reading, during which the name of own city of residence – Beer Sheva – is mentioned. Every year, my mother at this point in the Torah reading would proudly remark to whoever was sitting beside her, "Beer-Sheva – that's where my son lives."

The sermon was delivered by Rabbi Analia Bortz, who we had met on Tuesday at the Torah study group. It was a rather long sermon, with a powerful message and many, many good points; perhaps too many of them. After the Torah was returned to the ark it was time for the Musaf service and the blowing of the shofar. The man who blew the shofar sounded very competent. His execution was not quite the way I was taught it should be done, but he was perfectly consistent with the way he did it. This congregation does it differently than my congregation in Beer Sheva does it. Halfway through the series of blasts there was a set of responsive prayers, led alternately by each of the rabbis in turn; then the remaining series of shofar blasts were sounded, culminating in a long "tekiya gedola" that was perhaps 15 seconds long. Razelle and I exchanged glances. We couldn't help but compare his shofar blowing to my own. We continued to pray the rest of the service and I expected it to be punctuated with more shofar blasts, as we do it in Beer Sheva, but these were saved to the end and completed with one more final long blast exactly as long as the previous one. Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan excused themselves before the end because the service had gone on far past the scheduled time and guests were expected for lunch at their home. Many others began filtering out by this point and Razelle indicated that she would like to leave too before the end. I went back to the van and drove up to the entrance to collect her.

At my uncle and aunts place we found the table set and soon their three guests arrived. These were our hosts from last night and our hostess's mother, now being hosted in reciprocation by Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy. Once again the food was delicious and the conversation was congenial.

After our guests left we took the opportunity to rest for a while. In the last waning hour of sunlight, Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy and I walked down the street to the bridge over the brook that passes through their community. On this bridge we recited the prayer for the "Tashlich" service; then we tossed bits of bread into the brook below, to symbolically cast away our sins into the water that would take them away. We watched the bits of bread float away on the water's surface, and I remarked that the best kind of bread to use for casting away our sins would ideally be cinnamon ("sin"-amon) bread.

The rest of the evening was spent quietly. It had been a meaningful day of reflection. We were pleased that we could spend it with the congregation we chose to be with for this holy day.

Georgia day 3

September 28

This evening the High Holidays began, the holiest season of the Jewish calendar. We have the rest of our trip mapped out from here on in, to accommodate the series of holidays that will follow. We will be spending both days of Rosh Hashanah here in Atlanta, as well as Shabbat, which follows immediately thereafter. We have been in touch with Belle and Fred in Columbia, SC and are now scheduled to reach them Saturday afternoon. Belle is inviting all the local relatives for this family event, and I'm looking forward to seeing so many of them in one place. We world-travelers have a measure of celebrity attached to us, and Belle, now 98 years old and a celebrity in her own right, wants to do this visit properly. We met her younger (also nonagenarian) sisters in Phoenix and I have been looking forward to seeing Belle ever since. After we leave Belle, we are scheduled to visit Razelle's brother Ralph and family in Baltimore during the intermediate days before Yom Kippur, and then be in Hampton, VA for Yom Kippur services with Rabbi Gila Dror. We are very excited about the prospects of being in her synagogue for this occasion. From there we plan to fit in Connecticut so we can visit Razelle's friends and family and also to visit Razelle's parents' graves; and finally, we plan to spend Sukkot with my brother Monte before we fly out of Kennedy Airport to London.

That brings me to the hotel reservation in London. This morning I committed us to paying for two nights at the Ibis Heathrow, even though we will only actually sleep there the first night. This is because our check-out time on the second day for our flight to Israel is so many hours after their regular check-out time that it's cheaper to pay for an extra day than to pay the hourly rate for those extra hours.

Before Rosh Hashanah began, Aunt Joan had been busy preparing dishes for the guests she will be hosting after services on the first day, and also preparing something to take to our hosts this evening. Uncle Sandy got replacement watermelons in exchange for the bad one he'd bought earlier. Aunt Joan also had some cantaloupes to go with these, but a news item today said that some people had died from eating contaminated melons grown in Colorado, so we passed on eating the cantaloupe. We wanted to finish this trip without risk of contracting a food-borne disease. The prestigious Center for Disease Control is here in Atlanta, so we shouldn't have been so concerned – both Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy thought we were being overly cautious, and I'm sure they were right – but you never know....

Around noon, Razelle and I drove off in our van to look for a gift of our own for this evening's hosts. I remembered there was a Walmart next to a restaurant Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy took me to last December. The restaurant was called "Five Guys, Burgers and Fries." I located these with Google Maps and then programmed my GPS to take us there. There were several reasons I wanted to revisit this particular Walmart, even though there is a Walmart that is closer. I wanted to see if there were any campers using this particular Walmart parking lot (I had seen one there back in December, but no, there weren't any today). I wanted Razelle to be able to taste the award-winning fries this restaurant was famous for, and I wanted her to be able to grab a few fistfuls of the genuine unshelled Georgia peanuts they offer their customers for free. And, I wanted to visit the Walmart Garden Shop to get a gift planter with houseplants I knew would be easy for our hosts to care for. In December I had taken Aunt Joan in there to buy her an orchid plant, for her orchid collection, so I knew this section of Walmart would have what we were looking for.

All missions accomplished, we hurried back so Razelle could do a load of laundry in Aunt Joan's washing machine and dryer and have this task completed by 5:00 PM, before the start of Rosh Hashanah.

At sunset, Rosh Hashanah officially began, marking the entrance of the new Hebrew Calendar year of 5772. In that regard, Razelle and I are now in our second year of this four-month round-the-world trip (5771 and now 5772) . Razelle and I routinely attend services in the morning and rarely at night, so attending services tonight was not in our plans. We were looking forward to the holiday meal Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy had invited us to participate in with them at their friends' home. We four all piled into Uncle Sandy's car, with Aunt Joan as navigator. She was in charge of their GPS and I had mine with me as well in the back seat. Razelle read the address to me off a note Aunt Joan handed her and we had fun driving all the way there comparing GPS functions. Mine in the back seat always counted down the tenths of a mile sooner than theirs on the dashboard up front, defying the laws of physics, as it were (it should have been the other way around, when you think about). We reached our hosts' home in the Sandy Springs/Roswell GA area and were very impressed by the wooded setting, the architecture and size of their home. Razelle and I presented our gift of houseplants to our hostess. Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan were impressed that we had come with it. They hadn't seen it until that moment. Our hostess was thrilled to receive plants as a gift. I gave her some instruction on how to care for them and we set them in the appropriate window.

Soon, we were all seated around a set of tables pushed together. We were about 18 people, including 3 or 4 families, with children from infants to preschool to teenage; their parents and grandparents. The mood was happy and festive. Uncle Sandy chanted the blessings over the wine and bread. I looked around and asked with a wink, "Which of you kids will be doing the 'four questions?'" It felt like a Passover Seder. Razelle and I really enjoyed being among these families and watching how they all interacted so nicely. The food was great and the conversation lively; it covered topics from the situation in the Middle East to the logistics of world travel, from child rearing to food recipes. Razelle presented a souvenir magnet of Jerusalem to each of the families and singles at the table as a memento of the occasion.

When the time finally came to return home, Aunt Joan and I got out our GPSs and tried to help navigate Uncle Sandy back home. My GPS had been switched off so it took a long time to find a signal and was useless during the critical first part of the journey in the labyrinth of rural streets. Uncle Sandy was pleased that his GPS was more reliable than mine. I know that I couldn't have gotten as far as I had across the US with nary a hitch without my GPS and I didn't mind that he thought mine was inferior to his. It got me where I had to go and I valued it very much, just the same.

It was late when we returned to my aunt and uncle's place and we were full of good food and glowing from good company. We stay up just a little while longer to keep the mood going, but soon retired to our separate quarters.

It is a new year, on the Hebrew calendar at least, and we have new experiences to look forward to tomorrow.

And as they say in Atlanta, tomorrow is another day.

Georgia day 2

September 27

We spent the morning relaxing at Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy's home. When Uncle Sandy was up he offered to make us breakfast. He gave us several choices and then went about preparing them. Coffee was something he especially liked to make for us with his coffee-making machine. The toaster also got a good work out. Aunt Joan joined us for breakfast, and the TV was on in the den and visible from the dining room table.

I spent a great deal of my time trying to prepare blog entries that had fallen far behind by this point in the trip. While I made notes and produced blog entries I also monitored Facebook. I used Facebook often to chat with people I needed to reach. I also used Google maps to plot courses and calculate times and distances. I stayed in my room and worked on my bed with my laptop, and came out from time to time to be sociable, but mostly I concerned myself with getting the blog caught up.

Every Tuesday Uncle Sandy participates in his synagogue's Torah study group, called "Torah in the Woods." This group meets between 12:00 and 1:00 PM in the office of a marriage counselor. I attended one such session last year in December, moderated by Rabbi Mario Karpuj, and was very impressed with the level of scholarship of the participants. I told Razelle she was in for a treat when we got there.

I programmed my GPS to take us there, but Uncle Sandy insisted that we follow him. We went in separate vehicles because our plans were to see Stone Mountain afterwards, and we wanted to go straight out there from the meeting. As I followed Uncle Sandy, I noticed that he was taking us along a different route than our GPS recommended. I followed Uncle Sandy rather than the GPS, and Razelle and I both noticed how well he made sure he didn't lose us in traffic.

We parked in the office-complex parking lot and headed for the building. I heard my old shoes squeaking audibly as I walked and remembered I had wanted to wear my new shoes just purchased in Savannah. Those older shoes developed a squeak way back in Fiji and nothing I have tried since could make that squeak go away. I returned to the van and wore my new shoes for the first time. They felt comfortable, but unfamiliar as I walked on the pavement, stepping over the first fallen leaves of autumn. I reached the office where everyone else was now seated and helped myself to some lox and bagels and tossed salad. Because this was a meeting before the new month (Rosh Hodesh, in this case actually Rosh Hashanah) the lox were an added treat. These meetings take place at noon, because it is the lunch hour of the busy doctors and lawyers and other lay people who attend them. I was pleased to see a few familiar faces from my previous visit. This time the moderator was the other rabbi of Congregation Or Hadash, Rabbi Analia Bortz. These two rabbis are the congregation's husband and wife co-rabbi team.

The portion of the week was gone over sentence by sentence and discussed. Razelle and I had points to offer while Uncle Sandy listened attentively. I explained that Razelle and I lived in Israel and that I was a Hebrew-English translator – not a Bible scholar – and that was why I understood the subtleties of the wording but not necessarily the traditional interpretations that Bible scholars have come up with. Rabbi Bortz provided those, but so did the commentary in the several different texts we were all reading from. Razelle came away from this meeting as impressed as I had been my previous visit.

We drove away from this meeting to Stone Mountain. It isn't far from Atlanta and can be seen in the near distance from Dunwoody, where my aunt and uncle live. On a weekday this time of year, after Labor Day, the park surrounding Stone Mountain was nearly empty and the rides stood silent and idle. We paid an entrance fee at the gate and followed the concentric road system to the access point for the cable car to the top. There is a museum here, as well, but we didn't visit it. We had very little notice before the next cable car was ready to take us up. As we ascended, we could see the bas-relief carving on the side of the mountain. Its workmanship was not as impressive as Mount Rushmore's. The men who were glorified by this caving had lost while fighting for a rebellious cause. It seemed altogether wrong to champion their losing efforts in such a grandiose way. Had they won, I suppose, we would now be touring a country other than the United States.

At the top of Stone Mountain there is a visitors' center. There are vending machines here that can emboss souvenir pennies with likenesses of Stone Mountain and of the individuals sculpted into it. One of these individuals is Jefferson Davis, the president of the short-lived Confederate States of America. It occurred to me to have a penny embossed in such a way that Lincoln's original likeness would be discernable on one side of the penny and Davis's on the other. This way both contemporary presidents would occupy the same coin. I studied the machine and figured out how to do this without obliterating Lincoln. The cable car pilot was impressed by what I had accomplished. I seem to have been the first one he'd met who cared to do this.

Razelle and I wandered around on top of Stone Mountain a short while and took in the view, then descended by cable car to the parking lot to leave. We saw some African-American visitors and thought it ironic that they would want to patronize this monument to those who preferred to see their ancestors remain slaves. I remarked to Razelle that the Confederate Soldiers Museum we visited in Alabama made sense to me – it was dedicated to the memories of those individuals who died fighting for a cause they identified with. But here at Stone Mountain the men glorified in this place were the ones responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands in a losing cause. By what rationale were these men heroes? It seemed obscene to me to elevate them to such a status.

We returned to my aunt and uncle's place in Dunwoody. I worked some more on my blog and was able to post two entries while Razelle watched TV to catch up on current topics. I contacted Jule, who was in Israel with me in 1974 and now lives outside of Atlanta. We spoke by phone and caught up on old times. We haven't heard from each other in 37 years, so it was nice to fill each other in on what has transpired in our lives during that time.

Uncle Sandy gave Razelle and me our tickets for Rosh Hashanah services. We will need these to enter the synagogue (actually the Jewish Community Center) and the parking lot. I entered the address printed on the ticket into my GPS.

Aunt Joan and Uncle Sandy left us for a while during the evening. Razelle and I watched television and were especially entertained by Jon Stewart on the Daily Show. We also got to watch the international version of CNN rather than the domestic version. Life on the road had denied us such pleasures.

It occurred to us that in not-too-many more days we will be winging our way to London. My, my, how time flies! We still don't have a place to stay in London, so I began researching accommodations there. We have crisscrossed the US for close to two months now in our van and have been so absorbed with doing it as well as we can that thoughts of accommodations further along have not occurred to us ... until now.

I used Jajah.com to call a couple of hotels near Heathrow Airport. It turns out that my scheduling of flights into and out of London 36 hours apart would require us to reserve two nights in London, even though we would only be sleeping there the first night and flying on the second. The reasons are complicated. It made me sad to realize that with all my flawless planning, my planning regarding London was indeed flawed. I went to bed without committing to a hotel booking. Tomorrow I will think about it some more and then make the booking.

Georgia day 1

September 26

This morning we awoke to the sounds of our neighbors packing up and leaving. The station wagon and trailer I'd seen at the edge of the parking lot were gone by the time I was out of bed. The night had passed without incident. I took time this morning to post two blog entries before we went to breakfast. The Indian man who had checked us in yesterday evening was replaced by his Indian wife this morning. Razelle explained to this woman that her husband's smile wasn't received here the way he thought it might and the woman was grateful for Razelle's insightfulness. This Indian couple had only been here a few days. The motel franchise they had previously worked at was in Kansas and the clientele there was much easier to deal with. This motel, and the tension I had felt during the night because of the crudeness of our neighbors, taught me something (as did the cockroach hatchling I found in our room): If the rate is ridiculously low, then the clientele and upkeep will be commensurately low, too.

As I locked the door so we could go to breakfast a cleaning woman, dressed in a sari, indicated that she was prepared to clean our room. I answered in the negative but I saw that she didn't understand a word I said. She did catch on though, and went to clean a different room.

Breakfast consisted of a few items on a counter by the check out desk. There was a table with four chairs around it, in case you wanted to eat sitting down.

We packed up and drove to the Reebok outlet. Razelle stayed in the van and read a book while I went in. I showed the salesperson what I was wearing (size 13.5, in black) and asked if anything like this existed in her store. I hadn't expected her to say yes, and she didn't. However, she did have size 13 shoes. They were of a style I'd seen advertized but never ordered because it would have been hard to return them if they had turned out to be uncomfortable. I humored her and tried on a pair. What a pleasant surprise! They were very comfortable indeed! She told me that a second pair would be half price. I picked out a pair of brown suede shoes that were equally comfortable and also bought a can of suede waterproofing spray. The past few days I had agonized over ordering shoes my size from the Internet site I always order from. I wasn't sure if I should have them sent to Razelle's brother Ralph in Baltimore, MD, or to my brother Monte in Oceanside, NY. But here I was, all set, with two pair of shoes I was really happy with!

It seemed more than serendipitous that our stay in Savannah would be next door to this shoe outlet. Razelle looked over her shoulder while I was shopping and saw an outlet store she also wanted to visit. When I came out grinning with my packages, she went into the other outlet store to investigate and shortly thereafter came out grinning too, with her purchases in hand.

We then drove into the historic district of Savannah along Abercorn Street. The closer we got to this district the longer the beards of Spanish moss that hung down from the overarching branches of the trees that lined the road. It was very exciting to be moving forward along the pavement and yet backward in time into a scene straight out of movies set in the Old South. My GPS was programmed to take us to Congregation Mickve Israel, the Reform synagogue in the heart of the historic district.

We found a large commemorative plaque describing it as the oldest Reform practicing synagogue in the USA. I parked the van and fed quarters into the parking meter. Walking around the building we found an entrance, through which we were buzzed in. We were told that we could take a guided tour. That appealed to us very much. I went back and added some more quarters to the meter and then our guide took us, along with a second couple, to see the features of this venerated house of worship. She pointed out the cruciform shape of the building and explained that despite this shape this building had never been a church. It had always been a synagogue. It simply was the style of the day for a house of worship to be built that way. We got to hear a recording of the organ playing a liturgical piece from the High Holiday service. Each of the stained glass windows had a Jewish theme and a history.

Upstairs was a small museum with some important artifacts, including a deerskin Torah scroll, and letters written to the congregation by many of the US presidents, from George Washington to present times. The congregation gradually adopted Reform Jewish practices and by the beginning of the 20th Century it had joined the Hebrew Union. It was at about that time that my namesake great-grandfather Aaron and my maternal grandfather Herman immigrated to Savannah. The gift shop had books about the history of Savannah Jewry. I leafed through one of them and found a photo of my Grandpa Herman in it, taken in 1917 when he was 19 years old. Naturally, I bought a copy. From what I understood about the Jewish community of Savannah in the early years of the 20th Century, I would assume that my relatives most likely would have belonged to one of the other synagogues.

It took some exploring, but I found the building our guide described as once having served as a synagogue, on the corner of Montgomery and State Streets, now part of the Savannah College of Art and Design. I parked the van next to a parking meter that had over two hours left on it (a gift from an unknown stranger), with Razelle inside, contentedly reading a book. After taking several photos, and trying to imagine my relatives worshiping here – though I wasn't overcome with a feeling of certainty that this was the right place – I walked back to Razelle and passed a Middle Eastern restaurant that advertized falafel. The juxtaposition of the landmark building I was looking for and the parking spot we didn't have to pay for and a restaurant that served the kind of food we missed seemed more than significant.

Razelle agreed to try out the restaurant. The proprietor was formerly an Iranian veteran of his country's war against Iraq. He was very opinionated, and talked at length about his interests. These involved improving ones mind by reading, and improving ones health by eating correctly. We decided not to tell him we came from Israel and he never asked. He spent too much time hovering over us and his falafel wasn't so great, so we were glad to eat and leave. He added up our bill in an odd way: each item was listed as its price with tax included, rather than adding up all the items and then calculating the tax as the last step. We got into our van and still had time left on the meter.

My reason for adding Savannah to our round-the-world itinerary was originally to visit my great-grandpa Aaron's grave. I was certain that I knew in which cemetery and in which plot I would find it. I had visited his grave once before in my lifetime, over twenty years ago, with my mother. However, when we arrived at the Jewish section of the Bonaventure Cemetery and I walked to the grave, I discovered that the information provided to me over the phone by the Bonaventure Cemetery office was erroneous. I walked into the office and asked the clerks to recheck their records. One of the clerks walked with me to the grave, to find that their records were indeed wrong. I gave them my email address so they could send me an update once they investigated further. 

Since I was already there, I thought I'd do a little more searching. I found the graves of other relatives ("bouncy-ball" Siegel – it's a long story – was my great-aunt and I found her grave) but not the grave I came specifically to visit. The cemetery closed at 5:00 PM and Razelle, who had waited patiently reading a book in the van during my futile hour and a half search, called my phone to tell me we were being asked to leave. I never did find his grave, but the long beards of Spanish-moss and the close and muggy atmosphere on this heavily overcast day gave Bonaventure Cemetery a dreary but peaceful atmosphere I will remember for perpetuity.

Savannah looks like a place worth spending much more time than we gave it. We even considered spending more time here riding around on a tour bus or horse-drawn carriage, but Atlanta beckoned and Rosh Hashanah is coming. So we left.

Driving to Atlanta from Savannah involved joining all the truck traffic from the Port of Savannah laden with huge boxy shipping containers. My GPS gave me a driving time of about 5 hours to reach Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan in the suburb of Dunwoody, GA. We had heard from them more than once during the day. They wanted us to know they would not be home until after 10:00 PM, so I wasn't concerned about the slowness of all these trucks. As we got further along, traffic eventually sorted itself out and we were able to make better time. We reached Macon in the dark, after stopping at a rest stop at sunset for the needed pause that refreshes. We joined I-75 here (we've been on this road before, in Michigan, Ohio and Florida) and drove up and down the rolling topography in the dark. Trucks labored to climb the uphill parts and I, with my cruise control on, drove past them; then these same trucks came hurtling down the downhill parts and rolled on past me. This game of bumper tag in the night was getting on my nerves, and it seemed downright dangerous. I was relieved when we reached the loop road that took us around Atlanta to the east. The trucks didn't follow me on this detour to the suburbs. The tricky part was staying alert for the exit I needed to get off. I was exhausted from the strain of night driving and peering into headlights coming at me and also blinding me from behind in my rearview mirror. By the time we reached Uncle Sandy and Aunt Joan's subdivision I was more than ready to turn off the engine.

We were greeted by my aunt and uncle as we drove up their steep driveway, far too steep for us to even consider sleeping in the van tonight, although the weather was much cooler and inviting here in Atlanta at night than it had been in Savannah. They had only returned home themselves a short while ago from a wonderful lecture they had attended, so our timing couldn't have been better. We were shown our room and we dragged a few items in that we would need for the night.

Uncle Sandy made sure we felt welcome. He offered us things to eat, and tried to help us get set up with the Internet. There was a technical problem with that, so I used my own broadband USB modem. After a lot of getting acquainted and some eating, and some television viewing (Razelle was elated to see the news channels and the late night programming) we finally all went to bed.