Connecticut day 1

October 11

We awoke at Debby and Zvika's, totally refreshed from a good night's sleep. Today was going to be dedicated to anything Razelle desired. Our visit here to her native environs was meant to be as significant as we could make it for her. I had my trip down memory lane while we were in Orlando, FL, now it was Razelle's turn. But first, a breakfast of bagels and cream cheese from our own inventory.

Leaving Debby and Zvika's subdivision of Trumbull, CT led us along Twin Brooks Drive through a lovely municipal park. The clear morning sunlight accented the colors of the autumn leaves against the crystal blue sky and reflected their hues off the still waters of the brook so invitingly that driving through this park without capturing this scene for posterity would have been a virtual sin. I framed several images with my digital camera and snapped the virtual shutter.

We came to a covered bridge as we exited the park. I pulled into the driveway of an auto repair shop and jumped out to take pictures of Razelle posing with this iconic New England bridge and the autumn colors behind it. A woman came out of the shop and asked, "Can I help you?" I said, "No thanks, I can do this by myself," and continued to aim my camera at Razelle and the bridge. She then said, "You can't park here." I answered, "I don't plan to park here. I'm just going to take a few pictures and then drive off." It wasn't until much later that it dawned on me what she was really trying to say without actually saying it. This is what I call a "Rip-van Winkle moment." Being away as long as I have been, I find myself missing the subtleties of speech and behavior that others who have lived here all along would not miss. This has happened over and over again as I travel through this, my native land.

Near the entrance ramp onto the Parkway, Razelle saw a sign that said "Bridgeport" with an arrow pointing the way. She had to take a picture of this sign to remind herself that she had been here. And I had to take a picture of her taking this picture.

We drove to the Jewish Cemetery off Black Rock Turnpike in Fairfield where Razelle's parents are buried. But before we went in we made three stops along Black Rock Turnpike, all of them in the short distance between Tunxis Hill Road and Stillson Road: the ATM machine at Patriot National Bank where we withdrew another $250 in cash; the CVS where we finally dropped off the film Razelle has been trying to get developed and the Katona Corner Postal Unit to mail our Washington Metrorail passes back to Ralph. This postal unit was very well hidden and it took a lot of help from passersby to zero in on it.

Then we went to the cemetery and straight to the graves of Ruth and Milton, Razelle and Ralph's parents. This was Razelle's first opportunity to visit her mother's grave since she was interred here two years ago in my presence. Razelle took out the pages Ralph had prepared for her, contain prayers traditionally said at graveside, and prayed from them while I split the ball of ice we had carried all this way across America to place half of it on each of their graves (as I had done on my father's grave when we were in Ohio). These represented the spiritual place we had visited in Wyoming (the Medicine Wheel) where we had said the mourner's prayer (Kaddish) for each of our fathers around the anniversary of their respective deaths.

Many more of Razelle's relatives are buried in the plots that surround her parents' graves. Razelle related to me who had been whom. One more grave of importance eluded Razelle. We called Ralph on my cell phone and he directed us to the grave of Razelle's dear childhood friend Frances, who had died suddenly of leukemia when they were college age. I left Razelle to her thoughts while she prayed at this grave, but remained nearby.

After a while we got back into the van and began our tour of landmarks that had been important places in Razelle life. We stopped to gaze at the home in Bridgeport where her Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ernie had lived, then we drove up to the Sheridan School that Razelle had attended during her elementary school years. School buses were parked across the street waiting for the imminent ringing of the bell.

Razelle then guided us to the house beside Lake Forest Reservoir where she had lived with her father and mother and brother in earlier days. So much of what her father had wrought with his own hands to landscape the property still remained in place. Razelle paused on the steps leading into the lake and gazed pensively over their waters. She would have liked to have gone into the house and looked around, but the current occupant didn't offer to let her do that when he answered the door and Razelle didn't ask. We moved on.

Our next destination was Joan's home in Woodbridge, CT. Joan had been friends with Razelle and Frances; and Joan had been at our wedding. Razelle and I had a wonderful visit with Joan on the back porch of her home in a forested setting. Autumn in New England, slices of cheese and fruit, and nostalgic reminiscences – who could have ask for a more pleasant way to catch up with friends?

When Joan's husband Harold came home from work, we followed them in our van to a nearby shopping plaza in Milford, CT. Harold and I looked for the "talking book" Maayan wanted for Noga, but there was no such thing in the toy store there. Razelle and Joan went looking for overalls for Noga at the Oshkosh Store. They had better luck.

We took the Merritt Parkway back to Fairfield and, before exiting, entered a rest stop. This has been here for as long as Razelle can remember, but she had never in her life stopped here before. There's a first time for everything. We returned to the CVS in Fairfield to retrieve the now-developed pictures then drove to Debbie and Zvika's to leave the van.

Debbie drove us in her son Gabe's car (so she informed us) to the Chinese Restaurant she had picked out for our postponed reunion with her mother (Razelle's Aunt Mila) and now with her sister (Razelle's first cousin) Vicky as well; they arrived shortly after we did (Zvika was already waiting for us when we got there). Aunt Mila has been doubly blessed with longevity and acuity of mind and spirit. We were duly impressed with her wit. It has been a long time since Razelle and Mila and Vicky have all been in the same place. They had a lot to catch up on during this meal. The menu here was built upon the supposition that everyone around the table would pick and choose from a set of main dishes placed in the middle of the table. It was hard for us all to decide which dishes we wanted these to be so Debby took a poll then decided for all of us.

After the meal Vicky drove away with Aunt Mila and we rode with Debby through the dark in a light rain that bejeweled the windshield between intermittent swipes of the wipers. The effect was pleasingly hypnotizing (particularly since I had the luxury of being a passenger and not the driver, for a change). We made light conversation about our kids and their achievements; interesting how quickly our little ones have come of age and now have lives of their own. When we arrived at Debby and Zvika's home we got ready for bed, our last night in Connecticut. We plan to get an early start tomorrow.

New Jersey through New York to Massachusetts and Connecticut

October 10

I woke up this morning ahead of everyone else in the house. I took a shower and noticed that my shampoo was missing; it had been left behind at the Rabbi's house in Virginia because I hadn't taken the time to search for it when we left there before sunrise. Oh well.

I checked my email and messages on Facebook this morning. Because our remaining visits with friends and relatives are so closely interwoven, and because there isn't time left here in the Northeastern US to reschedule anything, it is important that I stay current with these now. I found email Maayan had just sent, requesting that we try to buy a cosmetic product for her here in the States before we return home. We must be getting close to the end of our journey around the world if Maayan is now sending us last-minute requests. She also asked for a talking book that speaks English, so Noga can hear English while she looks at the pictures. Searching the Internet I found that Macy's carries the specific line of cosmetics Maayan asked for. Searching further, I found a Macy's en route, in West Nyack, NY. The scavenger hunt for requested gifts was on.

Mark and Evelyn drove us in their car to a diner near their home they particularly like, where we had breakfast before we hit the road. It was a nice send off from a very nice visit with these cousins.

Where we slept last night is less than 10 miles from the endpoint of our journey in this van; Adventures on Wheels in North Middletown, NJ is where we are scheduled to drop it off in four more days – so near after coming so far. And yet, we still have about 800 miles left before we are due to change the oil, according to our rental agreement and maybe 500 miles still to cover before we finish connecting all the remaining dots we have promised to connect before this road trip in the van comes to an end – as I said, in only four more days (audible sigh). Yesterday's traffic taught me a valuable lesson: Don't be stupid! Take the toll roads! Being that today is Columbus Day in the United States, a lot of people would be on the roads during this extended weekend.

We took the Garden State Parkway all the way into the state of New York, our 36th state. Toll booths on this Parkway are different from the ones we had encountered on the bridges we paid to cross earlier in our trip. These booths require fistfuls of coins, which are tossed into a basket to get a green light so you can proceed (there is no barrier, just a camera to keep you honest). The first toll plaza we came to sent Razelle into a panic. We had been hoarding quarters for most of our trip so we could use them in washing machines and dryers as needed. But just yesterday, Razelle turned her cache of quarters into paper bills because she thought we wouldn't need them any more, now that we were at the end of our travels. Fortunately, I still had about $10's worth of quarters left in the driver's elbow-rest on my door of the van. These were more than enough for the three toll plazas we had to pass through before we reached the New York State Thruway (not a spelling error) and turned in the direction of the Tappan Zee Bridge. Before we crossed the Hudson River on this bridge, we visited a humongous shopping mall, called the Palisades Center Mall, in West Nyack, NY.

The Palisades Center Mall is the largest mall we'd seen on this trip! It is four stories high and packed with shops of every kind. You need to refer to maps at the elevator and escalator points just to keep track of where you are and where the stores are you want to reach. We entered the mall near where we'd parked the van; the Macy's store I wanted to get to was too far away at the opposite end of this vast building for Razelle to walk there with me. She stayed put and I sallied forth to get what Maayan asked for. They had exactly what she wanted. I sent her a message while I stood there with the clerk to ask how many she wanted and promptly got her answer. Isn't it amazing what can be done with gizmos and gadgets nowadays?

Leaving the mall, we crossed the Hudson River on the Tappan Zee Bridge. The toll is collected after you have reached the other side, unlike what we'd seen elsewhere. I continued driving until we came to Interstate 95. I pointed out to Razelle that we had just entered Connecticut, or 37th state, to which she replied, "Oh no, I didn't want to be here!" She was upset that we were not on the Merritt Parkway (not upset that we were in Connecticut). I reprogrammed the GPS to guide us there. This led us back into Port Chester, NY, where we stopped for tuna sandwiches for Razelle at a convenience store/pit stop. Then we re-entered Connecticut and drove east on the Merritt Parkway. Razelle was now very happy. The Merritt Parkway is such a breathtakingly beautiful way to get to Bridgeport-Fairfield, CT. As soon as we were on it, Razelle had flashes of nostalgia for all the times she had lived in Connecticut and traveled this road.

Our timing couldn't have been better. The trees were changing color here in New England this fine October day. Red and yellow and orange hues greeted our eyes wherever we gazed, all the way to the horizon and back again. We didn't want to miss the experience of seeing fall foliage during our trip around the world and here we were, immersed in picture-postcard scenery that thrilled us at the sight of it.

We exited the Merritt Parkway onto Stratfield Road in Fairfield, CT and took it directly to Ahavath Achim, the synagogue where Razelle and I were married. We met someone there who remembered Razelle's mother and he called the young rabbi we'd corresponded with, who promptly arrived to greet us.

We searched the memorial plaques together and found the ones with Razelle's relatives' names on them – most importantly, the one bearing her father's name.

Our next stop was in front of the home on Melville Avenue where Razelle had last lived before immigrating to Israel, and where I had stayed during visits with her mother Ruth while she still lived there. Lots of memories! Particularly important to Razelle was the view of the stream and dam and duck pond behind this home.

I walked around back and took several snapshots for Razelle while she stayed with the van, then I ran into a former neighbor of Razelle's mother, who was excited to meet us. He took us to his door and called his wife out. She was thrilled to tears to be able to see Razelle again. She remembered seeing me at Ruth's funeral two year ago. Our next stop was to be the cemetery where Razelle's parents are buried, but our visit with these neighbors was too precious to tear ourselves away. The cemetery visit will wait until tomorrow. We chatted with these nice people for as long as we could afford to, then got into the van and drove to our next rendezvous.

My first cousin Brenda had lived in North Carolina and I wanted to visit her there while we were down that way. But her family was recently transplanted to Boston just before we started this trip, so that wasn't going to happen. For quite a while now we have been corresponding and trying to coordinate a rendezvous with Brenda and Stewart somewhere during our journey. The only opportunity left was to meet them half way between Boston, MA and Fairfield, CT today, Columbus Day, because they and the kids had the day off to travel. That halfway point was Springfield, MA. The time we had arranged was perfect for supper and the restaurant we chose was the Olive Garden. Having set my GPS to get us there, I knew how much travel time it entailed and that is why we broke off our visit with these neighbors when we finally did. We drove back to the Merritt Parkway and headed through Hartford, CT rush hour traffic into Massachusetts, our 38th and final state of this trip. We reached our destination in Springfield with 5 comfortable minutes to spare. This far north we expected the fall colors to be even more dramatic than they were in Connecticut, but they weren't. Why that was so is a mystery to me.

I was anticipating that my cousins would arrive in their oversized recreational vehicle so I kept a lookout for one to pull into the parking lot. I know how much they love traveling in their RV and I'd heard so much about it; but they arrived in a less ostentatious vehicle and walked up behind us to greet us before we were aware they had arrived. They all went into the Olive Garden together, except me. There is a Walgreens across the traffic light from the Olive Garden and Razelle sent me over there quickly with her film to have it developed while they ordered. Razelle asked that the photos be developed with a matt finish, but Walgreens could only develop them with a glossy finish. I called Razelle's phone but she didn't answer so I brought the undeveloped film back to her. She was not pleased.

Brenda and Stewart have two kids. I had met Jeremy when he was very small. He's grown so much since. This was my first opportunity to meet Heather. I enjoyed watching the interactions among them all while we talked and ate. Brenda has been following my blog and knew everything I'd written so far. Razelle, Brenda, Stewart and I talked about the art of parenting. We also talked about mutual travel experiences; we had Walmart camping in common, for example. Unfortunately, our family reunion could only last so long, but it was certainly worth the effort.

While I was eating the food I had ordered, which was nothing more than a plateful of succulent iceberg lettuce with blue-cheese dressing, a standard favorite of mine, I bit into something and felt a crunch. I ran my tongue over the teeth on the left side of my mouth and discovered a sharp edge on a tooth that had not been that way before. What is it with me and dental disasters?! Of all the hazards of traveling far from home, I've made it this far without mishap, [knock on wood]. But in the dental department I haven't been able to get a break! There was no pain so I don't know what the damage will turn out to be. I just have to hold my breath and hope I can get back to my dentist before this turns into something urgent.

We all went out to the parking lot and said our goodbyes. We headed in opposite directions, they toward Boston and we toward Trumbull, CT, where Razelle's first cousin Debbie lives, and where we will spend the night. We re-entered Connecticut and received a call from Debbie almost at the same moment. "Where are you guys?" Debbie wanted to know; "We've been waiting for your arrival so we can all go out to eat. Aunt Mila was hoping to greet you, but she can't wait any longer." Apparently some wires had gotten crossed. We couldn't be everywhere at once and we didn't know about this miscommunication until Debbie called. This was what our last days in the United States were turning into. We had masterfully juggled all the balls we had in the air, but one of them had just fallen. We apologized to Debbie and she said that the dinner date with Aunt Mila would have to be rescheduled, without fail, for tomorrow.

The ride back to Trumbull was hard on me. The bright lights of oncoming traffic on the un-illuminated Parkway gave me a lot of grief. But we made it safely, and with a little guidance on the phone and with flashing of porch lights when we were not certain which house was the right one, we pulled into Debbie and Zvika's driveway and turned off the motor. We had covered a lot of territory this day. We spent some quality time talking with Debbie and Zvika before the bed beckoned. Razelle and I found the crisp cool night air inviting and argued half-heartedly with Debbie about sleeping in the van once more, but Debbie prevailed and we slept on comfortable beds in their home instead.

Virginia through Maryland, Delaware and Pennsylvania to New Jersey

October 9

We awoke in our van while it was still dark outside. The pre-dawn air was pleasantly cool. We took care of preparations for traveling (including one last visit to the Rabbi's house to use the bathroom) then turned the key and drove off.

The GPS told us our destination in New Jersey was some 350 miles and at least 7:30 hours away. I expected it to take longer. We wanted to reach my cousins' house in Matawan, NJ at a decent hour so we could spend some quality time with them; and there were some sights along the way I thought would be interesting to stop for, since we were in the area.

The van needed to be gassed up before we set out (fuel prices were good in Hampton, VA). We also needed to replenish our cash supply; however, the ATM at the gas station had a limit on how much cash it would dispense that was lower than our intentions. A bank we came to next had a drive-through ATM, but it was closed. These stops delayed us and we didn't quite reach the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel by sunrise, which occurred a few minutes after 7:00 AM. The toll booth was no problem; the woman inside cheerfully took our fee. This is the third bridge we've had to pay to cross (the other two were the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan and the Governor Nice Bridge in Maryland). Otherwise, we've avoided and hope to continue to avoid paying tolls.

We had the bridge-tunnel almost completely to ourselves. The sun was up less than half an hour when we stopped at a rest plaza to take pictures of it, glinting on the open water. Seagulls posed among the salt-sprayed rocks and we found bait-sized squid dumped in the parking lot beside our parking spot. It seemed odd that those seagulls hadn't bothered to pounce on them. The entire bridge was lined with light posts at regular intervals; each light fixture had its attendant gull perched upon it and as we drove this gauntlet of gulls, Hitchcock's movie the "Birds" came to our minds.

We drove north through the Delmarva Peninsula, still in Virginia, and I watched my GPS counting down the miles to Maryland. We finally entered Maryland once again and drove past a lot of green landscape but saw no banks from the highway in any of the towns along the way.

We then entered Delaware, our 33rd state. Oddly, as we drove within this state, we saw almost no license plates from this state. These had eluded us throughout our trip and they continued to be elusive even now that we were in Delaware, proper.

We pulled into Greenwood, DE for fuel and cash. I saw a drive-in ATM at the bank across the highway so, while Razelle was busy in the convenience store attached to the gas station; I walked across the highway and patiently stood in line behind a car with an elderly couple in it taking care of their ATM transaction. When they pulled away they looked at me suspiciously. The cash withdrawal limit here was $250, same as everywhere else. I resigned myself to that and followed through with my transaction.

At the food court where Razelle was waiting for me I studied the giant map of Delaware on the wall. I saw that ahead of us lay two choices, a toll road (Delaware 1) or a free road (US 13 – the DuPont Highway). We haven't taken a toll road yet and I planned to keep that record intact today. Avoiding these meant that getting through Dover took us a while, so we stopped at a Walmart in Dover to use the bathrooms (we certainly know our way around a Walmart store by now). There were a lot of Delaware license plates parked here, but not an overwhelming majority.

Half way to Wilmington, DE we finally entered expressway traffic and drove along with a vast number of other Sunday-slash-Columbus-Day-weekend drivers. We entered Pennsylvania, our 34th state and within the first mile came to a visitors' information center and pulled in. I had it in mind to drive within Pennsylvania up to where George Washington crossed the Delaware River (Washington Crossing, PA), so I asked for tourist pamphlets for that section of Pennsylvania. When I got back to the van, Razelle was on the phone with someone we were scheduled to see in the coming days – so much tight planning, so little time left to do it all. I explained to Razelle that Washington Crossing was my next destination, but she wasn't interested in seeing it. OK, so I altered the route in my GPS and pointed us toward the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia instead. I didn't want to just drive past this whole swath of geography without stopping for something of tourist value.

Still avoiding toll roads I steered us into Philadelphia's highway system. Within Philadelphia we left the Delaware Expressway and took the Vine Street Expressway, and ran right into the tightest congestion of Sunday-slash-Columbus-Day-weekend drivers one could have only wished to avoid. By now the Liberty Bell had also lost its appeal to Razelle. The Vine Street Expressway dumped us in slow-motion onto the Schuylkill Expressway (I can't pronounce it; it's lucky I got the spelling right), which afforded us a glimpse of the back side of one of Philadelphia's most important museums ("Rocky" ran up and down its front steps in the eponymous movie) across the water (when retaining walls didn't block our view). Our speed picked up after that and forward progress looked promising. We'd had our fill of Philadelphia by now and our thoughts turned to New Jersey.

We exited onto Roosevelt Blvd (US 1) and continued to move along well – until we came to our first traffic light. We were now in a residential neighborhood of strong ethnic character (black). The boulevard consisted of the express lanes we were in, separated by a divider from the local-traffic lanes used by drivers getting on and off at side streets. Express or no, every mile or so we came to another set of traffic lights – and they were always against us. While we sat at red lights we heard car radios beside us blaring rap music with the "N-word" in the lyrics; very puzzling to me how such a word that is so offensive to them can be so casually incorporated in their music (and played so loudly). Finally, with the residential traffic behind us, we came to the Delaware River and crossed it without having to pay a toll, to enter New Jersey our 35th state (thank you New Jersey for the free pass).

New Jersey – that magical word pair. For more than 12,000 miles our focus has been on getting our van back to New Jersey without incident, through all kinds of terrain and climatic conditions, and we did it! Our van bore New Jersey license plates and it was finally on home soil. We blended right in with all the vehicles around us.

We thought traffic in Philadelphia was bad. New Jersey wasn't an improvement. We only had 40 more miles to go to reach Matawan. Most of this distance was between and not within cities on an arrow-straight section of US 1. The maddening thing was that because this section is straight, we could see all the cars in a line ahead of us, stopping more than going for most of those miles. We called ahead to let Mark and Evelyn in Matawan know we were about an hour away (when that seemed to be the case) but it took us much longer than that to reach our turn-off from US 1 toward Old Bridge and Matawan.

By the time we reached North Brunswick, NJ we needed to fuel up again. We were lucky to pull right up to a pump. A single harried turban-wearing Sikh gentleman was responsible for pumping everyone's fuel. An argument broke out with a customer who had pumped her own gas. In New Jersey, as I understand it, self service is forbidden. Security cameras monitor such things. The customer gave the Sikh gentleman her phone number so she could explain to whoever might want to fire this attendant that she was to blame, not he.

It was a relief to get off the road by the time we pulled into Mark and Evelyn's driveway, some ten hours after we had set out this morning before sunrise. We would have been here sooner and with less angst if we had taken toll roads: the bane of the East Coast from my perspective, but a fact of life from Razelle's perspective. From now on, I won't avoid them anymore.

Mark and Evelyn came out to greet us when they heard us pull into their driveway. Mark is my first cousin, and close enough to me in temperament to be practically a sibling. My affinity for him and Evelyn is such that in no time at all we found ourselves conversing on a wide range of common-interest topics and enjoying ourselves immensely. Razelle has a great deal in common with them too, with their background in cinema and literature. We four never exhausted the topics that came up; each segued into another. Meal time didn't interrupt our conversations and our fascination with them. We gathered around the table as Evelyn, who had taken our dietary needs into consideration – I with my ring and Razelle with her food allergies – brought out a number of different dishes for us to choose from. We found plenty to eat. The featured main dish was salmon. Once this trip is over we should consider compiling a "Chinook Cookbook". Each of our hosts did something different to personalize their presentation of this fish.

Mark is a movie critic and he sometimes has the privilege of viewing films before the general public does. He was excited about a documentary on "Shalom Aleichem" he had reviewed and thought we'd appreciate viewing. It turns out, through research I had done on our family tree, that the towns in the Ukraine our forbears (Mark and mine) may have come from are quite likely the same towns in the Ukraine that claim Sholem Rabinovich as their favorite son. Razelle and I watched this documentary with great fascination.

I began to have trouble staying awake by the time the film ended. Mark and I took apart the couch we were sitting on, tugged on it this way and that, and – voila! – it was a bed! Razelle was very impressed with this item of furniture – an authentic Castro Convertible. She has always wanted to own one of these. It wasn't long before I was fast asleep on it.

Virginia day 1

October 8

Yom Kippur

We woke up often during the night. Apparently all the hydrating we did had to go somewhere. We have jars for this purpose in the van, but we had never filled them as full before as we did last night. I wondered what the point was in hydrating so thoroughly when it all seemed to have been processed by daylight.

Services began at 9:30 AM so we had time to just relax in the van and wait for that hour to approach. We were fasting so there wasn't much else from our usual morning routine to do, except to freshen up a little. We went to the social hall ahead of the scheduled time and waited for others to arrive. We sat in the same seats we had occupied the night before. Sitting there in the seat beside ours was the woman chazzan who had led Kol Nidre and the other cantorial prayers so movingly last night. We told her how much we appreciated the quality of her voice and the sensitivity of her interpretation. I told her I could tell she must know Hebrew because her pronunciation was so consistently correct. People arrived steadily and filled up the seats and we had the chance to watch them and notice what they wore and how they greeted each other. I find this a fascinating aspect of being a guest in the congregations we've joined in prayer each Saturday and on this Holy Day.

It was both a Saturday and a Holy Day (Yom Kippur is considered to be the Sabbath of Sabbaths). The services incorporated all the elements of a Saturday service, plus all the added prayers that remind us that this is the Day of Atonement, the last day to pray for forgiveness for our sins of the past year. The Torah was read clearly, followed by the Haftarah, which I found hard to follow because of the reader's accent. So many extra prayers are incorporated into the Yom Kippur service that the praying goes on a lot longer than at any other time of the year, except Rosh Hashanah. This is good, though, because while we are involved in prayer so intently, we don't dwell on the fact that we haven't eaten or drunk since the afternoon of the day before.

When services were over we went straight to the van to lie down a while; resting quietly while fasting helps make the time pass better. However, it was too warm in the van to rest comfortably during the middle of the afternoon, so we eventually gave that up and retreated to the Rabbi's air-conditioned house. Shosh was in the living room with her little ones. Razelle and I began to talk about all the places we have visited and all the synagogues we've worshipped in along the way from Singapore to Australia to Hawaii to mainland USA from California to Florida to here. The more we talked the more entertaining we became. Rabbi Gila was working on a study session that was scheduled for 4:15 PM before the afternoon prayers were to begin. Overhearing us, she decided that our experiences would fascinate the congregants who would be showing up for this study session. It isn't every day one gets to meet round-the-world travelers, especially not Jews like ourselves who placed such an emphasis on visiting Jewish congregations along the way.

At 4:15 PM we moved our discussion to the sanctuary. We would be praying in this lovely space for the rest of Yom Kippur now, instead of in the massive social hall. I really like the architecture of this sanctuary, and I'm glad that Razelle now had the opportunity to sit in it as I had on my previous visit and pray here. It's interior is constructed of the warmest wood and is very inviting. That's how I feel about it, anyway.

An intimate number of congregants arrived at 4:15 PM. We were introduced to them as members of the congregation in Beer Sheva where Rabbi Dror had previously served. They were told that we had paused here to worship among them on Yom Kippur on our way around the world. We expected to be asked questions about the trip, but instead they focused on the fact that we were from a Conservative congregation in Israel and wanted to know more about our synagogue and its members and our ritual practices. We answered their questions until it was time for the afternoon prayers.

Before these prayers began, an officer of the congregation whispered into my ear that the rabbi had told him I knew how to blow the shofar (ram's horn). He asked if I would be interested in blowing the shofar here at the closing of the prayer services. My heart skipped a beat. I was thrilled to be asked and consented without hesitation, except that I didn't have a shofar with me. This officer led me into the Rabbi's study where three shofrot were set on a table. I picked up the one that looked most like my own at home and tried to see if a tiny sound would come out. I blew a staccato breath into it and a tiny toot came out. This one seemed promising so I wrapped it in a prayer shawl and took it back to my seat next to Razelle. I gave her a peak at it and a beaming smile lit up her face.

The Torah service came up quickly and Razelle and I were invited to have the honor of raising and dressing the Torah scroll after it was read. Next, the Book of Jonah was read by a congregant and I couldn't help chanting along under my own breath because I have had this honor many years in a row now, back in Beer Sheva.

During the silent part of the evening prayers that followed next, the members of the congregation were encouraged to go up to the ark one-by-one on their own initiative to say a personal prayer while the ark remained open for the last moments of Yom Kippur. I took a turn. I gazed upward into the open ark and prayed for so many things in one go: for health of loved ones, for safe passage the rest of our journey and for the safety of Israel.

Finally we reached the end of the prayer service. Four gentlemen (myself included) went up before the congregation and lined up in front of the ark. I was left-most among them. Two of these men had long showy horns, the one to my right had a short horn ornamented with silver, and I stood there with the short, unadorned horn I had selected in the Rabbi's study. The note was called out and all four of us started at the same instant. The congregation held its collective breath as the four horns mixed their sounds in a blast that reaches the innermost parts of a listener's very being. Soon the longer horns both became silent, and only I and the man to my right with the ornate horn continued. Finally he ran out of breath too and I continued solo as long as I dared before I stopped with an upturn of the note I'd held so long. I was pleased with myself and very honored to have been asked to do this here.

The congregants appeared visibly moved. The man to my right shook my hand. Apparently he is actually a musician and he knew what kind of breath control this required. Rabbi Dror told me she missed hearing me do this. It was she who had taught me in the first place and it pleased me to be able to do this here for my teacher. I looked out at Razelle and she was crying. I came to sit beside her and she was too moved to speak.

Following the service we all filed into the social hall again. Food and drinks and tables and chairs were set up there for us to break our 25-hour-long fast: bagels and lox and cream cheese – again. Razelle had seen the High Holiday prayer book in the window of the gift shop. The woman in charge was willing to sell us two before she went home to her family. I had to go out to our luggage and come back with some money because I wasn't carrying any on me during this Holy Day. She waited and I even rewarded her patience by presenting her with the exact amount. We now own our own set of these prayer books.

It had been a long day for all of us. We went back to Rabbi Dror's house for a short while so we could say our good byes. We intended to start our journey before sunrise tomorrow. We wanted to reach the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel by sunrise so we could appreciate the effect. Rabbi Dror needed to get some rest after all the officiating that her function requires of her. It was wonderful for us to have been able to see her in action and to interact with her on this personal level, too. We bid her good night and went out to our van. We fell asleep still glowing from the events of the day.

Maryland to Virginia

October 7 

Erev Yom Kippur

We woke up early this morning. Ralph was the only member of his household awake also. A low sun was hidden behind low clouds as I dragged our bags out to the van and did my best to avoid the heavy dew on the tree lawn. It was cold enough in the van to warrant turning on the heater. A swipe with the wipers to clear the dew off the windshield and we were off on a new day of travel.

The route I programmed into the GPS showed we had 4:45 hours to our destination in Hampton, VA. This route was designed to avoid the congested interstate loops around Baltimore, Washington and Richmond. We headed directly into the heart of Baltimore on Reisterstown Rd and noted the look of the old row homes we drove past. They must have had a glorious past. They looked stately, uniformly made as they were of dark red brick with white trim. Many had bay windows. Sadly, poverty lapped at their doorsteps – wooden porches on too many of them needed repair, or had been ripped away altogether. Some were boarded up. A patina of poverty spoiled their historic dignity. We came to the business district and traffic moved along well. A broad boulevard named for Martin Luther King flowed well also, as it took us up to the baseball stadium and around the football stadium to where the Baltimore-Washington Parkway begins. We picked up speed and were pleased with ourselves for taking this route directly through Baltimore without any delays. The Beltway was flowing too, as it took us to the beginning of Interstate 97 which set us on our southward course to the Crain Highway (US 301). I depended heavily on my GPS to keep track of all these different names and numbers and Razelle marveled at how many of these had to be navigated just to get us through the municipal maze.

We passed through bucolic Chesapeake landscape and made good time. I was weary of a school bus we caught up with as it drove its morning rural pick-up route, but I managed to get past it before it made any stops. We pulled into the Walmart in Waldorf, MD to buy beverages to drink for the rest of the drive. We would be starting our Yom Kippur fast late in the afternoon, so drinking fluids as much as we could before we had to stop eating and drinking by that time was an imperative now. The chill of the morning had turned into a bright warm day. It felt good to be cruising along watching the scenery pass (I speak for myself; Razelle didn't get the same pleasure out of this).

Just before coming to the Governor Harry Nice Memorial Bridge we pulled into a visitors' center on the Maryland side for a pit stop. The staff on duty thought we'd just entered Maryland and they wanted me to sign a guest register. I humored them and signed, even though I was leaving their state. I showed them that I hailed from a very distant land. They showed me a signature that came from an even more distant land: from the United Arab Emirates. That was certainly a "gotcha!" in Maryland moment.

Before we could cross this bridge we had to pay a toll. Not a problem – they accepted cash. The bridge itself is quite narrow – one lane in each direction – and an amazing piece of engineering with steel elements going every which way and forming a webbed tunnel high in the air above the broadest part of the Potomac River. Upon reaching the opposite shore we were in Virginia once again.

This part of Virginia has so much to offer history buffs. We passed signs leading us to landmarks worth spending the day – if not an entire week – stopping to take in. But we were hard-pressed to reach our destination before the fast began and the solemn Holy Day commenced. At Port Royal, VA we took the Tidewater Trail (US 17) all the way to Newport News before getting on an Interstate highway. Signs pointed out the way to the birthplaces of Madison and Washington and to historic Yorktown, Jamestown and Williamsburg. We said to ourselves, "next time we're here we'll see these." We've been saying this everywhere we've been along this trip.

When we reached Hampton, VA my GPS failed to give me sufficient notice which lane to be in and I missed my exit. Odd that it would be lagging behind all of a sudden. I maneuvered my way back to where I needed to be and we reached Rodef Shalom Temple just as Rabbi Dror was leaving to run a quick last-minute errand. The timing couldn't have been more serendipitous. She let us in so we could rest in her living room then, shortly thereafter, she returned. I had been here once before on a previous visit so I felt comfortable with this. Rabbi Dror and I had communicated by email and she was expecting us – welcomed us – to observe Yom Kippur at her congregation and stay here for the duration of this sacred day. She had prepared a meal for us in her kitchen: baked salmon and steamed string beans. We had been hydrating ourselves all day and continued to drink water here up to the last minute before the fast began. Rabbi Dror gave us instructions how to stow anything uneaten and rushed off to prepare herself to officiate during the service. I had time to take a quick shower before we had to go to the Temple building ourselves.

We climbed into the cocoon of our van in travel clothes and emerged as butterflies, dressed in our "going to worship" apparel, including a shirt I'd just bought for this day, and a set of earrings Razelle had bought for herself at the same time. As we entered the synagogue, I scanned the faces looking for any I might recognize, so I could reintroduce myself to whomever that might be. No one recognized me.

Razelle and I took prayer books from a table and found seats in the far corner of the large social hall where the service was being held. When Rabbi Dror took the podium to begin the service Razelle and I looked at each other and smiled broadly. Of all the congregations we'd been to on this trip, this one was the most significant to us. This was our Rabbi – our Rabbi Gila. She may have been gone for 10 years, but as far as we were concerned, she was only away on permanent loan. She still belonged to us. We settled in and enjoyed the service.

The Kol Nidre prayer was about to begin. A woman chazzan came to the podium and we all rose for the prayer. Her voice moved us. We were most definitely in the right place for Yom Kippur. Razelle and I followed the service in our prayer books and noticed how wonderfully these had been compiled. Razelle decided we had to order a pair of these for ourselves. Rabbi Dror gave her sermon. It was special to us because her delivery and content took us back to the days when she had led services in our synagogue.

When the services were over we returned to the Rabbi's house. We adults were all fasting now. We sat in the living room and talked. Her daughter Shoshanna was there with her little ones, a precocious 5 year old daughter and a newly born infant. We knew Shosh from Beer Sheva and had been at her wedding. Shosh and Razelle talked a bit, but the little ones needed attending to, so Shosh excused herself and turned her attention to them. Rabbi Dror showed us what sleeping arrangements we could improvise if we stayed in the house, but this meant one of us on a single bed and one on the carpeted floor beside it, or alternatively, one on an upstairs single bed and the other on a downstairs single bed. We really did weigh these options, but in the end we opted to sleep in our van as we had originally planned, parked as it was beside her house on an unobtrusive patch of perfectly flat pavement in the cool night air with a breeze whispering through the branches of the woodlot at the edge of the pavement and the chirping of crickets to lull us to sleep. We pulled the van doors shut with us inside and made the bed comfortable for a good night's sleep. We hadn't slept in the van in a long time and we missed its coziness. It was the right choice.

Maryland day 4

October 6

I spent this morning finishing up a set of blog updates (three more are now written, bringing us as far as Detroit). I was in the process of composing them when Razelle called up the stairs to tell me that Tanya and Mel had arrived (right on schedule) and were waiting for me to come down so we could go to a restaurant with them. I signed out of my programs and shut down my laptop's open applications, then switched it off, which took a few minutes, then descended the stairs to find an affable Mel and an impatient Tanya. She must have been on a tight schedule, yet she managed to squeeze us world-traveling relatives into it; my slowness in joining them must have been cutting into other tasks she had scheduled.

There wasn't much time for conversation in the front hall as I got myself ready to walk out the door and follow them down to the vehicles parked in the street. We followed Mel and Tanya's car with our van and drove out Reisterstown Rd yet again. We understood they wanted to take us to a kosher Chinese restaurant, so when the Kosher Bite came into view we assumed they were taking us to the same restaurant Ralph and the boys had taken us to. But, no – our destination was a little farther up the road: David Chu's China Bistro.

I have to say this place had a convincingly authentic Chinese atmosphere to it. There were so many dishes to choose from on the menu I didn't know where to start. The waitress spoke with a Chinese accent. Tanya and Mel made small talk with us at the table while we waited for the food we'd ordered to arrive. We spoke of our experiences on this trip as we always do. Mel asked general questions, Tanya asked more specific ones. Eventually we came to the end of the meal and rather than tarry over a cup of tea and converse some more, Tanya paid for the meal and announced to us what size tip Razelle and I were to leave on the table. She was in a hurry to leave and she took Mel with her. That was our visit with these relatives. We had not seen Washington DC to our satisfaction earlier. Today would have been a good day to go back there to catch what we'd missed two days ago, but our pre-arranged family visit with Mel and Tanya had taken precedent over going there today. Yet here we stood, Razelle and I, in the parking lot at David Chu's, watching Tanya and Mel entering traffic and vanishing from sight and we felt that the time with them had been an empty formal social exercise and not much more.

I needed to shop for shirts because I hadn't packed a white dress shirt for this trip that would be appropriate for Yom Kippur services. We drove further out Reisterstown Rd until we found a Target store near the Baltimore Beltway. I went straight to the Menswear Department. I found socks my size (a rare occurrence) but no white dress shirts. I took the socks to the cashiers' area and selected a $50 Virgin Mobile card good for unlimited data access for a full month, while I waited in line to purchase both. I'd learned yesterday that it would be a waste of money to spend less. Back in the van I called Ralph to ask where he bought his white dress shirts. He suggested we head for a store called Casual Male XL, located in Towson, MD. I set my GPS to take us there, but on a whim, I changed the GPS settings to first take us to a closer shopping plaza that had a JC Penney and a Macy's in it at the nearby Owings Mills Mall. That's where I found the shirts I was looking for. The shirts looked so good that Razelle prevailed upon me to buy more than just white ones. I didn't know my size so I tried on several shirts in the dressing rooms until I had the right sleeve length and collar size. I made a point to leave all the pins and cardboard parts on the dressing room bench where they could be used again to restore the shirts I'd tried on to their original display appearance. It really was a pleasure to go shopping and come out of that store with flattering clothes. I never liked shopping for clothes when I was huge, but this time I was excited about the prospects of wearing these nice threads.

Razelle went to Macy's at the far end of the mall and found something her size there she'd been looking for all across the country (since Hawaii!). The clerk was very helpful and she and Razelle quickly became fast friends. They commiserated about the fact that this clerk had a bad back, but was not allowed to sit while she was on duty. This clerk was impressed with our round-the-world stories and said we had inspired her to travel also. Razelle gave her one of our magnets and her email address so the clerk (being Jewish and about our age) could look us up when she gets to Israel.

Razelle also found a nice selection of clip-on earrings in Macy's to finally replace the ones she'd purchased in Singapore and left behind, sadly, somewhere in Western Australia. The price was good, but it would have been even better if Razelle had applied for a Macy's membership card. This required Razelle to give them her social security number. She balk at that and forwent the discount. All in all, we had a very successful day of shopping. We both came away happy.

We returned to Ralph and Anita's in good spirits. Razelle returned to the mission at hand, which was to finish reading the rest of "The Land of the Painted Caves." I went back to composing notes on all that had transpired during our trip so I could work with them later while writing the remainder of the blog. I activated my Virgin Mobile card and had no more restraints on how much data I could consume on the Internet. This evening I was finally able to post the entries I had been working on. For those who have been following our progress on our blog, it will seem we have just reached Detroit now, even though a month has passed since then. Those who have been following us on Facebook at least know we have gotten to Baltimore.

In the evening, when Ralph and Anita and the boys were all together, we had a chance to talk about the next leg of our journey and how best to get through Baltimore tomorrow (either before or after rush hour) so we can reach Hampton, VA before Yom Kippur begins and fasting commences. Because it seemed best to me that we leave earlier than rush hour, we decided to do all our packing tonight before retiring. We had more clothes to pack away now, but our bags can accommodate this. And storing things in the van is not a problem, either; it just means more clutter and less room to stretch out. We have been carting along a pair of camping chairs we purchased in Thousand Oaks, CA at our first Target. I don't recall that we ever used them. We think they may be handy for seating in Ralph's Sukkah, so these are staying behind in Baltimore and we hope they get used well here, with our blessings.

One last gesture remained. Anita let Razelle go through her cache of paperbacks to see if anything appealed to her for reading material along the way. Razelle came away with perhaps eight more books to keep herself occupied. Anita was glad she could do this for Razelle.

We needed to get up early the next morning so we didn't stay up late. We went to bed reflecting on how nice our stay in Baltimore had been. 

Maryland day 3

October 5

Razelle spent the morning reading Anita's copy of Jean Auel's "The Land of the Painted Caves" the final novel of the "Clan of the Cave Bear" series (as we call it), recently published and only available in hardcover so far. Razelle has to get through this book and leave it behind when we leave Baltimore so she was intensely involved in that silent endeavor.

While Razelle was at this, I took time to explore the neighborhood on foot this crisp sunny autumn morning and go buy a charge card to top up my laptop, this being the last day my $50-unlimited-use-for-a-month Virgin Mobile card had left on it. Since we have only 10 days left in the US before we move on to the next country, I thought it would be a good idea to only buy a $10 card (or at least worth trying), which should be good for 10 days (if I don't overuse it). I walked down to the corner traffic light at Reisterstown Rd and Northern Parkway to the Walgreens store. They didn't have the right mobile card denomination so I continued down Reisterstown Rd another block and found what I needed at a Dollar Discount store.

All the people I passed along Reisterstown Rd were black. I was the only white person I saw walking along this thoroughfare (alone). I tried to be nonchalant about that, but not having lived in the US for so many decades I had no idea whether or not I was being naïve about my safety. The most disconcerting thing was listening to conversations I overheard as I passed small groups of males, talking among themselves and letting the "N-word" pepper their speech liberally. I also heard music someone passing me on the sidewalk was playing loud enough to be heard; he chanted along with its rap lyrics, which also had the "N-word" come up every so often. I just glided through this scene as unobtrusively as I could to return to the supposed safely of Ralph's street. Once there, I took time to notice the shade trees that lined the pavement. My footsteps lightly crunched the leaves that were beginning to fall onto the sidewalk this time of year. These trees also dropped acorn/chestnut-type fruit (beechnuts?) onto the sidewalks and tree-lawns and into the gutters. I may learn their identity eventually, but for the time being they are not familiar to me.

When I returned Razelle asked to go out too. She was interested in eating out somewhere. We got into the van and drove up Reisterstown Rd in the opposite direction from the one I'd walked. Last night, we drove a long stretch of Reisterstown Rd from that direction when we'd returned from Washington and I had seen a lot of commercial centers, closed at that late hour. I thought Razelle would like to see what kind of choices this area had to offer (she was asleep as we passed last night so she missed seeing it). One shopping plaza after another came into view. We found an old familiar eatery that has never disappointed: IHOP, and we alighted there for a meal. For a change, instead of ordering my usual bowl of grits, I ordered a bowl of oatmeal. Our waiter was a tall thin and cheerfully talkative and attentive black man. He seemed to have had a good education and I thought he might in fact be a manager instead of a waiter, because he was older than the usual age of the waiters we've encountered on our journey across America. He talked economics with Razelle and remarked about the competitor across the street adding solar panels on the roof of their business, so he revealed an awareness of structural engineering too. Then a superior of his handed him a broom and dustpan and I realized he wasn't a manager. I hope this man can find a job some day, when the economy turns around, that can utilize his talents better. At least he is working and there is dignity in that.

We returned to Ralph and Anita's. At the top of the stairs in their house I entered our bedroom and violently ran my right knee into the bedpost. I collapsed onto the bed and waited for the agonizing pain to subside from my aching patella and feared that this might be the "end of the road" for this road trip. If my right knee were now damaged I wouldn't be able to drive anymore. I willed the pain away and after a while I dared to try standing. My knee was tender, but otherwise undamaged. Whew, that was a close call.

I worked on my blog and will soon be posting some new entries, finally. These will bring my blog up to our arrival in Detroit, a full month after the fact. I have fallen so far behind and our last several days ahead are so packed with visits to people and religious holidays that I don't see how I'll be able to catch up completely with where we are currently located as we travel. I will finish this blog, I promise, no matter what, even if it is written in retrospect from notes. I also used my new Virgin Mobile card to do a lot of route planning on the web on Google maps. It is getting to be critical now just how much distance we have left to drive. An obligatory oil change will be due by the time we complete the projected distance I estimate we still have left to finish our trip south to Virginia, then north to Massachusetts then south again to leave the van in New Jersey. I wanted to determine whether our route might go beyond the mileage still left before the oil change ends up being my responsibility instead of theirs. It will be close. Doing this research, however, I used enough megabytes that my 10-day card won't last past tomorrow – an experiment in thrift that didn't have the outcome I was hoping for.

Anita spent the afternoon cooking a special meal for us. She is a holistic nurse and prepares macrobiotic dishes that one doesn't encounter every day. This is what makes them special. There are roots and grains and vegetables in her dishes you can't readily identify from common experience because they are special too. When she tells you what they are you can't help but smile. Of course you've heard of them, many times in fact, but rarely (if ever) tasted them. These dishes take longer to prepare, so Razelle and Anita had lots of time together in the kitchen to talk about subjects that interested them and to bond as sisters-in-law. This is the longest time Razelle has spent alone with Anita since she married Ralph. By the time Ralph came home from work, all was ready. We all gathered around the table: Ralph, Razelle, Anita, Yehudah, Yair and I, to eat as one large family.

That's what this part of the trip is for: to reconnect with family and strengthen the bonds that hold families together.