One of the most important people in the development of Hebrew printing is a Christian fellow named Daniel Bomberg from Antwerp, Belgium. He is my only association with this city... except for a mention in a Bertolt Brecht poem/song. And in that name, our pass though Antwerp took on a bit more meaning.
Antwerp was designed (in our itinerary) as a "pass through" town on the way to Paris. The campsite I had found, however was in a town in the outskirts called, of all things: Brecht!
Because we want to be in Paris for Purim with Tom and Bebe we had to set out south to find a campsite for the night. I had set my sights on one outside of Antwerp. We arrived after hours again, but, here there was a sign on the door indicating that we should simply hook up and check in in the morning. And so we did. We found one other camper with lights on (at dusk), a couple from England, who showed me where we could park and plug in. We did so and we even had electricity for the computer. So, that night we took more notes, worked on getting some of the pages ready to post and listened to some Mozart and Chopin.
While preparing breakfast this morning... with Debbie at the shower I developed a small "floater" in my eye. At first this was particularly disconcerting. It was a spot in the middle distance and the center of wherever I looked. But, after a half hour the spot's circumference has expanded and finally dissipated.
While reading David Ellenson's book I wondered: Who was the first maskil to realize that the Oral Torah was not given to Moses on Mt. Sinai, and how did he respond (emotionally and publicly) to that realization? Related question: where there rabbis among first maskilim?
We slept late, through the alarm (!), had our breakfast, refueled the van and started on our way. After driving around the "ring road" of Antwerp and Brussels we entered France. On arrival we said shehecheyanu. We had been in Belgium and Holland (Brussels and Amsterdam) on our way to Israel just after we got married, but this was the first time Debbie had been to anywhere in France (I had been here on my way to Israel in 1964). Debbie remarked that the countryside looked different. After a couple of hours drive it was time for a bit of a break. We pulled off the highway where the sign pointed toward St. Quentin. I figured that was an appropriate town for Californians to visit (though we've never been to our own version). As we drove through one quaint town along the way we saw a sign for "Musee De Matisse". Could we be so close and not visit (the sign did not say how many KM it was). We continued along the way, I stopped to ask a man walking along the side of the road who said something to the effect of "Yashar, Yashar v' Hallah. (straight, straight and further)". The museum is in a town called Le Cateau-Cambresis.
At the museum was an exhibit of the work of fabric artist Monique Frydman "la couleur tissee. I am reminded of a line that my supervisor mentioned to me when he took me to the Shvitz for my birthday when I was part of the ombudsman staff of the Jewish Youth and Young Adults Council of the JFC of LA back in the early '70s: "When you're Jewish the whole world is Jewish." So, there we were and we saw the work of another Jewish (?) fabric artist. Monique does beautiful work in gauze of different colors overlaying each other as well as specially made laces and painting through lace.
The "distraction" got us off the beaten track and too far away from the main road so that we arrived in Paris too late to go to the Megilla Reading at Tom's congregation.