My mother had been to Palestine in 1935, but she had not seen her brother Stasiek, who had ended up there after the war, since she left Poland in late 1938. My father, who was an ardent Zionist, had long dreamed of visiting Israel, but had not managed to get there until late in his life. They finally went together in 1966, less than two years before my father died. As their expressions here suggest, they really enjoyed the visit.