"What we have done for the Cuban people, and what they're doing for themselves, is unbelievable."

Due to a combination of our late departure time yesterday morning and the difficulty of communicating with everyone Saturday night, we all arrived at the bus this morning promptly at 9…and 10.

Our first stop was the Jewish cemetery, where aboveground box after box commemorates the many souls who once constituted Jewish Cuba. Although not in nearly as bad shape as some of its counterparts in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, this is a graveyard that could use a lot of repair, not to mention upkeep.

Miriam gave us all a personal connection to the rows of faceless names by showing us where her grandmother and the brother she never knew are buried. We noted the unusual feature of a graveyard having a geniza (repository for documents containing the name of God). Shaindle read us the very moving Yiddish inscription on the cemetery's Holocaust memorial, which reportedly contains soap made from Jewish victims of the Nazis. And Mario pointed out the grave of a Cuban filmmaker named Saul Yellin, described in the inscription as having been a great Revolutionary laid to rest by his companeros, or comrades. Evidence, he felt, that Jews were often held in high regard in the inner echelons of the Castro government.

The plan next was for us to go to see the Patronato Sunday school, but we were a little early. There was concern that we might prove a distraction to the kids (yes, I'm talking to you, Marcia). So to kill some time and shave a few singles off the piles in our wallets, Arnaldo took us to another flea market. This one was divided very neatly into the Cuban section - where scores clamored to get their hands on everyday goods like shoes and bags - and the non-Cuban (i.e., us) section, where tourists haggled over wooden carvings of camellos (those hump-backed Cuban buses), jewelry, and woven goods. Oh, and of course, plenty of Che.

After we (or to be precise, Manuel) had had enough, we went to the Sunday school. There we met with Mechulan, the white-haired Director with the energy of a 20-year-old - well, a 20-year-old doctor/marathon runner. Mechulan also happened to have been Jim's madrich when Jim was a boy in Cuba. A boy whom, Mechulan informed us all, used to be called "Izzy," thin, and quite the ladies' man. Helene was shocked at the revelation, saying, "I didn't know they used to call you 'Izzy.'"

We then went downstairs once more to the Buena Vista Social Hall for a more "interactive" version of the rikudim show we saw the other night. Marcie, Cathy, and Harriet took the lead in dancing with the young Jewbans, mostly girls. The rest of them were not at all shy about grabbing dance partners from our group. Whether dancing, watching, clapping, or just shooting pictures, everyone had a good time. Those of us who got pulled in did our best to keep up with the Cubans, but it's hard on such short notice to master the difficult, intricate choreography of the "Chicken Dance."

Onto the bus once more, this time for a private meeting with Mara and Nestor, two married shlichim sent by the Argentinians to help revitalize Jewish life here. They painted a picture for us of how much the community has been built up in the past years, noting for instance the publication of Menorah, a magazine devoted to Jewish life in Cuba.

After our talk with them, Arnaldo took us back to the hotel for our last bout of free time in the city. Again, we split up, a few going to a baseball game, some napping, and others continuing our work of overthrowing Castro by vigorously promoting capitalism.

In our second-to-last bus roundup, we were taken once again into Miramar, to the restaurant where our farewell dinner would be held. Here Shaindle, Miriam, Manuel, and Mario entertained us with their "Ya Ya Yentas" roast, Jack and Marcy sang a duet of "Zei Gezunt" in honor of their 50th anniversary, and everyone enjoyed their very last "welcome drink." It's too bad the Cubans don't have something called a "farewell drink," because I think many of us could have used one, to keep away our sadness at leaving this beautiful place tomorrow morning.