Erika with Tel Aviv in the distance.
my mother was already a member. A few months later, the head of the community told me about the “Taglit — Birthright Israel” program, which offers one-of-a-kind, free trips to Israel for young people who have repatriation rights. When I heard about this program, I couldn’t believe it; it sounded too much like a dream. The same dream of going to Israel that my mother and grandfather had silently expected to come true for them one day was now possible for me. I felt so happy that finally I had the opportunity to visit my dream country. Not only was it my first time traveling so far away, it was my first time to sit in an airplane. I can’t remember my exact thoughts during the flight, but I know I was excited and wondering what Israel was going to be like. I was prepared for a thrilling and fascinating 10 days. A year after this trip, what sticks in my memory? I vividly remember walking through Ben-Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv and seeing a lot of people who looked alike, people who looked like me. I felt comfortable, calm. No staring, no awkward questions. I remember all those dinners at the hotels, when I didn’t harbor a second thought about whether to wear my necklace with a Mogen David. I recall being at Yad Vashem and crying with others. Before the trip, I thought those 10 days would bring a huge dose of excitement. Instead, I often felt really calm. “What is wrong with me? Why am I not walking on air? Maybe I am not enjoying this?” I thought. But back in Lithuania, I understood everything. Actually, the realization hit me in Kiev, our only stop before landing in Vilnius. A Lithuanian traveler who joined our flight asked our 50
Taglit group where we had been. Somebody said “Israel” and the uncomfortable “Oh … ” followed, along with the rush of awkward feelings. This inability to talk Judaism in my life, being unable to defend myself against a hatred I don’t deserve, and the uncertainty about naming myself, makes me sick. Actually, I’m wrong about that part with names — I’m still confused about Jewish versus Lithuanian — but I know my sociological name: “incompletely socialized personality.” Yes, it sounds like some medical condition, one that is not temporary and is not caused by a virus or bacterium. It’s a chronic disease, something you always have, but just don’t think about, until it comes out of your throat like something toxic. It is not disgusting, because you’re used to it, but it’s painful. Today, I realize how empty I am, without a real background, without the feeling that two cultures can manage to co-exist. While writing this piece, I became aware of how miserable it is living without religion and cultural upbringing. These incompletely socialized creations like me, in their confusing lives, dive into the rushing, stressful and exhausting routine of day-to-day existence, which doesn’t leave them a second for deeper thinking about nature, childhood, parents, culture and religion. After a long day at work, these individuals go home, go to bed and see their old friend Emptiness lying next to them. While writing this piece, I realized I don’t know a lot, but there is one thing I do know: I don’t want to be one of those people.
DAVID NISAN/IYAR 5772
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