End Notes

We are all tired. I am done with dead people and have slowed down on Haym Arbet. I can’t get my head around grammar. I simply forgot the terms and references in English. Either I hear something correctly or I don’t. I can’t make a chart. Fran and Susan and I make a quick dash in the rain to a museum, or the synagogue we haven’t yet seen. There, I ask a lovely 40-something with children how real live Jewish life is in Vilnius. (as opposed to non-living Jewish life) Although she is quite happy and feels relatively safe, the numbers are not in her favor. As the survivors die, there will not be enough self-identified Jews to replace them. Another city to honor a lost civilization.

It has turned decidedly cool here, and the day shortens by a very noticeable, and sad 5 min a day. Hot steamy DC will be a real shock! I wish this experience would never end. Most people are restless and anxious to get home. Fran, Susan and I are struggling to reach our end notes. I have to forcibly pull away from the city and this intense and vibrant unreality. I will miss this time and place. I try to imagine the -30 C winters, ice on the cobble stones, just to rub away the magic.

Looking back, I am amazed that we have learned to understand a lot, speak and read a little. I have words in my pen.

The cacophony of languages from tours passing by our corner has become soothing, French, English, German, Russian, Hebrew. Even languages I don’t understand are pleasant sounding. Judenstraase, Rue de Juifs, Zydu.

I chat with the Irish restaurant owner next door. She describes how she found a tunnel under her property when she was renovating. It runs from the Old Synagogue, behind her place, down through the old Ghetto and past the gates. Old Catholic catacombs, coal chutes, connected with deep tunneling? Smuggling? People? Goods? A survivor has stopped in for tea and pointed out the bedroom where his family slept. He said he would never return. I give her the name of a survivor to help clarify. Perhaps she will find answers. She says she sees and hears ghosts and asks me what to say to them. I say “Sholem Aleichem.”

The Day After

Not far from the city is the one remaining Jewish cemetery. Two others were destroyed, and what has been salvaged was moved here. There is a mixture of new and old graves here. Having seen the site where the bodies of 400 Jewish children who were exsanguinated in the Ghetto for blood transfusions for the Nazi soldiers, it is a relief to see a fresh grave site, flowers, a new stone. The recently dead, the naturally deceased are a refreshing variety of dead people.

On to the killing field of Ponari. Depending on estimates, between 70 and 100,000 people – mostly Jews were killed there between July 1941 and July 1944. The pits for burning, the pits for children, the pits for shooting. It is inconceivable in this immense pine forest. Tree crickets sound, wind rustles the tall trees. I am sick.

MADE IT!

Yesterday’s excursion offered an interesting glimpse into Lithuanian Jewish relations on the ground. We wanted to enter the 9th Fort in Kaunas, a place where Jews were rounded up and shot during WWII. As August 15 was a Holiday, the museum was technically closed. However a group had arranged access, and so there was a guard who could let us in. A harsh exchange with our guide prompted him to say he had enough Jews. She said we were American and gave him some cash. He said we could enter but we shouldn’t talk to the Jews. Yuck. Many people in our group wouldn’t go in.

The Synagogue in Kaunas was lovely. Liberal enough to have had a choir loft. I saw a Bible in Hebrew and Russian for the first time. We walked around with a Lithuanian student in our program who is from the city. We caught a glimpse of a sign in Russian and Yiddish and were told it was the former site of a Jewish orphanage and trade school. Another Synagogue is now an auto repair shop. The richness of the old world and the barrenness of the present reality are always with us.

And... More intrigue on the Fascist/Communist partisan issue. The brash, controversial founder of our program is at the center of it. He has been ostracized by the university, but is still seeking to get student support. It is hard to know if the agenda is his career, the nature of exhibits, or the fate of the few remaining partisans.

My party was fabulous. Fully half the program showed up (free wine goes a long way) and the weather in the garden was perfect. I was toasted, I told jokes, Happy Birthday was sung in English, French, Hebrew and Yiddish. I got a huge bouquet of roses and a number of books. The ones in Yiddish I will never read, but they will remind me of a good time.

Now that the days are getting shorter and the weather cooler, I am preparing to reenter.

The LOUD multiple conversations have become jarring.

I worry about the fate of the proud, small community post partisans. I am pleased to see a few dozen young people interested in this lost world, but wonder, really, what will happen. The beautiful partisan women who are our guides cannot NOT tell their stories. Will their stories be told in a decade?

I go over the guide book and am amazed both by what I have seen and what I will not see. I need to see the Synagogue. (Every Friday at 5 I have talked myself out of it!)

The rest is optional.

Sexig is Sexy

I did see the KGM/Genocide museum today. It was horrific. I understand what this weird sotto voce controversy is about. The should not be labeled Genocide, as the terrible post WWII years were about non ethnic, political, Soviet-Era oppression, Siberian exile, torture and famine. It should certainly be a museum. The cells in the prison are unreal. I am remembering my trip to Alcatraz with Sydney. It’s hard to compare, but I don’t recall Alcatraz with torture chambers or execution cells. But this should not detract from the other horror, if detract is the right word. The Jewish community seems afraid that the Shoah will be marginalized. After this weekend I am done with dead people.

Well, my crowning achievement was reading Goldihairileh and the Drei Beren. Unstaged readings available on request. The fairy tales and songs help to lighten the heavy weight of memorials, graveyards, historic walks, killing fields.

And did you know that Bialystok was considered part of Yiddish Lithuania? I am
told that I and my family are pure Litvak. So from a Litvak point of view we have major cred. Vilne was known as the "Jerusalem of the North." My father prided himself on speaking Litvak Yiddish but he always said he was a Polish Jew. In the end,ver veyse?

I guess I am 4 for 4 grandparents now. Many people here have made genealogy a serious hobby/way of life. I enjoy my new friends well enough to attend a conference in the US to see them, but I have exhausted the current information I have, and I suspect that I will not look for more, at least now. This has been incredibly rewarding and my favorite summer camp!
:-)

It's gotten cool and it's getting much darker each day. My birthday is tomorrow, and after another excursion, I’ll have a brief reception for the program, then dinner with friends. My secret slogan is Sexig is sexy. I’m glad to be far away from real life.

Pilvishok

It is nearly 11 pm and I am set for Pilvishok tomorrow AM. After many days of
bright brilliant balmy days, a cold, dark rainy front is coming in. Tomorrow’s weather should rival the weather in June 1998 in Poland.

Years ago I had copied my old tenth grade Heights High family tree into my PC. It keeps getting stored on newer PC’s in my “old Fam” folder. To assist in finding a trace of my grandmother Edith’s family I cut and paste the document into an email which I just sent to myself and will take with it on my blackberry! What a difference a hundred years makes! I am looking for her family (Ginsberg) and their ancestors, Gentleson and Vistenetsky.)

Fran and Susan join me, and our tour guide, Regina is a delightful sprite who has brought along books and maps to supplement my meager information. As she reads to us in Yiddish, it occurs to us that we have started to understand. (It helped that I had read an English translation online.)

We opt to go the scenic route and so I get to see the storks again. I had forgotten that an African species summers in huge nests in the chimneys of this part of the world. The pastoral landscape rolls by.

The weather is nicer than I expected. The countryside is magnificent. We stop at a few formerly Jewish communities, and see glimpses of synagogues and a few memorial cemeteries. (These consist of a stone headstone marking the location of the cemetery with a few remaining grave stones around.)

The countryside near Pilvishok is magnificent. The village is at the confluence of two small rivers. Huge silvery poplars glint in the sun, contrasting with the dark firs. The wooden “shtetel shacks” are similar to what I’ve seen. Two rooms and a stove in the middle. I ask and am told that the shacks are typical of both Jewish shtetels and the general rural population. The land appears to be very fertile, the plots around the houses overflow with flowers and vegetables. We take photos up a street of visually interesting homes. We head to the cemetery which is now marked by a fenced-in area of 5 headstones and a marker. A cold rainy wind begins to bluster, and as I enter the small area, I immediately see a stone inscribed Ginsberg in Hebrew! Well, given that there were only 900 Jews there in 1931 when DovBer, son of Aaron, died, I feel that we are family. I mark his grave with a stone and notice that there are other stones there already. I will never know who else has been there. We say a prayer and go into the nearby restaurant. Herring, soup, fried meat blintzes and stuffed cabbage with boiled potatoes. It’s beginning to feel like soul food.

We next head to the WWII killing field. On the way, Regina stops an elderly man for directions. She asks him (in Lithuanian) about WWII. He is eager to talk. He was 19 when a blitzkrieg started in June of 1941. Within 4 hours the village was nearly leveled. Even in Lithuanian, it was very clear how vivid this memory is. Asked about Jews, he listed a few prominent names, (none of mine) including someone whose factory was used after the war as headquarters for a (failed) collective farm. He then reached back for a memory of Jews and Tashlich (throwing away sins during high holidays) at the river Pilva which marks the entrance to the city. Asked about the cemetery, he said it was dug up by the Soviets in the 60’s when indoor plumbing was installed in the city. I had failed to notice the present absence of outhouses.

One would never find the field where Jews were killed. There is a foot high stone marker covered with grass on the side of the road. We trudge through then light a candle and say a prayer at the small marker deep in the fields which, thanks to the Russians, fails to mention who the 1000 were. Outside this beautiful little town, in the middle of nowhere, no one will ever come to re-revise this history.

It pours when I return. Daylight is shortened by nearly five minutes a day, and the cloud cover is extremely gloomy. I must figure out how to report this in Yiddish for class since I played hookey.

Trouble in Paradise

Recalling Italian lessons with talk about restaurants, walks in the park, a trip to the museum, a film etc., I kept missing more conversational Yiddish until I realized that unless I go to Brooklyn, there really couldn’t be much in the way of tourist patter. We are all tourists visiting the language, but there isn’t a place to go.

I have been made aware, more than once, of recent controversy about The Jewish Partisans of Vilne. I am told that there is a nationalist movement in the Baltic States that would like to minimize the Holocaust. This would keep any Lithuanian collaborators safe, and forestall indefinitely reparations. The minimization is being done by “elevating” Soviet murder and persecution of Baltic Christian nationals as another (equal to the Holocaust) genocide of the 20th century. There is at least one bill before some EU commission. It is very hard for me to ascertain the full truth of the debate. As a result of it, however, there is some noise being made to label the few Jewish partisans of WWII as Soviet terrorists of some kind. There have been threats, a call for a trial, and even revocation of permission to live in Lithuania. These few people are well into their 80’s! It has been said that our program and the whole Jewish Institute are window dressing behind which lurks a government that likes the hard currency of students and tourists far better than it likes Jewish Lithuania. Or we are being manipulated in the reverse to create political dissent within the student ranks. There have been a few super secret meetings. The intrigue is intense.

Off to the land of Saraleh and Bereleh, the protagonists of our primer. They could be called Dickeleh and Janeleh but that sounds a bit X rated. Actually, Bereleh IS a Dickeleh. Our book, published in NYC in 1947, is so full of boy/girl stereotypes. I’d like to start a Facebook page to trash Bereleh, who always thinks he is SO smart and struts about the house demanding food and drink while his mother and sister are in the kitchen. Run Bereleh Run! I’m gonna smack you.

Sof Tog

Everyone hits the wall at some point, the Yunger included. Immersion courses are not for the faint of heart.

I save Saturday for normal things like decent internet, laundry etc. I watch the weddings again. The very young brides in white frou frou, and their gallant husbands. The bridesmaids wear dresses of bright matching colors; the grooms wear a tie of the same color as their dresses. Today it seemed that 50’s and 60’s American convertibles were the limos of choice to lead the large bridal parties around the Old Town so as to allow for multiple photo ops. In general the streets are filled with exuberantly tasteless fashion.

I enjoy a Lithuanian folk festival on TV. The women look like babushka dolls, twirling with their partners who wear feathered hats and felt kerchiefs. The songs sound vaguely Tibetan. Help me out, Sydney. I think the melody is minor and the harmony in 4ths. Is this even possible? Would it sound Tibetan? Three million people here, who have been subjugated for more years than not. They speak a language which is Indo European, but related only to Latvian and Sanskrit. How isolated.

I am noticing how loudly Yiddish is spoken and am sensitive to the din of languages around me, in school, in the street, on TV. I can’t help but remembering Mos Isely in Star Wars. I recall that Lucas was recreating his old childhood neighborhood.

Today we toured Trakai, lovely castle in the middle of a lake. Home of Karaites, rebel Crimean Jews who distained Rabbinic law in Turkey and ended up as castle guards in Lithuania. Don’t ask! The story is told in garbled translation. I can’t quite connect it all. I have found a guide to take me to Pilvishok – my maternal grandmother’s birthplace. It’s not that far from here. Distances aren’t what they used to be.

For that matter, technology helps people translate, communicate, record, photograph, video, etc. The very active presence of technology is quite in contrast to the past which is emphasized.

The sunsets get earlier and earlier very quickly each day. Birds and crickets clamor. Or perhaps I didn’t stay up late enough for sunset a few weeks ago. I miss the interminable lightness.

Thank God It'a Fritag!

We are settling in. Fran and Susan are my buddies. They live a few doors down and around the corner. In our part of the Old Town, we have a 5 star hotel, shops and cafes. We sit out and do homework, then segue for dinner to the inexpensive café outside the hotel. From there we watch a parade of Lithuanian celebs and VIPs get in and out of half million dollar limos. They are dressed to the nines, although given the general state of fashion here, I’d give it a six. The light has changed some, more slanted, more yellow than white. The evenings are still long, bright and breezy.

Thursday we went to the opening of an exhibit at the Museum of Tolerance, which seems to be a Jewish Museum as it is in a beautiful old building which was a Jewish theater. However, it is not THE Jewish Museum. The politics elude me. The exhibit was “The Power of Civil Society: the Fate of Jews in Bulgaria.” The opening program had many speeches in many languages! I hadn’t known, but during WWII, which is when so much of this program lives, the Head of the Orthodox Church in Bulgaria actively lobbied against removing Jews from their lives and from Bulgaria. Bulgarian Jews were saved, although they were forced to leave Sofia and lost everything material. From an Israeli film that was shown, most Jews emigrated to Israel after the War of Independence. I introduced myself to the Bulgarian ambassador and chatted briefly.

During the reception in the lobby, an exhibit featured “Lithuanian Americans.” They include Moshe and Samuel and Levi, the Three Stooges, Aaron Copeland, Jascha Heifitz, Bob Dylan (a grandmother) and Victor David Brenner, a sculptor who designed the sheaf of wheat Lincoln penny. I feel a little Adam Sandler! After the film, we were in a somber mood. Some of the oldest students left during the film, remembering parents who were deported. There are dead people everywhere. In everyone’s personal history, in exhibits, in talks, in tours. Like the child in “The Sixth Sense,” everyone sees dead people. Can one fight the pain with study?

An die Musik! My performance today went smashingly. I faked a solo with “Oyfen Pripichek,” and sang with an enthusiastic choral group of fellow students. Our audience was most appreciative. (the price was right!) As we are at a first grade level in one class, and perhaps a third grade level in the other, our teacher uses songs and children’s books for our lessons. A favorite song: “Bulbes” (Slavic for potatoes, although I think the German Kartoffle is ok too.) It's a day-of-the-week naming song which states every meal of every day as "bulbes" (potatoes.) except for "Shabbes" the sabbath which, as a novena ( novelty) features bulbes kugele (potato casserole). Ah, potatoes! Personally I love them, sad that they have been vilified from their high esteem in the 80's to evil white starch in our current thinking. A charming catchy tune which I will sing upon my return.

Mittvoch

8/5/09

Words and letters dance behind my eyelids when I go to sleep. In the morning I write backward and forward. My left to right and right to left have become dysfunctional and I am now dyslectic in several languages simultaneously.

There are at least half a dozen or more Austrian and Jewish "yungen" They are not Jewish, but most are doing doctorates in Eastern European studies/history. They understand everything almost at once, and as they are yung they got the alphabet in a week, then they're off.

There are non rivaling cliques based on language, nationality age and Yiddish proficiency. I must infiltrate some of the dorm students to get more of their takes on people. I need their equivalent “handles” for hairy lesbians and Yiddish Jedi Masters. I have heard about Josh svartz ( he’s swarthy) and the other who’s “frum” (orthodox) in addition to the Jedi. Josh wins the name contest as there are three, only 3 Daniels.

Nearly everyone is energetic bordering on mania. Most people are enthusiastic and outgoing, although everyone is, in some ways, self absorbed. Everyone is searching for their own imagined lost world. We are in our own imagined present.

By Monday August 3, there are more display windows in tourist shops, many more French, German, Japanese, and Russian tourists. Cheap thrills! The Baltics are a “buy” in this economy. I ate dinner with a Russian couple. They were quite charming. The global recession has affected them. They only are taking one 2 week vacation this year instead of 4!!! Did I forget to tell you they spoke no English and I speak no Russian?? Tourist sign language.

I am carefree! Forget the 15 hours of classes and the 15 hours of Haym Arbet. I'm having a shamefully good time and the hard work is part of it. Shared drudgery and avoidance helps us bond! I run into everyone in the streets, and enjoy the familiarity and camaraderie of a campus or office. I sit at cafes with my books and today, with my laptop. The food here is great and 10 -20 dollars goes ridiculously far in a day. It’s a great life

This week is music week. We had a concert yesterday and are now singing ourselves. Tomorrow I will learn a song to perform and people will bring in flutes, violins and, I think, a clarinet to go along with the beautiful old German grand piano at the cultural center. I will have my first and closing solo recital on Friday.

Finally, plans for la mia compleana are proceeding. I will have a cocktail party at a good Italian restaurant in their courtyard early evening on my birthday. Sexig sounds better!

Last night I watched the equivalent of Lithuania’s Got Talent. I’m beginning to like the incomprehensible din of words. I was upset to see a contestant dressed in mock Hassidic garb singing (nicely) from Fiddler on the Roof. But I saw the same outfit in today’s movie worn in a Yiddish theater in Israel.

I left Ber-Ber’s (aka dove bar, ber squared) class today. I will tackle level 2 for one class, level 1 for another. I want to hear more words and don’t care as much about writing. I can cope with level 2 but just barely.
Lunch with Fran and Susan, my Lantsladies, and les dames agreeables. (Thanks, Robert!)

We saw another poignant move, this one actually good. It was about the effects of de- Yiddishizing Israel after the war. Good reasons on each side. The movie was biased. Israel had been in existence as Jewish “Palestine” for 60 years; and as a Hebrew speaking one, thanks to Ben Yehuda resurrecting the language, and the intrepid pioneers. Israeli leaders didn’t want a continuing Shetl culture. The refugees from WWII had Yiddish and devastation in common. Israel wanted to build an assertive/aggressive new land. Hebrew, the sacred language, offended the orthodox, but created a new culture. Acrimony on the part of Yiddishists who were asked not to speak in Yiddish, and whose children grew up without. A cultural annihilation when language is denied? Other than a small cultural revival (including female rap artists whose art benefits from the intense rhyming scheme of the language, it is the “Mama Loshen,” mother tongue, only for orthodox Jews. So many interviews! Humor, not humor, racy, not racy, curses, elegant. One amazing bit of consensus – Humor. A great line, “If Hamlet had said ‘to be or not to be’ in Yiddish, someone would have answered him “Be, don’t be, don’t “hak mir in kopf” (beat me over the head with it’”

Then to the first session of our week long songfest. An emaciated, small Rasputin-look alike singer belted out cabaret-style Yiddish songs, including a few racy ones, and a few drinking songs from what I could tell. (After lunch I began to understand!!!)

Our ranks were increased for dinner, eight of us, in a superb Italian restaurant. The garden is in a fabulous courtyard adjacent to the Italian cultural center. We are German, Argentinean, American. The Americans lagging in their Yiddish, but for dinner Yiddish briefly becomes an international language again.

Shabes

Correction:
The French women are lovely but they are Jewish. So, Elles sont gentilles. (?Robert? Sydney?) The program is about 20+% non Jewish (the Gentiles). As my Yiddish takes baby steps, my other languages regress.

Robert emails: I am not sure what the French term for a non-Jew is; why don't you ask them?
Gentille = nice; goy?
It all sounds like an out-of this world/time cruise you are taking

Yes, I am time traveling, and Duh! The French term for non-Jew is Frenchperson! :-) So Gentille does not take an s in the plural?

I am not studying today. It is, after all a day of rest, and I have had around 25 hours of study this week. I’d like to sleep without seeing letters before my eyes.

We went back to Uzupio, the self-proclaimed artists’ Independent Republic, the Takoma Park of Vilnius. Their 40+ point bill of rights includes such morsels of wisdom as: A dog has a right to be a dog, and A cat has a right to not like its owner, but must be there in times of hardship.

We ate again besides the babbling brook. I had cured salmon and we tasted the national dish of “Zeppelins” – a scary looking football-shaped meat ball surrounded by boiled potato mash. At first I thought the mash might be a half inch of lard! Not bad. I’m glad I tried it and got it off the to do list! On the food front, I am throwing caution to the wind. What ever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger!

It is great to find new connections between streets and neighborhoods. Saturday is also wedding day and dozens of bridal parties parade around town for photos. They are followed by their limos which take them to the next quaint area. Most couples are very young; some don't even appear to be 20! A sweet custom, the couple has their two names engraved on a lock. They go to the stream, lock their lock on the railings of the bridge and throw the key in the river.

Another tour on Sunday and HOMEWORK!

A Glimpse

From the rise near the old Town Hall, I look back over the Old Town and spy several gleaming glass towers. The 21st c. exists across the river from this sleepy sunwashed antiquity. I quickly head past the market back to Zydu.

Yiddish storms in and out of my brain. When I’m on a roll, the letters fly out of my pen and phrases and sayings rush in to mind, complete with faces and voices of family.

Ode to Joy and the Brahms German Requiem are the soundtrack in class. More German than I thought, Yiddish even uses only certain letters for Hebraic words – to keep them holy? The rest of the alphabet (aleph-bays) is free to form the nearly vowelless words of Slavic and Teutonic origin.

Oh yes. When I am not on a roll Ich fargessen gantze – I forget it all, can’t read my writing or my work book with its eye destroying tiny print.

Between our two 1 ½ hour classes we have a lovely coffee break under huge umbrellas in a pretty courtyard. The courtyards of the University and the residential area nearby contain a labyrinth of courtyards, porticos and new courtyards. Entering from the street, the environment is MC Escher meets babushka doll.

I have become buddies with a few women my age, American and French and we sit in a cafe and study together, which helps to mitigate the intensity of this immersion program. Yesterday’s lunch was with a few of them in the artists’ colony nearby. We sat outside and ate herring on the banks of a noisily babbling brook.

The French women are lovely, tres gentille and quite fluent. They are ready to help.

Michael the Schnorer- a local panhandler - appears every other day. His line is “do you speak …English, Deutche, Francais, etc. and he then proceeds to ask for bus fare in your language. He’s persistent and will show scars and bruises to try to convince his prey. We are convinced he’s a junkie.

And then there are classmates. In addition to my teachers Ber Ber and Anna, and my friends and the lovely Martina from Venice, are several Austrians, including the young carrot top, Bertie (Adalbert), several young German women, and two lesbian women. One a self described “hairy lesbian” whose close cropped hair belies her handle. Daniel Aleph seems to have landed one of the 2 young Parisiennes. Daniel Ein (1) is quite friendly with Martina since his Swedish girlfriend left. He’s a tall super thin Jew from London, about 25 and a self-described Anarchist. We may go to Kaunus with them. He reminds us that is the birthplace of Emma Goldman. Alan is a middle aged Jew for Jesus from Berkley. Joshua is a silent Yiddish Jedi Master who in real life is a Yale Law School Student. Sharon is right. This is the Island of the Misfit Toys.

Indeed, I have the great escape.

Continuing Education

I forgot how life is without the incessant drone of the weather report. I have a pictogram on my computer, I otherwise consult my skylight. It is cold, sunny and humid here, so one can get cold or warm depending on shade, indoor/outdoor, and the ever threatening drizzle. I'm enjoying the intensity of the work, and the very interesting people. These three days have seemed very long -- my only life, and very distant from "real life." Hard to know what will result from this extended visit.

I try, mostly in vain, to find English language TV that is not dubbed over by the sole voice of TV, a loud guy who drowns out men and women with his voice over. Interesting are the American series dubbed in Russian and voiced over in Lithuanian. How mangled!

I have two teachers, one is Dov-Ber, who, thanks to Meredith I think of as Bear-Bear. He's a burly, grizzly fifty-something Russian Jew who looks like the man who is always in Jewish/Israeli tourist art. He's a little full of himself. He's written a text with a number of errors, which, ever the editor - even when I don't understand - I correct publicly. I think he feels the book was his heavy lifting and that he can coast. He spends too much time telling jokes and speaking Yiddish in an Italian accent so as to flirt with 20-something Martina from Italy. Our other teacher is Anna, an Estonian Jew, stick thin, 30-40, almost Abigail - like in her waifishness. Her intensity and didactic forward march are tremendous motivation.

School Days

Classes started on Monday. 3 hours of immersion, speaking, reading and writing. I haven’t written using the Hebrew alphabet in over 40 years. At one point I actually think I know something. Many light bulbs flash. Then I can’t even read my writing! To the French, Germans and Austrians, add Lithuanians, a Finn, a lovely young woman from Venice. One professor is from Estonia, the other from Russia.

Out of Thin Air

At our confab last night people were addressing the audience in Yiddish and talking among themselves in Yiddish. It seemed a little like a Star Trek convention. It is genuinely great to revive the language. But there is no context, no street to talk in, no marketplace. A young Austrian man is doing his alternate military service here. It seems that the Holocaust is in a separate service category. I can only imagine how that came about. His fresh face is welcome, regardless.

Sun Rise... Sunset

Today's tour of Vilnius was lovely. It is a beautifully restored Renaissance city. Cobblestones, churches and cafes. all bright in the northern summer sunlight. The tour guide, predictably, perpetuated the charming central European myth of a prewar harmonious multicultural society. It reminded me of hearing songs from Fiddler on the Roof in a Warsaw piano bar.

Surprise! I'm not the only boomer in the group, although most students are from US and European colleges, looking for summer abroad credit. I had lunch with three Frenchwomen. Tres charmant!

Dinner!

Tree House

I'm at the top of a four story building. Surprise! It is next to the statue of the Gaon of Vilna. It is on Jew Street! There are no curtains, and I'm afraid of a fairly white night, I've bought some water and yogurt and found an English language movie. Settling in.

Turning off my Blackberry, the finality sinks in. I will turn it on again in a GSM world many time zones away. Half my luggage is electronics! Welcome to 2009! As Vilnius is not Milan, clothes have lost their passage.

I get a pass to the Red Carpet Club. I succumb to the fake-yet-sincere patter of fellow travelers, kayaks passing in the perpetual afternoon.

Talking to Myself, Backward

Well, I leave for Vilnius today. I guess this handful of posts were just stretches before the exertion. I will start to ask for participants. Fresh air. I welcome all of you to share.

Channelling my Inner Borat

My Hebrew School brat humor leaked out yesterday in a telephone job interview. A brief lapse into shout out quipping which may have cost me a shot. Insignificant other, Dr. Lee is repentant. It's the sex, stupid.

Running Into The Past

Oddly, Blogs move from present to past as well. The opposite of a story. In the Beginning is at the end. With my daughter's recent visit, I realize how small my universe has become relative to what it was when she was growing up. Hers is a life of promise. Mine seems like a life of closed doors. Singing is now dubious, my audition with the maestro I have given thousands of dollars to has been rejected. The non relationship with my insignificant other, Dr. Lee, has gone south and is dying a belated death. With too little in my brain, I find my self both repetitive and forgetful. Obsessed with worry.

Running Away From Home

I guess the trip to Vilnius is a major escape. Hopefully an escapade as well. I need to change that nasty mental ruckus. I need to leave the environment of the USA Network. So I am running into the past. The land my grandmother was born in over a century ago, to study a languishing language. Not quite my fantasy of an airy flat in Rome and a job singing in the local church. But, different enough from the everyday to change the conversation. I guess I'd like to change my life as well, but I think that's too difficult. We'll see.

Eating My House

Having sold in a downturn, my profits from my house were low. Without a job, I am using that money to live. I am literally eating my house. I have wanted more all my life. More house, more love, more children, more job. Now I know that I must deal with less. My upcoming trip to Vilnius will eat my house as well. I need the break from a future that looks dissapeared.

Too Much Television

I watch way too much TV. My books are in storage. I feel like the opening of Royal Pains. Dr. Hank is VERY CUTE. If I had a Bible I would more likely feel like Job. But I doubt he has blue eyes. House does.

In the beginning

The conversations in my head are so ugly and hurtful. All of a sudden everyone is younger than me, or comfortably retired. I am somehow stuck in the middle. Memories of the quick reorganization that left me jobless in this horrible economy and the rapid decline of fortune - sale of my beloved house, fears of permanent unemployment, poverty, loneliness and worse. I am below flat lined. I want to sleep, but manage only sweat drenched nightmare-filled fits. They are followed by zombie days, unrelieved by exercise.