News

When I went to Lithuania on a trip to explore my Jewish roots, I was seeking to connect myself with the past. I wanted to walk those streets where my ancestors once walked, to see that sky, to breathe that air.

I did touch that nearly vanished Jewish world, which brought me both joy and unspeakable sadness. But I also opened my eyes to Lithuania today. And what I found surprised me.

This week, I'll be heading to the Lithuanian Embassy on 16th Street - not only to talk about the difficult truths of previous eras, but to share my hopes for the future.

As for the past, Lithuania is notorious - and rightly so - for its Holocaust history. By the end of World War II, only 6 percent of Lithuania's 240,000 Jews remained alive. Some of my own relatives suffered during the Nazi era there, and some perished. Today, only 4,000 Jews live in Lithuania.

Nor did the end of the war bring peace to Lithuania. The country was incorporated into the Soviet Union, and tens of thousands of Lithuanians were deported to Siberia. By 1991, when the Soviet Union collapsed, half a century under two regimes had created a cauldron seething with competing martyrdoms, hatreds and resentments.

But with independence, Lithuanians gained the right - indeed, the responsibility - to shape their own view of their history. A new public discourse began.

In this land scarred by genocide, I met brave people - Jews and non-Jews alike - who were extending hands across cultural boundaries, creating fragile efforts toward mutual understanding.

I spoke with people who are designing curricula, memorials and exhibits about Jewish culture - educators who believe passionately that if Lithuania is to mature as a nation, Lithuanians must confront searing moral questions about their past.

High school students, for example, are asked: What do you think of Albert Einstein's saying, "The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing?"

"Our goal," one leader told me, "is to transform ourselves from a society of bystanders into an active civil society."

Anti-Semitism is by no means absent in Lithuania. I saw swastikas spray-painted on Jewish gravestones. Neo-Nazis march in Vilnius, the capital city. Government prosecutors have done a poor job of bringing former Nazi collaborators to justice - yet have pointed the finger at several elderly Jews who fought as courageous partisans against the Nazis.

Yet in the face of hostility, there are those who are speaking up for tolerance. And when I met these activists, I felt myself challenged to grow in a similar way. I began to examine some of the prejudices I grew up with and to expand my sympathies beyond the boundaries I was taught as a child.

For those who personally experienced the most terrible years of the 20th century, it may be difficult or even inappropriate to move beyond hatred.

But for people in the successor generations - people like me - I came to see a different way.

That's why I will be speaking at the Lithuanian Embassy today about my new book, We Are Here: Memories of the Lithuanian Holocaust. My talk will be co-hosted by the Lithuanian American Community of Washington, D.C., and by the newly founded Jewish Lithuanian Heritage Project (also known as the Sunflower Project), which was established to work with the Lithuanian government to unite Jews and non-Jews of Lithuanian descent in preserving Jewish heritage in Lithuania.

I'll be going to the Embassy not only to talk, but to listen. I want to be part of a dialogue that seeks ways to honor our diverse heritages, without perpetuating the fears and hatreds of the past.

To my mind, this is where hope for the future lies - for Lithuania, for other countries seeking to move forward out of conflict, for all of us.

Ellen Cassedy will discuss her book at a public reading at the Lithuanian Embassy in the District Thursday, March 22nd at 6:30 p.m.

By Ellen Cassedy