After
the War,
My
grandfather had to decide: United
States of
America,
or Israel.
(Or
so the story goes.)
And
he chose,
And
his choice became mine
By
default.
He
had great dreams,
They
all had great dreams:
Rebellion,
Redemption,
Resurrection.
Shedding
the old to embrace
The
new,
To
start anew
In
the Newland.
(Only
the new soon resembled the old, but that’s another story.)
It
took me twenty-six years
To overturn
my grandfather’s decision.
(I
recently read that America is the real home of the Jews. Not
Sure
about that, but the living here, summertime and all, is easy.)
The
darn thing is this: I drown in my desire to return to Europe.
War
and all.
