The Holy Land does not beckon.
Like Muslims, for whom it is a holy mission to visit Mecca, the birthplace of prophet Muhamed, likewise for a Jew like me, it is also traditional for those born and raised outside of Israel to visit. It is considered, for us, an aliya — to go up — to visit our ancestral (and now modern-day) homeland. Making aliya is a blessed act. It is, for lack of a better word, a calling of the soul. Each Passover (Pesach) celebration, the Seder concludes with each participant saying, “Next year, in Jerusalem.”
I, too, felt that, for the golden glow of the Promised Land, for the rough hewn stones of the Second Temple — that ancient Wailing Wall. The purely incredible amount of history that is that region, the amazing foods and the blending of cultures. The desert and the sea, the gold and the blue. This strong, palpable calling to make aliya was back when I was 17 or 18, and still believed in the American Dream, probably believed in God, and I was pure at heart. I truly wanted to go to the Holy Land. I started to save money to that end, putting a few bucks away here and there. That lasted about 6 months or so.
Then, if I remember correctly, I lost focus. Vienna caught my attention, not as some deep-seated longing to see this city, but a new interest in this place, because I was caught up in that Billy Joel’s song of the same name — was playing “Vienna” and singing along with it…
