The sky above was a brilliant blue, with puffy clouds, as I crossed the courtyard of Vilnius University on my way to Yiddish class. I had come to the capital of Lithuania to learn the language once spoken by Eastern European Jews on both sides of the Atlantic, among them my grandfather and many other family members. I’d come to walk the streets my ancestors had walked. And I’d come to see how Lithuanians were engaging with the Jewish past.

“Dear students,” our teacher said, “you must study Yiddish not only with your eyes but also with your nose.” Acquiring this beloved language was not just a skill but an art, requiring not only our heads but our hearts.

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