Many people come to America for a fresh start. Looking for new opportunities to succeed in life. But, migrating here is not a walk in the park. I am a third generation American, my great-grandparents fled from two drastically different countries, for the same reason, freedom, and safety. On my mothers' side, we have an intense and long story, full of struggle and hardship as my maternal ancestors made their way to America. My great grandmother was born in Poland, she fled to Palestine, obtained a citizenship to America and soon was on her way to a new life.
My great grandfather Bobre, was faced with life or death in Russia. You see, 13-year-old Jewish boys were killed by Russian soldiers in pogroms. They lived in the shtetl, the Yiddish word for “ghetto.” As my mother told me while we discussed our family's immigration story last night, the word “ghetto,” though it has changed meaning, has seemed to waltz from one discriminated ethnic culture to the next. Like a dancer, dancing on a stage of racism and discrimination.
Jews were forced to live in makeshift “ghettos” before being taken to concentration camps, and now ghetto is considered “ a part of a city, especially a slum area, occupied by a minority group or groups” (Google Dictionary). They carried out pogrom on the young boys, slaughtering masses of them in the shtetl. So they had to leave. He left with only his mother and they trekked to Palestine solely on foot. Today, we still do not know the path Jews took to arrive in Palestine, no one ever said anything about the struggles they faced or the path they took.
Now, both my great grandparents lived in Palestine, they eventually met. Though, they never mentioned how. Most of my grandmother's life, her parents kept quiet about their experience. She only learned in bits and pieces.
“My parents just never talked about how they arrived here, never the full story, only bits, and pieces,” she told me.
As I mentioned before, my great grandmother moved from Poland to Palestine, before Palestine became Israel. She obtained a citizenship there and began working toward an American citizenship. This is where she met my great-grandfather. He had also recently escaped. But he came from Russia. They were married, though now we suspect he married her because she had American citizenship. After they married, they moved to America. Ready to start a new life there.
After a while, they had a daughter, my grandmother. As a child, she never learned the studious story of how her parents came to America. She grew up Orthodox, practicing the religion strictly. During World War II they lived in a very anti-Semitic community in Connecticut, so they lived in secrecy. When she was six years old and partaking in public school, she had a firsthand taste of anti-Semitism. Her classmates and teachers believed she was different because she observed different holidays. This never stopped her from feeling like an American citizen though, she claims to have always felt like the American she is.
Later she moved to Squirrel Hill in Pittsburgh, PA. She was no longer the only Jew in her class. In fact, there were so many Jews in her school they had all the high holy days off. They even had synagogues and Kosher stores.
Most Jews that I have talked to, if not all, have told me they too have experienced anti-Semitism. From first grade to fifth I was the only Jewish person in my class. This meant, every year as Chanukah came around, I was in charge of teaching the games, prayers, and traditions that I did with my family. I remember specifically in fourth grade, I was doing a presentation about myself. We were told to pack a suitcase full of things that describe us. Of course, I brought my Kiddush cup and Chanukah menorah along with other knick-knacks that I cherish. Everyone seemed to think it was a foreign concept. They were all so intrigued and naive. One of my classmates asked me to recite a prayer I had briefly mentioned during my presentation. I recited it with ease and it slowly turned into a game of how fast I could say it.
After impressing the crowd with my Hebrew skills, I realized what it felt like to be a part of a minority. My mother had always told me about it. I understood what anti-Semitism is and that I would probably face it at one point. But I never realized that I was already experiencing it every year. For example, my schools were always decorated with Christmas decorations, lining the halls with posters and candy canes. It felt a bit intimidating, especially since there was not a Jewish star or menorah decoration in the halls. They had some dreidel and menorah decorations in some classrooms though, but, they were conveniently located on the holly jolly Christmas tree, topped with an angel.
It happened again in fifth grade, it was the time of year when I am asked to teach the class the games and traditions of Chanukah because we weren’t able to remember it from the year before. While we learned about Christmas traditions in class and it was a part of our curriculum, we had a special ten minutes to describe every single important thing that the class needed to know about Judaism. I remember sitting on the floor spinning a dreidel and explaining the different letters, what they meant and what they translated to in English. So many kids asked me questions and were awestruck by my answers. It only became more evident from there, though.
In sixth grade, I was faced with overt anti-Semitism. A fellow classmate of mine told me I couldn’t walk down the aisle of desks because I was Jewish. So, naturally, I kicked him in the shin and walked to my desk. Of course, I got in more trouble than him because I used violence to defend myself. But, it was my first time coming in contact with open antisemitism. What people don’t always realize is that there was not only one case of anti-Semitism in this situation, but two. I got in more trouble for using violence to defend myself in a hostile situation than the boy who used racism to demean me.
While interviewing my mom for this essay, I asked her if she wanted to say anything else on the topic of minorities.
“...people of minorities...are discriminated against by discriminatory laws, meaning none of us are free,” she said.
It made me think about my experiences at school from kindergarten to the present time. Anti Semitism is still very evident in today’s society. It also made me realize that anti Semitism is still extremely severe in America, and in my everyday life. From the unintentional racist jokes made every day at school that put me and my fellow classmates down. The same beliefs that faced my ancestors with death.