“I’ve got something I’d like to say.” That’s what I usually offer up as a preamble as I try to get the attention of my kids and other family members gathered around the Thanksgiving table. It takes a couple of attempts, but once we’re all on the same page I offer words of thanks for my ancestors. I talk about how brave they must have been to leave the communities of their birth, which were at least familiar to them despite the hardship, discrimination, and all-too-common violence they faced. They came to a land where they didn’t speak the language, didn’t know the culture, and, in many cases, didn’t know a soul.
In this offering, I mention the family names of the people who came and the places they came from. We’ve done quite a bit of genealogical research on my side and my wife’s side of the family, and we’re lucky to have as much information as we do. My goal is to give my kids a sense of who their ancestors were and what they went through to give us a chance to have the life we do here in America. One branch of my father’s family came from Vilnius, now the capital of Lithuania; another from Riga, Latvia’s capital; another from Minsk, the capital of Belarus; and the last from Odesa, now in Ukraine, which is a country fighting back with growing success against Russian dictator Vladimir Putin’s vile aggression.
Growing up, I had learned that all my father’s ancestors were “Russian.” It turns out none of them came from places that are now in that country—and let’s hope its borders don’t expand any further.
The story is similar on my mother’s side. One branch was described to me as Austrian; in fact, they came from Skole in today’s Ukraine. The other was Hungarian and came from Sighet (Elie Wiesel’s hometown) in Transylvania, now a province of Romania. During my Thanksgiving meal talk, I also thank my wife’s family, who came from Vienna, Poland, and Russia. In reality, the primary point of identification in terms of culture and identity for all these people was not the country of origin on their passport, but the fact that they were members of the Jewish people, regardless of any particular level of belief or religiosity.
In addition to being Jews, the family ancestors I’ll be acknowledging were also, of course, Americans. That’s the other part of the thanks I’ll give on the holiday: I’m thankful my ancestors had a place to go, that they could become Americans and make a life here.
The last of them got in just under the wire, arriving a few months after the first world war and only a couple of years before a series of immigration “reforms” severely limited the number of immigrants our country accepted from outside the British Isles and northwest Europe. My wife’s grandmother’s family got out of Poland in 1937, and only because the youngest child had been born here (it’s a long story). One of the oldest living “anchor babies,” I’d surmise. Very few Jews were able to find refuge here at that point and immediately afterward, during the years they needed it most.
I make sure my kids know about these restrictions on immigration as well as the fact that people coming from Asia had almost no chance to emigrate and become U.S. citizens until the early 1950s. We also talk about how although their ancestors and other Jewish immigrants certainly didn’t have it easy, they at least had opportunities that America denied to the large numbers of African Americans and American Indians who had arrived long before our family.
America didn’t treat everyone living here equally, either on paper or in practice. Certainly, as the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Patrick Lyoya, and too many others have reminded us, we’ve still got room for improvement on that front as well, to say the least, though we have come a long way thanks to those heroes who fought and bled to get us as far as we have.
Over the course of four long years, the twice-impeached former guy made the process for coming here far more difficult and far more treacherous for refugees and asylum-seekers. But thankfully, The Man Who Lost an Election and Tried to Steal It was unsuccessful in that endeavor. We now have a far more humane president, one who led the Democratic Party to its best midterm performance in six decades as well as another night of victories earlier this month. These are developments for which my family and I are deeply thankful, for many reasons.
Contrast Trump with the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society of Pennsylvania, which for more than a decade has organized a Thanksgiving event in Philadelphia specifically for immigrants. Over 100 people shared the holiday meal in 2019:
Vanessa, who declined to give her last name, says the event is exactly what she and her family needed after being under the threat of deportation.
"We couldn’t miss it today, because recently my parents were in deportation court," she said.
Vanessa says she's thankful her family can stay together just in time for the holiday.
If that organization sounds familiar, it might be because of the wonderful work it does on behalf of immigrants, or it might be because the terrorist who killed 11 Jews at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh specifically mentioned HIAS in a post just a few hours before committing that mass murder:
A couple of hours before opening fire in a Pittsburgh synagogue, Robert Bowers, the suspected gunman, posted on the social network Gab, “HIAS likes to bring invaders in that kill our people. I can’t sit by and watch my people get slaughtered. Screw your optics, I’m going in.” HIAS is the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, and Bowers had posted about it at least once before. Two and a half weeks earlier, he had linked to a HIAS project called National Refugee Shabbat and written, “Why hello there HIAS! You like to bring in hostile invaders to dwell among us?” Another post that most likely referred to HIAS read, “Open you Eyes! It’s the filthy EVIL jews Bringing the Filthy EVIL Muslims into the Country!!”
So while I’m thankful to our country for taking in my family and so many others, I am aware that not everyone approves of America’s generosity, or the support Jews have generally shown for it. There’s another person whose family is also Jewish and from Eastern Europe who expressed a sense of gratitude that reminded me of my own: Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman. He did so in the context of coming forward to testify in an impeachment inquiry focused on Donald Trump. Vindman has faced antisemitism from the Tangerine Palpatine and his allies in retaliation for stepping forward and telling the truth. Here are his words, words that make me proud to share my heritage with this man:
Next month will mark 40 years since my family arrived in the United States as refugees. When my father was 47 years old he left behind his entire life and the only home he had ever known to start over in the United States so that his three sons could have better, safer lives. His courageous decision inspired a deep sense of gratitude in my brothers and myself and instilled in us a sense of duty and service. All three of us have served or are currently serving in the military. Our collective military service is a special part of our family’s story in America.
I also recognize that my simple act of appearing here today, just like the courage of my colleagues who have also truthfully testified before this Committee, would not be tolerated in many places around the world. In Russia, my act of expressing my concerns to the chain of command in an official and private channel would have severe personal and professional repercussions and offering public testimony involving the President would surely cost me my life. I am grateful for my father’s brave act of hope 40 years ago and for the privilege of being an American citizen and public servant, where I can live free of fear for mine and my family’s safety.
Dad, my sitting here today in the US Capitol talking to our elected officials is proof that you made the right decision forty years ago to leave the Soviet Union and come here to United States of America in search of a better life for our family. Do not worry, I will be fine for telling the truth.
Thanksgiving—at least in the form we celebrate in this country—is an American invention, a holiday about each of our relationships to America and to our fellow Americans. It means different things to different people depending on how their ancestors were treated. For me, America is my home, the only one I’ve got. It is the place that made my life and my family possible. My membership in the American people, the diverse yet singular American national community, is central to my identity. Although I don’t always agree with the policies of our government, I love America deeply.
We are living in a time when, once again, demagogues are playing on our deepest fears to argue against taking in people fleeing oppression in their homelands, just as was the case in 1939. Demagogues are also casting doubt on the loyalty of Jewish Americans who were born elsewhere, just as was the case in the Dreyfus Affair over a century ago.
Antisemitism in our country is on the rise from across the political and ideological spectrum. Although the most dangerous anti-Jewish hatred comes from the right wing, the antisemitism on college campuses since the Oct. 7 Hamas terrorist attacks that killed 1,200 Israeli civilians has been impossible to ignore.
I am truly grateful for what America did for me: taking in my ancestors when they needed a place to go. I know many others will end up being far less fortunate. They are the ones we have to fight for now.
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