I am an immigrant and a product of an immigrant history. I have immigrated with my parents from Russia to Israel at the age of 12. I have then moved to the US for graduate school, at the age of 29, and stayed here ever since. I was married to an immigrant from Romania (my children speak 3 languages). My brother moved to Thailand. My uncle immigrated from Russia to Israel and then to Canada, and so did one of my cousins. My grandmother was a war refugee, at the age of 16, from Poland to Uzbekistan, eventually ending up in Russia and then Israel. Curiously, all my friends, now and ever, were immigrants. I could never truly connect with people who did not change countries.
But that is just the outside shell, the external story, the laundry list of dry facts. What hides behind these?
- How was it for me to immigrate and go to 7th grade right away, not speaking a word of Hebrew?
- How is it for me to raise my children, with their grandparents living on the other side of the world?
- How is it to live in a country where have no connection to its holidays or customs?
- How is it for me to speak three languages, all with an accent and none with enough depth to be able to express myself fully?
- If asked, what place would I call home?
- And what do I answer to the ubiquitous (and oh so annoying) question, which will follow me to my grave – “Where are you from?”
But that’s me. What about you? I want to hear your story. Contact me to participate in this project.