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 study, at the age of 29, and stayed ever since. I was married to an immigrant from Romania (my children speak 3 languages). My brother has immigrated to Thailand. My uncle immigrated from Russia to Israel and then to Canada, and so did one of my cousins. My grandma 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 and lovers, now and ever, were immigrants. I could never truly connect with people who did not change countries.
But that’s just the outside shell, the external story, the dry facts. What hides behind that?
- How was it for me to immigrate and go to school right away, not speaking a word of Hebrew?
- How is it for me to raise my children, with their grandparents living half the way around the world?
- How is it to live and have no connection to the holidays or customs of the country I live in?
- How is it for me to speak three languages, all with an accent and none of them well enough to express myself fully?
- What place do I call home?
- And what do I answer to the ubiquitous 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.