A few weeks after settling in the U.S., he received a final letter from family saying, "We wish we had come with you." Many years later, we learned of Russian soldiers barring the doors of a synagogue and setting it ablaze; thus murdering my great grandparents and several aunts and uncles, who I will never know. Thank God my family was allowed to come here!
This week's post is a freebie, but the theme has easily come to me. I can't help thinking about the poor children / young adults who know nothing other than America as home, yet face possible deportation in March. Their parents came for opportunity or to escape bad situations outside of their control. These young people just want to live in our great country and be what they've always considered themselves to be–Americans!
The cruelty of politicians messing with their lives is inhumane. I don't understand why allowing them to stay and become fullfledged Americans, as my grandfather did, is such a struggle. As children, these people did nothing wrong, and for our government to send them back to countries where many do not even speak the language is cruel. Then again, if allowed to become citizens, these dreamers would probably not vote for those trying to kick them out, so I guess that's my answer to why the heartlessness.
For them, I've posted Aerosmith.
And the Beatles.
And "America" from West Side Story. It's interesting to note that this musical from 1961 relates prejudices that still exist, today. Did you know that Puerto Rico, a US owned territory is STILL without power? Disgraceful. Maybe there is something to their "white" comment.
I'm thankful my grandfather was allowed to immigrate into the U.S. He represented what America is all about -- a land of opportunity. Emma Lazarus said it best in her poem at the base of the Statue of Liberty.
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”