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‘There was no time to sleep’: 4 Jews reflect on a year of helping Ukrainians at war
(JTA) — In the months after Russian tanks rolled into her country last February, the music largely stopped for Elizaveta Sherstuk.
The founder of a Jewish choral ensemble called Aviv in her hometown of Sumy, in the northeastern flank of Ukraine, Sherstuk had to put singing aside in favor of her day job and personal mission: delivering aid to Jews in Sumy.
“There was no time to sleep,” Sherstuk recalled to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency recently. “All my team members worked the same, 24/7.”
A year later, Sherstuk is still hustling as the Sumy director of Hesed, a network of welfare centers serving needy Jews in the former Soviet bloc. But she has also begun teaching music classes again, too — with performances sometimes held in bomb shelters.
Catch up on all of JTA’s Ukraine war coverage from the last year here.
Sherstuk’s story reflects the ways that Russia’s war on Ukraine has affected Jews in Ukraine and beyond. The conflict has killed hundreds of thousands, left even more in peril and fundamentally altered the landscape and population of Ukraine, forcing millions to flee as refugees.
But the war has also mobilized the networks of Jewish aid and welfare groups across Europe, leading to a Jewish organizational response on a massive scale not seen in decades. And Ukrainian Jews who have remained in the country have recalibrated their lives and communities for wartime.
Here are four stories about Jews who stepped in and stepped up to help, and a taste of the on-the-ground situations they found themselves in.
‘I was needed there’
Enrique Ginzburg, second from right, is shown with Ukrainian doctors in Lviv. (Courtesy of Ginzburg)
Since nearly drowning at 23, Dr. Enrique Ginzburg has felt he “had to pay back” for the extra years of life he was granted.
Now 65, the professor of surgery at the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine and its trauma division has lent his critical care expertise in Haiti, Argentina, Kurdistan and Iraq, in various emergency situations. But until last year, he had never been to a war zone.
The Cuba native felt drawn to Ukraine because his grandfather is from Kyiv, while his grandmother is from nearby eastern Poland. So early on in the conflict, he called Dr. Aaron Epstein, an old friend and the founder of the nonprofit Global Surgical and Medical Supply Group.
“Get yourself a flak jacket, a helmet, a gas mask and come on over,” Ginzburg said Epstein told him.
He has been to Ukraine twice under the nonprofit’s auspices, last April and July. Ginzburg’s explanation for why he flew across the world to put himself in danger: “I was needed,” he said.
His base was an emergency hospital in Lviv, a city located west enough that it became a major refugee hub. He consulted with front-line Ukrainian physicians, many of them young and inexperienced, and hospital administrators, watching the doctors in action. He also visited patients in hospital wards and helped to treat gunshot wounds and assorted combat injuries.
Ginzburg’s bags were packed with meaningful supplies. Some had been requested by his Ukrainian colleagues for medical use, mostly specialized catheters. But he also brought tefillin, the phylacteries used by Jews in their morning prayers. Ginzburg, who studied in a yeshiva while young but no longer considers himself Orthodox, wrapped them every day while in Ukraine.
Even though Lviv was far from the fighting, he could hear air raid sirens and the explosion of the Russian missiles, sometimes feeling the earth shake. When intelligence reports warned Ginzburg’s medical team of impending missile attacks, they sought refuge in safe houses.
“Today,” he told the Miami Herald last June, “I was calling my life insurance [company] because I have young sons and my wife, so I’m trying to make sure I have good coverage.”
By the end of his trips, Ginzburg lost count of the number of doctors he helped train and the number of patients he saw. “I’m sure it’s hundreds.” He plans to make a third trip sometime this year.
‘This is our new reality’
Karina Sokolowska is the director of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee’s activities in Poland. (Courtesy of the JDC)
As the director of the JDC, or the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, in Poland, Karina Sokolowska has heard countless harrowing stories over the past year. But one sticks out in her memory.
It involved an elderly Ukrainian couple she met at the Poland-Ukraine border in late spring. The husband was in a wheelchair, and Sokolowska helped push him — back towards Ukraine. They had spent three months in a shelter in Poland but eventually “realized we cannot go looking for jobs, we cannot restart our lives. We are too old,” the woman said.
“If they are to die, they’d rather die back home,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a story of hopelessness. They are so vulnerable.”
Last year, about 8 million Ukrainian refugees made their way to Poland, the bordering country that accepted the most refugees. Early on in the conflict, Sokolowska contacted and visited Jewish communities throughout Poland, investigating the availability of places where the soon-to-be-homeless refugees could be housed. She also traveled to some of the border crossings where the Ukrainians entered, to arrange transportation to venues in Poland and to oversee the conditions in which the refugees would begin their new lives.
Later she would help with, among other things: arranging legal advice for the people who arrived with few identification documents; lining up medical care and drugs; finding them short- and long-term housing; connecting them to psychological counseling; providing kosher meals; and even caring for the refugees’ pets (“dogs and cats with no documents”).
According to JDC statistics, the organization “provided essential supplies and care” to 43,000 Jews in Ukraine and “aided 22,000+ people” there with “winter survival needs … more than double the amount served in previous years.” The welfare organization also claimed to provide “life-saving services” to more than 40,000 refugees in Poland, Moldova, Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria and other European locations. It also helped evacuate about 13,000 Jews from Ukraine. (Israeli Foreign Minister Eli Cohen recently said 15,000 Ukrainian Jews in total have immigrated to Israel since the start of the war.)
Karina Sokolowska, JDC director for Poland and Scandinavia sits in her office down the hall from a hotline room, in early March 2022. (Toby Axelrod)
At the height of the refugee flood, Sokolowska said her monthly JDC budget ballooned to more than what she previously spent in an entire year. Her office went from having a few employees to over 20. The amount of sleep she got decreased in tandem; she started taking sleeping pills to get rest when she could.
“This is our new reality” in Poland, she says of the JDC work with Ukrainian refugees. “This is our life now.”
Sokolowska, the granddaughter of Yiddish-speaking Holocaust survivors, became active in Jewish life during college, when a classmate heard her pronouncing some German words with a Yiddish accent and persuaded her to lead the Polish Union of Jewish Students. As JDC director for Scandinavian countries in addition to Poland, she typically organizes educational conferences and helps Jewish families learn about traditions they had not learned while growing up in the communist era.
Today, her sense of optimism has been ground down.
“Everything changed when war came to Ukraine — there is less hope,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a totally new everything. Every aspect of our life changed. Our hope for this to be over soon is going down, down, down. Nothing will change.”
‘It could [have been] me’
Tom and Darlynn Fellman volunteered in Krakow in October 2022. (Courtesy of Tom Fellman)
Sometime in the late 1890s, Harry Fellman, about 20 years old, left his home in Ukraine. According to family legend, he was a sharpshooter in the Ukrainian army and was about to be sent into active combat. Instead, he emigrated to the United States and settled in Omaha, Nebraska, where he became a peddler.
His grandson Tom Fellman — whose middle name is Harry — doesn’t know all the 120-year-old details, but he knows that he is grateful that Harry Fellman decided to leave Ukraine when he did.
“It could [have been] me, if my grandparents had not left when they did,” said Fellman, a successful real estate developer and philanthropist in Omaha.
In October, at 78 years old, Fellman made the reverse trip across the Atlantic to pitch in to the relief effort. He also wanted to pay what he sees as a debt to the memory of his late grandfather and to help the current generation of Ukrainian Jews.
He and his wife Darlynn served as volunteers for a week at the Krakow Jewish community center, joining hundreds (possibly thousands) of volunteers from overseas who have gone to Poland and the other nations in the region over the last year to participate in humanitarian programs on behalf of the millions of Ukrainian refugees. Fellman worked nine hours a day with a half-dozen fellow foreign volunteers in the basement of the community center, transferring the contents of “big, big” sacks of items like potatoes and sugar into small containers to be distributed to refugees in the building’s first-floor food pantry. His wife spent her time in an art therapy program that was set up for the refugee mothers and children to raise their spirits.
Fellman is “not particularly religious” but supports “anything Jewish.” In 1986, he accompanied a rescue mission plane of Soviet Jews headed to Israel. “It was the most rewarding experience of my life,” he recalled.
Fellman says he plans to return to Poland, in June, for the JCC’s annual fundraising bike ride from Auschwitz to Krakow.
What did his friends think of his septuagenarian volunteer stint? “They thought it was cool,” he said. “But none of them are going too.”
‘Everything was a risk’
Elizaveta Sherstuk runs a branch of Hesed, a network of welfare centers, in Sumy, Ukraine. (Courtesy of Sherstuk)
Sherstuk’s parents would have sent their daughter to a Jewish school in her early years if they had had the option. But Jewish education was not permitted In Sumy during the final years of communist rule in the Soviet republic. Sherstuk was exposed to Jewish life only at home.
Her parents infused her with a Jewish identity, she said, and her grandparents used to talk and sing songs in Yiddish. That inspired Sherstuk’s first career as a singer and a music teacher, during which she founded Aviv and took it on tour throughout the region singing traditional Jewish songs. Later, she became the director of Sumy’s branch of the JDC-funded Hesed network.
Sumy, an industrial city with a population of 300,000 before the war situated only 30 miles from the Russian border, was one of Russia’s first targets. In the days before the pending invasion, Sherstuk stockpiled food, which was certain to become scarce in case of war, and arranged bus transportation to safer parts of the country for hundreds of vulnerable civilians, mostly the elderly and disabled. The bus plan fell through for safety issues.
As the bombing started, it became dangerous for members of the local 1,000-member Jewish community, many of them elderly, to venture outside of their apartments. Sherstuk, working out of a bomb shelter, assisted by a Hesed network of volunteers, coordinated food and medicine deliveries.
The situation grew more dire, and she coordinated the Jewish community’s participation in a brief humanitarian corridor evacuation of vulnerable civilians that the Russians permitted. She communicated with Sumy residents mostly by smartphones provided by the JDC — the Russian attacks had cut the landlines — and accompanied the busloads of Sumy Jews to western Ukraine. Some of them eventually moved on to Israel, Germany, or other nearby countries, she said.
Sherstuk stayed in western Ukraine for a while (“The humanitarian corridors are only for one-way trips,” she noted), moving from place to place, keeping in touch with the Jews of Sumy and waiting for Ukraine’s army to make the trip back safe. But Sumy, like many Ukrainian cities, has come under frequent Russian rocket attack.
“Everything was a risk,” she said. “We were following whatever our hearts told us to do. We had to save people. I was the one who had to do it.”
Last May, Sherstuk was among 12 men and women (and the sole one from the Diaspora) who lit a torch at the start of Israel’s Independence Day in a government ceremony on Mount Herzl. During two weeks in Israel, she spent some time with members of her family, and held a series of meetings with JDC officials, government ministers and donors. “It was not a vacation,” she said.
After going back to Sumy, at the suggestions of her choral group members and fellow Sumy residents, she organized concerts in Hebrew, Yiddish, Ukrainian and Russian — some in person, some in a bomb shelter in the city’s central square, some online. She has now resumed her music classes, too, and it has all boosted morale. “I [teach] all the time,” she said.
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The post ‘There was no time to sleep’: 4 Jews reflect on a year of helping Ukrainians at war appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Can Jewish tradition help you stay sane when all your bosses are ‘idiots’?
Dear Bintel,
My work colleagues and I need your help. Does Jewish tradition have anything to say about how not to lose your mind when all your bosses are idiots?
Signed,
Losing It
Dear Losing It,
Proverbs 29:2 sums up the impact of bad leadership on morale better than I can: “When a wicked man rules, the people groan.” Believe me, I can hear you and your colleagues groaning in response to every ridiculous email and edict from your inept employers.
The Bible is also full of stories about individuals saddled with work they neither want nor enjoy. Jeremiah is a reluctant prophet ordered to deliver messages nobody wants to hear. Jonah also pointed out the futility of his assignment, saying, essentially, “Why should I tell everyone they’re evil when they won’t listen?” Meanwhile, Moses tries to talk God out of giving him the task of leading the Jews out of Egypt.
And what does the Talmud have to say about all this? The sages portray pushback not as insubordination, but as part of the fundamental relationship between Jews and God: We have a responsibility to demand justice and challenge authority.
But how do you do it without getting fired? Speaking truth to power is an art. Nathan the prophet did it with panache: He got King David to see the error of his ways by relating a parable. When David noticed that the man in Nathan’s tale had transgressed, Nathan said to David, “You are the man!”
Now, I’m not saying your work life will improve if you tell your terrible bosses a story in which the villains are thinly veiled versions of themselves. Nor am I suggesting that you must endure 20 years of servitude, like Jacob did, in order to get some sheep and the woman of your dreams, or that you should argue about every single thing you’re asked to do, as did Moses.
But here’s an oft-quoted Talmudic saying that expresses one of Judaism’s guiding principles, and I think it’s relevant to your work-life quandary: “It is not up to you to complete the task, but neither are you free to avoid it.”
In other words, you aren’t responsible for fixing everything that’s wrong with your job. But you are required to make an effort.
What might that look like? How about cheerfully encouraging adherence to best practices by offering evidence-based recommendations? Or matter-of-factly questioning a pointless policy — without pointing fingers — by simply showing that it’s hurting the bottom line or creating delays?
Now I wouldn’t want you to get on the bosses’ bad side or put yourself in the firing line in the course of offering criticism veiled as new ideas. To help your cause, enlist trusted colleagues to backread that email before you send it, or ask others to jointly request a meeting to propose a new approach to something you’re aching to improve.
What if your suggestions and complaints go unheeded? The Talmud tells of a rabbi who predicts that those on the receiving end of his protests “will not accept the rebuke from me.”
Do it anyway, is the response: “Even though they will not accept it, the Master should rebuke them.”
Consider, too, this beautiful precept from the great philosopher Maimonides: “Each of us should see ourselves as if our next act could change the fate of the world.” Meaning that every small choice you make as you carry out your duties — rendering a compliment to an overwhelmed work friend, making a correction without judgment, sharing a shortcut with the team or listening to a colleague’s frustration — matters.
I truly believe that part of how we maintain our sanity in the face of incompetence or evil is by standing up for our own values, even when it seems pointless. If you subscribe to the notion that every righteous act we perform, no matter how small, contributes to repairing our broken world, and if you can truly believe in the power of individual good deeds, it will go a long way toward restoring your peace of mind.
Peace of mind can also come from the time-honored Jewish tradition of kibbitzing. If you don’t already have an online group on WhatsApp or Discord where you and your coworkers can kvetch as well as support each other away from the bosses’ gaze, start one. If your work is in-person, in the office, rather than remote, invite a couple of colleagues out for a beer or coffee or a meetup in the park.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also serve up this oft-quoted Talmudic nugget: “A person should love work and not hate it.” The ancient rabbis believed work not only supports one’s material needs, but also provides dignity and self-worth — or so it should. If it’s impossible for you to love your work given your current situation; if you can’t bear the thought of sticking it out the way Jacob did; and if you don’t feel motivated enough to push back one small act at a time, as Maimonides advised, well then, you could always go all out and confront those idiotic bosses head on.
Of course, if you do that, they might hand you your walking papers. Then again, maybe being forced to look for a new job isn’t the worst thing that could happen given your disdain for your situation. Maybe you’re thinking of quitting anyway — and maybe that’s not a bad idea. As a more contemporary Jewish sage, Bob Dylan, once said, “All you can do is do what you must.”
Signed,
Bintel
What do you think? Send your comments to bintel@forward.com or send in a question of your own.
This is Beth Harpaz’s final column for Bintel Brief. She managed and wrote for the column from 2022 to 2025.
The post Can Jewish tradition help you stay sane when all your bosses are ‘idiots’? appeared first on The Forward.
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Anti-Hamas Militias Vow to Continue Fight in Gaza as Israel Stands Firm on Disarmament, Turkey’s Post-War Role
The head of an anti-Hamas faction, Hussam Alastal, fires a weapon in the air as he is surrounded by masked gunmen, in an Israeli-held area in Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip, in this screenshot taken from a video released Nov. 21, 2025. Photo: Hussam Alastal/via REUTERS
Anti-Hamas groups in Gaza have vowed to continue fighting the ruling Palestinian terrorist group despite the recent killing of their most prominent commander, reporting new recruits as Hamas continues to resist mounting international pressure to disarm.
Ghassan al-Dahini, successor to Yasser Abu Shabaab in Gaza’s Popular Forces, pledged to continue Abu Shabaab’s project and resist Hamas by establishing an alternative to the group’s rule, after his predecessor and confidant died last week while mediating an internal dispute within the group.
Dahini described Abu Shabab’s death as a “grave loss,” saying his followers would “continue on this path and move with the same strength and even more strength.”
“I assure all who support the goals of the Popular Forces that our position is strong and that, God willing, we will become the most powerful force,” he told Israel’s Channel 14.
Abu Shabab, a Bedouin tribal leader based in Israeli-held Rafah in southern Gaza, had led one of the most prominent of several small anti-Hamas groups that emerged in the enclave during the war that began more than two years ago.
Following his death, Hamas said in a statement that the fate of anyone who “betrayed their people and homeland and agreed to be an instrument in the hands of the occupation [Israel]” was inevitable, accusing Abu Shabab of “criminal acts” that amounted to a “flagrant deviation from national and social consensus.”
In an attempt to exploit the situation, the terrorist group gave militants a 10-day ultimatum to surrender in exchange for promises of amnesty, according to Israel’s Channel 12 and reports on social media.
Abu Shabab’s death would appear to be a boost for Hamas, which had branded him a collaborator and ordered its fighters to kill or capture him.
Shortly after the US-backed ceasefire to halt fighting in Gaza took effect in October, Hamas moved to reassert control over the war-torn enclave and consolidate its weakened position by targeting Palestinians who it labeled as “lawbreakers and collaborators with Israel.”
Since then, Hamas’s brutal crackdown has escalated dramatically, sparking widespread clashes and violence as the group moves to seize weapons and eliminate any opposition.
Social media videos widely circulated online show Hamas members brutally beating Palestinians and carrying out public executions of alleged collaborators and rival militia members.
Following Abu Shabab’s death, Hossam al-Astal, commander of the Counter Terrorism Strike Force, another anti-Hamas faction in Khan Younis, said his group would join forces with the Popular Forces, adding that both leaders had “agreed the war on terror will continue.”
“Our project, new Gaza … will move ahead,” al-Astal told Reuters.
The militia commander had previously told The Algemeiner in late October that his group and three allied militias, including Abu Shaba’s group, had coordinated in recent weeks to secure areas vacated by Hamas. He explained that the four Israel-backed militias fighting Hamas were moving to fill the power vacuum, pledging to cooperate with most international forces involved in rebuilding the enclave but vowing to resist any presence from Qatar, Turkey, or Iran, all of which have supported Hamas for years.
For its part, Hamas vowed to keep pursuing collaborators “until this phenomenon is eradicated.”
They “are protected by the occupation army in the areas where these forces are present, which makes it difficult for the security apparatuses,” Hamas spokesperson Hazem Qassem told Reuters.
Meanwhile, as Hamas tries to avoid disarmament and rejects international calls to surrender its weapons, Israel continues to maintain a firm stance, vowing that the Islamist group “will be disarmed” under US President Donald Trump’s peace plan.
Senior Hamas leader Khaled Mashal said the group is open to a temporary weapons “freeze” but rejects the demand for full disarmament outlined in the US-backed ceasefire deal.
“The idea of total disarmament is unacceptable to the resistance,” the terrorist leader said in an interview with Qatari media outlet Al Jazeera on Wednesday.
“What is being proposed is a freeze, or storage [of weapons] … to provide guarantees against any military escalation from Gaza with the Israeli occupation,” he continued.
Instead of immediately surrendering its weapons, as stipulated in the ceasefire deal, Hamas is proposing a long-term ceasefire of up to ten years and a freeze on its arsenal, provided that Israel fully withdraws from Gaza “and ends its campaign of extermination.”
According to a Hamas official cited by Palestinian media, the group will prevent any attacks on Israel during the proposed extended truce, which also calls for significant reconstruction efforts and expanded humanitarian aid in the war-torn enclave.
However, Israel has upheld its hardline position, rejecting Hamas’s proposals and declaring that “there will be no future for Hamas” under Trump’s 20-point peace plan.
“The terror group will be disarmed, and Gaza will be demilitarized,” an Israeli government official told AFP on Thursday.
Under phase one of Trump’s peace plan, Hamas was required to release all remaining hostages, both living and deceased, who were kidnapped by Hamas-led Palestinian terrorists during the group’s invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
In exchange, Israel freed thousands of Palestinian prisoners, including many serving life sentences, and partially withdrew its military forces in Gaza to a newly drawn “Yellow Line,” roughly dividing the enclave between east and west. The Israeli military controls 53 percent of Gazan territory, while Hamas is cracking down on the remaining 47 percent, where the vast majority of the population is located.
The second stage of the peace plan is supposed to establish an interim administrative authority, a so-called “technocratic government,” deploy an International Stabilization Force (ISF) to oversee security in Gaza, and begin the demilitarization of Hamas.
As the international community moves to implement phase two of the ceasefire deal, Turkey has continued to push to join the multinational task force and play a role in postwar Gaza, as Ankara seeks to expand its influence in the region — a move experts warn could potentially bolster Hamas’s terrorist infrastructure.
However, Israel has consistently opposed any role for Turkish security forces in postwar Gaza, reportedly creating a point of tension with Washington, which appears receptive to Ankara’s request.
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This Hanukkah, my synagogue is illuminating our walls with relics of our Jewish immigrant stories
(JTA) — Outside of the social hall on the second floor of my synagogue, the historic Society for the Advancement of Judaism on West 86th Street in Manhattan, a modest yet elegant new exhibition adorns the wall. Fitted within vintage frames are the figures and faces of people from long-ago and far-away places; each portrait a story, brimming with unique details.
But these are no generic photos in the public domain, this is no faux vintage display. Instead, the photos are family portraits belonging to members of my congregation, the result of our year-long project, “How We Got Here: Honoring Our Immigrant Forebears.” The gathering of these photos — only a small fraction of which were collected and will be published in a beautiful limited edition volume — was an ambitious undertaking, a project that took over a year and required the involvement of a professional staff and curator.
As I prepare for the grand opening of this exhibition on the fourth night of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights, I have a message for New York’s clergy and houses of worship: If you want to truly illuminate your sanctuaries, making them vibrant, alive and meaningful, begin by honoring your congregation’s immigrant past with a tangible photo and story project. What better way is there to remind our congregations, the people of our city, to be there for today’s next generation of immigrants?
St. Patrick’s Cathedral did just this in a colorful and glorious manner, commissioning its largest-ever artwork that pays homage to New York City’s immigrant past. The vivid panels of the work by Adam Cvijanovic focus on the arrival of Irish immigrants in the 19th century and the contributions they have made to this city, juxtaposing their stories with those of more contemporary and diverse immigrant groups. Every day of the week, visitors to the cathedral come face to face with this very human aspect of its history, previously uncelebrated. Cvijanovic’s murals enhance the meaning of a house of worship.
For our synagogue’s project, we hired Rachael Cerrotti, an award-winning author, podcaster, educator, and curator who works with family history, inherited memory and personal archives. She was able to guide us in our quest for material objects and stories. She and her husband, T.J. Kirkpatrick, designed our exhibition and our commemorative book.
Rachael elevated our pursuit from the provincial to the global, inspiring us to see that our best path forward begins by stepping into our recent past. As we remember and celebrate how we got here we become more empathic to those making similar journeys today.
To celebrate, we will be hosting a party with traditional Hanukkah treats and live music and inviting guests to share their own family immigrant stories with us.
But why undertake such a project in a house of worship? Why not a school, a community center or simply in the privacy of one’s home?
Because houses of worship are places that have staff with community-building skills; it is in the DNA of churches, mosques, synagogues and temples to welcome worshippers, making them feel like they are part of a whole. This study of our backgrounds, of the stories we share as immigrants to New York, is part of our creating those bonds.
What better place to encourage people to learn and share their own immigrant history, digging out the details of who came when, from where and why? While being “in the moment” is a value we cherish, it is also important to remember that we all come from somewhere, that we did not spring forward from Amsterdam Avenue, Orchard Street or East 72nd Street; that our ancestors are part of our story and inform who we are today.
We know that the surest way to cultivate security in children is to make sure they have solid roots. So too with a house of worship. When everyone in a congregation undertakes their own “roots” research, then the community itself becomes firmly planted, with stories blossoming like ripe and delicious fruit.
There is more: knowing our own stories and the stories of our worship community reminds us of immigrant struggle and helps us understand that the people arriving today have similar stories and the same needs. Regardless of propaganda, they are not immigrants of lesser worthiness. Our ancestors likely faced similar prejudices, bias and suspicion.
Making the decision to help today’s immigrants is a blessing precisely because they are our grandmothers and grandfathers. They are our parents. They are us.
In a political social climate that is hostile to newly-arrived Americans, it is critical for us to do this work publicly, to share it on our walls and tell our stories to the next generations.
Finally, knowing where we came from, meeting our parents, grandparents and far-distant relatives who arrived on the shores of this country yearning to breathe free infuses us with pride and with true patriotism.
It restores us to the authentic meaning of what it means to love our country, a nation built on the promise of being a place of refuge for all peoples.
Shira Dicker contributed to this essay.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
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