Customs was the last obstacle in our escape to America. It was 1979 – the year of the Iranian Revolution. I was seven years old. While my father braved the lines at the US Embassy, I remember packing our bags. Our entire life in six suitcases. We were not allowed to take anything of value.

In my own small bag, buried beneath my doll, a journal and a book by Samad Behrangi, my parents had concealed envelopes containing not only our money and documents, but also those for others who were already scattered abroad. Hoping that they would not check a child, my mom instructed me that, when we walk through customs, I should walk with my head up, with confidence, and pretend I only had a bag of toys.

To be a Jew throughout history has, in part, meant to be forced to pick up and leave our home in the face of hatred towards Jews. Since the nation of Israel was exiled from Israel thousands of years ago, chances are that just about every Jew reading this, has ancestors that were forced to leave one country for another. Or maybe like me, it was you who had to escape. Yet escaping is often a double-edged sword.

Growing up in America, I was always keenly aware of my outsider status. My American Jewish friends did not understand why I felt like an outsider. Though there have been some tough times, Jews in America have lived in incredible freedom and acceptance overall. Jews have been part of the fabric of building this incredible democracy.

But I experienced some hate while others did not. People felt comfortable showing their prejudicial side to me, either because they did not think I was Jewish or they saw me as an easy target – the kid with the accent, who looked different. I........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)