(Essay on 250 years of American Dreams and its Dreamers)

My son and I were sitting around our kitchen table eating fish tacos with my dear friend Guido from Argentina. This was 2021, in New York City, at the nadir of COVID. Everything felt urgent then. I was getting messages reminding me to wash every grapefruit, every banana, and every doorknob before leaving the house and again upon returning. Somehow or other, the conversation turned to America—specifically, love of country.

“Are you patriotic?” Guido asked.

My son and I looked at each other, at first not quite knowing how to respond, or why he’d asked.

My son smiled. “You really are.”

For Guido, who grew up during the era of the desaparecidos, who had family friends whose children were taken by the military junta and never seen again—some thrown into the sea from helicopters—patriotism was something closer to a punchline than a virtue.

So here we are, one quarter of the way to America at a thousand years old. I’m aware that for many, the understanding of America has come to resemble the Argentina Guido grew up in. I don’t dismiss them. There is real grief in this country’s ledger—promises broken, people failed, wrongs that took generations to name, and some not yet named. Anyone who loves........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)