As Passover starts to wind down, I am reflecting how much relevance the story of the Exodus has for my own family as well as millions of people over the centuries, including today. There are many ways to look at this story. One is that it is about people seeking a better life, willing to sacrifice their lives for a better life for their families, for their children. It is a story of migration, a story that continues for many people in the world today. It is a story of people seeking freedom and liberation, a story that also continues for many people in the world today.

The story I was told is that on the day Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, my paternal grandfather, Fritz Schiff, slammed his fist on the kitchen table and said, “This means we leave Germany.” Three years later he and his family, his wife and my grandmother Hildegard and their three sons arrived at Ellis Island. The youngest of the sons is my father. My father’s grandmother and aunt (and perhaps others I don’t know about) didn’t make it out and died in a concentration camp. My grandmother’s side of the family were not able to get out until 1938, and by that time the United States had closed its borders, so they ended up in Argentina, Denmark, Canada, and China. Many ended up in the United States after the war. One cousin of my father was in hiding for 5 years. Much like Anne Frank, only she lived.

I never met my grandfather. He died a few years after arriving in the United States. A heart attack at age 51. He was a brilliant man. He was medical doctor and scientist who was a pioneer in blood grouping techniques. Several years ago, our family was approached because a German student wrote a dissertation about my grandfather and his impact. One assertion that was made was that he would have been seen as a major scientific figure were it not for the anti-Semitism that was pervasive in Germany and beyond.

Another story that sticks with me is one told to me by my Aunt Ann, who was married to my father’s brother Ray, the middle brother, who died around age 40. He had told her that on the ship en route to the United States he only spoke French around non-family, as he didn’t want to be seen as German. Completely understandable, in the same way that in this day and age, a US passport and identity isn’t particularly welcome or respected in many parts of the world due to many aspects of our foreign policy as well the arrogance and cluelessness of so many US citizens.

My uncle had a particular privilege in which he could make a choice to be seen as French, and this also highlights some of the paradox of privilege. He could fit in as long as he gave up a part of himself. Given the times and his age, I completely understand his decision.

I feel this paradox deeply as a white Jew living in the United States. I have often referred to myself as being “off white.” I know I benefit from white skin privilege, but I also feel that I have to give up a part of myself, my Jewish identity, if I want to fully access that privilege. I have had the experience of other white people treating me differently when they find out I am a Jew. I feel it when I once again have to explain to colleagues that I can’t make a meeting because it is Yom Kippur, and once again hearing a range of responses to an apology for not having checked the calendar to blank stares of bewilderment. I have heard the comments, jokes, stereotypes, etc. More recently I heard the chants from the white supremacists (nazis) marching in Charlottesville, VA, “Jews will not replace us.”

So as long as I present only one part of myself, I have complete access to white privilege, white male privilege to be more precise. It’s a conundrum. I’m not a particularly religious person, but I do have a strong cultural connection to Judaism. It is part of who I am. So is being white. I know I am read as white. Jew is less obvious, at least in my case.

Recently I have heard numerous other Jews talking about the rise of overt anti-Semitism in the United States and around the world and concerns for the safety of their families and themselves. Some have decided to be “less overt” about their Judaism. I am not judging them, but I choose a different path. With the rise of overt anti-Semitism in the US and around the world I have decided to wear a Star of David necklace. Out of solidarity. I have never worn jewelry before other than a wedding ring and an earring, but this small gesture feels important to me. I will not hide.

My father’s side of the family was solidly middle / professional class. My mother’s side of the family has a very different experience. My grandfather was born in 1904 in Ukraine. His family waited for him to be born and then fled to escape pograms. One form of this was that Jews, particularly young Jewish men, were routinely conscripted into the army to be used as cannon fodder. My grandfather’s family were serfs. I don’t know much about his childhood except we stopped school in the 6^th grade and went to work. I also know that he was raised in an Orthodox family but rejected that as an adult. The same was true of my maternal grandmother. The story we were told is that on their first date they went out and got cheeseburgers together, clearly a rejection of being kosher and in many ways, orthodoxy.

My grandmother was born in Camden, New Jersey. Again, I don’t know much about her early life except she stopped school in the 8^th grade and had a working-class upbringing. Her parents came over from the Pale. For those who don’t know, the Pale was an area of Eastern Europe that corresponds to Belarus, Lithuania and Moldova, and parts of Ukraine, Latvia, Poland, and Russia. The Pale was formally established in the late eighteenth century. It was where Jews were allowed to live and for the most part leaving that area was forbidden, and dangerous. The expression ‘beyond the pale” emanates from the idea that leaving this area was unacceptable, and the expression refers to behavior that is out of the bounds of acceptability. My family came from the section that is probably located in modern Poland. The Poland-Russia border changed many times, so we are unclear of the exact location. It seems pretty clear that my grandfather’s family also came from a different part of the Pale.

Life in the Pale was hard. Pogroms and other forms of violence regularly were aimed at Jews. People scraped by as artisans and merchants, and through a network of community welfare created by Jewish residents. An ethic of community support has long been part of Jewish culture, as it is with many cultures.

There are far too many people living in unacceptable conditions today. Conditions of violence and oppression, with subsistence itself be a daily challenge. So many seek a better life. And yet, far too many others would rather build physical, psychological, legal, and other walls to prevent this, rather than extending help to others who are part of the human family. At Passover I can’t help but reflect on how this story continues on and on. It is long past time to re-write this story. It is critical that we that a hard look at ourselves work toward change. As James Baldwin famously said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”