In July 2010 I visited the United
States. Apart from visiting relatives in Boston and Pensylvania I
spent 2½ weeks in Flushing Queens, New York.
My visit coincided with
an extreme heat-wave, which to some extent curbed my enthusiam for
visiting tourist attractions. On the other hand I learnt how many New
York citizens get by without the help of air-conditioning; the
subway, buses, department stores, museums, and public libraries were
cool havens.
Musician in train from Flushing, Queens.
One of my most memorable and moving
experiences was a visit to Ellis Island , where from 1892 to 1954 12
million immigrants got their first taste of, what was for them, the
promised land. Although hoping to escape poverty and oppression, not
all of them were allowed to stay; some were repatriated due
poor health or legal issues.
Museum on Ellis Island
Refugees from pogroms in Russia 1905
My paternal and maternal grandparents
left, respectively, the Ukraine and Poland in the last two decades of
the 19th century. Whether it was due to choice or
necessity they only got as far as London, and that is where they stayed. A
number of their grandchildren migrated to other countries: Denmark
(me), Israel and the United States.
I never knew my grandparents, but I often send them a thankful vibe; after all if they had
stayed put, their children would have probably perished in the
holocaust.
Immigrants often feel they should be
grateful. This however does not necessarily prevent feelings of
loneliness, alienation (?) and restlessness.
'We are all on a journey
and we don't know where.' The latter phrase is not mine, but Daniel Cain's. It is
very apt.
17.10.2011
P.S. An American friend sent me the following comment, which she would like to share with anybody who reads this blog:
'Very touching - I too spent many hours on Ellis Island some years ago.
My maternal grandparents came that way and my grandfather cheated his way in; he was ill and an X was chalked on his coat, indicating he was to return to Europe. Craftily, he turned the coat inside out when walking past the final authorities and was able to stay.
And here I am in Europe again - to the understandable dismay of my poor mother, 40 years ago'
