My experience with antisemitism

My parents grew up in the Soviet Union, where they experienced both systemic and social discrimination. In a system where all animals were equal but some were more equal than others, many doors closed before you could even reach the handle. No amount of vodka could erase that. They left, in large part, because they saw no future there for their child. Me. They knew that with the word “Jewish” stamped on my birth certificate, my options would be limited—no matter any talents or ambitions I might have. They also valued and dreamed of freedom. That’s what the West represented for them at the time. It was not merely geography, it was an idea.

As a child, I spent several years in Israel. At the time, that was the only country my family could escape to—the only one willing to accept them. They left with nearly nothing. Ironically, I don’t think I really grasped the idea of being “Jewish” while living in Israel—perhaps in part because I was too young for that conceptualization, and perhaps …