By Grace Paley
Grace Paley is a poet and fiction writer. This essay appears in the book "Wrestling with Zion."
December 14, 2003 (Los Angeles Times)
Jews are afraid these days. I'm Jewish, so I'm afraid too. I'm afraid for my mother and father in their Russian Jewish youth 90 years ago, their high spirits and dangerous bravery. I'm afraid for my grandmother because she will have to find a wagon to bring her murdered son home. I am afraid for him. He falls down. He's been shot. It's pogrom time. My grandmother finds him among other dead boys. With all her strength, she lifts him, tips him into the wagon. He's 17. His name is Rusya. A photograph about 2 by 3 feet stands on the windowsill of my front room. When I walk into the room I see his intelligent Russian Jewish face and I am afraid for him. It will not be able to save him. I am afraid for my grandmother's sadness. It will never end. It is almost 100 years old.
I am afraid for my grandchildren. Two of them are the great-great-great-grandchildren of imported African immigrants (slaves). My grandchildren are called African American. I am afraid for those two little children. I am afraid of America.
Ten or 12 years before World War II, my aunt, my mother's sister, visited us. She came from a place called Palestine, where she has lived as long as my parents have lived in this America. She came floating over the sea in a big ship. It was called the Grace Line. She gave me a wonderful button to pin on my dress. It said Grace. Then, at the supper table, she told my parents that she was ashamed of them. They had become members of the terrible American bourgeoisie. She herself had kept her socialist idealism alive, active in a place that would eventually be called Israel. My father ignored her rudeness politely but thought it over. He said: What about the Arabs? You think they'll sit still? They'll eat you alive. My aunt said: You ignorant fool, we will live with them together. You'll see. My mother said: Maybe she's right. You don't know everything.
Then the years passed, as they do for nations as well as people, not always at the same rate.
I am afraid for the Jews of Israel. A great people may not have had to become a small nation, despite promises made 2,500 years ago. Even He, its presumed Author, did not imagine that His Book, made in Yavneh, so full of myth history prophecy law poetry, would carry us without the baggage of real estate (which must be defended) into the 21st century. A Book, a Testament of such beauty that you didn't have to believe in God in order to praise Him on the high holidays. With this Book, we have lived in the United States, France, Brazil, South Africa, Algeria. China! We spoke the languages of those countries; our voices live in their literature. Sometimes we speak with a Yiddish accent, or Ladino. This seems to be useful to those other languages, though they would deny it. They are so busy being nations.