Each November 27th, American families gather together to celebrate the age old tradition of giving thanks. We live in selfish times, not necessarily brought upon by greed or ambition, but as a result of the economic downturn which has caused us hard-working Americans to put our care-free spirits on hold (for hopefully just a little while) to focus on providing for ourselves and our families. Truth be told, we have put our God-given rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness on the backburner. And it kind of sucks. But on Thanksgiving, a heartfelt reverence always seems to capture us as we drive or fly from all over the world to be with our loved ones.
We have much to be thankful for despite what the media portrays. Sometimes our economic and political woes make us forget our good fate. To be a citizen from the land of the free and the home of the brave, where people from all over the world have settled for over 3oo years in pursuit of a better, fulfilling and free life is a human right that 300 million people are granted with. Every American family celebrates Thanksgiving differently than the next one. Some Americans whose ancestors came from Italy turn their feast into cucina Roma serving eggplant parmagiana or a simple spaghetti dinner. Some Indian-Americans fill their houses with the sweet smell of curry while Scottish Americans substitute turkey for haggis or Greek-Americans replace mashed potatoes and gravy with moussaka. Despite our current global conditions, we maintain admiration for our heritage through sharing Thanksgiving together as the pilgrims and the Native American Indians once did.
This year, my mother found a terrific program through a local Church enabling us to share Thanksgiving with new Americans who are not yet familiar with our traditions. It has become our small family’s ritual to volunteer during the holidays. Since our party totals a whopping three people, additions to our feast are rare but make for interesting conversation. This year, an adoring family of four new Americans joined our holiday. Natives of Bhutan, which lies between China and India, they moved to Nepal where they spent the past 15 years. The father worked in a corn factory, the mother was the homemaker and the children attended school and enjoyed sports like soccer and volleyball. On paper they weren’t too far off from what I would consider an enjoyable life. However, when they walked into our home, they were immediately in awe of our simple Suburban townhome which most Americans would consider far from glamorous. It was difficult to tell whether they were scared, humbled or indifferent.
Since I am the traveled and open-minded Laliberte, I was obviously intrigued by them. I wanted to hear their stories. I wanted to learn something new. Unfortunately the language barrier made it quite difficult to communicate. Their quiet nature and generous demeanors prevented us from having the conversations we would normally enjoy having, so we refrained from taboo topics and focused on the awkward silence in our dining room. As the evening progressed, the elephant in the room slowly crept it’s was into view. For me to feel awkward around people is extremely rare.
I had to keep reminding myself that we are doing what us Jews call a mitzvah, a good deed. Despite the awkward silences and different eating habits, the whole point of the day was to volunteer our time and money so that a new American family could see what a Thanksgiving was really like. If they had been at another family’s house I’m sure it would have been a completely different experience. After our evening of unrealized interrogation on this poor family, they finally asked us a question. The son looked at my mother and asked “where is the father?” My mother didn’t know how to explain to him that she is no longer married to our father and that although we see him and love him, he lives at another house (let alone that my brother and I have a half-sister and are very close with her mother’s family). How was she to explain the dynamics of our American home? So she simply said, “He doesn’t live here.” The family snickered to one another, put away their smiles and seemed almost puzzled. It was in that moment I was reminded that America is a place where the norms are the differences. It’s a place where the ability to live life does not have to be as a result of religion or duty. It’s a place where anything is possible and any option is a human choice and right.
This experience is one I will never forget. I hope our refugee family discovered that like their family, we have a small clan but we are a kind family who loves one another. No matter where you live, what you do, or where you have been, the ability to love and give thanks is universal.
Happy Thanksgiving!
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