While many Jewish Americans may not trace their roots back five generations, I can. This gives me a particular sense of responsibility—not just to honor our legacy, but also to remember what this country represented for those who came here seeking refuge.
My great-grandmother escaped Hungary at the turn of the 19th century to flee the anti-Semitism rampant in Europe. She arrived in a land that, frankly, wasn’t perfect. The Jewish community faced skepticism and suspicion.
Yet, she came here because she believed in America’s ideals: democracy, justice, and opportunity. Freedom—not just from oppression, but toward a life of dignity. She worked tirelessly to become a citizen, a teacher, and to raise her family.
Her story exemplifies the American dream, a dream built on promises not only to immigrants but also at the very founding of the nation.
The commitments made to Jews were not mere acts of modern tolerance; they were enshrined at the nation’s birth.
In 1790, President George Washington sent a letter to the Hebrew congregation in Newport, Rhode Island, offering radical assurances to religious minorities. He didn’t merely tolerate Jews—he welcomed them to partake in the Republic’s vision, assuring them they could find safety under their own fig trees.
For exiled Jews, this was a sacred new covenant.
However, being Jewish also brings a complex memory of exclusion. The Jewish experience is marked by both integration and oppression globally. We’ve endured regimes that thrived on fear, yet we’ve also been cherished citizens.
Yet, America represents a unique environment for Jews. We are a part of this grand democratic experiment, contributing to the nation’s foundation and enjoying its many blessings.
Most Jewish Americans settled here in the late 1800s and early 1900s, but some were present much earlier. Francis Salvador, a Sephardic Jew from South Carolina, was the first Jewish official elected in the colonies and also the first to die in the Revolutionary War. His sacrifice was not an outlier; Haym Salomon, a Polish-Jewish immigrant, played a crucial role in financing the Revolutionary effort.
In Georgia, Mordecai Sheftall served as one of the highest-ranking Jewish officers in the Continental Army. Meanwhile, Jewish merchants in Philadelphia and New York, like Isaac Moses and Moses Michael Hayes, supported the troops financially and logistically.
This commitment to a new life in America deepened, with Jewish Americans serving in all facets of society—from military service to public office, participating in pivotal movements like labor rights and civil rights. We’ve not just existed here; we’ve actively contributed.
Unfortunately, we now face a troubling rise in anti-Semitism in America. Some incidents are violent, others more insidious, and many go unchecked. Jewish figures are often targeted or even condemned, with some in power seeming to enable this environment.
It’s particularly disheartening to witness Jewish students facing harassment on prestigious campuses. It feels like a cruel irony, given that these institutions were meant to uphold freedom and scholarship. It’s all too easy to forget what this country stands for at moments like these—and even more worrisome to lose faith in those principles.
Make no mistake: losing sight of this is a betrayal of what America has promised Jews—a promise of a brighter future.
In 1944, the world largely ignored the plight of Jews being led to their deaths. Fast-forward to June 2025, during a time of historic movements, the U.S. has taken definitive action to protect Jews facing existential threats, especially from Iran. America signaled that Jewish lives matter and that we are not alone, demonstrating moral clarity in an often indifferent world.
This July 4th, let’s set aside political squabbling. It’s important to recognize who did what for whom and why. Let’s return to the larger truth: America has given Jews space to flourish and shelter from persecution, allowing our children to envision a future where they can fully embrace both their Jewish identity and their American identity without fear.
Being a Jewish American isn’t a contradiction; it’s a profound gift. We should nurture this potential land, staying vigilant in dark times while being grateful during brighter days. One united nation under God.
We are Americans. We are Jews. And we take pride in being both.
