You may not know this fact about me,
But I’m the son of a deportee
Taken from his home in 1942,
He and his family, because they were Jews.
You may not know this fact about me,
But my father was a refugee,
He and two brothers survived the camps,
In 1951 they saw the lady’s lamp.
You may not know this fact about me,
But his immigrant life was hard you see,
Spoke with an accent, did low-skilled work,
He wore cheap pants and a secondhand shirt.
You may not know this fact about me,
But I’m the heir to his American Dream—
College, career, I own my home,
Because of my dad, now passed and gone.
You may not know this fact about me,
But from him I learned empathy,
To see how others, newcomers here,
Do all they can for those they hold dear.
Now I know this fact about you and me,
So many of us here share the same story,
Our national leader with an ugly heart,
Is after our neighbors, it’s just the start,
It’s why today in this beloved city,
We must tell the world: Here is sanctuary.
We will stand together for our family and friends,
Until the reign of this madman comes to an end.
You may not know this fact about me,
But I wear my dad’s number up under my sleeve,
A reminder of all that he went through,
His immigrant strength is in you too.
Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at [email protected]. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.
