What Makes America Great? Brooklyn, NY Offers a Clue
The great spirituality writer Thomas Merton wisely pointed out that at the root of all conflict is fear. Sadly, fear seems to have an untenable grip on our nation currently, unleashing a genie of meanness toward those considered “different” or “other.” Which is why a trip this past week to the great melting pot of Brooklyn, N.Y. was not only uplifting, but a reminder too of what truly makes America great.
My husband and I traveled to Brooklyn to help Jenny and Frank, my mother’s 99-and-97-year-old cousins still living on their own in the same Dyker Heights neighborhood where they grew up.
Italian Americans like my cousins once predominated there, but now many Chinese families have moved into Dyker Heights along with immigrants from the Middle East.
The hotel where we stayed is in the middle of an Orthodox Jewish-Chinese neighborhood — an interesting and unlikely combination in and of itself. We decided to roam around on Saturday night looking for groceries. We found ourselves in the middle of the Hasidic Jewish section.
It was about 8 at night, Shabbat had ended, and men in richly embroidered black silk suits and fur-lined shtreimels — large bowl-shaped hats worn by Orthodox married men — strolled the streets with their wives and children.
We wandered into the Super 13 kosher food market on 13th Avenue, enticed by the pungent scent of smoked salmon emanating from the store. Inside, refrigerated cases were filled with gefilte fish, blintzes, knishes and other traditional Jewish foods.
Because it was my birthday, we were also looking for a bottle of Chianti to celebrate. It was one thing we didn’t find at the Super 13.
For that we had to travel a few more blocks to the En Shan all-night Chinese convenience store on Fort Hamilton Parkway. As I went to pay, the woman behind the counter struggled to explain something to me … in Chinese. She dialed a number on her cell phone and within a minute or two, a man dashed in from one of the other nearby stores. He introduced himself as the cashier’s husband.
The man apologized, explaining that his wife had only been in this country a few months and was still learning English. She had been trying to inform me that there is a hefty tax on liquor in New York.
I admired this young couple, operating not one, but two all-night stores. All I could think of to say to them is, “Welcome to America.”
The next morning, the man overseeing the continental breakfast at our hotel explained to my husband and me how the breakfast bar worked … in Spanish. We responded to him in English and the wonderful thing is we all somehow understood each other.
If it were not a borough of New York, Brooklyn would be the third most populated city in the U.S. after Los Angeles and Chicago. Ensconced in Brooklyn’s 69.6 square miles are 60 distinct neighborhoods. Its 2.6 million residents are roughly evenly divided between Americans of European ancestry, African Americans, Hispanics, Asians, people from the Caribbean, and people from the Middle East.
Given the tragic conflicts that continue in the Middle East and the many decades of “troubles” that plagued Northern Ireland, I can’t help but marvel at how Brooklyn’s residents from so many different religions, cultures, and nations manage to live together peaceably on such a small plot of land.
Back at my cousins’ home, we met their neighbor Hugo, a recent immigrant from Algeria. Hugo studied mechanical engineering in his home country and now works two jobs here to support his wife and three children. He takes out the trash for my elderly cousins, gives them rides, and generally watches over them.
I thought of my grandfather who arrived here from Italy with the clothes on his back, unable to speak English, who found a place to sleep on his first night in Manhattan through the kindness of a stranger who had once been an immigrant like him. Meeting Hugo was like seeing that kindness cycle reoccur, only in reverse. This time, a recent immigrant is helping established members of my American family.
I wish that anyone who fears immigrants could take a tour of Brooklyn with me and meet some of these people. Whatever secret ingredient makes Brooklyn’s melting pot work is what makes America great. May God bless the real America.
