Free Republic

Sixty years ago in February I came to the United States. I was classified as a "displaced person" from World War II with no identity or knowledge of when, where or to whom I was born, an orphan who had miraculously survived on the streets of a war ravaged city somewhere in central Europe. On that bitterly cold overcast morning as I stood, alone at the railing of a ship, staring at the iconic image of the Statue of Liberty, I found myself arriving in a strange country itself coming face to face with a new and unwelcome role as...