I was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on August 25, 1988. I looked just like every other screaming, white baby, but looks are deceiving and I am not a part of the majority. My parents met in college, the same way most couples do, but my parents are not most couples. In 1981, Glenn and Yana, with their respective families, fled the Soviet Union for the quintessential American experience – life in America. My parents’ escape has given me the opportunities that so many people long for: economic prosperity, religious freedom, and the ability to openly embrace my family’s culture and traditions.

My mom and grandparents arrived in America with three suitcases – one for each of them. Books, jewelry, and photographs were left behind. Not one of them spoke English. My mom, 19 and “fresh off the boat,” not only went to an English-speaking college, but paid for it by herself and then paid off the loans. My father’s story is similar. I, however, arrived in America with a house and a bedroom already waiting for me. My books, jewelry, and photographs have never been taken away, and I definitely am not paying for college on my own.

My family did not descend from “old money,” there is no trust fund with my name on it, and I will never make it without a steady job, but my parents’ hard work has ensured that my sister and I will both leave high school with a diploma. We will both attend, and graduate from, a college or university. We will always have clothes on our backs and food on the table. This kind of security did not exist in the Soviet Union, but the American dream is not about bare necessities. It is, in part, about wealth. There are hard-working immigrants everywhere, but my parents made it.

If I ever decide to get my license, there is a BMW in my parents’ garage waiting to be driven by someone new. My sister, like me, will graduate from a private high school. The clothes Gabrielle wore on her first day of junior high undoubtedly bore at least one recognizable label, just as mine did. My sister, like me, will have a Bat Mitzvah – another reminder that anything is possible here.

There has been a mezuzah on my front door for as long as I can remember, just as there has been a menorah for Hanukkah every year of my life. Up to and including fifth grade, elementary school consisted of a half day dedicated to history, spelling, and math. For six years, the other half of my school day was dedicated to Jewish history, reading the Torah, and, of course, prayer. When my parents were growing up in the Soviet Union, no one talked about it, but everyone knew why you didn’t get that job, why you couldn’t go to that university. You were smart enough, you may even have been more qualified than the other guy, but you were Jewish, so the door was shut. In America, we hide from no one – not as a sick test of faith, but because there is no need to. There will always be people who dislike you for something you believe, but religion does not interfere with education or employment here. The American dream is, in part, about religious freedom. Religion, however, stems from culture.