Refugee Turkey Day

"I thank God America is a safe place."

by Bruce Schimmel

At a recent Thanksgiving dinner, a little Jewish momma cradling a casserole was explaining this strange dish called "kugel." Facing her, another petite, dark-haired matron — a recent arrival from Burma — cocked her head in confusion.

The mom from Burma was assured that this Jewish treat was indeed an authentic American Thanksgiving tradition. So she flashed a sly smile, as if to say, "Maybe a little kugel couldn't hurt."

The Jewish mom was one of a dozen volunteers from local synagogues who loaded the tables in a former settlement house at Eighth and Snyder. They brought roast turkey, green beans, potatoes, stuffing, gravy, corn bread and pie. Mostly made at home.

The occasion marked the first Thanksgiving in a free land for some 40 recent and legal refugees from Myanmar. The immigrants brought trays of crispy chicken thighs, plates of bamboo shoots, and pans of sweet rice cakes. And with this welcome of the latest wave of immigrants, America's crazy salad got a bit more delicious.

The founder of this feast has a 100-plus-year history of helping the unwanted. Philly's Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS and Council) originally focused on liberating Jews. But today, many immigrants they help come from Southeast Asia.

"HIAS and Council rescued my own mother from the Polish pogroms in the 1920s," says Executive Director Judith Bernstein-Baker. And South Philly today, she says, is still enriched by immigrants. "Look around and see who's rebuilding this neighborhood."

Freedom tastes especially sweet for one 26-year-old, a trim, dark man in a traditional multicolored Burmese jacket. He speaks excellent English, and asks to be called "Robert." Three months ago, Robert was imprisoned in a refugee camp in Malaysia. Now, he says, "I don't need to worry about who will give trouble to me. I thank God that America is a safe place."

But Robert, like many refugees fleeing the Myanmar military dictatorship, still live in the shadow of terror. They fear that the government will take revenge against family still there.

With a degree in physics, Robert makes a living in a meat-packing plant. As a translator for other Burmese refugees, he introduces me to a 24-year-old man who had fled to Thailand. Six months later, he now makes sushi in a Center City restaurant.

"Before I arrived," says the sushi chef (through Robert), "I thought I could learn easily. But everything is a challenge. But at least I no longer have to worry for my life."

Everything is a challenge, agrees Bernstein-Baker, whose agency is currently helping about 2,000 immigrants. Many, she says, are not political refugees, but immigrants rejoining their families. But for the 40 refugees eating here tonight, "we are their family," says Bernstein-Baker. So HIAS and Council is ramping up to help them fit in.

Making it in America means having a job. But since immigrants will do work that others won't, most of her clients, says Bernstein-Baker, are employed within months. Jobs put legal immigrants on the fast track to personal independence. But when asked what surprised him most about American life, Robert ruefully noted that for the first time, he has to pay taxes. Heavens!

Though as he surveyed this feast of turkey, fried thighs and sweet kugel, it's clear he's most grateful to be giving back.

E-mail bruce@schimmel.com.