TUCSON RESIDENTS SHARE THEIR JOURNEY OF SETTLING IN THE U.S.

the last sibling to emigrate to the USA. A chance encounter in 1983 changed the trajectory of my life. While on vacation, I met a kind couple from Ohio with whom I shared my aspirations and goals. To my surprise, the man, having recently purchased a new business, thought I was the perfect person to do the accounting. I did, and over my career, I also worked for two Fortune 500 companies.

Reflecting on my life, I can’t help but be grateful for the experiences that have shaped me into who I am today, living in America.

Born in Johannesburg, South Africa, I grew up in a close-knit family that cherished the values of responsibility and independence. Both of my parents had professional careers—my father was an accountant, and my mother was a bookkeeper. Despite having maids to assist us, we were taught the importance of selfsufficiency and caring for ourselves.

After completing my education at a private school, I continued on to The University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and graduated with a degree in Commerce. Given the political instability and random violence in South Africa, my siblings and I had already decided that as soon as we were able to, we would leave South Africa and make a life in America.

Sharon, the oldest of my siblings, had already emigrated and was living in Columbus, Ohio, where she was working as a nurse. I soon joined her there. My brother Norman and my parents emigrated to Los Angeles. My younger sister Desi was

Our family has always been close. When I was ready to exit the corporate world, I looked for a new position close to my sister, who moved to Tucson with her husband and two children. I moved with my husband Terry to Tucson in 2007. Subsequently, my parents and older sister moved to Tucson as well. Living near one another makes it effortless to spend quality time together, nurturing the bonds that have always defined our family.

I have found immense joy in my connection with Chabad Tucson. Through my younger sister’s involvement, I was welcomed into their warm and accepting community. With my parents passing away within eight months of each other, we have the responsibility of carrying our traditions forward.

As an immigrant, the Fourth of July is an important day for us to remember. The USA is a melting pot, built by immigrants, and we are fortunate to be part of that. This is a nation that emerged from British rule to forge its own path. This country has also allowed my family and me to build comfortable lives and feel safe in our adopted homeland.

-- Linda Cohen is a freelance bookkeeper responsible for accounts of various companies and private individuals.

Raziel Henry Levidis

Growing up in Santiago De Cuba, Cuba, in 1987, life was a constant struggle for survival.

Our ancestors held prestigious positions as politicians, doctors, and musicians. They had beautiful houses and vast farmland. Our fortunes were traced to a remarkable great-great-grandmother, a devout observer of Shabbat. But the communists snatched it all away.

As an infant, I experienced the harsh reality of hunger, often eating whatever I could find. My mother recalls finding me hiding outside, devouring a raw onion like an apple, and throwing pebbles at our neighbor’s house, demanding sweet potatoes. It was a desperate act, a means to fend off starvation.

My zayde (grandfather) would patiently stand in line with his ration card, hoping to secure our meager food supplies. I vividly remember waking up one morning and asking my mother for milk, only to witness her bursting into tears because she couldn’t provide it.

As I grew older, the consequences of the hunger I endured became apparent. Chronic gastritis plagued me, a painful reminder of my hardships. Fortunately, my bubbe and zayde managed to escape Cuba and emigrated to Miami, Florida. Soon after, they generously sent us money to make our way to America.

Arriving in Miami, my bubbe, in true bubbe fashion, prepared a magnificent feast that filled me to the brim. Then, my zayde took us to the shopping mall, where we bought new clothes. My bubbe explained that our clothes symbolized a past we needed to leave behind.

Despite frequent hospital visits during early childhood, I never knew hunger again. The market shelves in America brimmed with food, and Cuba’s limitations were a distant memory. I received proper healthcare and access to medication. Education became my pathway to independence and the future.

My family celebrated our ability to be together and to be Jewish openly. Shabbat meals at my grandparents’ house always featured a dish that captured my heart: a rich and hearty stew with meat, beans, potatoes, cumin, paprika, and other spices—a Cuban Jewish cholent, as I would later discover.

Eventually, I began to unravel the depth and richness of Judaism and the customs our family had quietly maintained. As a young adult, I spent time with Chasidic Jews at a Chabad in North Miami Beach, which expanded my understanding of my Jewish heritage. I have continued my quest since recently moving to Tucson.

My journey from starvation to abundance and freedom has profoundly shaped me, especially concerning my ability to embrace Judaism. I am forever grateful to my bubbe and zayde for rescuing us from the clutches of communism. The thought of what might have become of me had I remained in Cuba sends shivers down my spine.

Why is it that in the space of one hour, we can be full of faith and then skeptical, kind to one stranger and abrupt with another, deeply inspired to seek holiness and then be drawn to the basest desires?

We are so accustomed to this phenomenon we do not often question it, but we should.

Do we desire to live a G-dly life or not? Do our negative inclinations and deeds prove that our convictions and commitments are only a sham? If our commitment to “do the right thing” is not superficial, why does the opposite draw us in so easily on a moment’s notice?