Having been born and raised in Canada, my husband and I are
pretty quick to correct those who assume we hail from our
southern neighbor, the United States of America. Being
Canadian confers a certain special status. By world
standards, we're considered refined and polite. Smart
Canadians wear a Canadian flag emblem when traveling. The
citizens of the host country tend to be most welcoming when
dealing with the northern North American country. What can I
say? We come across quieter and more civil than our
industrious neighbors (who sometimes have the reputation of
being pushy and rude). Our parents were proud of their
Canadian homeland. My parents were not interested in me and
my three brothers growing up with brash, "manifest destiny,"
conquer-all mannerisms that can be found among some other
Western countries.
Despite it all, my husband and I left our wonderful birth
country and came to the country that all Jews really call
home. We've acclimated fairly well, I think. Especially my
husband, who works for an auditor for the Israeli government.
We're proud of our new citenzship. Even more so, we're
thrilled that our offspring are privileged to call Israel the
country of their birth. I thought, "This is it. We've really
arrived." But it isn't necessarily so simple.
About a decade ago, I was talking with one of the mothers of
a friend of my son's.
"Oh, I just love your son," she said. I was imagining she was
talking about his sterling middos or his brilliant,
inquiring mind. I didn't at all expect the next comment. "Oh
I just love his American accent," she gushed. I took it in
stride, thinking it was pretty funny since I could still
detect some of the Yemen in her own accent.
Her comment did make me think a bit, which led to the
following conversation with my husband. "You think your kids
are Canadian, don't you?" I asked.
"Well they do carry Canadian citenzship papers," he answered,
puzzled.
"And you think that they are Israeli, don't you?" I pushed
on.
"Well, they were born here and have Israeli passports," he
answered cautiously.
"And you even think that they are Yerushalmi," I stated
simply.
"Well they were born and do live in Yerushalayim," he
answered, exasperated.
"Well you're wrong. In this country, your kids are considered
American," I teased.
"Oh...my Canadian and Israeli passport-holding kids born and
living in Yerushalayim are considered American...hmmm." he
said, scratching his head as he walked off.
I told over this conversation to a friend, an American,
actually. She laughed and said, "That's what you call a
chulent."
