There is a wonderful book I bought for my children years ago called Rivka's First Thanksgiving.  It's by Elsa Okon Rael and you can still buy it on Amazon.com (I double checked!).  It's a wonderful picture book about a little girl who immigrated to America in the 1910s.  She comes home from school one day excited about the new holiday she has learned about...Thanksgiving.  "It sounds to me as though this is a party for Gentiles," her Mama replies, "It's not for us."

Rivka argues that they are Americans, too, and that Thanksgiving is an American holiday.  Well, the argument goes to the Rabbi and he agrees with Rivka's Mama and Bubbeh, that Thanksgiving is not for Jews.  Rivka thinks the Rabbi's decision is wrong.  Finally, Rivka is summoned before a board of Rabbis to argue her case.  She beautifully explains that, like the Pilgrims, the Jews came to America to escape religious persecution:

"I was lucky to be born here, but my mother and her parents came from Buchach.  My bubbeh says you also came from Buchach, Rabbi, so you must know about the terrible pogroms there.  They happened all the time, for no reason.  My mother was badly hurt in a pogrom when she was twelve years old.  A cossack on a horse struck her on the head because she was Jewish--for no other reason than that.  No one thought she would live, but she did.  She can't remember anything that happened to her before she was twelve.  Nothing.  Not a single thing."

The Rabbis shook their heads sadly.

"So here we are now, safe in America.  God first brough the Pilgrims and then He brought us, the Jews.  The Pilgrims were the first to give thanks to Him, but I believe we also owe Him a Thanksgiving.  As much as anybody, we owe Him thanks."

In the end, Rivka has her Thanksgiving and the Rabbi joins her family for the celebration.  This year, while enjoying the wonderful food, take the time to make Thanksgiving a little bit Jewish.  Our children learn at school about our American forefathers coming over for religious freedom, but teach them about when your family came over.  Tell stories.  And, if you are fortunate enough to have grandparents or great aunts and uncles at your table, ask them to tell stories.

We didn't come to Plymouth Rock nor were there any Jews at that first Thanksgiving when they ate maize with the Native Americans.  And we have different stories to tell about our journey.  Different obstacles to overcome.  My mother's family name was lost because the officer at Ellis Island couldn't spell my great-grandparent's name.  He asked the man behind them what his name was.  When he replied "Goldstein" the officer told my family that would now be their last name, too.  We are fortunate enough to have records of my father's family's journey to America from the Ukraine.  Two sons came over first, right before the Bolshevik Revolution.  They worked until they could send for their mother, Doba.  In France, her name was changed from Lewit to Levit and then in America, from Levit to Levin. 

So, tell the stories of your family.  And tell your children why it was important to come to America--how we found a home here and why we are thankful.

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