On the morning after the Presidential election in 2016, the first person who called me was my father, whose words were “ I’m sitting shiva.” Shocked and in despair we mourned together.
He is no longer here to witness the results of this election. And I am relieved.
Today I cry for our country, for my parents, my grandparents, and great-grandparents who came to this country filled with promise, all who loved this country, fought for this country, and believed in the possibility of America.
I cry at my father’s grave inscribed with his favorite saying “It’s your America,” a phrase filled with boosterish post-war possibilities of the greatness of our nation where anything is possible.
No Daddy, today I woke up to find out “it’s not my America.”