With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door"
Once upon a time, a century and change ago, my ancestors were among the many millions of "wretched refuse", the "homeless, tempest-tost" arriving in the USA, Jews from Poland, Russia and thereabouts, fleeing the hatred and slaughter of the times.
I can only imagine how they must have felt as that statue came into view on the horizon, signalliing journey's end after months crammed on a hot, overcrowded deck. (Or maybe my great-great grandfather and his family had managed to save up loads of money from his inn in Łomża, sold the place for a good price before things got really bad, and had their own spacious cabin. Who knows?)
The country they came to was no paradise, and they would have faced all sorts of suspicion and prejudice, but they had a chance, and they were lucky enough to thrive. Likewise my dad's family, who came instead to Britain, a land of 'storied pomp' par excellence. No paradise either, and my dad has told me some horrible stories of the anti-Semitism he faced as a child; but likewise a country that was spared the horrors of fascism, that proved a refuge and became a home.
This is my history. It is far from unique. It is not even unusual. It is a story shared by hundreds of millions of us around the world.
For me, not just because of my own family history, but certainly reinforced by it, it seems self-evident that we, who are fortunate enough to have been born in lands enjoying relative freedom (for it is certainly no virtue of our own), should welcome to our shores those fleeing war, persecution and extreme poverty. "Will it make us richer or poorer?" "What if some of those who come are bad people?" They may be fair questions, but they should be very much secondary ones. At some level, I really find it hard to comprehend those who think otherwise.