
He looked at me, with a smile on his face, and said in perfect Croatian: Vaša viza je odobrena [You have been approved].
Continue reading...He looked at me, with a smile on his face, and said in perfect Croatian: Vaša viza je odobrena [You have been approved].
Continue reading...I’m writing this essay rather than hoisting a Kalashnikov for a simple reason: my parents’ determination to leave the Soviet Union.
Continue reading...I think of immigration in my subsequent, adult life, not as a determinant but something akin to the zodiac sign if one believes in astrology.
Continue reading...My field, Byzantine studies, became almost extinct, my advisor, the last professor in the field in my city, fell ill and lost interest in continuing her work in the field.
Continue reading...She hid her university diploma, which she would need to start a new life, in a sealed stationary package.
Continue reading...People ask me all the time where I will, or want to live when I finish my PhD, as if I am supposed to be able to answer that question.
Continue reading...This was my heritage: cultured, formerly wealthy Russians trying to make it in New York.
Continue reading...One could find bards at every immigrant gathering singing The Tales of What Could Go Wrong At the Interview.
Continue reading...I had thought my family was Russian, but then when I went to college, I found out we were just Jews.
Continue reading...All I have left from the first 14 years of my life is an envelope of old photographs.
Continue reading...It seems like a good time to take pride in the diverse immigrant roots of our field by gathering immigrant stories.
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