On July 2, 1978, the day I turned seventeen years old, I left my childhood home in Bogotá, Colombia, and boarded a plane bound for New York. I was carrying little more than a suitcase, a dream, and a willingness to embrace whatever opportunities awaited me in a country I knew mostly after a few vacations in South Florida, through books, movies, and the stories of others. I could not have imagined where that journey would lead.

As America approaches its 250th anniversary, I find myself reflecting not on politics or public policy, but on gratitude. The story of my life, like the story of millions of immigrants before me, is inseparable from the opportunities this nation made possible.

One of my earliest memories of America remains vivid nearly fifty years later. It was Thanksgiving. A snowstorm had blanketed New York City in white. Having grown up near the equator, I had never seen snow before. While everyone else remained indoors, I bundled myself in a heavy coat and ventured outside. I scooped up handfuls of snow, laughed, wandered through the neighborhood, and marveled at what others regarded as little more than a nuisance. To me, it was wonder itself. That moment became a metaphor for my American experience: discovering beauty and possibility in things many others took for granted.

As a student at the Jewish Theological Seminary and Columbia University, I learned far more than theology and history. I learned the language, customs, and rhythms of a diverse society that welcomed people from every corner of the globe. Living in New York exposed me to an extraordinary........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)