Give me your tired, your poor. . .

I have refrained from jumping into the immigration fray because I'm not sure where I stand. I still don't know, but it's time to take the leap.

My father's parents came to this country early in the twentieth century. When I was in ninth grade, I interviewed my grandfather about his journey. Before he left Greece, his mother gave him two pair of underwear, and the following instructions. Wear one on the journey. When you arrive, take that one off and throw it into the ocean. Put the clean one on. Mothers always have to consider the practical matters.

He arrived, not knowing a word of English. At Ellis Island he communicated that he wanted to go to St. Louis, where three of his brothers already lived. They placed a color-coded tag on his clothes. When the train reached St. Louis, the conductor told him to get off.

I could go on with his stories. Sleeping in a single room with twenty other men. Founding the first Greek Orthodox church. Running a restaurant with his brothers. My immigrant heritage has always meant a great deal to me.

But it's not Ellis Island anymore. Some immigrants sneak into the country. Others overstay their visas. Traffickers often import humans from other countries for slave labor.

My grandfather came here legally. But the process was so much easier then. Landing at Ellis Island. Undergoing a basic physical exam. Get on the train, and you're on your way.

Now there is paperwork. And waiting. Fees. Many must consult lawyers.

One of the strongest arguments I've heard in the last several days against illegal immigration is that the immigrants don't pay taxes. They fail to contribute to the society.

So why don't we make immigration easier again? This country is large enough, physically, to accomodate thousands more. The low-paying jobs exist. If the immigrants are legal, they will pay taxes just like any other exploited American.

Without immigrants, this land would be both better and worse. Better, because if we go all the way back then it would still belong to the Native Americans. Worse, because if we focus on more recent history we can see the many contributions made by immigrants and the children of immigrants to this land.

When I taught social studies, I often began by showing my students two maps. First the physical map. This, I told them, is how Allah created the earth. Mountains and plains. Rivers and lakes. Then the political map. This, I said, is what man has done to the earth. Dividing into up into parcels of land and claiming ownership over something which does not truly belong to us. We, too, are temporary.

I vote for looking at earth the way Allah created it. No borders. No barriers. Oneness.