Immigrants forgot what it means to be an immigrant.

The Jewish story of immigration serves as a model often neglected by more recent immigrants.

For many recent immigrants in the West, nostalgia for the immigrant experience is surprisingly rare. (photo: Metin Ozer/Unsplash)

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My maternal grandfather had a rough upbringing, to say the least.

His parents immigrated from the Russian Empire to the United States in the early 1900s. They arrived on the East Coast, got on a train, and ended up in Worcester, Massachusetts because that is how far the train traveled and they had no other choice but to get off at this last stop.

When my grandfather was 7 years old, his father died. The remaining family was so poor that my grandfather had to share the same bed with his mother well into his teenage years.

Then came World War Two, and my grandfather was drafted into an infantry unit stationed in Southeast Asia. He suffered a mental breakdown and was honorably discharged. Upon returning to the United States, he earned a degree from UCLA, became a certified public accountant in Los Angeles, and went on to develop a very successful accounting practice, which in turn led to various entrepreneurial endeavors — including major real estate projects and a stint as CEO of RB Furniture, a publicly traded company at the time.

Because my grandfather put in the work and bought into “the American way” — while still proudly holding onto his Jewish and Zionist identity — his two daughters (including my mother) and their children have been able to enjoy rather fortunate lives, even as all of us have continued in my grandfather’s footsteps to work hard and be productive members of American society.

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It has been said that nostalgia is a generational trait, passed down with pride and polished like a family heirloom.

But for many recent immigrants in the West, nostalgia for the immigrant experience — the true grit, sacrifice, and gradual assimilation — is surprisingly rare. We live in an era where the romanticized narrative of an immigrant “rags-to-riches” story has transformed into an assumption of entitlement.

Today, by and large, the immigrant experience is expected to yield immediate rewards, often without the burden of integration, adaptation, or even a nuanced understanding of the new country. The mindset seems to suggest, “We have arrived, so hand us the keys.” Yet, if there’s a successful blueprint for the immigrant experience, one need look no further than the Jewish communities in countries like the United States, Canada, and Australia.

The Jewish story of immigration — one of patience, perseverance, and commitment to future generations — serves as a model often neglected by more recent immigrants. For over a century, Jewish immigrants who arrived on the shores of Western countries endured hardship, discrimination, and a scarcity of opportunities. Unlike the immediate access to welfare, legal protections, or jobs that some newcomers today expect, these communities faced adversity with the long game in mind.

In the United States, for instance, Jews were unapologetically barred from joining country clubs and often encountered discrimination in housing, employment, and education, with quotas limiting their access to certain universities and social institutions. Still, their strategy was multi-generational: Plant roots, grow them deep, and flourish over time, no matter how many decades it took.

Jewish immigrants to Western countries in the early 20th century understood that assimilation did not mean abandoning identity, but rather creating bridges between two worlds. Instead of demanding instant recognition or special accommodations, Jewish immigrants focused on resilience, education, and work ethic. They were deeply invested in learning the languages, customs, and structures of their host countries. Schools and synagogues became havens where the importance of contributing to society was taught alongside the preservation of Jewish heritage.

Fast forward to today, and one can sense a shift in the ethos of the immigrant journey. Many newcomers arrive in Western nations, and rather than the painstaking, calculated climb that defined the previous century of Jewish and other immigrant experiences, they often appear eager to fast-track to “success.” The result? An entitled, “jump-the-line” mentality that not only stirs resentment but misses the point of what immigration used to mean: starting at the bottom, accepting modest beginnings, and trusting that, with effort and sacrifice, the rewards would come in time.

Of course, some will argue that this shift is the product of progress — that the West now provides ample opportunities for immigrants to integrate more easily, so why not skip the hardship? But therein lies the flaw: It is precisely through hardship and sacrifice that immigrants traditionally built both personal and communal strength.”

Without “proving” to your peers that you belong in your new country of residence, you risk not assimilating and becoming productive members of society (not just economically, but also socially and culturally). The overall Jewish experience across the West exemplifies that success is best built incrementally, with each generation paving the way for the next, rather than demanding instant access to the rewards at the destination.

Take the Jewish immigrants who landed in Canada, for instance, with barely a penny in their pockets and straddled with institutional prejudice. They did not clamor for immediate acceptance. Instead, they rolled up their sleeves and worked in garment factories, sold wares from pushcarts, and saved every spare cent to send their children to universities.

And through this, they were not just fighting for survival; they were investing in a future that extended beyond themselves. Many Jewish families remained in working-class jobs, knowing their sacrifices would be their children’s ticket to a better life. Today, they have made indelible marks on fields like academia, business, medicine, and law — an accomplishment that spanned generations, not a single visa approval.

The Jewish communities in Australia faced similar obstacles. Like the United States and Canada, Australia was not particularly welcoming to Jewish immigrants at first. Nonetheless, the Jewish population slowly established itself, often starting as small business owners and peddlers, gradually gaining influence in communities. With time, their patience and perseverance culminated in a significant cultural and intellectual presence. It was a strategy of learning, contributing, and adapting — not asking, demanding, and expecting.

Never mind that quite a few of these Jewish immigrants were Holocaust survivors shouldering unimaginable trauma, grief, and loss. They arrived with little more than their resilience and determination to rebuild. Despite this, they focused on integrating, contributing, and creating a stable life. Their success was hard-won, grounded in values of community, education, and perseverance, rather than any mythical privilege or special treatment.

(Fun fact: At one point, Australia had the world’s largest population of Holocaust survivors.)

And yet, many of today’s immigrants to Western countries look down on the Jews for being a successful minority there. They propagate conspiracy theories about hidden influence, financial control, or secret agendas that obscure the historical resilience, community support, and dedication to education which have contributed to success for Jews as a minority group (on the whole).

In essence, there is a meaningful difference between immigrants expecting a place at the table versus immigrants earning a seat by building the table itself. This is a distinction that Jewish immigrant communities unquestionably understood, respected, and embraced.

By climbing slowly, they knew that they were forging stronger foundations which could withstand the tests of prejudice, hardship, and cultural or societal resistance. This approach not only laid the groundwork for their success but also earned them the respect of their host societies, creating a unique and productive relationship that benefited everyone involved.

To those immigrants who have forgotten what it means to be an immigrant, perhaps it is time to revisit the blueprint. Immigrant success does not come as a right; it comes as a reward for the courage to step forward; for the patience to bide one’s time; and for the humility to learn, contribute, and grow within a society rather than demanding immediate acknowledgment.

The Jewish story in the West serves as a testament to the virtue of resilience, the power of delayed gratification, and the importance of generational sacrifice. To forget this is not only to under-appreciate all the positive that emanates from the immigrant journey, but to mistakenly accept groups of immigrants who have no interest in buying into the greater good of their new country.

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