When my great-grandparents arrived from Hungary and settled in Philadelphia, they did something that would puzzle many Americans today. They tried to lose their accents. They spoke less Yiddish at home. They wanted their children to sound like Americans.

They never forgot who they were. Hungarian food stayed on the table, the old language in their ears, and they remained proudly, observantly Jewish. They were not embarrassed by where they came from, but they did not regard America as merely a place to live. They believed it was a nation to join. That distinction lies at the heart of today’s immigration debate.

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