There has been a lot of talk about "making America great again." You know the ones. The phrase has a broad range of meaning to be sure, not all of it negative, but there can be little doubt that much of it has related to stopping the social, cultural, and racial melding that has been taking place in this country. The rhetoric that has emerged as a result of this phrase has disturbed me greatly. During my last semester before graduation, I read an essay written by a Muslim-American student that touched me deeply. In the essay, she had written about her experience growing up as a Muslim in a post-9/11 America. Islamophobia in our country has increased greatly since that horrifying event, with an entire religion and all of its adherents being held responsible for the violent actions of a few. This was reflected in her essay, with her at times expressing that there were moments in her life where she questioned whether or not she was American because of how others treated her. This is, of course, the vicious cycle that can sometimes lead to radicalization. We as a society still haven't realized that our words and actions can hurt, and marginalizing groups of people can sometimes transform them into the monsters we had imagined them to be. (In much the same way that a bullied child in school can develop emotional problems and someday lash out with violence.) Violence, of course, can never be justified. But it's important we, as a society, take responsibility for our actions as well. I felt it necessary to craft a response, to assure her that she was not alone and that she was indeed just as American as I was. Her story is my story, and my story is the story of many other Americans who come from minority backgrounds.

While I have not had the exact same struggles as her in a post-9/11 world, I too understand what it's like to grow up in America as a religious minority. In my case, being both Jewish and American is something that hasn't always been easy. Sometimes the values of each identity clash with one another and can be difficult to reconcile. (Add to this my identity as a gay man, and you have a recipe for a stew of internal chaos.) I myself am not religious, but I grew up in a Jewish family and had a Jewish education, so it is a large part of who I am. Ethnically and culturally, I am without a doubt a Jew. It is a part of my identity of which I am immensely proud. But this identity has always made me different from many of my peers and neighbors. I've been asked many times, even this past year, questions such as, "do you speak Jewish" and "do you celebrate Thanksgiving?" Most of the time there's no ill will behind the questions, but the ignorance is astounding and disheartening. ("Jewish" is not a language, and I am an American so yes, I indeed celebrate Thanksgiving.) These differences become especially noticeable during the holiday season when Christmas is everywhere but any representation of other holidays is seen, and vocally expressed, by many as a hostile takeover. I have never celebrated Christmas, nor has it ever been of much interest to me, and I have gotten odd looks whenever I try to explain this to people. For me, Christmas is just another day of the year. Our house stands out as the only one without decorative lights, to which some have taken insult. Any mention of "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas" is expressed by far too many as somehow wrong. (One needs only look at the ridiculous controversy over Starbuck's holiday cups.) And though the world has made great strides since the horrors of World War II, anti-Semitism is still alive and well, taking on new forms. I've known Jews who have been ridiculed for attending Jewish events on campus, and Jews who have had their kippahs torn from their head. I've known young Jews, including myself, who have been criticized over the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians, as if a bunch of young Americans somehow bear responsibility for the conflicts happening a world away. It's rare that I walk into a public bathroom stall and not find a swastika scrawled on the wall. Truth be told, one need only browse through an online chatroom, or even just the comments on a YouTube video, to see that hatred is still alive and well.

The point I'm trying to make is this: I understand. And you, who is reading this, certainly understand too. We understand one another more than we realize, and it is because of that understanding that I am able to say with the utmost of confidence that the young Muslim-American woman whose essay touched me so is undoubtedly American. I am America. And all of my peers reading this are Americans. America is a place where all sorts of people, cultures, and ideas come together and exist in unison. That's what makes it so great. Whether one is Muslim, Jewish, or Christian; whether one is male or female; whether one is gay or straight; no matter what our differences are, we can take comfort in our common identity as Americans. Once we all realize this and begin to have one another's backs; once we all love each other just as we are and not as we feel the other should be; that is when (and only when) America will truly be made great.