The fences bordering ranches in Laramie, Wyoming are always dotted with tumbleweed, that pesky, thorny, seemingly dead bush that blows around the prairie, getting caught on anything in its way. It is an iconic symbol of the American West, but it is actually an imported species from Eurasia, named Russian thistle. Like the tumbleweed, I, too, blew into Laramie in 1978 by way of Russia (or at least my Russian heritage), New York and North Carolina, crisscrossing the country as my husband pursued his higher education.
My Jewish identity was rooted in my childhood, growing up in the 1950s in Queens. My neighborhood was bookended by two Conservative synagogues, and in between there were Jewish-owned delis, bakeries and candy stores. All my parents’ friends were Jewish, and all my friends were Jewish, too, at least until I met Catholics in junior high school.
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