As a Hispanic Jew, I don’t have the luxury of anti-Zionism

“Are you Spanish, or are you Jewish?”

Growing up in an American suburb, I was asked that question any time I would pick up the phone to talk to my parents. In hindsight, most people who asked didn’t really know what being “Spanish” actually meant, other than someone who spoke Spanish.

“I’m both,” I would always say. “I’m Uruguayan-American and Jewish.”

“Well, you don’t look Uruguayan,” was the predictable response.

When I moved to the U.S. from Uruguay as a child, I was forced to navigate between three different identities, and to weave together their intersections: I was Hispanic, whatever that meant; I was Jewish; and, while I hated admitting it as a kid, I was American too.

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