Stranger in a strange land

I am the son of immigrant parents. Growing up I resented the fact that my parents spoke English poorly, that they were often clueless about life in this country, about the fact that I often wound up explaining things to them that they should have been explaining to me.

Now I am watching my son thriving in school, picking up Hebrew and davenning and realizing that in a few years he will be fluent in it, and he will be like the guys in shul that buzz through their prayers while I stammer through mine. His brain a sponge, mine already a rock.

In the orthodox community, I am now an immigrant. Hoping to give a better life to my children. Knowing that I will never be truly at home. Karma.