I am not afraid of immigrants. After all, my father was an immigrant, having escaped with his family from the Soviet Union at great risk as a 10-year-old. Their reason for fleeing to the U.S. was no different than that of most immigrants we are seeing today at our southern border — persecution. My dad’s family settled in New York where he learned English and entered public school.

Growing up in an orthodox Jewish family in Columbus, Ohio, I learned a great deal about religious persecution in both Sunday school and Hebrew school. After all, we Jews had been oppressed for 2,000 years for rejecting Christianity and we were only two decades removed from the Holocaust. Yes, I was taught about how the Nazi Party came to power in 1930’s Germany and how they persecuted all non-Aryan minorities, especially the Jews.

My parents taught me, as a member of a persecuted minority, that it was incumbent on us to oppose discrimination in all its forms. I learned firsthand about the treatment of African Americans during the 1950s when we traveled through the South to visit relatives in Miami. I was shocked to see white and black motels, restrooms and even drinking fountains. My parents answered my questions with an explanation and the hope that this kind of discrimination would be brought to an end. Although we have passed numerous laws that have banned discrimination against African Americans, it continues in numerous ways to this day.

When I was in high school and college during the 1960’s, there were no gay, lesbian or transgender people. This, of course, is false; the reality is that these people hid away their differences for fear of being singled out and bullied. I do not recall knowing anything about these “abnormalities” at the time; I certainly did not grasp the reasons for their differences. Over time, however, people began to understand the reality of what came to be known as the LGBTQ community. This change in attitude by most Americans came partly in the same way that we altered our mindset about discrimination against African Americans — through protests and lobbying. Personally, my predisposition to oppose discrimination against minorities helped me to accept LGBTQ rights such as gay and lesbian marriage.

As an aside, I recommend the novel “Middlesex” by Jeffrey Eugenides, which opened my eyes to the plight of those born into a body that does not match their sexual identity.

To be clear, it never occurred to me that my upbringing was unique; everyone with whom I associated was predisposed to oppose discrimination against minorities. Sure, I understood that there were white supremacists, but they appeared to be a very small minority. By the time lesbian and gay marriage became legal a decade ago, I assumed that most people accepted that this was a simple issue of equal rights for people whose sexual orientation diverted from the norm.

Recently, it has come to my attention that my upbringing and values has made me the enemy, at least to Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida, a leading Republican presidential candidate. Yes, I was clearly raised to be “woke” and Gov. DeSantis has stated that woke is the enemy. Here, I had thought that most Americans opposed discrimination against minorities and now I am worried.

There is good news, though. A USA Today/Ipsos poll released in March found that most Americans are inclined to see the word “woke” as a positive attribute, not a negative one. Fifty-six percent of people surveyed in the poll said the term means “to be informed, educated on, and aware of social injustices.” Woke certainly seems to be a positive attribute.

No, I am not afraid of immigrants, but I am fearful of attacks on woke as, at least in Florida, this has translated into discrimination against both minorities and immigrants. This could easily become the future of our country.

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