I come from tall, solemn-faced, olive-skinned ancestors. 
I come from oral histories,
hefty pinches of aromatic spices,
and spoonfuls of ancestry.
Israeli-American Jewish Ashkenazi Sephardic
These are words I use to describe myself 
 but all they do is scratch the surface of who I am.
The guttural sounds of my language roll smoothly off my tongue and remind me of what I miss most.
Home.
I come from migration — Spain to Morocco to Israel to America.
I carry an invisible passport, one that marks the weight of the flights my ancestors have taken.
I feel it course through my veins, seeing the world through their pain.
I come from a short phrase that carries such meaning:
“You are my soul.”  נשמה שלי
I come from so much but they only see what they expect.
I am erased because I do not fit perfectly into their boxes. 
I come from vast deserts and clear beaches.
I come from rose water and soft fabrics.
I come from resilient people: music lovers, fear-bearers, beautiful souls, intelligent minds and kind smiles. 
I am all that they were and have been.