How do we define “danger”? Is it possible? How do cultural differences come into play? The dangers I find as a resident of New York are different from the ones I heard of prior to my immigration. My Israeli friends claimed that certain death would await those who broke the “dawn curfew,” my grandma believed that foreign ideals would find no refuge in this epitome of “western corruption,” and yet all I’m wary of, as a New Yorker, is of being consumed by an insatiable drive to succeed. In my attempt to illustrate each one of those perspectives I realized that danger cannot be looked at as a universal term, but is, in fact, in the eye of the beholder.

Discussing cultures can be a slippery slope as it is impossible to do without some generalizations. So before I begin, I think it is important to stress that my personal experiences are not a representation of an entire culture, rather an illustration of how cultural differences lead to very different interpretations of danger. My insight on Israeli and Russian perceptions of dangers in America is highly influenced by the fact that I had the fortune, or perhaps the misfortune, of always being on the outside looking in: In Moscow I was a Jew, in Israel I was a Russian, and in New York, well, it’s hard to say, and if you’re a New Yorker you understand.

I was born in Moscow on January 4th, 1984. Russia in the 80’s was still very much behind the “iron curtain,” and as a family of doctors, we enjoyed the benefits of the well–oiled “you scratch my back, I’ll write you a doctor’s note” machine. The apartment was large and the location was great. “How can anyone in your position feel unsafe?”, my mom’s childhood friends were asking rhetorically. How could they understand? After all, their ethnic background excluded them from experiencing Soviet Russia in the same way we did; even if ever so hushed, anti-Semitism was as prevalent in our neighborhood as in any part of the city. As bad as it was for all Jews, the discrimination we experienced, ironically, was amplified by our economic status; racism feeds on frustration, and while basic livelihood was often out of reach, frustration was abundant and free. In kindergarten there was a vigorous effort to make sure the Jewish kids were not wronging the Russian kids; interestingly, even though we were all of the same age, there was no need in actual complaints since the Russian kids were “too young” and “too naive”. Well, they certainly lost their gullibility as early as first grade – in that single year I was in as many fights as in all my teenage years. My family dealt with anti-Semitism throughout their lives, but for my mom it finally reached the tipping point – she decided to leave her privileged life, defy Soviet immigration law, and smuggle her 6-year-old son out of the country. As crazy as it already seemed, when her friends found out that Israel, of all places, was our destination, they all thought she lost her mind. A scrap of land amid an ocean of enemies, the Gulf War still lingering in the air, terrorism as an everyday threat, all in exchange for a plentiful upper class life – no one she knew would ever understand. Unless, of course, they were Jewish.

As we arrived, we were surprised to learn that Israelis failed to rise above, the discrimination we dealt with in Russia; they were wary of newcomers, and at times quite aggressive towards people outside of their segregated circles. And yet, for us, intolerance was no longer the threat it used to be, as it paled in comparison to a whole new animal: terrorism. Unfortunately, terrorism is embedded in the Israeli culture: I was allowed to miss a class if I had to get off the bus earlier at a sight of a suspicious man, I saw as many armed soldiers there as I see cabs in Manhattan, I had my bag checked everywhere, even in a supermarket. It is habituated to such an extent, that it is treated as no more of a danger as driving in New York City once you have gotten used to it. Perhaps this perspective is shared by a number of cultures where peace is long overdue; nonetheless, most free nations would have had a different reaction had they been exposed to some of the realities Israelis face on a daily basis.

Israelis are so preoccupied with war and terrorism that it leaves them somewhat inexperienced in dealing with crime – murder, rape, robbery, mafia, and gang violence, are simply not things that Israelis worry about in their everyday life. Perhaps this is why the infamous reality of NYC during the 80’s as Malcolm Gladwell described it, when “the city’s crime problem reached epidemic proportions”(180), has lingered in the minds of Israelis well into the turn of the century. Even when nearly two dozen of my fellow schoolmates were blown to pieces while standing in line to celebrate our graduation in Israel, those who shared my loss still could not fathom how I could move to a city where they would have never dared to come outside past sunset.

As we immigrated to the US we, to quote my grandma, “were lucky to come out alive.” To my amazement the shelf life of this gratitude proved to be rather short. Nearly 20% of Israeli citizens are immigrants from the former Soviet Union, thus losing the Russian ideals, or the Russian language was never a danger in Israel; however, it became a very real threat in New York. My grandma does not believe in Soviet culture as blindly as many, but she accepts and cherishes it for better and for worse. She is terrified of having “westernized” great-grandchildren with whom she won’t be able to speak. She demonizes the West, capitalism, and the materialism it breeds; she praises socialism, insinuating it teaches people to value “the simple things in life,” and to judge others by their virtues, not their economic status. This unspoken forgiveness, and embrace of the Soviet culture, is absolutely mind blowing in the context of the Jewish experience in Soviet Russia; and our personal experience outlines the absurdity even further. We can see what a potent role my grandma’s cultural association played in shaping her awareness of danger.

Perhaps due to my extensive exposure to all three cultures I enjoy the luxury of taking most of the aforementioned dangers with a grain of salt. Today, my greatest fear is becoming one of those New Yorkers who lives for the sake of working, and not the other way around. As I moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan the pace of life increased, something I thought wasn’t possible. Since starting college I find myself studying through weekends, and, admittedly, not always for anything but the sake of being able to earn a good living, and then some. I’m afraid to get caught up in a bitterly ironic cycle of tirelessly working for the sake of my family, while, at the same time, depriving them of invaluable attention and quality time. My greatest danger lies within what many, including myself, see as New York’s most prominent attribute – a plethora of business opportunities along with “sky is the limit” mentality.

These multicultural experiences have taught me that perceptions of danger are highly subjective. Just as Billingsley and Gore are wrong in their respective opinions, as they fail to acknowledge the incredible relativity of violence, it would be wrong to label a city like New York as dangerous or not. Doing so would be dismissive of a diverse demographic composition of people along with their subjective realities and outlooks on life. As for myself, I am delighted that New York is not dangerous enough for me to uproot my family and move again; unless it’s out to the suburbs after having worked myself to near death.