Mishpacha traveled to the Mexican border to put a human face on the crisis playing out just 500 feet from the US

Photos: Yossi Percia

On Site Report by Yochonon Donn, Tijuana, Mexico

Luis Morenas stared at me in disbelief when I asked why he left his homeland of Honduras to spend months in a Mexican shantytown waiting to cross the border into the United States.

“El presidente gave a promise on February 19 that this was going to be open,” he said simply, referring to President Joe Biden. “The president made a promise that he was going to help the immigrants. We are just waiting.”

During an extraordinary visit to Mexico to report on the crisis playing out just 500 feet from the United States, I got a firsthand view of that promise’s repercussions. Contrary to his administration’s denials, Biden’s liberalism, say the would-be immigrants themselves, has acted like a giant magnet drawing thousands to the Mexico-US border — and it’s unclear that the US has the resources to process these huddled masses seeking a better future. For now, they are waiting, in increasingly desperate conditions.

The Mexican border has long been a crisis for the United States, but never more so than during the past three months. Armed with a vaguely worded and misunderstood promise by Biden, hundreds of thousands of Central American immigrants have poured into this border crossing area, called El Chaparral, with bright hopes that Biden would keep his word.

But while everyone agrees these immigrants are suffering, there is sharp dissent in distant Washington, D.C., about the bigger issues surrounding their fate. How many immigrants should the US accept? Are they a threat to the job prospects of hardworking Americans? Are the thousands waiting to enter indeed refugees fleeing powerful Mafia clans — as they claim — or is there a sizable portion who are economic migrants in search of more lucrative working conditions? And however sorry their current plight, how much weight should the US give to the economic and political consequences of unrestricted immigration?

While the politicians and pundits battle out these questions, I set out to meet the human faces behind the issues. Most of the people I encountered are not seeking to enter the United States under the strict immigration quota system; instead they are seeking asylum, claiming that their countries of origin are unsafe.

I had been told that the migrants were suspicious of media and probably wouldn’t talk to me. But after I explained that I wanted to bring their story to Mishpacha’s American audience — Mishpacha means familia, I told them, earning a roll of understanding aahhs — they warmed up. They lined up for hours to tell me their stories, invited me to their tents, offered me the best hospitality they could muster — a chair to sit on — and shared with me their fears and hopes. All these people wanted was to be heard.

“This man,” one of the migrants who spoke English fluently told them, “wants to bring our story to America as a human story, not a political story.”

I was suddenly feeling more like a visiting celebrity than a reporter. Women asked me to bless them, and some asked for prayers for their sick relatives. Standing before the group, I sensed the tension inherent in our collective approach to the politics of immigration, as an increasingly Republican-leaning community, with our own very recent, painful experience looking for a safe refuge.

“Two generations ago,” I addressed the ragtag group of about two dozen people, “Jews were also in this situation, of nobody wanting us. We turned out pretty well in America. Now it’s your moment.”

“Gracias!” they called out, giving me an extended round of applause and shouts of “Whoo!”