Russian-speaking Jews knew all along that antizionism was a filthy, bigoted movement; after all, it was one of the forces that drove Soviet Jews out of the Soviet Union. Like all immigrants, Russian-speaking Jews met their American Jewish cousins with a mixture of admiration and disenchantment. They looked up to American Jews because they had drawn the roadmap, proof that in America, "zoological antisemitism" would not keep a Jew from succeeding. But when antizionism arrived in America, unabashed, out in the open, Russian-speaking Jews began to speak up and the disenchantment began to set in: instead of being heard, they were removed from the conversation. There is a story waiting to be told about the American Jewish response to Soviet Jews, and in many ways it is the story of the Ostjuden all over again: the "unrefined" Eastern European Jews whom their assimilated German cousins once met with embarrassment. American Jews were proud of the role they played in freeing Soviet Jewry. But once they had arrived, carrying their aversion to Marxism, feminism, Third-Worldism, and antizionism, that pride curdled into disdain. These were the Jews of rage who did not understand the value of holding seats at venerated tables or starting emails with "circling back." There are stories upon stories waiting to be told of how Russian-speaking Jews were met by the very people who had so enthusiastically helped to bring them to America. Russians are an emotional people. And, irony of ironies, for a people raised under censorship, Soviet Jews do not censor themselves . They find nothing rewarding in bureaucratic language. American Jews, by contrast, are of the polite sort. As one Russian-speaking Jew put it to me on a recent visit to Melbourne, Australia: "We are told by our Jewish leadership that we are not allowed to be angry. When we show anger, our Jewish leaders punish us by removing us from the conversation." That, in itself, is another story waiting to be told: the story of the Jews of rage. Few know that Elie Wiesel's Night began in Yiddish, as Un di Velt Hot Geshvign ("And the World Remained Silent") and was cut and reshaped almost beyond recognition on its way to the world in translation. Few publishers had an appetite for the original, a text steeped in vengeance. In English, Night is a story of redemption and renewal. In Yiddish, it is a story of revenge. Strange because somewhere along the way, diaspora Jews told themselves that to be heard, a Jew is not allowed to be angry. But other minorities? Their rage is justified. And many American Jews did more than justify it; they supported it and participated in it: the protests, the activism, and yes, the rioting. I often ask myself: what do we Russian-speaking Jews actually bring to the table? We may know the truth, but if we cannot translate it for a culture willing to listen, what is the point? For years we have been dismissed or vilified as "right-wingers," "reactionaries," and "racists." Do Russian-speaking Jews tend to vote conservative? Certainly. But perhaps there is a reason, and here the joke writes itself. These onion-loving, borscht-eating cousins arrived carrying the one credential our progressive culture venerates above all others: lived experience. We do not theorize about socialism from a seminar room; we lived it. We do not debate whether antizionism is criticism of the government or if it "crosses the line into antisemitism" because we know. By every rule of progressive epistemology, we should be the most listened-to Jews in America. Instead, many are dismissed. Recently, there is a movement to shed light on antizionism. And I am glad. But I am still struggling to understand why Jews are not allowed to be angry or put their needs first.