He was a poor, scared little boy, sent here all alone, on a boat, by parents who did not want him to live under the tyranny, despair and lack of liberty so typical in Russia. This ``orphan'' was my grandfather, Joseph Warshawsky; the year was 1900.

 My father chose to shorten the name to Warshaw. With his surname, my mother had been unable to get anything but a minimum-wage. Yet she was able to get a job as a teacher once she reverted to her maiden name, Peters. To New Yorkers at the time, Peters sounded less ``ethnic.'' And as Julius Warshaw, my father also became a school teacher and, later, school principal.

 Now, a couple of generations later, you'd never know that my ancestors were poor immigrants who came to this country as kids, having lost homeland and parents.

 When I arrived in Miami in 1971, I, too, felt alone and out of place -- particularly when I was called ``Jew Boy'' in the police academy. One day, responding to a call about vandalism in Little Havana, an elderly Cuban answered the door greeting me as if she was my Jewish grandmother, ``Officer Warshaw, come in, eat.'' That was my introduction to black beans and rice, and the warmth and affection of the Cuban community.

 I am fascinated with Miami, where American success stories take place before my eyes.

 In the 1970s, it was evident that Cuban immigration was propelling our sleepy town into an international banking and business center. Like other immigrants, Cubans had arrived with little money. But they had packed their intellect, professions and determination, moving it all intact across the Florida Straits.

 So why, you may ask, do I now choose to come forward with my personal story and feelings? Because we have come such a long way, it is painful to see us moving backward.

 The national media is portraying Miami as a violent place, airing images of people breaking through a barricade in a seemingly staged event. Yet demonstrations in Miami have been peaceful and consistent with the ``free expression'' that historically in America leads to positive change. Perhaps the national media confuses community passion with violence.

 A SYMBOL OF SUFFERING

 A little boy came into our midst and became a symbol for the suffering of an entire country, Cuba, where many people now in Miami spent five, 10, 15 or 20 years unjustly imprisoned. The national media doesn't seem to grasp the reasons for the unity of the Cuban population in Miami. Theirs is a memory lapse that erases generations of history of Jewish, Italian, Polish and many other immigrant families.

 Elian Gonzalez has provided an irresistible opportunity for Cuban immigrants to rally. His saga has the markings of a spiritual fantasy for a nation of exiles who believe their cause has taken a political back seat in America. Many would like to see Cuba free before they die, and many are running out of time. Again, do not confuse their passion with violence.

 Let us recognize that in Miami our strength is in effect our diversity.

 I want to eat black beans, matzo-ball soup, pasta al dente. I want to sip a cup of Cuban coffee with my Latin wife correcting my muddled attempts at conversing in Spanish. I want to look forward to an Argentinian steak or a Brazilian feijoada.

 All, by the way, conveniently available within a five-minute drive from my home.

 While Americans watch the daily events unfold in Miami, let us not forget that our city (105 years young) is experiencing the natural growing pains that have played out in Boston, New York, Chicago, Pittsburgh and many more American cities.

 As we enter the 21st Century, Elian Gonzalez is causing us all to reflect on who we are, how we got here and how blessed we are to be here . . . Gracias, Miami.

                     Copyright 2000 Miami Herald