Thanksgiving is America's most unifying holiday. It is secular; it is national; it is largely free of commercialization and kitsch. No gifts, no cards, no costumes, no fireworks. All Americans, whether their state is red or blue, whatever their faith, celebrate Thanksgiving at the same time, in the same simple way—on the fourth Thursday in November, with a feast, at home, in the company of loved ones.

What is it that we are celebrating? Not a great battle or victory; not the life of a heroic figure; not a divine intervention in human affairs. We are celebrating another simple feast, 400 years ago, at the dawn of our modern history, shared by newcomers to these shores and long-time residents.

Who were these newcomers, and what brought them here? They were migrants, aliens, intruders. They arrived uninvited, unannounced, without passports or visas. They did not speak the inhabitants' language and, for the most part, never learned to do so. They did not share the inhabitants' race, religion or culture. No homes, relatives or jobs awaited them. And yet they came, fleeing persecution and seeking a better life for themselves and their children.