Y’all, this is Texas. And, much to my surprise and the surprise of everyone who knows me, my family and I live here now. We joke that it makes perfect sense: Where else would a progressive Jewish vegetarian Canadian-British east coast family move right before a historic election where democracy itself is on the line? The move has been hard, but thanks to the warmth and welcome of the amazing Jewish community here, it’s also been easier than we ever could have hoped.
Look, obviously we’re not that surprised that there have been some struggles. We did, in a matter of months, pack up our house of 16 years, find and register for a new Jewish day school, rent a house and drive cross-country to Dallas, a city I’d been to exactly once before and in which I (sort of, from Twitter) knew one person. It all happened very fast: I got an amazing job offer and was given two weeks to decide, so we squeezed in a quick Shabbat visit to the community (where we stayed with the cousins of friends because of course) and spent our 9-hour drive from Philadelphia to Toronto for Passover debating this huge life move.
It was a lot to deal with in a very little amount of time. And to be honest (as you might have gathered) Dallas had never been on our fantasy list of potential cities. There was the weather (my husband is British and his ideal conditions are gray and rainy); the lack of comprehensive public transportation or urban Jewish communities, and we were a one-car family (not anymore, but at least we went electric); the lack of access to reproductive health care (Vote! Vote! Vote!); and an overall distinctly different sensibility to our east coast bubble. Moving from our beloved home and community was one thing. Moving to Texas was another thing entirely.
And yet, we took the plunge. It was a hard decision and a hard move, and we are still adjusting. All the challenges we anticipated were accurate, and they are significant. It’s not easy (even as it is exciting and change can be good) for anyone to start a new life. But even amongst the hard things, there is a whole lot of unexpected joy and generosity that has made everything easier.
I wasn’t kidding when I said that I sort of knew one person and one person only in Dallas. When we started considering the move, I emailed her, reintroducing myself and asking if she’d mind sharing some pointers about the city and Jewish life, institutions and neighborhoods. She called me two minutes later and spent a huge amount of time answering the questions I knew to ask, and helping me formulate the ones I didn’t. Now I not only had a friend; I was soon to learn, I had a community. It was she who set up air mattresses for us in our rental so that we didn’t arrive (at 1 a.m.) to an empty house with nowhere to sleep. She stocked our fridge and pantry. And she put us on the “newcomers” list so that we had Shabbat invitations for the next few weeks and more offers of meals than we could handle.
She is amazing, but it wasn’t only her. Dallas has a strong and historic Jewish community, but it is also growing at a rapid pace with transplants from across the U.S. and Canada. Dallas Jews know how to welcome. Southern hospitality is real. Southern Jewish hospitality is next level. There are the predictable things: our next door neighbors immediately dropped by with cookies (store-bought to respect kashrut differences); everyone with a cousin or friend or uncle in Dallas put us in touch and they all offered to help and answer questions; the kids’ school sent an email welcoming us with our contact information and organized mentor families with same-age kids to ease the transition. That’s all wonderful, and exactly what Jewish communities have always done. That’s how community works.
But there’s something else here. An understanding, on the one hand, of what it means to be new, and a commitment, on the other, to making people feel like they belong and have a place. I am sure that other Jewish communities are equally warm and welcoming, but I just don’t know: This is the first time I’ve moved with three kids and no ties to a place that isn’t quite a foreign country (though I’ve done that three times) but sometimes wishes it were or fancies itself to be. The cultural gaps are meaningful and significant. So are the cultural ties.
We’ve made other friends and other connections outside the Jewish community, and we will continue to nurture and grow those ties. It’s just a bit harder, especially with kids outside the toddler phase (when all parents are desperate for adult interaction and everyone at the playground is a potential friend for you and them) and in a more suburban setting. (A bit more space is nice, but it does make it harder to know your neighbors when you don’t literally share a wall and package pirates with them.) Moving into a tightknit Jewish community means that from sort of knowing one person a few months ago, I am now dropping off meals regularly and am on more WhatsApp groups than I can handle. Our “people we know in Dallas” spreadsheet went from one to 40 in a few weeks, and we’ve stopped adding to it. It’s now just an address book.
The truth is that my experience is not unique. People move all the time, and it’s fine. People make friends, get connected and manage their lives. But without a Jewish community, all those things are just a little (or a lot!) harder. I don’t know what that’s like, and honestly? I’m extremely grateful that I won’t have to find out.
