No Place Like Home

I was born and raised in New Jersey. Just like Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi. That's where I learned to ride a bike, spent humid summers playing kickball, and built snow forts every winter with my sister and brother in our yard. But the place where I was born and raised is quite different from the place where I'm from. I'm from here. From Northern California. Where the winter rains are having some difficulty receding this year, but when they do the brilliant spring sun shines and warms the earth. Where the wonderfully cool fog continues to have its way with us, spreading itself out like a cozy blanket over the tops of apartment buildings and street lamps on the streets of San Francisco.

Yes, this is definitely where I'm from.

It's already been 2 months since Passover and I'm having trouble letting it go. But then again, why should I let it go? This most famous tale in Jewish history (I mean, c'mon, there's a movie) is resplendent with reminders of social injustices that are still relevant today; for sure a story that calls Bad Jews everywhere to spring into action. Yet my reason for clinging to Passover is surprisingly not the incredulous truth that slavery and genocide still exist today. Or that people living in my own neighborhood are being denied the basic human rights of shelter or food. What I'm thinking about still is this: What does it mean to be home?

Did the Jews who left Egypt no longer say they were FROM Egypt? Were they FROM the desert? After settling in Israel did the Jews who visited Egypt say they were going "home" to visit the fam for a few weeks of vacay? Even though my identity as a resident is here in Northern California, does it mean that my New Jersey roots have been gutted from my soul? No way. You can take the girl away from The Boss but you can't...well, you get my point.

So, here's my latest question for you, my fellow Bad Jews: How do you identify your place of belonging?

Not so simple a question to answer. Is it where you were born and spent your summers? Or is it where your heart always knew you belonged? We move around for so many reasons. Some of us move for new jobs, for true love, for a more affordable cost of living. Some move because we want to belong to a community that needs what we have to offer or because we want to learn another culture.

For some, it's like love at first sight: we know it when we see it and we feel it immediately. For others it's the comfort and familiarity of family that draw us to the place we call home. This "calling" and our calling to save the world are very much tied together, leading me to the Part Two of my question, which is: Where do we begin?

I am constantly struggling with how to translate global issues into local issues - I have to save the world by starting in my own backyard. With this comes the humbling admission that I don't know enough about what my own community needs. Is there hunger here? Yes. Is there homelessness here? Yes. And here's my dirty secret, which is now clearly no longer a secret: it's actually scarier to tackle local community issues than it is to take on the injustices of the world at-large. Because they are here. And they're in my face, staring at me every day and challenging me to change them. What if I can't change them? What if I suck at it? But that's just me.

San Francisco is my home and there are a million reasons I can name for why this is. But just like I carry the shared history of Passover within my soul every day, I also carry kickball games in humid summers and Jon Bon Jovi's shaggy mane. And I can choose to make changes here, there, or even farther away. And moreover, sometimes taking a reflective moment to remember who I am and where I'm at can make all the difference in the differences that I decide to make in the world.

As REM so eloquently put it, "stand in the place where you live." Seriously, my fellow Bad Jews, do it. Stand. And breathe. Think about where you are, where you come from, and where you're going.

Now get back to it, even if you decide to change your game plan.