Community

It has not been a secret on this blog that I have felt a bit of anxiety over my move away from Manhattan. While I love our new house, it has been harder than I thought leaving NYC for the suburbs. Even though I commute to Manhattan every day for work, it is not my place anymore, and that has been a bit of a shock for me to absorb.

But every day it feels a little more like home.

One of the reasons we chose White Plains when we were deciding where to move was the Jewish community. I don't speak much about this on my blog, but we are Orthodox Jews, so it was important to us to find a place to live with a synagogue where we would feel comfortable, and a place where we would want to raise a family. And White Plains, just 20 miles north of Manhattan, fit the bill.

And our thoughts about this community were confirmed when I got home from work yesterday.

When I walked in the front door to my house, already rushing to get everything done that I needed to do before Shabbat began, I found a "welcome basket" from my new community. The basket itself contained wine and challah for Shabbat, and information about the synagogue and the area.

And then, the doorbell rang. And kept on ringing every five minutes until Shabbat started half an hour later. And each time the doorbell rang, it was another member of our new community bringing us another part of the dinner that they had all collaborated to make for us. Every time I opened the door someone else was standing there with a foil covered dish and a smile, welcoming us to the neighborhood.

They hadn't yet met us, didn't know us at all. Yet they knew that we had moved in, were new to the community, and had a kitchen under construction. They all took time away from their own families and their own dinners to make something for us, relative strangers.

That is community.

Our community.