This past Friday, I arrived late to a Shabbat dinner - at around 9 pm - just as everybody was starting to gather for prayers and the meal. As we began to pass around the dishes - kale salad, roasted chicken - our gracious host gave us that night’s discussion questions. We were asked to share the last time we cried. I knew exactly when it had happened.
It had happened a week before, while I was sitting on the bed with my mom in Long Island. We were there for a family celebration. I shared with her that I don’t think I can live in San Francisco anymore - not now, and likely not ever.
“Mom,” I said. “I can’t live in a place where people view me as evil and dumb.” As she listened, tears came to her eyes as well. She understood. I went deeper.
“Asking someone like me—someone who considers herself to be religious and politically conservative—to live in San Francisco, it’d be like asking someone gay to live in a red state. In San Francisco, I feel judged, looked down upon, for the deepest parts of who I am. How can I build a family somewhere where people quietly resent what I hold dear?” She tried to protest, saying that things are changing, but there was no point. My mind is made up—at least for now.
While many people I deeply love and respect live happily and authentically in San Francisco’s culture, over the past few years, I’ve come to realize it simply wasn't aligned with my deeper sense of self. Leaving was incredibly difficult (and slowly drawn out). There was sadness, uncertainty, even grief. But arriving in New York opened up possibilities I never could have anticipated.
The first and simplest of these changes was walking. I started walking in Central Park every single morning, and this routine soon became a joyful rhythm of my daily life. Often, as I head out the door, a song pops into my head: “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” by Mister Rogers. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, won’t you be mine…?” I started walking a few miles a day, then more than a few miles. Now, a 6 or 7-mile day feels normal. When you must walk to buy groceries, it adds up quickly…
Next - Judaism - and not just any Judaism - Synagogue-attending, Torah-studying, full throttle Judaism. I have come to embrace my roots in a way I never could have imagined. This past December, I attended nearly two dozen Jewish events (Hannukah is no joke here). I visited about 15 shuls. I found one I love. I became a member. This is not my parents’ shul. It’s mine.
This past November, I registered as a Republican. Not because I wanted to vote for Trump (I did not) - not because I hate the Democrats (I do not) - but because I felt called to lean in. If my greatest desire for our nation is a return to Moderation, then I have to spend some time on “the other side”. Not just “conserva-curious” - but a registered Republican. I will write more about this in the coming weeks, but for now, let me just share -- this would have been unthinkable to me while living in San Francisco just a few years ago. I saw it as social suicide. When I tell people there that I am a registered Republican, the looks of shock are bone-chilling.
I have started wearing dresses and skirts… Not just on warm days, but on chilly ones as well. This past winter, I wore a dress or skirt almost every single day (with tights). In San Francisco, 95% of my outfits included jeans or leggings. Today, all my fleeces remain neatly hanging in San Francisco closets. My floral dresses and skirts rarely get packed when I visit…
In New York, I have gotten more in touch with my feminine spirit. I’ve started wearing lipstick. I smile at strangers. They smile back. It is not uncommon for me to hear “Good morning..!” multiple times as I pass construction workers, and local doormen on my morning walk. Yesterday, I think eight people wished me a good morning in the thirty seconds between my door and the Central Park gates. In San Francisco, in my experience, most people just walk by…
At the dog park in San Francisco, most dogs are with their owners. They will be playing fetch or sitting alongside them. As Ori and I pass other dogs on the street, about a fifth of the time, there is an issue. People hold their dogs close, away from the middle of the sidewalk, and shoot me an apologetic look -- “Sorry! He is a bit anxious!” -- the dogs often seem a bit under-socialized… In New York, if you aren’t in a hurry, it’s customary to let the dog stop and say hello. As they sniff one another’s tushes, owners often drop casual small talk and banter, “What a cute collar! Is your dog a Goldendoodle? Hey, no humping without a prenup!”
I don’t intend to disparage San Francisco; it pains me to criticize a place I've loved so deeply and that shaped me into the person I am today. In fact, I used to say that nobody loves San Francisco more than I do. Today, though, I’m not so sure. There is something about the culture that is rubbing me the wrong way. I have started referring to the problem as the “God-shaped hole” in San Francisco. In a city filled with liberal secular atheists—something feels missing.
For weeks I've grappled with what exactly this missing piece is, and though I find it challenging to precisely define, my early hypothesis is this: in a city where almost nobody believes in God, alternative forms of worship subtly creep in. The religion of "hustle culture" and associated practices of “Zoom & Stream”. The religion of food (organic, local, sustainable). The religion of plant medicine (psychedelics), and self-care (Huberman protocols, longevity). Many San Franciscans pledge their loyalty toward their favorite yoga studio, yet cannot fathom setting foot in a church or shul...
Perhaps this absence of spirituality—a lack of connection to something transcendent—leaves people adrift, perpetually seeking meaning in secular substitutes: politics, wellness, consumerism, activism, therapy. And maybe this search isn't simply neutral; perhaps it actively contributes to deeper feelings of dissatisfaction, anxiety, and emotional distress.
Increasingly, I notice many people in the broader Bay Area community experiencing anxiety, stress, and subtle feelings of emptiness. I've wondered if perhaps, for some, the absence of traditional spiritual frameworks contributes to a deeper struggle to find meaning and fulfillment. When meaning and fulfillment are pursued primarily through secular pathways such as politics, activism, wellness, or therapy, is it possible this search might sometimes feel exhausting or even emotionally draining?
I've asked myself repeatedly: what happens in a culture predominantly shaped by highly educated, secular progressives—people who, broadly speaking, tend to view religion as outdated or unnecessary? How much of my personal discomfort with San Francisco’s culture might be rooted in this fundamental difference in worldview? Is that why I've often felt I don’t fully belong?
Last year, I re-read 1984. In the book, women and men wear the same clothes (uniforms) - the goal being to reduce romantic tension between the sexes - to create an equalizing effect. In a city where most people wear jeans, sneakers and fleeces, most of the time, where does the polarity between the sexes go? Is this what happens when progressives & liberals dictate the social norms without challenge?
New York City is highly progressive as well (we are currently at risk of electing a Socialist as mayor)… But the city includes many pockets of political diversity. Huge swaths of New York lean conservative, both politically and religiously. Orthodox Jews, Staten Island working class, Catholic/Hispanic communities in the Bronx, and Queens. While Manhattan itself (and especially my neighborhood, The Upper West Side) is filled with lefties, the city is not just catering to their ilk. The working class (police, construction workers, firefighters) leans strongly towards the Right. There are churches and synagogues all over town. This city, to me, feels filled with God.
In San Francisco, I feel God too, but more sporadically. Usually I find God when leaving the city, out in nature - in the trees of Mount Tamalpais, or listening to the crashing waves down at Ocean Beach. Many San Franciscans spend their weekends hiking, or at yoga, or the farmer’s market. The religions of the West Coast - environmentalism, mindfulness, social justice, nature - these religions speak to me too. But again, something is missing.
What’s missing is something steeped in the history of the past. A set of traditions that have survived thousands of years… In West Coast progressive circles, it is common to hear people subtly dismiss or degrade religion and those who adhere. I find that traditional religion is viewed as somewhat “quaint” or “simple”. It's not uncommon to encounter disdain or even subtle contempt toward traditional belief systems.
So here I am today, becoming a New Yorker. Or rather, trying to. I do not see myself returning to my hometown to build a family, despite all the friends and love that I cherish there.
Ultimately, despite all the yard signs declaring 'hate has no place here,' many of my beliefs feel quietly unwelcome in San Francisco. And, quite simply, I don’t want to live someplace where I sense I'm quietly resented by the majority of my neighbors.
So here I am, walking in the park, humming my song, and praying for the people I love to visit (or even perhaps even join me). While I undoubtedly left my heart in San Francisco, ultimately, home isn’t just where you feel love - it’s also where you feel accepted for who you truly are.
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