It took eight years and two cross-country moves, but I'm finally ready (and honored) to tell you the story of how I became a Chicagoan.
Like many others, I moved to Chicago (for the first time) after graduating from a Big Ten school, but not to be just another post-college statistic; I moved here because Chicago is a big, multicultural city and it was where many of my college friends grew up, were moving to, or both.
A product of suburban Dallas, Texas (no horse or cowboy boots, sorry), I imagined living in Chicago would be fun, challenging -- and cold. These generic predictions were spot on, but I did not anticipate how perfectly the urban lifestyle would fit me and end up shaping me into the person I am today.
One of my first days living and commuting in the city, I overheard a discussion on the train about city pension problems, Lupe Fiasco and the burgeoning Chicago hip-hop scene, and the then-new Daniel Burnham exhibit at the Art Institute. What struck me more than the seemingly odd topic variety was that they welcomed the unprompted opinion of another passenger that had enjoyed the Burnham exhibit. The three remained in discussion as I exited the train, and I realized that I lived in a truly dynamic and welcoming city.
So I acclimated quickly and tried to embrace everything. I went to museums and concerts, volunteered as a tax preparer, connected to the arts community, and picked up brewing beer as a winter hobby. I was not, however, involved in the Jewish community.
I identified as a Jew and cared about my Judaism -- I still attended synagogue on the High Holidays and participated in other important Jewish events -- but I felt that my connection to the Jewish community was sufficient. I spent quality time with other Jews, and up to this point in my life, I had learned that was enough for me to feel a part of the community.
As quickly as my personal fulfillment connected me to Chicago, professional success took me away from it. I was fortunate to secure a coveted position at an international law firm upon graduating from law school, but the job was back in Dallas.
I was torn. I had worked tirelessly for the job that I had always wanted, but taking it meant leaving the city that had taught me so much and had changed me for the better. I took the job. I thought I could succeed similarly in Dallas, and maybe my career would permit me to return in five or six years.
Back in Dallas, everything looked great from the outside. I had a successful career and I got to spend more time with my immediate family. On the inside, however I was homesick.
Chicago had changed my values and the prerequisites for what I believed made me a responsible member of society. My friends in Dallas feigned interest at my suggestions that we spend time in newer, more culturally diverse parts of Dallas such as Oak Cliff. They were content spending time with their usual group in their usual neighborhood, which I found disappointing. After two years, I grew tired of trying to share my interests; I wanted to return to the place where I knew they would not just be accepted, but welcomed.
Although it meant resigning from a job that I loved, I knew returning to Chicago was the best solution. I believed that my career was young and flexible enough to take a backseat to my overall happiness, and I would be able to spin the decision into a great story for job interviews.
So I returned to Chicago for round number two, excited to reconnect with friends and feeling optimistic about my career despite no full-time job. I immediately returned to old comforts -- volunteering, exploring new cultural attractions, spending time with friends -- and, for a time, it was as if I had never left.
Then the honeymoon feeling dissipated. Last fall, I had organized some old friends for dinner on a Saturday evening when I realized that I had neglected to reach out to a family friend who my parents mentioned had recently moved to Chicago as well. I was disappointed in myself; I had effectively done the exact thing that had been done to me in Dallas -- opted to stay close to "home" because it was easier than opening up my inner circle and operating outside my comfort zone.
This bothered me. I needed to be a part of something greater. So I sought out new "groups" that prided themselves on action and inclusiveness, and I found them among the Jewish community.
I discovered three organizations within the community that facilitated connections outside my core group of friends and aligned with my social values: the Anti-Defamation League, the Decalogue Society of Lawyers, and Temple Sholom's Makom.
As a part of the ADL's Glass Leadership Institute, I became more aware of the dangers faced by persecuted groups and cultures and how I could help. A three-day convention in Washington, D.C. to discuss Jewish and non-Jewish humanitarian issues opened my eyes to the abnormally high incarceration rate of African-American males and the moral and legislative quandaries that policymakers and lobbyists must work with to repair the American prison system.
With Makom -- a group for young(ish) and Jew(ish) people in their 20s and 30s -- I have found it easier to open up and make valuable connections to my peers. During the "sushi" portion of a recent Sushi Shabbat, I met an attorney who had been working part time as he transitioned into a new type of law practice. I had been unemployed for a couple of months and I was embarrassed by my struggle to find a job, but the scene was comfortable, so I confessed my own difficulties. After commiserating together, I felt a bond, and relief where once was stress. Even more, he offered to connect me to his recruiter who secured me a few months of work during my own transition.
Makom is also special to me because I might not have found it had it not been for my girlfriend, Logan, whom I met on JSwipe a month after I moved back. She and a group of friends were looking for a Jewish group with substance -- more than just a professional network or singles group -- and could not find it, so they created it. She is an amazing example of a dedicated and passionate member of the Jewish community, and a person I look up to as I become more involved.
It took five years lingering on the outskirts of Chicago's Jewish community and two more across the country to realize what I was missing, but now, I am happy to have found my ideal place within Chicago's many enriching communal channels. They are a sanctuary for my values and act as a reminder to welcome other ideas and individuals that may not know the best way to get involved.
Whether you are new, new-ish, or well seasoned to Chicago, consider joining a new organization to help find your place within the community. It really makes a difference.
Ben Gerber is a licensed attorney and is currently earning his LLM in Taxation at Northwestern University's Pritzker School of Law. He is a connoisseur of french fries and dad jokes, aspires to someday be a contestant on NPR's Sunday Puzzle, and spends his nights catering to two neurotic dogs.
For more stories in the "New-ish and Jewish in Chicago" series, visit www.oychicago.com/newish.
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