The third weekly Torah portion — that’s Lech Lecha. It will come this year in late October, but I wanted to address it now.

My sense is that the meaning is “Go with yourself – your beliefs, your way of life, your faith.” So, “go forth from your land, from your kindred, from your father’s house, to the land that I will let you see” (Genesis 12:1). This cryptic call from God to Abraham begins the sojourn of a lifetime.

For me it’s as much about an internal odyssey as a physical journey.

Exactly thirteen summers ago, we moved from our Brooklyn home of 25 years to a leafy, quiet (ok, a little boring), safe, affordable section of The Bronx. From my high-floor aerie, I can see for miles, as The Who once sang.

We pulled our lives out by the roots, and it was difficult. But it had to be done, for a variety of reasons. We got more space, and way less agita, for a lot less money. It was the right place for us at this stage in life.

The week we moved was swampy-hot and filled with grief. Our twelve year old dog was dying, and finally had to be put down on our dining room floor just days before we moved, because he was too weak to even take to the vet. Our valiant dog fought the toxic injection before he finally succumbed. It was wrenching, watching him fail among the boxes of stuff that would be loaded onto the truck later that week.

Our Brooklyn no longer existed, for us, anyway. It was very pricey and populated by an army of self-entitled young nabobs from other parts of the country. It was hardly the demographic we sought back in ’85, when we got there after eight years in the cocaine-war shoot-’em-ups in Jackson Heights.

Just days ago, we learned that another of the few allies we had in the building moved, to a more balanced part of Brooklyn. She finally couldn’t take the grief anymore, remarking on the inability of other residents in the building to even say “hi” to her on the street.

In weeks, we had more friends here than after 25 years in Brooklyn. So, yeah, it’s less “cool” here. But everything we need is here. Including multi-dimensional diversity. We have artists, writers, photographers, musicians — and public school teachers, retirees, military vets, young and old — of every background and orientation.

Oh: the kids hold the door for adults and say “good morning” in the elevator, and behave themselves in stores! In Brooklyn, little kids were allowed to run amok.

Lech lecha. We heard the call and went forth, north and west, to our new land, where nearly every man, woman, child and dog wears some piece of NY Yankees apparel.

We learned about ourselves, and we learned about what really counts in a neighborhood. It’s not about the trendiest restaurants, or boutiques selling $1,500 pocketbooks. Over the last thirteen years, we’ve come a long way, far more than the 25 miles we covered going from Brooklyn to The Bronx. We’re on firm footing, surrounded by hard-working, decent, solid friends playing nicely in the sandbox of life.