Washington is a daunting city to plop yourself into. In just over a year, I’ve gone from an Israeli bomb shelter to an Arlington high-rise, writing for the preeminent conservative outlet in the country.

I didn’t study journalism, nor did I ever get around to nabbing one of those fancy degrees from an “elite” school. I failed to realize how truly distant I was from home until my first few “good mornings” were met with confused expressions on the crammed D.C. Metro. So goes the big city.

The immediate warmth I was greeted with in the National Review office rebuffed the stuffy, Ivy League exclusivity that........

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