Guest Post - Resolving The Struggle to Decide on Aliyah

Earlier today, I got an extraordinary email from a woman I have known for many years. She and her husband have been struggling for quite some time with the decision about whether or not to make aliyah.

When she sent me this email, she had no way of knowing that I wrote about a similar experience  nearly a year ago. I asked her for permission to share what she wrote because I know it has the potential to inspire others.

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This morning, before davening, I was really having doubts that I had the strength to ever make aliyah. I'm tired, I'm drained, how could I pull it off? I'm not even sure I should do it. I don't have that kind of clarity. You know when you told me that you had your 'Aliyah epiphany' on 9/11, I thought how nice it was for you to have moment of clarity. I'm just so tired. Finally, I pushed all my thoughts aside, or so I thought, and began to daven. The following is a progression of narrative that transpired between the words in my siddur and the thoughts in my head.


Blessed is Hashem who gives me the wisdom to distinguish... if making Aliyah is the right thing for my family. That's cute, 'aliya thoughts' in my davening. Rivkah must have these all the time.


Blessed is Hashem who did not make me a slave. Who will release me from my materialistic slavery so I can make the right decision, free of my yetzer harah, and thank you Hashem for allowing me to live in a free society where I can chose to, or not to, live Israel.


Blessed is Hashem who made me according to His will (a woman) who could enjoy living in Israel in ways only a woman could. (Wow, why all these Israel thoughts? Why am I suddenly imagining going to the mikveh in Israel, and making challa in Israel and lighting candles in Israel, and having and raising children in Israel - I don't even have a ticket yet!?


Blessed is Hashem who opens the eyes of the blind. Oh my G-d, it is so clear now, how did I not see it! Of course I should make Aliyah, what is the question!!!!? Israel, where every mitzvah will be so elevated and and the connection to Hashem will be so strong that every action, no matter how seemingly insignificant, will take on a whole new level of sensitivity and meaning......oh, what am I thinking? I will be so vulnerable, no familiarity, no language, no friends. It's altruistic but it's not practical...wait, let's see what the next bracha is, maybe there is a message...


Blessed is Hashem who clothes the naked. The naked!!!! What could be more vulnerable than naked!!!!! I've been saying this bracha for most of my life and all I ever thought it meant was, "thank you Hashem for my clothes in the closet and great selections in the mall". Hashem will be my cover and protect me from all I fear. How did I not see this meaning before? It's like I've been locked in a dark closet and I'm finally seeing the light for the first time...

Blessed is Hashem for releasing the bound I'm free! Now I see, now it's clear. What was keeping me so clueless, why all the confusion until now? I know, it's the galus, we are so entrenched, so tangled up in American society that we just can't think straight. Oh no, I don't believe it...look at the next bracha -

Blessed is Hashem who straightens the bent. So it's done, it's decided, no more confusion, no more doubts. Now I just need to commit to doing what has to be done. I'm going to finish davening and call my husband to tell him my mind is made up, get the tickets.


Blessed is Hashem who spreads the earth upon the waters. They used to take a boat to travel to Israel, how lucky I am to go by plane. Look! I'm talking about the plane ride! I'm going! I already see myself on the plane. Oh boy, I will have a lot to pack, there is so much I am going to have to learn to live without.

Blessed is Hashem who will provide me with all my needs. Ok, this is beyond creepy, every negative thought I have is squelched by the subsequent brachos. All the spirituality aside, how will I do this? It is going to be sooooooo hard to...


Blessed is Hashem who establishes the footstep of man. (This is the part where I fall to the floor crying.) Everything will be fine. Hashem will help us establish ourselves, in school, in the community, in our new home (I stand back up).


Blessed is Hashem who girds Israel with strength. He will make me strong enough do whatever has to be done. We will go, we will settle and

Blessed is Hashem Who will crown us with splendor. That's it! That's the reason I am going (of course, I crying hysterically at this point.) The splendor! That is the word that explains the reason I want to go. The grandeur, the magnificence of Israel and being a Jew in the Holy Land. Now I know why Rebbi Akiva bought his wife a crown with Yerushalaim engraved on it. Israel is our crown, our splendor. I was so down, so exhausted from carrying the burden of this decision. Now I feel light and weightless...

Blessed is Hashem who gives strength to the weary.

I think I had my "Aliyah Moment" :)

My Fellow Apple People

Yesterday, I finished the new book by Risa Miller.  In it, one of her characters describes herself as an apple trying to talk to an orange.  I loved that line!  That's me in America.  I'm an apple, trying to talk to a country that is largely made up of oranges.  I cannot WAIT until I can live among my fellow apple people.

I feel the pressure against Israel mounting day by day. The stakes grow ever higher as more and more irrational things are happening on the world stage.  YouTube banning "We Con The World" for copyright infringement?  C'mon.  Not even close to rational.  So, to do my part, I'm blogging the link to the video as hosted by the WeJew video sharing site.

Years ago, during the Second Intifada, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin spoke to a packed house about the importance of traveling to Israel exactly when everyone else was cancelling their travel plans, thus crippling the tourism industry. This isn't a direct quote, but what he said was so potent, it still gives me the chills.

If Israel is your Disneyland, then come when the sun is shining.  But if Israel is your Motherland, then come now, because your mother needs you.

Israel is being assaulted from all sides.  Not just her classic political enemies.  Even YouTube,  iPhone and Yahoo are now taking a swipe at "Mom".

I traveled to Israel and bought real estate during the Second Intifada and now I'm less than a month away from bringing my whole life to her.

Hang on, Mom.  I'm on my way Home.  I  so want to be with you.

There's a Third

When I wrote about the yin and yang of making aliyah, I left something out.  There is really a third indivisible side to the decision, and the experience, of extracting oneself from life in the diaspora.

One needs to consider the logistics of the decision - where to live, how to earn money, where to educate one's children, etc.  That's where a lot of people get stalled.

If one is a Torah Jew, one also needs to consider all the things that Hashem has said about the spiritual superiority of living in Israel.  I recently joined a listserv whose whole purpose is to send out daily messages about loving and living in Israel.  There is no shortage of inspirational material about the pull of Eretz Yisrael on the Jewish soul.  One family I know recently spent hours looking at YouTube videos of religious life in Israel with their kids to get everyone on board their nascent aliyah decision.

But there's a third consideration, one that gets louder with each passing day.

Last Friday, my husband participated in a rally for Israel that took place on a street corner in downtown Baltimore. At the rally, a woman turned and asked him a bone-chilling question. "For how much longer do you think Jews will be free to stand and hold an Israeli flag in the streets of America?"

When Yaakov overheard Lavan's sons speaking disparagingly about him, he hightailed it out of Padan Aram back to Israel immediately, because he understood that Gd's presence had left and he was no longer protected.

The Jews of America appear to not be so insightful.  The shocking words of Helen Thomas ought to be enough to wake up American Jews.



It's not time for Jews to get the hell out of "Palestine", Gd-forbid.  It's time to get the hell out of America before it's too late.

And that's the third consideration.

The Right To Cry When Saying Goodbye

Such waves of emotions (in alphabetical order - fear of staying in America much longer, emuna, excitement, grief, panic, pride in my people and in my ancient/new country, especially this week and stress) are roiling within these days that it's no wonder I'm not sleeping too well.  Thanks to my deeply insightful, spiritual role-model friend Leah, I see that I am being given yissurim (suffering, trials) in advance of our aliyah in order to earn my future life in Israel.

It is not easy to disengage from a whole life lived elsewhere. Will it be worth it? No question. But that doesn't make it easy.

A friend in Israel who must have made aliyah when she was very young, recently said to me, "I never realized, it just never hit me, how much unraveling a person has to do when they make Aliya. In my immature and idealistic view, you just make the decision and come."

Ha!  Would that that were so.  My to-do list seems to get longer each day.  The days pass so swiftly that I am caught short-winded.  The pinpricks of emotion are getting more frequent.

I know, from the years I have already lived, that the moment of parting might be painful, like the ripping off of a band aid, but soon after, I will feel better.  In 32 days, I will feel better.

But now, it really is hard.  And I don't want any of my long-settled friends in Israel to try to convince me it's not.  There are a lot of goodbyes to say - to people, places and things that have been part of my life for so long, I can't remember ever not having them.  And goodbyes to newer relationships that I lack the time to nurture, places I'll likely never visit now and things I won't have in my home anymore.  I'm more than willing to say goodbye to all that.

But I reserve the right to cry when saying goodbye.

Guest Post - A Very Different "Aliyah" Story

On my last trip to Israel just before Shavuot, I met a family of Christians who told me they left their lives, their loved ones and all their possessions in New Zealand to stand in solidarity with the Jewish people in Israel.  Naturally, I had the same two reactions that a lot of you will have when you read their story: A) Did they come to Israel to convert Jews? or B) Could they actually be Jewish and not know it?

I don't yet know the answer to either question, but I was so taken with the depth of the mother's telling of her story that I asked her to write it down so I could share it with all of you.  This story so inspired me because it's about a family who risked everything in their material lives in order to follow Gd's call to Israel.  And, since they are not Jews, they are not even entitled to the citizenship benefits and support to which I and my family are entitled the minute we walk off our aliyah flight.  This family is living in Israel on pure emuna.

Here is their story, in the words of the mother, Linda.

My name is Linda, my husband Christopher and our three children, Marcus eighteen, Zoë fourteen and Zara thirteen.  “Why are we in Israel?” that is what we have been asked so many times. People in shops, on buses, our new neighbours and others along the way. Our reply is simple. “We felt that G-d, called us to come. To encourage you and let you know you have friends who support you.  Friends that are not taken in by the media. Friends that say Israel has a right to exist. The look on people’s faces is all the reward we need. Late at night we chatted with a young soldier travelling home on the bus for Pesah. His face lit up as we talked, he said “Wow, you have just made my Pesah.”  Little did he know he made ours.

If this is just a three month dream it is the best dream I have ever had. If it becomes long term reality, well that would take a miracle. Only G-d knows the answer to that. We sold our beautiful home, cars and everything else we had. We were left with nothing other than a few keep sakes which we left with my sister and twenty seven kilograms of luggage each to bring.  We are a close family, leaving my aging parents and sister’s family was not easy. Also leaving good friends, neighbours and much loved pets behind.  All of this was very momentous, departing New Zealand for a land we had never visited.

Now you may ask me, “Why, are you Jewish?”  No. Well not that we know of, but I have suffered with an affliction that is typically Jewish. I guess you could call it a restless spirit. Not knowing where you belong. It calls to you day and night, year in and year out and in my case for decades. You cannot shake it off because it is part of you. Where you go it goes. To function normally, you build a wall around it but even then you hear its call. From my earliest days I was taught to pray, love, honour, and revere the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. My parents taught me all the wonderful stories from the Tanakah, every one of them felt like they belonged to me. Because of this I recognised it as the Holy Spirit’s call to go and also to do something, but where and what for? Now if I was Jewish, well that would be easy. Why Israel, it would be obvious, but being Gentile, not so. It could be anywhere.  In shear frustration I said to Christopher one day, “I cannot bear this, let’s go to Israel and seek G-d, may be there we will hear more clearly.” Then I understood, Israel was where we were meant to go! Maybe I was hearing the prophetic shofar, a sound to return and I had not recognised it. Not wanting to make a mistake and uproot our family, just because Mum was restless. The only thing that we could do was pray. Christopher and I prayed something like this, “Lord you have spoken in many ways to many people, you know our apprehension, but you also see our willingness to go. Please speak to us from your word. We decided to read whatever our eyes fell on.  As they say, my heart skipped a beat. It was Psalm 84 “Blessed are those whose strength is in you who have set their hearts on a pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength till each appears before God in Zion.” G-d had been very good and answered our request. Other circumstances also guided us along the way.

From the first thought of Israel to our departure it took five years. We had family responsibilities, educational needs for our children, health issues and more.

Eventually the time arrived we were leaving, but in the rush and push, of everything we hadn’t found a place to stay. We quickly booked accommodation for a week. As we were booking I felt that we would only need it for four days, as we would have our apartment by then. Guess what, we had our keys to our new home on the fourth day. All I could say was, “thankyou, thankyou and thankyou again.” 

G-d loves to do the impossible to show that he is Almighty. Faith faces fear. Just think of the Red sea for one and more recently Israel again becoming a nation. There is a prophetic shofar in the heavens calling his people, the Jews home.   May I remind you of some of G-d’s promises?

'For I will take you out of the nations; I will gather you from all the countries and bring you back into your own land.

Ezekiel 36:24

I will say to the north, 'Give them up!' and to the south, 'Do not hold them back.' Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth

Isaiah 43:6

This is what the Sovereign LORD says:  "See, I will beckon to the Gentiles, I will lift up my banner to the peoples; they will bring your sons in their arms and carry your daughters on their shoulders”.

Isaiah 49:22

Who has ever heard of such a thing? Who has ever seen such things? Can a country be born in a day or a nation be brought forth in a moment? Yet no sooner is Zion in labour than she gives birth to her children.   

Isaiah 66:8                                       

Hear the word of the LORD, O nations; proclaim it in distant coastlands: 'He who scattered Israel will gather them and will watch over his flock like a shepherd.'

Jeremiah 31:10

As for my restlessness.  We had been in Israel about a month and travelling along the high way looking over the valley toward Jerusalem with its white walls closely knitted together, breathing deeply I suddenly realised the restlessness was gone. I was shocked, I did not know when it left, it just slipped quietly out the door, in its place a sense of quiet contentment.        

 

You may not know it, but there are a vast number of us Gentiles who cheer you on. As it says in Isaiah 49:22 “See I will beckon to the Gentiles...” This is a time of fulfilment of prophecy.  We need Israel to take her rightful place among the nations. You are G-d’s time clock for the coming events.

We cover you in prayer, love and support.

 

Thank you for reading our story.

The Yin and Yang of Making Aliyah

There are two sides to making aliyah and they flip back and forth in my mind constantly.  And, based on a conversation that's going on right now on the Baltimore Chug Aliyah listserv that I moderate, I'm not the only mind occupied with these two sides. 

On the one hand, there's the anticipated glory of Israel.  Living a fuller Jewish life.  Responding to Hashem's call.  Being part of the largest miracle in Jewish history.  Being part of the story.  Crying during HaTikva.  Growing spiritually and connecting to one's soul in a deeper, more meaningful, more lasting way than would ever be possible outside the Land.  Learning more Torah.  Living with emunah, mamash.  All that.

Then there's the anticipated pain of living in Israel.  The language barrier.  Middle-Eastern bureaucracy.  A whole new breed of worries about making a living.  Figuring out how to get proper health care.  Having your kids adjust to school.  Smaller living spaces.   Trying to buy enough of the right consumer goods (Q-Tips, deodorant, sunscreen and the New Balance sneakers I've been wearing for years) to last until a friend or family member can replenish our stock.  Fear of poverty.  Lack of money.  Flimsy plastic cups and poor-quality paper goods.  Getting ripped off by a fill-in-the-blank system you don't understand.  No more WalMart. The raw fear of the unknown.

Did I mention fear of economic insecurity?

This is the yin and yang of making aliyah... and it never stops.

No wonder I'm not sleeping well.

Much Fuss About the Bus

Just got back from a quick trip to Israel, during which I mastered the basics of the Egged Bus system.  In the past, I relied much too heavily on my husband for all our transportation needs.  He either drove us everywhere we needed to go or navigated the bus system for me and I just followed him on and off the buses.  But this time, he was 6000 miles away, so I had to face up to my anxiety, give myself a pep talk, and figure it out.  For me and for my teenage daughter.

On the one hand, it's quite ridiculous to be proud of what I accomplished.  I'm a grown woman, and every English-speaking 18 year-old seminary and yeshiva student manages to get her or himself all over the country using the very same bus system.  So do the Thai workers.  And the refugees from Darfur.

On the other hand, it's quite exhilarating to stare down one's anxiety and just do what needs to be done.  And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than relying on cabs to go everywhere.  And it was kind of a rush to use my primitive Hebrew to ask someone if this bus goes to such-and-such a place.

In a very real sense, using the local bus system made me feel more deeply knit into the fabric of Israeli society.  As I mentioned to my daughter while we were waiting for a long-delayed bus, in Baltimore, there is a socio-economic stigma associated with those who ride public buses.  But in Israel, there is no such stigma.  Who doesn't ride even the occasional public bus in Israel?

I learned a handful of bus numbers and where they go.  I transferred from one bus to another with ease.  And when one bus took an hour to make a trip that should have taken 30 minutes, I simply hopped into a cab from the Central Bus Station and made it to my appointment just a few minutes late, a little embarrassed, but with a very local excuse about Jerusalem's morning traffic.

Yeah, I'm a regular Egged-head now.

Feelin' Woozy

Now that we've identified our prospective aliyah date with a high degree of certainty (while, of course, maintaining supreme awareness that only The Big Guy knows if we'll actually succeed in getting on that plane), things are starting to speed up. 

I walk through my house with an awareness that, as things disappear from every corner, it feels less and less like my home.  I am nursing a small but growing anxious feeling about getting everything done that is necessary to extricate us from five decades of life in America - unsubscribing, canceling, returning, liquidating, ending.  I feel pressed to apply for a new credit card with no foreign transaction fees because soon, we won't have an income (or a US address).  I should make sure my university transcripts have my current name on them in case I have to submit them in Israel for verification.  I need to move money from certain accounts into others.  And a hundred other niggling tasks like that.  Anxious that I won't get it all done and anxious that I'll completely forget to do something major.

Every time I open a drawer or a cabinet, I see more stuff I have to sell off.  Not to mention trying to figure out how to sell things we still need for another 65 days or so.

I've been in transition-mode for so long, and my mind is racing so fast over 10,000 details, that I'm  feelin woozy.

Yom Yom Far From Home

There are many days on the calendar when I wish I was in Israel.  Okay, pretty much every day...  But this past week were two special days that really don't translate well to American soil.  Sunday night was Yom HaZikaron - Israel's Memorial Day for the 22,682 soldiers who died defending our tiny country and the terror victims who died because there are still people in the world who need to kill Jews to feel successful in life.  In Israel, the day is marked by a 2-minute siren, during which Jews in shopping malls, on the road and everywhere else in the country stop and stand silently at attention, thinking about the soldiers and terror victims to whom they are personally connected.

It's a small country.

Immediately after Yom HaZikaron comes Yom HaAtzmaut - Israel Independence Day - celebrating the birth of the modern State of Israel 62 years ago.

In Baltimore, there are community and school-based programs. Yeshivat Rambam the most Zionist school in Baltimore, and the school where we've been sending our kids for years, has an annual Yom HaZikaron/Yom HaAtzmaut program.

This year's program was our last, and a few memories are worth preserving.  The Yom HaZikaron portion of the program at Yeshivat Rambam typically opens with high school girls telling stories of soldiers lost in Israel's many wars.  This year I heard that President Nixon's mother used to tell him bible stories when he was young.  She once told him that someday, he would be very powerful and he would be in a position to help the Jewish people.  At a crucial time in the Yom Kippur War, PM Golda Meir called President Nixon in the middle of the night, begging for US support for the war.  According to this account, Nixon recalled his mother's words and signed an Executive Order authorizing Israel to get whatever was needed to turn the war around.

Once Yom HaZikaron ended, the program transitioned to a celebratory Yom HaAtzmaut, featuring daglanut (flag dancing), adorable Israeli songs and more.

For the past 6 years,  the end of the evening has been the highlight for me.  Yeshivat Rambam honors those families who are planning to make aliyah in the upcoming months by calling them up onto the stage to light a candle.  Every year, I applauded wildly while my friends and community members were called up onto that stage on Yom HaAtzmaut, to inspire others, to show others what it looks like to publicly announce that the future of one's family is in Israel.

This year, it was our turn.

It was an impressive group of singles and families, most with 4 or 5 children, up there, all off to meet our destinies in Israel.  Yeshivat Rambam did a lot to bring the feelings of Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut to Baltimore.  Clearly, hours and hours of effort, coordination, creativity and spirit went into the evening. I applaud the effort.  But in the end, honoring these uniquely Israeli days 6,000 miles away cannot match the feelings these days engender in their natural habitat.  No matter how hard the programmers worked to capture them, we are simply too far removed from the real thing to experience the fullness of these days while sitting in Baltimore.  

In the end, it was yom, yom, far from home.

Sometimes Words Are Useless

For years, friends who were making aliyah and leaving me and my longing behind would look into my pathetic, droopy, sad eyes and try to say things to comfort me.

"Soon, it will be your turn."

"Hashem must have a reason for you to still be here."

"Hashem knows how much you are yearning to be in Israel and that counts for a lot."

All true statements, and I always appreciated the sentiment behind them, but they weren't exactly uplifting.  At the end of the day, my friends got to get on that aliyah flight.

And I didn't.

And, back then, I didn't have a clue when I would be able to.

Now, I look at the friends, all more spiritually worthy than I am, who have the same longing to go, the same painful stuckness, the same inability, because of other commitments, to leave America despite their desperate desires.

And I haven't a clue what to say to them.

All I can do is thank Gd that, in a few months, I"H, it'll be my turn.

Having been in that position for so long, you would think I would have a soothing way to respond to the sadness of those left behind, but I don't.  I'm just as much at a loss for words as everyone else.

But I can hug them.  And, in that way, communicate that I get it.  That's about all I can do, because sometimes, words are useless.

A Public Mitzvah in Baltimore

I always thought that Baltimore did biur chametz (the final burning of prohibited foods just before Passover) particularly well and I applaud all the volunteers that help make it happen year after year.  Last year, the public chametz burning was moved from the Glen Avenue Fire Station to a parking lot at Pimlico Racetrack.  The racetrack is 5 minutes from our house, but it took an hour to complete the mitzvah because of all the traffic - hundreds of Jewish families going out to burn their chametz.  In previous years, I always imagined that this was what life in Israel would feel like - mitzvahs done by hundreds of people at a time, right out in public. Most years, there are young men collecting charity among the crowds and plenty of neighborly wishes for a good and kosher Pesach.  It's a very Jewish moment in Baltimore.

And yet, on the slow approach to the site of the public chametz burning, we passed any number of non-Jewish businesses and houses of worship in a neighborhood that is clearly not one where Jews live today.  I have to imagine there were few among us who didn't ask themselves, "I wonder what the non-Jews around here think of what we're doing, coming into their neighborhood and making a huge amount of smoke?"

So even this very public mitzvah in Baltimore, done with as much kiddush Hashem as possible, is a potent reminder that we live in someone else's country.

L'shana Ha'ba'ah B'Yerushalayim indeed.

Before It's Too Late

I often sit with two simultaneous feelings about moving to Israel.  I spend a lot of time thinking of logistics and the details of our future daily lives.  What size shipping container do we need?  What items should I stock up on at WalMart before we go?  Will we ever get jobs in Israel?  How much will I miss kosher Chinese food?  Will I ever feel comfortable driving in Jerusalem?  Will the passport pictures I got be enough?  Will I ever learn the language sufficiently to feel truly at home in my Homeland?  Is the school we're thinking of the right choice for our daughter? Will I ever feel comfortable boarding a bus like an Israeli? Will I be a hopeless greenhorn the rest of my life?  From whom will it be hardest to part? Who among our loved ones will follow us on this path?  Will we run out of money? And on and on.

An endless loop of questions.  All in my head.

The other feeling about moving to Israel doesn't live in my head at all.

It lives in my soul. 

Most Shabbat mornings, I spend time with the Israel-infused, aliyah-oriented writings of three of my rabbinic heroes - Rabbi Nachman Kahana, Rabbi Pinchas Winston and Rabbi Moshe Lichtman.  I love to wrap their words around me, to reassure myself that this is absolutely the right move, indeed, the only correct move, for our family.

My rabbis remind me that the world is shifting beneath my feet.  That Jewish history is moving ahead, inexorably, toward Redemption.  That, while it is always a good thing for a Jew to live in Israel, the current times demand that we get there as soon as possible... for our own good and for the future well-being of our families.

The approaches of my three rabbis differ.  One is exceedingly forthright in declaring life in America today downright dangerous for Jews.  One argues that the ideal condition for a Jew is lived in Israel and questions why, so many years after 1948, all serious Jews aren't already there.  One reminds me to look at the patterns in Jewish history and draw my own conclusions.

I love all three approaches, but I resonate most with the plain-spoken, least politically-correct one.  Week after week, he all but screams, "Can't you see that you're in the path of an oncoming train wreck??  GET OUT!!!!!!!!!!"

I sit with at least two simultaneous feelings about moving to Israel.  One is genuine concern about how hard it might be. In response, I expend lots of energy planning our aliyah, so that we will, hopefully, avoid at least the major pitfalls.

And the other is a resolute certainty that this move must be made and made now.  In response, I watch the political, economic and historical trends swirling around me and assure myself that, no matter what others in my life choose for themselves (and no matter how long it takes me to speak a competent Hebrew), this is truly what Gd wants from me.

I thank Gd we are getting the chance to do this now.

Before it's too late.

The Prescient Letter

(adj.) prescient - perceiving the significance of events before they occur

In 1986, after my husband got his first position as a rabbi, he wrote to Rabbi Norbert Weinberg of Fall River, MA, an early professional mentor, to tell him the news.  Rabbi Weinberg wrote a congratulatory letter that my husband held onto all these years.  We unearthed the letter yesterday afternoon in the archeological dig that we call our basement.

The letter reads, in part:

"But if I may be pardoned for just one word of mussar - it is that you keep the Eretz Yisrael option very much alive for both yourself and your congregants.  I sometimes have the frightening feeling that we rabbis are building on quicksand, as rabbis in previous generations have done.  We should never lose sight of our ultimate goal."

Thank you, Rabbi Weinberg, for the seed you planted 24 years ago.  May it bring you satisfaction to know that it is finally coming to fruition.

Ruminations about Stuff

All afternoon, I've been in Jerusalem.  Well, in my head anyway.  I've been listening to my 33-song Jerusalem playlist on my iPod, but I'm actually in Baltimore where the uncluttering continues at a rapid pace.  While there's still plenty from which to divest, I feel like I've crossed some invisible halfway point.  Maybe that's because I finally started dealing with the basement.  Yesterday, I called my Israeli daughter on Skype, took the laptop into the basement and waved the detritus of her childhood in front of the webcam, one stuffed bear at a time.  Oh!  the memories she shared while deciding whether each was a keeper or an item for the giveaway pile.

It's getting easier.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to end up taking anything at all on that 20' lift we ordered.

I've been ruminating about stuff for quite a long time, since I've been engaged in this uncluttering effort for many months.  It's extraordinary the amount of stuff we accumulated over the years.  I blame the basement.  Too easy to just put it downstairs and not have to make a decision.

I find myself relieved when something is too broken, moldy, dirty or otherwise unsuitable to even consider saving. Get it out!

At the same time, I can't say that I'm entirely clear how we're going to live in such a small space.  There's plenty of room for clothes and dishes, tables and sofas, linens and shampoo bottles.  But what about the stuff that isn't necessary for daily life but that we carry with us from one home to the next - family photos, old journals, our parents' wedding album, a painting from our childhood home that doesn't really belong in our home anymore?  And what do we save from our children's childhoods?  How many old school papers and art projects are enough to communicate that we value the memories?  I have a few toys that were hand-me-downs from my nephews.  Our daughters played with them and, I can't help thinking, maybe someday they will be enjoyed by my hypothetical grandchildren when they visit Saba and Savta.

So, that's what it's like to be me these days, alternating between highly efficient unclutterer and a sappily sentimental someday-Savta.

The Irony of Waiting

Four years ago, I founded the Baltimore Chug Aliyah. At that time, making aliyah was a very distant dream for me, but I wanted to help those who could go sooner. I had the administrative skills to help. Professionally, I spent several decades working in university admissions, and helping people make aliyah is a lot like helping people get admitted to an institution of higher education. Additionally, running the Baltimore Chug Aliyah was a productive way for me to channel my own frustrated aliyah energy.

One of the most vital parts of the Baltimore Chug Aliyah has been its listserv. The listserv provides daily doses of aliyah information and inspiration for over 250 people. In the same day, messages about real estate transactions in Israel or options for learning Hebrew might come through the discussion list. As important as the tachlis messages are, as often as possible, I like to distribute inspirational aliyah messages that have emotional and spiritual resonance.

I sent just such a message to the list yesterday. It was written by Rabbi Lazer Brody. The opening sentences of Rabbi Brody's message were:

Beloved brothers and sisters, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef has been imploring people to make aliya (literally, "ascending"; means coming home to Israel to live) for the last several years. Rabbi Amnon Yitzchak doesn't stop talking about the urgency with which World Jewry should head home to the Land of Israel. Rabbi Shalom Arush stresses the need for aliya in almost every one of his recent lessons. What's going on?

Rabbi Brody's message includes a 5-minute clip from a conservative, non-Jewish American political commentator detailing worrisome trends in America and warning that, when things go bad, the Jews will suffer first. In this message, I heard a powerful call to make aliyah, a combination of warning pleas from rabbis in Israel and a siren call to American Jews from a non-Jewish American political commentator. It was a potent 1-2 punch.

So I had to shake my head at the irony of one list member who replied to that message with one that said, in effect, though not in quite these words, "Family members have just moved to Baltimore, so, instead of making aliyah, we've decided to wait here for the Moshiach. Please remove me from your email list."

The Decision to Follow Gd

Lately, I have been having a certain aliyah-related conversation with a lot of people. By definition, the people with whom I am talking are feeling the struggle, which puts them way ahead of the masses of American Jews who aren't even in the question.  The conversation is always about the struggle people feel over whether or not to make aliyah.

To some extent, they feel the pull of The Land.  On some level, they know that Jews belong in Israel and not in Baltimore or Brooklyn or LA.  And maybe, they even feel the historical tug of being a Jew alive in the first decades after Jewish dominion over the Land of Israel has been restored, and the responsibility that confers on us to return Home and live with Gd.

But they are scared.  So they focus on the barriers.  Mostly, it's economic.  Sometimes it's a concern for their children and how they will adjust.  Less often, there are elderly parents to care for.

And here is what I want to say to them.

Do you imagine that only independently wealthy, single, childless orphans make aliyah?  Who doesn't have any barriers to making aliyah?

Take our case.  My husband is, bli ayin hara, a very successful pulpit rabbi with a long term contract in a strong and stable congregation.  He will never be able to work as a pulpit rabbi in Israel.  Making aliyah means he has to walk away from his career, his passion and his life's work of over two decades and he has to reinvent himself.  Will he be successful?  We can't know in advance.

I have always earned my living in language-intensive careers, but I barely speak Hebrew, despite years of study. We both have aging parents.  And we are taking a teenage daughter with us.  We won't be able to afford our life insurance premiums anymore.  Talk about barriers.  Talk about risks.

I'm enumerating these very real circumstances because most people have them.  Or some permutation of them.  For some, such circumstances are mountains, over which they cannot climb.

For me, these are risks I am prepared to take because I believe that Hashem runs the world.  The same Hashem who gives me a sense of economic security in the US can provide me with a sense of economic security in Israel.

What's the alternative?  Stay put in a foreign culture, where I believe with all my heart and soul that I don't belong, and put all my chips on the possibility that my life will continue as it has been going?  Every day presents new risks.  A hundred things could dramatically change the contours of my life in a heartbeat.  A bad diagnosis, Gd-forbid.  An earthquake or other natural disaster.  A layoff.  A stock market crash.  The arrival of Moshiach.  The decision to stay only makes sense if I assume that everything will remain the same.  But who can guarantee that?  Life changes.  That's life.

And why would I think making aliyah is supposed to be easy?  For whom is it easy?  Who is not at least somewhat conflicted?  Who goes without leaving someONE, or someTHING, precious behind?  Betcha most of the people who will read these words in Israel made aliyah with some measure of conflict themselves.

I'm not saying that the concerns people have aren't legitimate.  I'm just saying that the decision to make aliyah has a non-rational, metaphysical, spiritual element that has to be accounted for.  If you leave Gd out of the cheshbon and only count the rational, economic factors, you might as well move to Kentucky, since Kentucky enjoys one of the lowest costs of living in the US.  But if Gd is a factor in the calculus, then it becomes much clearer.  At least to me.

I became religious close to 25 years ago.  It wasn't a rational decision then either.  It was a decision to follow Gd.

Aliyah - same thing.  Same exact thing.

Expiration Date on My Tears

For a long time, I have been looking longingly at expiration dates on OTC boxes, bottles and food cans, wondering if I'll get to Israel before the item contained within the packaging expires.

What a relief not to have to do that anymore.

Leaving Israel this time was SO MUCH easier than it has been in the past.  It was hard to leave our daughter behind, knowing that it will be months before we see her again.  I cried the day we left, but 90% of my tears were because I was parting from my first-born.

It seems that, all along, there actually was an expiration date on my gut-wrenching, I-can't-leave-Israel-again-without-knowing-that-we-can-come-back-here-to-live tears.  All it took was one resounding YES WE CAN!

A Good Couple of Days in Israel

Even though we are not yet official עולים חדשים (new immigrants), we have been spending the past few weeks doing the kinds of things olim do - visiting prospective schools, networking for a job, researching health care options... and buying appliances.

Relying heavily on the advice of friends who preceded us as עולים חדשים by a few years, we bought a washer, a dryer and a refrigerator last Thursday.  On Sunday, the washer and dryer were delivered by a team of two.  Luckily, my Hebrew-speaking husband and daughter were home, so this delivery was a piece of cake.

What I wasn't able to get on camera was the delivery method.  One of the workers strapped on a huge cushion and carried the machines on his back, down the steps to our front door. Getting them into the house from this stage was the easy part.

Yesterday, my husband (did I mention that his Hebrew skills far outstrip mine?) had a networking appointment in Jerusalem and was out of the house most of the day.  My assignment was to wait at home for the refrigerator delivery.  While waiting, I spent time sorting out our Israeli utility and Visa bills, trying to figure out what things really cost here.

A few rapid-fire Hebrew phone calls later, during which all I understood was our address and the word מקרר which I know means refrigerator, the delivery scene, with the heavily cushioned, fridge-toting back worker, repeated itself at our stairs.  Again, I didn't get a photo until the fridge was at our door.  The talking delivery man kept speaking to me in insanely fast Hebrew.  Even though by this point, I'm sure he thought I'm an idiot, I was able to understand that I needed to wait an hour before putting food into the fridge.  And I managed to ask him, in Hebrew (thank you very much), where the Shabbat switch is.  This is so cool.  There is a simple switch, standard on this Israeli-made fridge, that shuts off both interior lights for Shabbat.

While I was home waiting for the מקרר to cool down, three young Ethiopian boys came to the door collecting tzedaka (though don't ask me for what cause).  I gave them 10 shekels, they gave me a piece of paper and blessed me with the words Tizku l'mitzvot — may you be worthy to perform additional positive commandments.  Another successful Hebrew interaction!  Perhaps they didn't even suspect how anxious I feel when conducting the simplest interaction in Hebrew.

Later, I phoned the customer service department of our cell phone carrier to discuss some billing issues.  Seven times, I asked the representative who answered my call, "Do you speak English?" and seven times, I was told, רק רגע, which literally means "just a moment", but, in this context means, "No, but hold on and I'll get you someone who does."  Six representatives guessed the English fluency of their colleagues wrong, but finally, one got it right and I was able to take care of my business.

Still later, when my husband returned from Jerusalem, exhausted and in need of a nap, I took the car and drove to a neighbor about 2 kilometers away (Ha! Don't I sound so Israeli already?!).  I've driven twice before in Israel, but this was the first time ever, ever, that I drove completely by myself and I was, upon my safe arrival, inordinately pleased with myself.

Here's a secret I learned on this trip.  Being an immigrant is infantalizing.  Everything is completely new and you need help with every simple task.  I'm a grown woman, but I feel like an adolescent, figuring life out for the first time.

Here's the positive spin.  Accomplishing the simplest things by myself is such a pleasure.  As I write this, my newly installed washer is washing her maiden load.  In about 4 minutes, I'll know if I pressed all the right buttons.  It's a steep learning curve.  But even if I got it all wrong, the machines look great.

 And לאט לאט (slowly, slowly), we are settling in.

Two Simple Moments of Joy in Israel

MOMENT #1 - One of the many, many things I love about the location of our apartment in Israel is that there is a trash receptacle right outside our building (no more schlepping trash cans to the street!) and there are bins for recycling paper and plastic bottles just across the street (no more 2-week old trash sitting in our hallway waiting for recycling day!). Last week, I stepped outside our apartment to toss some plastic bottles into the recycling bin and I heard a familiar voice.  We had been in Israel just a few days and I had not yet seen the friend to whom the familiar voice belonged, so I called out her name while crossing the street to give her a hug.  As we were chatting, a neighbor from upstairs came down to the street for another happy reunion.  Then my neighbor from downstairs, one of the first people I met in Ma'ale Adumim five years ago, came up to the street level.  I laughed to myself at how, within moments of going out to recycle a few bottles, Hashem sent three women to the front of my building to reassure me that my future life here will include friendship.  

Not two minutes later, as we all stood chatting on the street, a rented car parked in front of our building and out popped some neighbors from Baltimore who were visiting our community to see if it was a good match for them.  The whole interaction took less than five minutes, but I felt Hashem's warmth and encouragement - a preview of my life here, filled with many people to enjoy.

MOMENT #2 - A few nights ago, we attend a Chanukat HaBayit - a building dedication for our daughter's Israeli seminary where she learned so much Torah and grew spiritually in such huge measure.  During the entire evening, but especially the four minutes when she presented a plaque to one of the founding families, my heart was proud.  As the building emptied out and only the staff, the students and a few sets of parents were left, the students began dancing, with tremendous earnestness of feeling, to live music in the dining hall.  As we sat in the hallway waiting for our daughter to finish enjoying the company of her friends, I wondered why it was okay for the performing musicians, especially the lead singer who I knew to be religious himself, were in the same room with 60 young, religious women, watching them dance.  I stepped into the room and a huge smile enveloped my face.

The singer was sitting in a corner behind a mechitza while the young women had free reign in the room. 

What a country!!

The Anguish is Gone

DATELINE: Ma'ale Adumim, Israel

I've been in Israel for about 66 hours now.  It's my first time back since we decided to make aliyah this coming summer.  And something feels very, very different.

The flight here was smooth, practically effortless, but it's so much more than that.  The transition to being in Israel this time has been totally seamless.  It feels completely natural to be here.  My Hebrew is still pathetic and I'm not even a citizen yet, but I belong to this Land in a way I never have before.  The tension is gone.  My soul is no longer split in two.  It's a most serene, centered, holistic state of being.

In the past, there was always joy in being here, but also a constant sense of deprivation, knowing that my time here was painfully limited.  I chaffed at the creeping deadline, aware that I was going to have to board a return flight much too soon.  And I had difficulty accepting that so many friends and acquaintances got to stay here but I didn't.  I'd like to think I wasn't petulant about it, but it did nick me every single time.  "Waah!  How come they get to live here and I don't?"  

You're right.  It does sound petulant.  But it was genuinely part of my experience.

I still have a return flight in a finite number of days, but the anguish is gone.  By the time we return to my alternate reality, there will be just a few months left before the big move and a thousand details demanding my attention.  I already sense that the remaining time is going to fly by.  My husband, the king of analogies, likens it to the end of a roll of toilet paper running out so much faster once there's not so much left.

This I know.  On this trip, when I cry, it won't be because my soul is being shred to bits. 

Those days, with Gd's great kindness, are behind me.

Clinging Tenaciously to Treif

Why would I want to give up eating non-kosher?  When kosher food is as accessible, tasty and affordable as McDonald's, then I'll start to keep kosher.  Until then, I'll be clinging tenaciously to treif.

This tongue-in-cheek argument reminds me of the tone of so many of the 150+ talkbacks to the recent article in the Jerusalem Post called American aliya - an exercise in futility

The essence of the article is that, since mass aliyah from America does not look like it's in the cards, the efforts of the Jewish Agency and Nefesh b'Nefesh are nothing more than an expensive waste of time. The talkbacks are full of comments about everything that's wrong with Israel and why life in America is so good for Jews.

Perhaps some people are just not meant to make aliyah.

No Need To Make Aliyah

Last week, someone stopped to speak to my husband and me as we were unloading our Shabbat groceries onto the belt at the local kosher supermarket.  He called my husband, "The much maligned rabbi," and told us that a close rabbinic colleague had quoted him, quite unfavorably, in a recent Thanksgiving sermon.  I knew, without reading the sermon and without question, that it was my words that had been quoted and commented upon unfavorably.

This rabbinic colleague often posts his sermons on the Internet, so it was not difficult for me to locate the full text.  Here's what he said about my comments:

Recently our own Jewish Times quoted someone from our community who is going on Aliyah to Israel, explaining the decision in these words: “Our current President embodies the lineage of Esau and Ishmael. I’m not saying he’s an evil person … but that is symbolic.” There are certainly a lot of good reasons for going on Aliyah, but to say one of the reasons is because our President is a descendant of Esau and Ishmael is absolutely, positively, a disgraceful statement about the President and of our country. You all know I’m not crazy about President Obama’s approach to the Arab/Israeli conflict but that does not blind me to the fact that his government – our government – gives $3 billion a year to aid to Israel. That’s more money than Israel  Bonds and United Jewish Appeal combined send to Israel! Is there no room for gratitude and appreciation?

Before I continue, I would like to publicly express my appreciation for the fact that he was kind enough not to mention my name while accusing my words of being, "absolutely, positively, a disgraceful statement" and before he accused me (geez, this is starting to sound familiar) of ingratitude.

Were you to read the entire sermon, you would see that there is no need to make aliyah because, as this rabbi quotes Dennis Prager, "Nowhere in Jewish history have we had it as good for so long as we have had it in America."

He goes on to ask:

The person going on Aliyah [ahem... that would be me] said, “I’ve been feeling an increasing level of discomfort about the future of American Jewry.” Have you been feeling uncomfortable? Does Ivanka [Trump, who recently married a Jew] understand what she's gotten herself into? In France, a Jewish student cannot cover his head in a public school. In England a court just ruled that it is illegal for a Jewish school to define a Jew as being “one who has a Jewish mother.” Can you imagine anything like that ever happening in our country?


He goes on to reassure all American Jews that:


...we all should understand: we live in a great country … a country where the acceptance of Jews are unparalleled in history … How sweet it is!


So there you have it.  No need to make aliyah from America because American Jews have never had it so good and, implied in the good rabbi's words, there is no reason to assume that anything will change. 

With all due respect, he's living in past.  Despite the anecdotal evidence with which he peppered his sermon, things are in flux in America.  I've already written about it here and here and here.  The Torah teaches that everything has its ketz - its end point.  And the most cursory review of Jewish history teaches the same thing about life in the Diaspora.  What he asserts, that America is a great place to be a Jew, was true in the relatively recent past. No question about it.

But how can we, living among the last survivors of the Holocaust, forget our recent history?  By 1871, most German Jews were middle-class.  Jews had been accepted in Germany as full citizens for six decades before the Nazi Party came to power.  There was a high degree of assimilation and intermarriage among German Jews at that time. Even prominent non-Jewish men had Jewish wives. It's not at all difficult to imagine how smugly German and absolutely secure German Jews must have been feeling back then.

By 1938, that had all changed. By 1945, six million Jews were dead.

I am endlessly fascinated with the question of how and when it dawned on Germany's Jews that something had shifted, because that exact same thing is playing out in my daily life.  I suspect I have just as many colleagues and friends who sense something here is shifting as who don't.  And, predictably enough, most of the people who sense the change live in the Land of Israel, where the air makes one wise. (Baba Metzia 158b)

Who is a wise man?  One who sees what will be born. (Tamid 32a)

I am no prophet.  I am a simple Jew who senses, deep in my kishkes, that the haven that America has been for the Jewish people is ending.  The doors are closing and our time here is finite. And yes, Barak Hussein Obama's unnatural ascendancy to the Presidency absolutely plays a partial (though far from exclusive) role in the conclusions I have drawn.  

I don't know if we have 10 days, 10 months or 10 comfortable years left in America.  I don't have access to any secret government plots.  I don't know anything that the average Jew can't easily find out.  I don't have supernatural powers.  But I can connect the dots.  I can think.

And I think that anyone claiming that Jewish life in America has never been better and that there is nothing to be concerned about...

...is just plain wrong.

Misplaced and Displaced

When I was a student at Memorial Junior High School, we stood each morning, put our hands over our hearts and recited The Pledge of Allegiance.  On one particular morning, while the Vietnam war was in its final years, I did not feel like standing.  I was 13 years old.  I was not taking a political stand.  I didn't even know what taking a political stand meant. I just did not feel like getting up from my seat that morning.

One of the Home Ec teachers, a rough woman whose name is lost to time, pulled me up by the scruff of my neck and castigated me publicly.  How dare I not stand for The Pledge of Allegiance when she had a son fighting for America's freedom in Vietnam?

Now it's September 11, 2001 and all of a sudden, it dawns on me that America is the latest in a long series of host countries for the Jewish people.  In trying to reconstruct how the events of that day led me to such a conclusion, I can draw only the fuzziest of lines. The line starts with the thought that, if such a thing can happen in America, then America is not intrinsically safer than Israel.  If America is not intrinsically safer than Israel, then why am I not living in Israel?

In retrospect, it wasn't logic that opened the door to understanding.  It was a gift from Hashem, Who cleared my vision.

In June of 2002, while the Second Intifada raged in Israel, my husband and I traveled to Israel.  Our decision to do so was a puzzlement to many American Jews, so I spoke about it publicly.  What I most remember was that, right after my talk, a man in his 70s came up to me to castigate me.  He was less hostile than the Home Ec teacher from 30 years before, but his message was similar.  How dare I speak against America?  Don't I know how dangerous it is for American Jews to speak like that?

What did I say that so riled up this elderly man?  I said:

Make no mistake. America, for all its love for religious tolerance, is hosting the Jews who live in her borders. This country is not ours.
And it never will be.

Right now, Jews live in relative safety and security in America. But for how long will that be the case? As great as this country is, don’t allow yourself to get so comfortable that you can’t imagine America vomiting out its Jews. Remember the lesson of history. It’s happened in every other country where Jews have ever lived. Our sense of security in America is deceptive. It’s a mistake to rely on it. 

I said that in 2002 and, seven years later, I still mean every word of it.  And it still causes a tremendous ripple of hostility.  Recently, my husband and I were interviewed by the Baltimore Jewish Times about our decision to make aliyah.  In that interview, I talked about some of the political and theological reasons for our decision.

“I’ve been feeling an increasing level of discomfort about the future of American Jewry and that our collective time in this Diaspora community is coming to an end,” she said. “I want to get my family out while we can still leave comfortably. I think assimilation is killing us off.”

In addition, Dr. Adler said she believes such recent developments as the economic downturn and President Obama’s election demonstrate that “God is closing the doors for Jewish life in America, to bring on the redemption and bring us home.

“Our current president embodies the lineage of Esau and Ishmael. I’m not saying he’s an evil person, but that’s symbolic,” she said. “He’s no friend of Israel and he’s changing the historical friendship between Israel and America. … Everything about his presidency reminds me of God’s plan.”

In the few weeks since the article appeared, my comments have been the source of seemingly endless castigation.  I have been accused, in Letters to the Editor, in private conversations, in online comments, in sermons by rabbis of liberal congregations and in private emails of the very same thing that my 8th grade Home Ec teacher accused me of.

Ingratitude.

How dare I criticize this great country of ours after all it has done for me?  How dare I suggest that the door is closing on America's Jews?  How dare I declare America a diaspora community?  Didn't I notice that the President appointed Jews to two very senior positions?  And, most potent of all, don't I know what bad will my comments will generate among non-Jews?

Bad, bad Rivkah! You are a disloyal American!

I have clearly made a lot of people uncomfortable.  And I have never felt as misplaced and displaced in America as I do today.

My critics keep reminding me that 80% of American Jews voted for Obama.  That's the same percentage of newly-freed Hebrew slaves who chose not leave Egypt.  Is it also the percentage of American Jews who will cling to America even as the threats against us mount?

The Golden Age of Spain, when Jews thrived religiously, culturally and economically on the Iberian Peninsula, lasted for 400 years.  Power changed hands, history moved on and Jews were painfully expelled from Spain in 1492 and from Portugal in 1497.

Jews lived in Germany as early as the 4th century.  For 200 years, from the early 18th century until the early 20th century, Jews achieved political emancipation and prospered in Germany.  Power changed hands, history moved on and 6,000,000 Jews were killed by Nazis.

This exact same scenario has played out in dozens and dozens of other countries since the destruction of the Second Temple.

I will say it again.  One hundred years ago, America took in my great-grandparents when pogroms in Russia threatened their lives.  My children are 4th generation American-born.  There is no doubt that, since 1654, America has been a haven for the Jewish people.  There is much to appreciate about America's role in Jewish history. 

But power changes hands.  History moves on.

If my awareness of Jewish history and my desire to keep my family safe in the face of the growing Muslim influence in America makes me evil in the eyes of other American Jews, so be it.

At least I know my place.

You're Clinging To A Withering Vine

For months now, I've been having an ongoing conversation about the viability of aliyah with a family member who I love very much.  Drawn to the spiritual potential that he knows exists in a life lived in Israel, he has all the same concerns that you might expect.  How will he make a living?  How will the transition impact his family, especially his young teen?  If living in Israel is so important, why are some of his rabbis actively discouraging him from making aliyah?

I've been sharing concrete information, brainstorming communities where his family would fit in, encouraging him to attend aliyah meetings, referring him to job leads and resource people who can help answer his most pressing questions.

But what I can't seem to communicate as clearly as I wish to is this thought. Once upon a time, a Jew could decide where she or he wanted to live.  Israel was a fine choice, but so was Monsey.  Or Lakewood.  Or Toronto.  Or Baltimore.  Today, I feel so strongly that we no longer have that luxury.

Things in the world are changing dramatically and time is running out for American Jews. The balance of power in the world is demonstrably changing from the good guys to the bad guys.  For myself, my response is to get my Jewish family out of America to Israel where I believe Gd will protect us from what's coming this way.  Though I wish that every Jew I love would come with us, I understand this may not be their response. But what I really want to say is, "Folks! Wake up! You're clinging to a withering vine!"

Geert Wilders, a controversial Member of Parliament of The Netherlands, recently gave a speech to the Florida Security Council about the Islamic threat to which Europe is already succumbing and to which America is exceedingly vulnerable.  I am not, by nature, a political animal, but I do believe his speech is of urgent importance for Americans, and especially American Jews, to watch.  Please take the time to watch these two 10-minute clips so that at least you understand better the enemy that Europe and America is facing because, in time, Gd-forbid, this knowledge could radically change your life.

And if you get it, if you feel in your kishkes that the clock is running out on the lives we have enjoyed in America, I'm sure there's still room on our aliyah flight.

What I Didn't Know To Expect

I knew my first labor experience would be painful, but I didn't know it would be so painful that I would feel as if I had transcended my own body and entered a different dimension.  When my oldest daughter was finally born, I remember thinking, "Why didn't anyone tell me it would feel like this?"

As the founding coordinator of the Baltimore Chug Aliyah, I have watched many people make aliyah over the past four years.  I thought I knew, more or less, what to expect from start to finish. Now that the news of our impending aliyah is out, I find myself experiencing emotions that I didn't know to anticipate.

It started when we began talking about paring down our not-insubstantial collection of books.  With a rabbi, an educator and a few voracious readers in the house, we have a LOT of books.  So we told each other we would start by separating out those books that "didn't hurt."  If you love books, you know exactly what I mean. We started the process, but as each book is transferred from our hands to the hands of another reader, I get a funny feeling, like I'm not quite ready to let it go, even if I haven't cracked the book open in a decade or more.

Then we had to take a hard look at our furniture, some of which was part of my childhood home and some of which I bought when I was a teenager with a JCPenney employee discount.  As I examined each piece in the decision-making process, it seemingly took on a mystique of its own, one I hadn't been aware of all those years it sat in the basement, unused.

Thirty five years ago, my father, A"H, bought me a beautiful, feminine writing desk.  I loved the desk, but as I got older, it played a smaller and smaller role in my home.  Alas, it was one of the pieces I was called upon to sacrifice in the quest to fit five decades worth of life into a small Israeli apartment.  A few prospective buyers came to see it.  One immediately rejected it because of a shallow scratch on the writing surface.  One offered me a pitifully low bid which I quickly declined.  Money being money, I did so more from sentiment than anything else.  Then a mother and her 7 year-old daughter came to see it, gushed over its beauty and specialness and I knew they were the right buyers. So even though, knowing the desk will no longer be mine, I have a twinge of something I cannot name, I am happy that another young girl will appreciate it, as I have over the years.

Last week, I went to close a bank account that I opened 25 years ago, just as my career began. The account had been more-or-less dormant for well over a decade, but there was a little cash there to add to our Aliyah Savings Fund.  Was I really feeling sentimental about a checking account?

I was.

Ahead of me in these next months lie dozens, if not hundreds, of these sorts of experiences.  I am extricating myself from five decades of life in America.  Unraveling decades-long business connections.  Sorting out the detritus of a lifetime.  Freeing myself from the tentacles of materialism and preparing myself to be open to my future.

Even though I have been dreaming of boarding that aliyah flight and living my life in Gd's Holy Land for years and years and years, ahead of me are any number of twinges and gut punches as I disentangle myself from a lifetime lived elsewhere.

I didn't know to expect that.

And yet, I know that even this is a bracha.  How many millions of Jews over the span of Jewish history have had the luxury of such a gradual parting from their sojourn outside the Land of Israel?

Hashem has truly blessed me.