The Diaspora Challenge that I Called TMore than Twenty Years Ago - My Article in Jewish Action 2004

 

This Pesach, I arrived at shul to find a new edition of YU Torah-To-Go - always a fun read. Except this issue focuses on the critical communal challenge of Aliyah, and states rather dramatically that Diaspora Judaism is at a new croosroads. In light of growing anti-Semitism at home, and the pull of Israel, many in the issue argue that (Modern Orthodox) Diaspora Jewry needs to make some important choices about its future. 

This issue has already garnered much discussion (and I'm here in Israel!) and an early response from Professor Adam Ferziger in which he notes the issue, promotes his most recent book, and makes the important point that Aliyah is not always running away, and that Diaspora Jews make tremendous contributions here in Israel - and should think about aliyah in this manner as well. (On a personal note, there's a small but growing trend of Jewish educators coming to Israel and staying in Chinuch, rather than retraining in another field).

I raised the issue of the "brain drain" on Modern Orthodox communities more than twenty years ago, in an article that I called, "In Search of Leaders" in Jewish Action magazine of the OU. At the time, it also generate much discussion, including this article in the Orthodox forum by Yoel Finkelman, and others. 

Also, after we made aliyah in 2008, many many people commented that I wasn't following my own advice from my article. Sadly, neither they nor many of the letter writers, read my article carefully.

For reasons that are not clear to me, the archive for the particular issue was corrupted, so I'm sharing the original article here should you care to read it.

You can read the responses online (still up) here.

Facing the Difficult Questions – A Thought for Parshat Yitro

Over ten years ago, when I was a community rabbi in Metro Detroit, I invited a the Rosh Kollel for the Kollel Torah Mitzion, to a brief meeting.
“Rav Shlomo,” I said to him, “the programming at the kollel is incredible. You guys have so much energy, passion and excitement. The community members really love you. But I need to you to do something for me.”
“Sure,” he said. “What do you need?” He never saw the next sentence coming.
“I need you to stop talking about Aliyah.”
He seemed momentarily stunned.
“What do you mean ‘Stop talking about Aliyah’? That’s what we’re here for. We believe passionately in the value of Aliyah. Why would we stop talking about it?”

He was right, but so was I. Many community members, tired of hearing the same message over and over again, were simply tuning the members of the Kollel out. I wanted the Kollel to continue to have an influence over the members of the community, so I encouraged them to broaden their message.
I often feel that same estrangement from Diaspora Jewry today. If I write a piece about the importance of living in Israel, the response I get is tepid, indifferent, or hostile. “You made a choice for yourself” – they say – “but why do you insist on imposing your ideology on us?”

I preach Aliyah, of course, is because I believe that it’s the right thing to do.  If so, why do we tune out the messenger when we don’t like what he has to say? One answer lies in a quality of Moshe Rabbeinu that emerges from advice he receives from Yitro.

After settling in during his visit with Moshe in the desert, Yitro decides to join his son-in-law at the office. There he finds an intolerable situation, as the people stand from morning ‘till night, waiting to speak with Moshe. Yitro doesn’t mince words: לא טוב הדבר אשר אתה עושה – “the thing that you’re doing is not good.” (Shemot 18:17) Yitro gives Moshe what would seem to be obvious advice: You need to delegate. You can’t handle everything on your own. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for the people either.

Moshe heeds Yitro’s advice and establishes a system to allow lower judges to handle the “easy” questions, while the more challenging queries made their way up the line to Moshe. If we think about it, Yitro’s advice isn’t all that unusual nor surprising. Wikipedia calls delegation “a core concept of management leadership.” If it’s so obvious, why didn’t Moshe think of it himself? And, if we assume that he did – which I believe is a fair assumption – why did he not delegate until Yitro came along and insisted that he do so?

According to the Harvard Business Review, “There are plenty of reasons why managers don’t delegate. Some are perfectionists who feel it’s easier to do everything themselves, or that their work is better than others’.”  It’s very easy to see Moshe Rabbeinu fall into that trap. After all, he really could do it better. The people really did want to speak specifically to him. Who wouldn’t want to talk to Moshe about their problems or questions? If the people want to wait, why should he stop them?
When Yitro insisted that he delegate, he also forced Moshe to ask himself some challenging questions: Why wasn’t he delegating? Why hadn’t he implemented the obvious system to deal with the impossible crush of people? It’s not easy to ask yourself questions like these, and many times we simply don’t want to hear the answers. They’re deeply personal, and oftentimes, the answers reveal aspects of our personalities that we’d rather leave unexplored.

The greatness of Moshe lay in the fact that rather than ignore Yitro’s advice and put the challenging questions aside, Moshe confronted them head-on. He was willing to honestly ask himself: Why don’t I ask other people for help? Why haven’t I changed? And, after asking the questions (and discovering the honest answers), he exhibits a willingness to make the appropriate and obvious course adjustment.

If you’re still with me, you probably can see where I’m going here. If you’ve read this far in this D’var Torah, you’ve either made aliyah, or appreciate the fact that aliyah must be a strong priority in the value system of every Torah Jew. Yet, too many people fear the difficult questions that they’d have to ask themselves if they actually confronted the issue head-on. (Why don’t we make aliyah? What am I really afraid of?) So they shun the messenger (or the message) and tell them to stop preaching Aliyah, and instead ask their scholars in residence from Israel to share fun stories about the IDF from the pulpit instead.

The story of Yitro’s advice teaches us that greatness stems not from knowing all the answers, but from the ability and willingness to confront the most difficult, challenging questions inside of us.

Why We Ask: "What Do You Do?"

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg recently wrote a thoughtful post entitled "Don’t Confuse Earning a Living with Living", in which he relates a story about an encounter he had with a stranger sitting at a wedding.

At the meal, I found myself sitting at a table of people I had never met.  In an attempt to be friendly to the man seated next to me, I asked him, “What do you do?”  He sat up in his chair, turned to me and said, “What do I do, or how do I earn a living?  I earn a living as a plumber.  What I do, what I am most proud of, is that I learn Torah every morning before davening, and I spend time with my family every evening after work.”  His answer remains etched in my memory as he taught me a profound lesson that day in that short, but poignant answer to my simple social question.

Culturally, at least in the United States, "What do you do?" is the first thing you ask to someone that you don't know. It's an ice-breaker; a way to start a conversation. Tell me about yourself. Yet, after I made aliyah, I noticed that Israelis almost never ask this question. They ask different questions: "Where are you from?" "Where did you serve in the army?" To Anglos (like me), they'll often ask, "You're from America, right?" (It's a game where they try and identify you from your accent. It's not hard.) But they don't usually first ask about your profession.
That got me thinking about the differences between cultures and countries, and wondering why people in the States ask about and identify a person through his or her profession.
I think, at least subconsciously, "What do you do?" is also a question about money and social status.
When you ask, "What do you do?" you're also asking another question: "How much do you earn?" Because if you're a lawyer or a doctor, I can place you in one social sphere. If you're a plumber, you're in another; a teacher or social worker? Yet another. (When they asked me the question and I told them that I was the rabbi of a shul, people would inevitably ask me the obvious follow-up: "Really? How many families?" It's the same question: Are you the rabbi of some small shtiebel, or are you an "imporant" rabbi of a significant community?)
We assess people by their earning power, and extend to them social status commensurate to that financial wherewithal. It's sad, but too often true. Think about the shul you attend: how do people relate to the doctors, compared to how they relate to the physical therapists? It's not a question of how many aliyot a person gets, but a question of voice, deference, and communal authority.
In Israel, people earn far less money, and doctors and lawyers don't really earn much more than teachers (which is one reason why it's so hard for American doctors to make aliyah). There are very few truly rich people, at least where I live (to the best of my knowledge). I have no clue how much people do or don't earn.
This type of subconscious assessment is only natural. The people with greater means do get a greater say. We need them - at least externally - more than we do everyone else. Their donations keep the lights on; they pay for the kiddushim we enjoy, and for the rabbis' salaries as well. We have to give them a voice, especially in the decisions of the institutions that they support. Yet, this unspoken preferential treatment alienates those who don't fit the bill: the teachers, the marketers, the plumbers (although plumbers do fine, from what I hear).

I'm sure that Rabbi Goldberg meant none of this when he asked the plumber "What do you do?" Yet, in some part of his mind, I'm also sure that the plumber heard a different question: "Hello. I don't know you. Are you an important person? Does your profession make you someone I should respect?" To this question, instead of answering, "Actually, I earn a living wage by putting my hands in people's waste all day long," he chose a different path - an understandable one from that point of view. I wonder whether the plumber would have had the same reaction had his chosen profession been to own a chain of plumbers which served six states. Perhaps yes, although I doubt he would have reacted so sharply to the question.

Throughout the school year at Orot, we invite groups of young women serving in Sherut Leumi (National Service) for in-service days (yemei iyyun). Often, I give a seminar called "Finding the 'Me' Among the Masses" (מצאית ה"אני" בתוך ההמונים), in which we speak about balancing the need to actualize our individuality with the needs of the community and the country. I always begin this seminar by doing an exercise called "Why Do You Do What You Do?" (or WDYDWYD), a seminar that's given in business and school settings around the world. I do a little exercise where I ask the students to spend five minutes drawing a picture that explains "Why they do what they do." 

It's harder than you think, because before you can answer the question "why", you first have to ask yourself, "What do I do?" - a question that can be as narrow as "Why am I sitting in this room?" and as broad as "Why am I serving in Sherut Leumi?" It's always an incredible exercise.

Each time I give the seminar, I also draw a picture. During the first years after our Aliyah, I always drew a picture of my family. I interpreted the question to mean, "Why are you giving this seminar in Orot today? Why did you leave the rabbinate and make Aliyah?" The answer, to me, was always for the sake of my family and my children. Yet, each time I drew that picture, it forced me to ask other questions: If I really am doing it all for my kids, why don't I spend more time with them? (This actually prompted me to take a day off from work and take them on a tiyyul.)

Perhaps the question we should ask people when we meet them for the first time isn't "What do you do?", but instead, "Why do you do what you do?" 

That question would lead to a much more fruitful and interesting conversation.

A Fantastic Day: Bezalel Competes in the Chidon Hatanach, and I Get Another Reminder Why I Moved to Israel

This past Saturday night, as I shut down the house for the night, I noticed a light in Bezalel's room. He was still reading, late into the night. When I walked in, I caught him reading...my Tanach. That's when I realized just how invested he was in the Chidon.
Each school that participates in the Chidon gives a written test on the material specified by the Ministry of Education. Bezalel decided to study, and was one of three high school students from Tzvi Katif chosen to represent the school. (The other two later dropped out). Something about the Chidon lit a fire in him, and he began to go through the material for the regional Chidon (which was today).
The material included: most of the five books of the Chumash, Yehoshua, Shoftim, Shmuel, Melachim, parts of Yishayahu, parts of Yirmiyah, and Yonah (he thinks). Some of the material he had never read before, and now he was being asked to remember names, facts, cities, who killed whom, who was bald (and who wasn't) - any and every possible and imaginable detail included in the text.
The regional finals, which took place in Meitar, were actually in two stages. Forty kids took a written test, and eighteen were selected for the final, which was done orally, in front of an audience. Rena and I weren't sure whether to go or not. If he didn't make the cut, we didn't want to embarrass him. But there would be no way to know if he was in until the live program started, so we go in the car and drove to Meitar.
Right before they opened the auditorium, Bezalel sent Rena a text - he made it into the finals. Truth be told, we were genuinely proud that he had worked so hard to get as far as he had. We had not prodded or pushed in the least. It was entirely his initiative, and he worked very hard, pushing off other tests and quizzes to study for the chidon. The Ministry of Education had even set up a website which was optimized for mobile phones, so students could quiz themselves with sample questions.
Walking into the auditorium, I was immediately impressed with the scale of the program, and the investment that the Ministry of Education made in the Chidon itself. This was one of seven regional finals, and yet the stage was decorated with banners, there was full professional lighting and sound; it was the full show - at the local level.
They had even produced mini videos that they were supposed to show before each group of questions. The first set was about Plishtim - and they had produced a four minute video about a Plishti warrior who stops at a local kiosk and orders lunch. It was clever, and not cheap. I've been doing some research for Orot on the costs of producing videos. They had prepared about five or six videos, so it was clear that a good deal of investment went into this program. Sadly, because we started late, and the videos had no real bearing on the quiz itself, they only showed the first video and skipped the rest.

There was even a musical program: kids on flutes; the local choir from the Meitar elementary school. (The first song that they song was the Chemed Song - did you know that there was a song about the Religious Zionist School System? Chemed stands for Chinuch Mamlachti Dati - Religious Zionist Education. Someone decided that they needed a theme song. For some reason, I really love the music video they put out...but I digress...)
Bezalel didn't make it past the first round. Truth be told, the questions were really, really hard. Here was Bezalel's question (each child got the question both orally, and in print in advance):

I had no idea about either part. For that matter, I couldn't really answer the vast majority of the questions.
Bezalel got the first question right. They were eaten by bears. (Who knew?) The judges also tried quite hard to help the kids find a correct answer. And when the crowd felt that a kid had gotten an answer correct that the judges didn't hear, they gave him credit anyway.
The questions only got harder from there, with time limits, and then lightening rounds, until two kids were left - and then finally a winner. They gave each finalist a small gift along with a rather nice Tanach, we sang Hatikvah, and then we had a minyan for minchah.
I left the auditorium with my spirits soaring. My son had competed in a well-produced Tanach competition sponsored by the Ministry of Education of the State of Israel. There was a crowd cheering the kids on; it was just such a special experience.
As the time since our Aliyah passes - going on almost six years now - life has, thank God, settled into a sort of rhythm. It's normal. So you tend to forget the things that brought you to Israel, and why you chose to leave a life in the United States and move halfway around the world.
Today was one of those days. Baruch Hashem.

Seeing the Goםd - A Thought for Parshat Va'era

It was almost inevitable.

Even before the streets were plowed, media figures and government officials began calling for an investigation into the "failures" surrounding the recent blizzard that blanketed a good chunk of Israel. True, many people lost power, and thousands were stranded. But, from my point of view, we did pretty well: the roads were shut down appropriately, saving many, many lives; the power company crews worked around the clock to restore and repair power lines that buckled under the heavy weather.

And yet, we complain. Somehow, too often, our intuition is to see the negative, rather than appreciating the positive that exists in every situation. Our task – and responsibility, is to overcome this inclination to kvetch, and to try to appreciate and grow from our struggles. According to Rashi, this is precisely the message that God conveys to Moshe Rabbeinu.

By all accounts, things aren't going well.

Rather than rescuing the Nation of Israel from bondage, Moshe has only made things worse, as the people must now gather the straw necessary to construct the bricks themselves while still fulfilling their old quotas. Recognizing his failure, Moshe complains to God.

God, why did you deal negatively with this people? Why did you send me? Since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has made things worse for this people; and You have not saved Your people.' (Shemot 5:22-23)

God responds by telling Moshe that He would, in fact, redeem the nation as promised. But then God adds:

'I am the LORD; and I appeared to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov, as God Almighty, but by My name Yud-Hay-Vav-Hay I did not make known to them.

What is the nature of this minor lesson about the Avot? What is the difference between the two different names of God, and what is God trying to communicate to Moshe?

Rashi, in his second answer to these questions (on verse 9), quotes the Midrash explaining that God's message was a direct response to Moshe's complaints.

Said God [to Moshe]: I yearn for those who are lost but not forgotten!…Many times I revealed Myself to them, and they never asked me, "What is Your name?" And you said, "[When they ask] what is His name, what should I tell them?"

When Avraham wished to bury Sarah and could not find a grave until he was compelled to purchase one at great expense; When they complained to Yitzchak about the wells that he dug; When Ya'akov was compelled to purchase the plot of the field in order to pitch his tent –they did not wonder about My attributes! And yet you said, "Why have You made things worse?"

It's a chilling message.

How often do we "wonder" about the struggles we endure and immediately lapse into "complaint" mode – whether we're talking about the snow, our jobs, our kids' education?

I believe that these verses also carry the key to unlocking a successful Aliyah. After all, the subject under discussion here is the redemption of the Jewish Nation and their ultimate arrival in the Holy Land.) 

Aliyah, especially for people making Aliyah by choice, represents a degree of hardship.  Moving to the Holy Land requires sacrifice. Sometimes you really do feel like you've taken two steps backwards. And yet, God powerfully relays to Moshe the message that our attitude is critical. We cannot immediately complain when things don't go our way. Rather, we must permit ourselves to see the good, the blessing, and the potential that lies ahead.

Should Monetary Considerations Play a Factor in Deciding Whether to Make Aliyah?

Everyone knows the old joke: "How do you make a million dollars in Israel?" Answer: Come with two million.
Ha. Ha. It's not a funny joke, and actually not really true anymore, at all. But the joke highlights the very real financial concerns that prevent many a potential oleh from realizing the dream of Aliyah. They rightly wonder: should they make the move, irrespective of financial concerns, or should their money-worries play a major role in what is undoubtedly a challenging decision? Netziv, based on the actions of Avraham Avinu, makes a thoughtful suggestion.
Following God's commandment of לך לך, Avraham abandons his homeland for the Promised Land. Yet, according to the Netziv, the journey took place in two distinct stages. The Torah tells us,

 וַיֵּלֶךְ אַבְרָם, כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר אֵלָיו ה', וַיֵּלֶךְ אִתּוֹ, לוֹט; וְאַבְרָם, בֶּן-חָמֵשׁ שָׁנִים וְשִׁבְעִים שָׁנָה, בְּצֵאתוֹ, מֵחָרָן. וַיִּקַּח אַבְרָם אֶת-שָׂרַי אִשְׁתּוֹ וְאֶת-לוֹט בֶּן-אָחִיו, וְאֶת-כָּל-רְכוּשָׁם אֲשֶׁר רָכָשׁוּ, וְאֶת-הַנֶּפֶשׁ, אֲשֶׁר-עָשׂוּ בְחָרָן; וַיֵּצְאוּ, לָלֶכֶת אַרְצָה כְּנַעַן, וַיָּבֹאוּ, אַרְצָה כְּנָעַן. (בראשית יב, ד-ה)

So Abram went, as the LORD had spoken unto him; and Lot went with him; and Abram was seventy and five years old when he departed out of Haran. And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother's son, and all their substance that they had gathered, and the souls that they had gotten in Haran; and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan; and into the land of Canaan they came. (Bereishit 12, 4-5)

Netziv notes the unusual order of the verses. We first read that Avram went – and Lot went with him, and note his age upon departing Haran. Then, in the very next verse, we learn that Avram took Sarai, Lot, and all of their possessions. Is this not at least a partial repetition of the first verse?
To answer these questions, Netziv explains that these two verses describe not one, but two legs of the same journey. And, while we normally translate the phrase, וילך אברם כאשר דבר אליו ה'  to mean, "And Avram went, as God had spoken to him" (meaning that Avram follow God's commandment), Netziv explains the phrase differently, suggesting that the Torah is telling us not what Avram did, but when he did it.

אלא משמעות כאשר דבר תכף ומיד כשדבר ולא המתין על הכנה הדרושה לזה וכדי שלא יהיו לו עכובים ממכירת הנחלאות וכדומה יצא תכף ומיד ולוט הלך עמו והניח אשתו ושארי בני ביתו בעיר עד שמכרו הכל והוה נתעכב מעט בדרך ומאחר שכבר יצא מעירו והחזיק בדרך ראו אנשיו להכין הכל ובאו כולם אצלו ואז כתיב ה ויקח אברם אז הי' אברם בראש וכל הטפלים כמש"כ

Rather, the meaning of the words כאשר דבר is "immediately and without delay" – that [Avram] did not wait to complete the necessary preparations. So that there would not be unnecessary delays from the sale of his property and similar matters he left immediately, and Lot went with him. He left his wife and the other members of his household in the city until they sold everything, and he tarried a bit on the road. Yet, since he had already left the city and begun the journey, his people saw fit to make the necessary preparations, and then they all joined him. Then it is written, ויקח אברם "And Avram took".

According to Netziv, Avram followed God's commandment immediately, refusing to wait for the sale of his property. Only after he had already left his home did he then slow down enough to wait for his entourage to attend to his affairs, sell his property, and join him on the road.
Yet, Netziv wonders: If Avraham received a direct divine commandment to move, should he not have simply dropped everything and traveled immediately to the Promised Land without delay? Why did he allow himself to be delayed by the mundane matters of his household?

...אחר שהחזיק בדרך וידע שלא יהיה לו מניעה מגוף הליכה שוב ראה לחוש לאבידת הממון וכל היקום - אע"ג שהוא נגד הזריזות לגמר המצוה, מכל מקום גם שמירת נכסים הוא ענין ראוי לחוש...משא"כ בתחלה שהיה משער שאם היה מחעכב בשביל שמירת הנכסים היה יכול להיות מניעה לעיקר הליכה, על כן הוחלט אצלו לצאת תיכף ומיד ויעבור עליו מה. וזה כלל גדול מה שיש ללמוד בדרך המצות.

…Once he established himself on the road, and knew that [monetary matters] would not prevent him from leaving at all, then he saw fit to concern himself with the loss of his money and all of living things – even though this contradicted the value of alacrity in completing a mitzvah, nonetheless maintaining one's property is also a matter of genuine concern…this is not true with regard to the beginning of the journey. He estimated that were he to tarry due to concern for preserving his wealth, this could possibly represent an obstacle to traveling at all. Therefore, he decided to leave immediately, and whatever would happen, would happen. And this is a great rule that we should apply to the fulfillment of the commandments.

Is money an issue when we approach the fulfillment of mitzvot, and especially the challenging mitzvah of Aliyah? It depends. Money worries are indeed real, genuine concerns, and should be considered – even if they delay the fulfillment of the mitzvah. But they cannot be so overriding that they prevent us from fulfilling the mitzvah at all.
So, if you're thinking about Aliyah, and worried about money, first of all, you're not alone. Most Olim, contrary to popular belief, don't have two million dollars in the bank (far, far from it). Financial concerns can and should be part of one's planning when charting the path to aliyah, and, as Avram demonstrated, can even be a legitimate reason to delay the fulfillment of this critical mitzvah.
On the other hand, finances should not and cannot keep us from fulfilling Aliyah, or any other mitzvah. When financial concerns become so great that they're holding us back completely, then we must follow in Avraham's footsteps and, in the words of Netziv, "leave immediately, and whatever happens, happens."
We don't abandon logic and ignore the important factor of money when considering Aliyah. But we can never forget the critical element of faith, and trust that if the Holy One commanded us to fulfill a mitzvah, even if we can't see it, His guiding hand will lead us to success, even when we ourselves cannot see how.

A Nice Reminder of Why We Moved Here

This past week, Bezalel's yeshiva, Tzvia Katif in Yad Binyamin, went on what they called a "gibbushon" - from the word gibbush, which means "bonding experience". He came back after the two-day trip tired, sweaty, and in terrific spirits. The trip was designed to honor the fallen soldiers from the six-day war. The boys walked and hiked at least twenty miles over the two days, slept in the open air (unless they brought a tent), spent time with their rabbanim, and ended up at Ammunition Hill in Jerusalem, where they ran a memorial program for the entire school. (Oh, and he also got a t-Shirt from the trip. Here in Israel, whenever a kid sneezes, they give them a commemorative t-shirt. Leah had an Ezra program this week, and came home with a t-shirt sponsored by a local framing shop. Go figure.)
The video is well done, and watching it (I couldn't find Bezalel) made me so happy that the school trips that my children benefit from are so rich in the essence of our people; they focus on the sacrifice of others, helping the boys grow closer to each-other, their teachers, and their nation. Watching the video (the background music doesn't hurt either), I am reminded yet again why we moved here.

The Windmills of Zionist Apathy

I had a chance to watch Rabbi Joshua Fass' speech at Yeshiva University's recent graduation, and while it was a great honor for him, it made me a little sad. You can hear it in his words, as he speaks about his lonely journey traveling around the United States fighting what he called "Don Quixote battles fighting the Windmills of Zionist apathy." (I'm having trouble getting the link to post to the right part of the video. Watch beginning at 13:17)

These aren't mere words. The statistics justify his frustration.
I remember the excitement around the creation of the organization. Rabbi Fass and Mr. Gelbart began Nefesh B'nefesh in order to solve the puzzle of the lack of Aliyah from North America. At first they thought that people didn't make aliyah due to a lack of money, so he offered grants to those who needed money to help them move.
He also built an incredible organization, which provides a wealth of information about communities in Israel. He hired staff to help immigrants integrate into Israeli society and navigate the sometimes confusing bureaucracy. (Truth be told, it's not nearly as bad as most people think it is, unless you're talking about the Ministry of Education). He built touch screen consoles to make the processing of Aliyah paperless, and ensured that new immigrants received their citizenship papers mere days after arriving in their new country. He created a network which helps people find work. The list goes on and on.
I remember reading about his bold predictions five and seven years ago. While that year the aliyah numbers were in the three-thousand range, he predicted that the numbers would rise to five thousand the following year, and then ten thousand in the years afterwards, numbers that would literally change the face of the Jewish State.
Last year, the Jerusalem Post reported that while,

...NBN’s stated goal is not only to facilitate migration from North America, but to significantly increase it. So far, that seems out of reach.
Proportionately, immigration to Israel from North America remains little more than a trickle. Of the approximately six million Jews in North America...only about 3,512 people, or 0.06%, made aliya in 2011. In comparison, some 0.35% of Jews in France made aliya in 2010 – 1,775 of about 500,000 in the country. Percentages are even higher for places such as Ukraine and Russia.
For all of the innovation introduced by NBN, the number of North American olim has not come close to breaking the 1970 record, when 7,130 people from the US and Canada moved to the Jewish state, basking in the glory of its victory in the Six Day War. It is also far from hitting the target of 10,000 olim a year by 2015 set by Oberman in a 2010 interview with the Post.
Nonetheless, Oberman, who made aliya from Australia in the 1970s, has still not given up on reaching that ambitious goal.
“That figure is still feasible,” he said on Thursday.
He said that while NBN is not satisfied with the number of olim coming from North America, he is confident the figures will grow due to a “snowball effect.”
“Many of those coming now are friends and family of those who already came, so we are looking for higher numbers in the near future,” he said.

And they're still waiting. Just check the numbers.
For the last year available, 3074 people made aliyah from the United States, as opposed to 3,187 the year before (2011), a three percent decrease. This year, the numbers seem to be near the previous two years, meaning that the Aliyah rates from the U.S. have not risen at all over the past few years, despite the inroads that Nefesh B'nefesh has made across America - and a massive recession in the United States that coincided with an economic boom in the Holy Land. If it really was about the money, then the numbers should have mushroomed over the past few years, and they did not.
Even Rabbi Fass, the founder of an organization devoted to Aliyah, when speaking to graduates of Yeshiva felt the need to temper his pro-aliyah talk by saying that his message, "Does not mean that you all have to live in Israel...although that would be magnificent. It means that at least you should all 'Live Israel." Et tu, Rav Yehoshua? Why not say it like it is? Why not say what you really think? Of course you think that they all should move to Israel! Why not say it?
The truth is, we don't say it anymore be people don't want to hear it.
Everyone now knows about Aliyah. They've watched the videos and seen the speeches, and they're still not coming. (The most fascinating aspect of the numbers to me is the breakdown by family. Each year, of the 3,000 olim coming from the United States, almost half of them are young single. This makes sense, I guess. It's much easier to come when you're young and single than when you're older with a family.)
I completely identify with his palpable frustration. I felt precisely the same way after returning home from a month-long visit to the states. Nothing makes you more frustrated about American Jewry's aliyah apathy than a visit to your family - and their desire to talk about anything but aliyah. It's hard enough to be so far away from family. It's even harder knowing that due to tuition expenses and the generally high cost of day school tuition, you aren't going to really be seeing any of them in a meaningful way for years, if not decades.
"But there's Nefesh B'nefesh! And your kids will do fine! And you'll find a job, and be happy!" I say in so many words.
"We know," they answer, in so many words. "So can you please stop bugging us, and just let us enjoy your visit?"
Sure. Fine. Whatever.

I guess I shouldn't be that surprised. After all, Moshe Rabbeinu himself alludes to the phenomenon of Aliyah Apathy - at least according to Rashi. I'll explain.
Moshe Rabbeinu tells us that in the end, after all the suffering of the Tochecha, we'll finally "return to our hearts," repent, and wish to return to God. When that happens, Moshe promises,

וְשָׁב ה' אֱלֹקיךָ אֶת-שְׁבוּתְךָ, וְרִחֲמֶךָ; וְשָׁב, וְקִבֶּצְךָ מִכָּל-הָעַמִּים, אֲשֶׁר הֱפִיצְךָ ה' אֱלֹקיךָ, שָׁמָּה.

that then the LORD thy God will turn thy captivity, and have compassion upon thee, and will return and gather thee from all the peoples, whither the LORD thy God hath scattered thee.

Rashi and the Midrash wonder: היה לו לכתוב והשיב את שבותך - "It should have written "and [God will] bring back [those in] captivity..." Instead the verse seems to imply that God Himself will return with us from the exile to the Promised Land. God doesn't exist in physical space, and if He did, would it not make sense to assume that even though we were exiled, God remained in the Holy Land?
No, Rashi says. That would not be a safe assumption.

רבותינו למדו מכאן שהשכינה כביכול שרויה עם ישראל בצרת גלותם, וכשנגאלין הכתיב גאולה לעצמו, שהוא ישוב עימהם.

From here our Sages derived that it is as if the Shechinah dwells with Israel in the anguish of their exile. And when they are redeemed, God wrote in redemption for Himself, for He dwells with them...

Rashi's first answer conveys the beautiful notion that when God exiled us from His Land, he exiled Himself as well. It is as if God's presence in the Land of Israel cannot be complete and whole without His chosen nation dwelling in the Land together with him.
Rashi adds a second answer:

ועוד יש לומר, שגדול יום קבוץ גליות ובקושי, כאלו הוא עצמו צריך להיות אוחז בידיו ממש איש איש ממקומו, כענין שנאמר (ישעיה כז, יב) ואתם תלקטו לאחד אחד בני ישראל

One can also answer, that great is the day of the ingathering of the exiles - and difficult, as if God Himself must literally hold the hand of each individual person in his place, as it is written, "And you will gather one by one the Children of Israel." 

Rereading Rashi's comments, it dawned on me: There's no one big "day of the ingathering of the exiles." It doesn't happen as a group on one day. Each individual person has his day.
After spending over a month in the United States over the summer, I experienced an interesting emotion. Someone asked me whether I missed living in America, and I cannot say that I did - or do. But I do remember feeling, "I can't believe I actually picked my family up and moved halfway around the world." It's such a huge thing.
Don't misunderstand me. I am overjoyed that we made aliyah. It's the best thing that we ever did for ourselves and our family (and for the Jewish people as well). But it was by no means easy, and looking now from the other side, five years later, gives me a sense that it really was a big deal.
Aliyah is hard. The touchscreens, websites and seminars and red-tape-cutting certainly do lighten the burden. But they cannot change the essence of the act.
This, I think, is what Rashi refers to when he says that God will hold the hand of each and every Oleh. That's pretty much what it takes. And, as every Oleh will tell you, He does indeed take your hand and guide you.
All you need to do is reach out to Him, and you'll find yourself led in the right direction. I guess it's that first step that's the most difficult.

Seeing the Signs - A Message from Rav Zalman Sorotzkin

This was shared with me a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't had time to share it...sorry for the delay.

The Torah tells us that after Yosef was born, Yaakov realized that the time had come to return home. Yet, when we look at the text, it seems that something else also contributed to Yaakov's desire to leave Haran and return the the Land of Canaan. It seems that he no longer got along with his brothers-in-law as well as he used to.

וַיִּשְׁמַע, אֶת-דִּבְרֵי בְנֵי-לָבָן לֵאמֹר, לָקַח יַעֲקֹב, אֵת כָּל-אֲשֶׁר לְאָבִינוּ; וּמֵאֲשֶׁר לְאָבִינוּ--עָשָׂה, אֵת כָּל-הַכָּבֹד הַזֶּה. וַיַּרְא יַעֲקֹב, אֶת-פְּנֵי לָבָן; וְהִנֵּה אֵינֶנּוּ עִמּוֹ, כִּתְמוֹל שִׁלְשׁוֹם .וַיֹּאמֶר ה'אֶל-יַעֲקֹב, שׁוּב אֶל-אֶרֶץ אֲבוֹתֶיךָ וּלְמוֹלַדְתֶּךָ; וְאֶהְיֶה, עִמָּךְ  - בראשית לא:א-ג

And he heard the words of Laban's sons, saying: 'Jacob hath taken away all that was our father's; and of that which was our father's hath he gotten all this wealth.'  And Jacob beheld the countenance of Laban, and, behold, it was not toward him as beforetime. And the LORD said unto Jacob: 'Return unto the land of thy fathers, and to thy kindred; and I will be with thee.' (Bereishit 31:1-3)

Commenting on this interesting progression in the Torah, Rav Zalman Sorotzkin writes in his commentary to the Chumash (called Oznayim L'torah),

Translation: According to the order of the verses it emerges that after Lavan and his sons began to speak and look with an evil eye towards Ya'akov, only then did God say to him, "Return to the Land of your fathers." This is a sign for the children, that at the moment that the Holy One wishes that [his children] should return to their borders, he places in the hearts of the nations [the desire] to do evil to, and to afflict Israel in the lands of their dispersion. Fortunate is the Jew, who sees the finger of God in this matter, and hears the voice of God calling to him, "Return to the Land of your Fathers."

Fortunate indeed.

Hat tip: Naphtali Lavenda

Shabbat Aliyah in Antwerp Part 2: Will the Last Person Out, Please Turn off the Lights

In 2004, I wrote an article for the OU’s Jewish Action Magazine called, “In Search of Leaders,” lamenting the toll that aliyah was taking on my attempt to build a committed Modern Orthodox Jewish community. All assumed (incorrectly) that I was decrying aliyah; some applauded the article while others openly defended life in Chutz L’aretz. Yet, the principle thesis of the article – that aliyah was emptying American Modern Orthodoxy of many of its strongest leaders – both lay and professional – remained sound.

I didn’t really know how sound until this past Shabbat, which I spent as a representative of the Jewish Agency speaking about Aliyah over what they called, “Shabbat Lech Lecha.”

Each year, the Jewish Agency (and other sub-groups whose logos must legally appear in this blog post) sends representatives to cities around the world to strengthen ties between the community and Israel and encourage Aliyah. It just so happens that a young man who shares a bench with me in shul spent two years in Antwerp several years ago as a Shaliach Bnei Akiva, and he remains close with many of the community members. He also has ties to the Jewish Agency, so when he heard about this program, he asked me whether I’d go to Antwerp for Shabbat, mostly to speak to the kids in Bnei Akiva. I agreed, and that’s how I ended up in Antwerp for Shabbat Lech Lecha.

Several things strike you (or at least me) immediately upon visiting Antwerp. The Jewish community (at least the Orthodox community) is situated in an extremely small area in the most congested downtown location of the city; kind of like living in Manhattan – except with smaller buildings, most only six or seven stories. This is because the community settled in very close proximity to the Diamond Exchange, which is within walking (or biking – everyone bikes in Antwerp) distance.

All Belgians they speak at least three languages: Flemish, French and English. Most, if not all Jews, even Chareidim, speak Hebrew, a fourth language, and many Jews speak Hebrew as their primary language. In fact, in both Jewish Day schools where I spoke, I spoke to the children in Hebrew which they understood perfectly. Their Hebrew is probably better than mine.

It’s amazing to me how communities around the world suffer from similar problems. Like Detroit, which had a smaller, more Orthodox Religious Zionist day school (Akiva) and a wealthier, less religious, better attended high school (the Jewish Academy), Antwerp had two schools: Yavneh (150 students across all grades) and Tachkemoni (600-700 students). While the bulk of Tachkemoni’s students are not religious, Yavneh is squarely Religious Zionist, with separate boys and girls schools (in the same building, separated by the Rosh Yeshiva’s office). That’s right: 150 total students; separate boys’ and girls’ studies beginning in seventh grade. The high school classes that I saw numbered in the small single digits. If you’re wondering how they possibly can afford to keep the school afloat, in Belgium private schools receive money from the state. That probably helps quite a bit.

Here’s the most surprising aspect of Yavneh by far: one hundred percent of its graduates make Aliyah. That’s right: all of them. I wasn’t there to convince them to make Aliyah; they’re all going to do that anyway, something they openly admitted. Rather, I was there to strengthen their sense of Jewish identity, and to offer them words of encouragement and chizzuk, a mission I feel that I accomplished. Their parents actively encourage them to go learn in Yeshiva in Israel and then either join the army or study in university in Israel and then make aliyah. Not one family that I met did not have at least one child, if not more, who already lives in Israel.

This slow migration is clearly having a devastating effect on the Religious Zionist Community of Antwerp. While the Chareidi chadarim and yeshivot continue to grow, the one true RZ shul, Mizrachi, boasts a regular Shabbat minyan of approximately fifty to sixty men. (I couldn’t see the women’s section), a number which, I was told by more than one person, used to be more than double that. While most children daven at B’nei Akiva (the Snif is actually a huge building complex), the average age at shul could not have been less than fifty. Simply put, the community is aging, and there are no young people who are moving in to pick up the slack. The entire experience was very surreal. One mother I spoke to talked proudly of her children leaving Antwerp, never to return permanently, telling me, “There’s nothing for them here.”

This fact was most striking during the dinner the Shlichim coordinated for college-age students (and those working as well). We put out the word on Facebook, and while a couple (literally two) didn’t join us, there were seven young people at the Shabbat table. That’s it. The rest are long gone.

While the Jewish Agency (in Israel) doesn’t play an outwardly prominent role in Jewish life in Antwerp, the role it plays behind the scenes is crucial. Many of the Judaic Studies teachers are or were Shelichim, sent from Israel for a limited period of time. The Rosh Yeshiva (Rav Herschkovitz) who also serves as the rabbi of the Yavneh shul is serving his second year of Shlichut. Bnei Akiva is coordinated by Shlichim – and the Bnei Akiva clearly plays a critical communal role; many kids daven at the Snif every Shabbat, and they all attend Snif on Shabbat afternoon, where the high school kids coordinate programming for the younger children. Without the Sochnut, Antwerp’s RZ community would have long ago turned to more Chareidi-oriented educators and leaders, ultimately changing the very nature of their own community.

Clearly Antwerp is a unique, unusual community. I’ve traveled to schools across North America and cannot think of a school where you could speak Hebrew to the entire student body and they would not only understand, but converse with you in Hebrew as well. (It made the American notion of Ivrit B’ivrit seem pathetic.) As I spoke with the kids about Jewish identity and how Americans often struggle with a dual sense of fidelity to America and Judaism and the possible conflict between the two (as in, are you an American Jew or a Jewish American), while the Belgian kids found the topic fascinating they simply couldn’t relate. They have no sense of pride in being citizens of Belgium. (They claim that most Belgians don’t either) It seemed clear to me that this lack of pride in being Belgian (Belsh?) had a great deal to do with their willingness to leave their country for Israel. After all, if you don’t identify with where you live, why stay?

I wonder how long the community will be able to sustain itself, keeping the school open and the Bnei Akiva active. At what point are there just not enough kids? At what point does it no longer make sense to run an entire school? Antwerp used to be flush with profits from the diamond industry, but numerous people made it clear that the good old days are long gone, and that many of the community’s wealthiest, most influential members had left, taking their assets with them to…you guessed it: Israel.

Commenting on this phenomenon, most of the Israelis I spoke with had a single response: “Baruch Hashem.” Indeed, who can complain about the fact that a community’s children are slowly but surely settling in the Jewish State. After all, it’s where they belong.

But I wonder about an Orthodox community without a Modern Orthodox element. Are we truly unnecessary to the greater frum community and they’ll do fine without us, or do we play a larger communal role that will be missed when there’s no significant RZ community, shul or school to speak of? I doubt that anyone in the Chareidi community will admit it, but I wonder how Orthodoxy in Antwerp will change when the last person at the Mizrachi Shul turns out the lights.

Baalei Teshuvah and Aliyah

At the end of the Parshat Hashavua shiur this past week, the topic of Ba'alei Teshuvah and aliyah came up. I have no idea what the percentages are, but it just seems like a significant percentage of Anglo olim are also Ba'alei Teshuvah.
This observation makes sense to me for two reasons:
First and foremost, Ba'alei Teshuva, in fundamental ways, have already altered their lifestyles. They've changed attitudes, neighborhoods (often), friends, eating patterns; life after frumkeit is different in almost every way. So, while making the jump to Israel is certainly significant and daunting, BTs are used to change and have already been willing to make it for ideological and faith-based reasons. Aliyah is just an extension of that. FFBs, by contrast, never really undergo fundamental change (unless they turn chareidi), so the thought of uprooting your life and moving to another continent is understandably daunting.
A member of the shiur pointed out another reason why it's easier for BTs to make aliyah than FFBs. As we all know, the chagim are a time when families gather together, making holidays especially challenging for olim, as they watch their Israeli friends and neighbors gather together. The thought of leaving family, and spending chagim essentially alone is challenging, to say the least. BTs, on the other hand, have already "left" their families for the chagim. Their families don't celebrate most of the holidays together, and the ones that do are not kosher, and certainly not the type of Yom Tov a frum family celebrates. So, they don't find the challenge of spending Yom Tov without family as pressing, because they're already doing that in Chutz L'aretz.

Jamie Geller Makes Aliyah - But She's Already Pretty Israeli

Kudos for Jamie Geller and family for their upcoming Aliyah. Watching the video of them packing up her house brought back memories. Moving is hard. Moving across the ocean and sleeping on the floor is really hard. Just imagine how hard it will be for her when she realizes that much of her beloved stuff just won't fit in her new house.

When the lift comes and you house is stuffed to the gills, and they've still got half of your belonging on the truck, that's when you realize that as much as you like your stuff, it's not who you are. (At least that's what I keep telling myself when I think of the two pieces of beautiful furniture I left behind in Oak Park. I don't miss my breakfront. I don't miss my breakfront...)

In her video, she is understandably anxious about the move, her acclimation and the family's new life in the Holy Land. Actually, though, Jamie is more Israeli than she realizes. A recent Forward short piece on her aliyah declares that,

Geller, a television producer, author and cooking celebrity, is producing with the Nefesh B’Nefesh aliyah assistance organization a documentary series following her and her family as they prepare to make aliyah and finally land in Israel...Geller founded the Kosher Media Network, which combines traditional media such as magazines, books and broadcast with digital, online and social media. In the spring of 2011, the network unveiled its Joy of Kosher consumer brand, launching JoyofKosher.com and the Joy of Kosher with Jamie Geller magazine.

Using your aliyah as a marketing tool to build interest in your budding food network? That's a totally Israeli move. Welcome home Jamie! Apparently you belong here more than you realize.

The Tuition Crisis, Aliyah and Happiness

Rabbi Yitzchak Adlerstein recently wrote a passionate piece on his blog about the unintended victims of the ongoing tution crisis: the unborn children, who will never be born, because their parents can't see a way to affordably raise them. His post raises important questions that he doesn't attempt to answer, for good reason. There aren't that many good answers.
Not surprisingly, a number of commenters suggest aliyah as a solution to the crisis, as tuition in Israel is largely paid by the government. I have come to realize that these types of responses just irk American Orthodox Jews who: (a) hate being lectured about aliyah constantly in the blogosphere and (b) insist, correctly, that aliyah won't solve the crisis. Take this comment for example:

I know the aliyahnicks mean well, probably, but anyone shilling for aliyah as an answer to an economic crisis must be either wholly uninformed or looking for company with whom to share their misery.
When you make aliyah, you must do so with your eyes wide open. You must do so with total understanding that you are accepting a far worse economic situation than the one you are leaving. You don’t have to pay tuition for school; this is true. Instead, you earn a quarter of what you earn in North America and you pay double for every good and service you can name. Tuition-free schooling does not offset that.
I’m not advocating against aliyah, but at least be aware of what you’re getting yourself into. Start by grocery shopping on your next visit.

In a way, he's right - but only partially. Salaries certainly are smaller here, and basic expenses eat a huge chunk out of the average monthly paycheck. But I don't at all agree that it's a "far worse" economic situation, especially for an Orthodox Jew. In the end, I think that financially for most Orthodox Jews it ends up being a wash: in the United States, salaries are higher, but you pay through the nose for health insurance and tuition, while in Israel we earn less, but spend far, far less on those two major expenses.

Either way, you'll struggle. But, to my mind, there's a major distinction between living in the United States and living in Israel which can and must factor into the decision of where to live, and that's the issue of happiness. Where will you be happier? The answer, as the vast, vast majority of olim will tell you, is in Israel, for reasons that have nothing to do with religion.

This week's NY Times Opinion section featured a fascinating piece on happiness and income. Normally, we instinctively associate wealth with happiness: the more I have, the happier I will be. But research indicated that this assumption simply doesn't pan out. 

The catch is that additional income doesn’t buy us any additional happiness on a typical day once we reach that comfortable standard. The magic number that defines this “comfortable standard” varies across individuals and countries, but in the United States, it seems to fall somewhere around $75,000. Using Gallup data collected from almost half a million Americans, researchers at Princeton found that higher household incomes were associated with better moods on a daily basis — but the beneficial effects of money tapered off entirely after the $75,000 mark.
Why, then, do so many of us bother to work so hard long after we have reached an income level sufficient to make most of us happy? One reason is that our ideas about the relationship between money and happiness are misguided. In research we conducted with a national sample of Americans, people thought that their life satisfaction would double if they made $55,000 instead of $25,000: more than twice as much money, twice as much happiness. But our data showed that people who earned $55,000 were just 9 percent more satisfied than those making $25,000. Nine percent beats zero percent, but it’s still kind of a letdown when you were expecting a 100 percent return.

In America, speicifically becomes incomes are so high, it's a culturally accepted norm that the more you earn and the more you have, the happier you'll be. So people - all people - Jew or not, Orthodox or not - fall into the income trap of "needing" more in a never-ending pursiut of the happiness that seems increasingly out of reach the closer we get to it. I've written about this before, but it's worth repeating: when an American meets someone new, what's the very first question he usually asks? "What do you do?" Essentially, we're asking her, "How much money do you make?" because the answer to that question will allow me to place that person within our heirarchy of importance. Basically, the wealthier you are, the more important you are. This is just how most Americans think, for better or for worse.

In Israel, while this kind of thinking has crept into society to some degree, people generally don't think this way. They first ask, "Where do you live?" (or to Olim) "Where are you from?", "How many children do you have?" and try to play some form of Jewish geography. One's financial status has much less of an impact on a person's stature within the community, especially when you get away from the mostly Anglo communities (where the attitude is, understandably, still very prevalent). I'm not just making this up. Studies have shown that Israelis are generally happier than citizens of most other countries, including the United States. With all the challenges that Israel faces, these studies are certainly surprising.
Moving to Israel involves many difficult shifts - but this subtle, critical cultural shift is one of the many important benefits of Aliyah that's difficult if not impossible to articulte. How do you explain to someone that they'll care about different things and subtly, but critically shift their life's focus, when they're still living in a different environment? From an American perspective, aliyah seems daunting precisely because there's no economic benefit. "If I struggle here and I'll struggle there, I might as well stay here and struggle because at least I know the langauge." Sounds true enough. How do you explain, then, that while the struggle is real (both for native Israelis and their Anglo brethren), it feels different; it's not as all-encompassing; there are other aspects to life that take on greater importance?
I'll put it another way: aliyah isn't a solution to an individual's economic struggles, but it is a very real solution to his or her "economic crisis," because here, culturally, it's not a crisis. It's a struggle to make ends meet, and to "complete the month." But, for most of us who have found jobs and make a decent living, thank God, there are other, more important things in life than how much money we make.
No, making Aliyah will not solve "the" tuition crisis. But, if you're like most olim, it will solve your tuition crisis. You'll still struggle to pay your bills. But it won't be a crisis.

Goldberg Just Doesn't Get It

The Atlantic's Jeffrey Goldberg complained today about a recent Israeli ad campaign attempting to scare Israelis to return to Israel. Among other things he writes,

The idea, communicated in these ads, that America is no place for a proper Jew, and that a Jew who is concerned about the Jewish future should live in Israel, is archaic, and also chutzpadik (if you don't mind me resorting to the vernacular).

First, a nitpick: Why is the piece titled, "Netanyahu Government Suggests Israelis Avoid Marrying American Jews"? Granted, you're not the biggest Bibi fan, but do you really think that the Prime Minister of Israel gives a personal stamp of approval to every government program? But, I digress...
Actually, Jeff (my name for you), the ads have very little to do with whether America is the place for a proper Jew. Rather, they're all about whether America is the place for a proper Israeli. They're all about culture - and the subtle nuance of innately feeling a sense of belonging to a place and a people due to shared values and experiences.

And there's the real irony. An American Jew, who doesn't understand Israelis at all (and yet somehow considers himself an expert on Israel) complains about an ad campaign he doesn't like, but actually doesn't understand, thereby proving the point. In complaining about the tone of an ad which states that American's can't understand the nuances of Israeli culture, Goldberg only reemphasizes just how true the ads really are.
Finally, his off the cuff comments about intermarriage - "But let me just say that intermarriage can also be understood as an opportunity" - (Jeff, save yourself some time, and don't write that intermarriage book.) - only demonstrate just how much he really doesn't understand and the threat of intermarriage not to Israel, but to the Jewish people in America.
For my part, while the ads don't say anything about whether America is a place of a proper Jew, I couldn't have said it better than he did. So I'll just quote him:

"America is no place for a proper Jew, and...a Jew who is concerned about the Jewish future should live in Israel."

Right on Jeff.

Shalom Kitah Aleph

When you make aliyah, they don't tell you everything. Not that anyone's hiding information, but people just don't always realize that something Israelis take for granted as common knowledge would be totally new to you. One of those things is called "Shalom Kitah Aleph." On the first day of school, the entire school crowds into the auditorium for a ceremony to welcome the new first graders into school, and it's a big deal. As Rena was teaching, I took off to watch Petachya's Shalom Kita Aleph. To my great surprise, it was quite emotional.
As I watched my son take his first steps into the big world of "real" education, my mind kept flashing back to the moments in his life; his birth in Michigan on Chol Hamoed Pesach, not really that long ago. Aliyah with a very small three year old. I still remember him crying as we would leave him at gan each morning whimpering, "I don't want to go to Hebrew gan...I don't want to go to Hebrew gan..." It would break your heart to walk away, but that's what you had to do. Three months later he would run into gan, already fluent in Hebrew. Just this past week he finally got the hang of riding his bike, just in time to ride to school. It seems that the growth takes place sometimes in leaps, and other time in baby steps. It's still hard to get used to.
All of these thoughts rushed through my head watching my son, a little confused at the commotion, walk through the homemade "Shalom Kitah Aleph" arch on the stage and take his seat. He seemed unsure of himself. Everything is so new - a new school, new uniform, new rules, new learning. He seemed just a little scared, but determined. It would be all right. And indeed it was.
Oh yes, another thought crossed my mind. Watching the Rav Bet Sefer get up and tell the kids a short d'var Torah to the sixty boys and sixty girls in separate first grade classes, all I could think was, "If I lived in Teaneck, this would cost me seventeen thousand dollars a year."

Aliyah and a Free Jewish Education

YNet recently ran a story about people who it says are making aliyah in order to save money on Jewish education. The subhead reads, "With Jewish school tuition fees per child reaching $20,000 a year, many families prefer to make aliyah and get free education. We met some of them onboard Nefesh B'Nefesh flight carrying 250 new olim to Israel."
I'm not sure that the headline is totally accurate. When you actually read the piece, you see that people didn't really make aliyah just to save money on day school tuition, which is smart, as I will explain. Rather, they say that it's one of many factors which push them to finally make the decision to come on aliyah. I notice this phenomenon a lot in the press - headlines that are designed to draw attention, which turn out to be less than accurate. I get the feeling that they're getting tired of writing the same "Nefesh B'nefesh Brings Jews to Israel" article five times a summer, and just needed a new angle. But I digress...
I often think about committed Orthodox American Jews who really struggle to meet the suffocating demands of day school tuition. I wonder how they do it. Just in my own family, my sister and brother-in-law both have great jobs, work hard, make decent salaries, and literally live hand to mouth. True, they have over the years built a nice home. But they certainly don't live high off the hog. They're paying for day school, seminary, yeshivot, and also trying to save for (God willing) weddings as well. It just seems crazy that they work as hard as they do, and have so little savings to show for it.
From this vantage point, aliyah seems like a sensible alternative. After all, isn't public school education in Israel free?
Let's set the record straight: It's not free, at least not for us. And while the prices would seem like a joke to Americans paying U.S. tuition prices, they're not as simple as they seem.
Basic public school in Israel really is free. It's public school, and I get a certain degree of pleasure just knowing that my children learn chumash, tefillah, dinim, and all the other regular, normal Jewish subject in public school. But...
1. There are fees for trips, books and other things that are not included, for which we pay.
2. The school in Yad Binyamin is what's called a ממלכתי דתי תורני - or for short, a ממ"ד תורני - "Mamad Torani" - a Torah-oriented public school. Our children have several more hours in Torah than regular public school kids, and someone's got to pay for those hours. The local Moatzah pays some (because our mayor feels that it's in the municipality's interest to have an "upgraded" school - to which I agree), but we pay the rest. It comes out to about 1,500 shekel for a grade-school age child per year. Yes, I know it's not a lot. That's the good part.
3. Once your child hits seventh grade, the hours in school shoot way, way up. Someone's got to pay for those hours, and that someone is basically you. Tuition for my son going into seventh grade is about 7,000 shekel for the year, not including the lunch program.
4. In high school, it goes even higher. We kept our oldest son local, but the yeshiva insists that all students dorm twice a week and stay in the yeshiva for Shabbat once a month. Total cost, about 11,000 shekel per year, and 14,000 at least if you don't live in the Moatzah. If you live in the States, I know what you're thinking: 11 thousand divided by 3.5 shekel per dollar comes to...about $3,000 dollars for high school tuition per YEAR? That's nothing! True, it might be if we were earning an American salary. But we're not. We earn Israeli salaries.
That's not to say that it's undoable. Thank God, I'm pretty sure that we're OK for next year. The schools also help people out if they can't meet the tuition needs, and I don't think that the scholarship process is nearly as draconian as it is in the States now. But it's not free. (Health care, on the other hand, which is really quite good here, is actually next to free. But that's a totally different post.)
Let me be clear. I'm very much in favor of aliyah. I even did it myself. Contrary to what many people said (and perhaps think and hear) about the education system in Israel, while it has problems, I think that our kids' education thus far has been excellent. Truly.
But there are far better reasons to move to Israel than to save money on day school tuition. Like the fact that God wants all the Jews to live here. Like the fact that it's really a Jewish country, which caters to the unique way of life that the Torah demands. Like the fact that there are many, many more kosher restaurants here than even in Teaneck (although Teaneck does indeed have some good ones). Did I mention that God wants the Jews to live in Israel?
But I wouldn't make aliyah to do better financially. It's not simple here, and people really do struggle to make ends meet.
In the end, though, if you're going to struggle to make ends meet and keep your kids in Jewish Day school - which it seems like most Orthodox Jews in Amerca do, isn't it better to do struggle in the Land of Israel?