By David Smigel, Opinions Editor
Last year, I attended a Q&A hosted by a yeshiva rabbi from Israel who was visiting his alumni in Yeshiva University. As is often the case with this kind of event, the discussion inevitably turned to the topic of aliyah. The rav stated rather unambiguously (at least as far as I interpreted it) that making aliyah is a chiyuv (obligation) in the absence of a justifiable reason to remain in the diaspora. He explained that it was not acceptable for galut (exile/diaspora) to be one’s long-term plan nor their end goal; ultimately we should all aim to make our way to our homeland as soon as such is practical and there is nothing holding us back.
Immediately, there were follow–ups.
“But rebbe, how will I make a parnassah (living wage)?”
The rav, ever patient, quelled the talmid’s concern, pointing out the absence of many of the heavy expenditures in Israel that are present in the United States. He explained that, though wages are indeed lower, the economy scales to fit them and that, even if one was not as wealthy as they could have been, we can all afford to liberate ourselves from some of the unnecessary physical luxuries we’ve become so accustomed to (and if one is truly concerned about such a thing, there are always jobs that work on American hours for American paychecks).
If this had been the only concern, it would have been fine. Someone was expressing a legitimate worry and wanted to sincerely adopt what he had been told, and the exact anxiety had been directly addressed and set aside. The Q&A session had a question and an answer, go figure.
But then came the next concern, and then the next. The education system, the security situation, the foreign culture, it seemed Israel just couldn’t get anything right. Any of these fears would have been fine on their own, but as the skepticism rolled on, it began to border on slander.
By the fifth “but rebbe,” I began to doubt the sincerity of these concerns — suddenly, they appeared to be driven more out of a need to excuse oneself from an unwanted, uncomfortable responsibility than out of a desire to successfully fulfill one’s duty. It seemed the questioners had come in with a foregone conclusion and, struggling to reconcile their own wants with what their rebbe had told them, were seeking out a heter (exemption) instead of an answer. Through (undoubtedly unintentional) bad faith arguments, they missed the underlying intention of the rav’s teaching.
As the rav continued to individually address each concern in his own thoughtful way, I was screaming inside for him to knock some sense into the challengers, to shut the complaints down altogether. I wanted him to tell them that no, life in Israel is not easy, that there are sacrifices one must make for it to become a reality, but that there is hardly a part of life as a Jew which does not require sacrifice. Think back to only a few generations ago when Jews risked and lost their entire livelihoods in order to keep Shabbat. Where was the concern for parnassah then?
I wanted him to remind them that they were sitting in the presence of someone who had pulled aliyah off in a time when it was far more difficult than it is today, that millions of Jews have been successful over the past century and live beautiful lives in a thriving country. I wanted their presumptions shattered, for them to realize that the amazing opportunity that our ancestors had begged for for two whole millenia, that we daven for every day, is now more accessible than ever.
But of course, he didn’t, as a rav has to watch how he speaks, especially in public, lest it damage the acceptance of future guidance. I, on the other hand, have no such reputation to uphold and have found myself unable to let go of this stunning frustration.
I pondered why, aside from the apparent lack of self-awareness behind these questions, this attitude bothered me so much. The more time passed, the more I realized how truly unproductive this view was. Not a single question promoted growth nor effort; each served only to deflect and externalize the blame. Rather than finding insufficiencies within themselves and working to be ready to fulfill what they had just been told and seemed to accept was a chiyuv, they chose to frame it as an impossibility because of the nature of the land. It was not that they weren’t ready for Israel, but that Israel wasn’t ready for them.
I find this attitude strongly paralleled in the story of cheit hameraglim (the sin of the spies), in which the spies sent to scope out the Land of Israel fell prey to two main shortcomings: a lack of bitachon (trust) in Hashem’s power and a lack of appreciation for His gift to our people, consequently coming to slander it.
The spies, though commanded to view the land with the shoresh (root word) of tur (Bamidbar 2:3), a word which Rashi notes implies an evaluation of desirable qualities (Bamidbar 15:39), wound up being meragel, seeking out its flaws from the start. Scrutiny of this kind obviously cannot yield reliable results and ultimately returned reports of an uninhabitable and unconquerable land, one which swallows its inhabitants. It is of value to consider that perhaps the meraglim needed so many fronts of attack in the first place because no one accusation was truly strong enough to stand on its own.
The closing point of the meraglim’s tirade, which ultimately sent the people into a panic, was the claim regarding the land’s gargantuan inhabitants, that “we were like grasshoppers in our eyes, and so we appeared in their eyes” (Bamidbar 13:33). The progression of these statements, as is frequently commentated on, is no coincidence. It was only because they chose to view themselves as grasshoppers in the giants’ eyes, as insignificant and incapable of overcoming them, that such became their reality. Had the meraglim not given in to their fears and not spread hysteria through them, perhaps their generation would have been able to enter Eretz Yisrael.
When the meraglim came to the conclusion that not even Hashem could bring the people into the land, Hashem found no reason to prove them wrong, rather He decided if such was their view, they were doomed to die in the wilderness. Hashem had shown them a multitude of miracles beyond what the world had ever seen and was now presenting them with a gift tailor-made for the People of Israel, and here they were scorning and rejecting it. Their lack of gratitude led to their unworthiness. Combined with their lack of confidence, there was no pull on either side for teshuva (repentance).
Within this lies both a practical and spiritual truth: when we lack faith in ourselves that we can achieve something, we will not achieve it; when we lack that faith in Hashem, He too will not assist us.
Our issue is not one of practice, but one of attitude. I don’t aim to attack any individual nor to deceive them into thinking that any of this is simple, but to open our eyes to our motivations. As I see it, the nature of this view makes the perceived problems unsolvable. If it is not a flaw in oneself, but rather in Israel, that person has no reason to grow and no responsibility for their own actions. Rather than a constructive conversation on what one has to do to prepare and survive life in Israel, people consistently give voice to their fears and convince themselves that they cannot do it, thus shaping their reality.
I don’t write this to force anyone to make aliyah. I don’t aim to shame anyone; my intentions, I hope, come from a place of care and concern rather than pride and spite. However, if we dishonestly portray our motivations and the point we are at in our journeys, we delude ourselves and become stagnant. If you are not ready, just say so. If you don’t want it, there is no shame in that. One cannot act beyond their means, literal or metaphorical, but only recognition of those means will prompt growth.
It is not within my power or knowledge to draw the lines regarding what is and is not a valid reason to remain where one is. If it’s not obvious, as a student of Yeshiva University I myself have found seeming justification to reside in the States and anticipate remaining here for a considerable amount of time. Everyone has unique circumstances and excuses whose legitimacy only they can determine, and I often question my own rationale in choosing to pursue education in America.
In any case, it is important for us all to evaluate our motivations and ensure that they are not simply driven by inertia or fear; we need to make some kind of effort before writing things off. Acknowledging whether our kavanah (intention) is really there is key to progress. If it is not, it’s important to own that.
These things can become taboo in our communities, and life in Israel is no walk in the park. The security situation is a real concern and life on the ground is dramatically different from what we are used to, especially compared to the comforts of America. Despite this, I think back to the people’s complaints toward Moshe about how they missed their meals in slavery, remembering “the fish that we used to eat free in Mitzrayim, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions and the garlic” (Bamidbar 11:5). I pray that with hindsight we can learn from their mistakes and someday realize the superiority of life after the midbar.
The forty years are over and the choice is ours, when will you take your first step out of exile?
Photo Credit: David Smigel