Discouragement

A-Minus: 1 Month, 1 Week, 5 Days

By far the most frustrating issue surrounding my upcoming aliyah is neither the endless reams of paperwork nor the bottomless pit of boxes to pack. It’s the constant discouragement I’ve received from friends and relatives, the very people I trust and respect. I first encountered the characteristic distaste many Israelis have for their country during my year and a half living there, many of whom made it crystal clear that they would like nothing better than to get out of the country as soon as possible. I slowly came to understand that this self-abasement was partially a consequence of the hardships of life in Israel coupled with post-Zionism’s value-free emptiness. But the attitude is also a disingenuous pessimism imported from the slums of eastern Europe hardened with a soldier’s toughness. Most Israelis moan endlessly about the good life they could be living in America, but they stay.

"You’re crazy for living here. What's wrong with you?" they would ask me.
"Well, you live here too."
"Yeah, but I don’t have a choice. I was born here."
"You’re forty seven. How many chances do you need to get out?"
"What?," they would ask in mock offence, "Are you calling me crazy?"

Of course, Israelis are still Israelis even in America, so I began hearing the same sort of talk from expatriates the minute I landed in Walnut Creek. "You’ll find a girl, settle down, and forget about Israel," or, "When you were there before, it was just a honeymoon, you won’t last a year after you move back." Over the last few years, one by one, they’ve learned to live with my "insanity."

But I couldn’t imagine that the fulfillment of the commandment to live in the land of Israel could generate such resistance from my own religious leaders here in America. When mentioning my aliyah intentions to my rabbis here, I’ve often received the same repetitive Yiddish refrain, "Mann tracht und gott lacht!" A man plans, and God laughs. In other words, don’t get your hopes up, you’ll probably fail. Imagine if a local Jew came to them announcing his intention to keep kosher, only to be brushed off with the same brusque terseness, "Ha ha, yeah right, I’ll believe it when I see it."

And they’re not the only ones. Now it’s my relatives in Israel too. "Why are you coming here? The government is just going to kick you out of your house like they did in Gush Katif," one cousin warns me, bringing up the bitter memory of the destruction of the Jewish community of Gaza last year. "You know," a friend tells me, "the mitzvah of living in the land of Israel is not obligatory. I mean, it’s good to do, but you’ve got a whole life here in America. You shouldn’t give that all up for some fantasy of a future."

Over time, I’ve come to forgive their resistance as a sort of defense mechanism, not for me but for themselves. There’s a fear behind their words that I’ll come back as a jaded realist. That if they were somehow involved in sowing great expectations in my mind, then it will cost them our friendship when reality causes those dreams to whither and die. But they can rest at ease, because there may be some truth in the Yiddish that Man plans and God laughs, but it’s important to remember the Aramaic expression that God helps every man on his way. That whatever goal a person strives for in life, God provides opportunities to accomplish it. And as I tape up the last box of books for shipping, I know God is on my side. So who’s laughing now, eh?