Integration In Israel

Yishai,

My wife and I did make aliyah in '87.  Served miluim in the IDF and lived in Bet Shean and later in a "dati"  moshav near Tiveria, outside of the usual American enclaves. All 3 of our children were born in either Afula or Tiveria.

After 5 years we returned to the States, not because I like the States, but rather because we found it very difficult to integrate. Israelis did not and, in my opinion do not embrace outsiders. It was our feeling that many feel they are better because they are Israeli, and we are not true.

I think there is a disconnect between the mind of the Israelis and their actual action/reaction when a non-sabra actually shows up. Mentally, Israelis want Jews to make aliyah and to love Israel and to feel connected. However, when we make aliyah and are in Israel, we encounter a different face of the Israelis.  Suddenly, we face an invisible but thick wall---it seems like we have to prove ourselves to the sabras, which is impossible.

Yes, I know and accept that going to Tzahal is a rite of passage in Israel. But, for those of us who are older or women, what then (even though I did serve miluim, it apparently was not enough)? What do the Israelis really want from people who make aliyah? Is leaving home and occupation to make aliyah and start from scratch in Israel not enough?

Fundamentally, they have to accept the fact that people who make aliyah, are simply not Israeli-born or like them,have difficulty negotiating the system and struggle with language. And at the same time, not inferior to them.

So, we are all Jews and I do accept the idiosyncrasies, but this acceptance on my part alone does not make it easier to integrate. At this point, the ball is in the Israelis' court. The absurd expectations need to be recognized and an effort made.

How strange, in that even in the States when we often try and have Israelis visit and invite them to stay we are treated as inferior and at times condescendingly. Perhaps this is part of the national trait and in response to Israel being constantly harassed in the world.  This does not excuse this behavior to those who truly care and to those who make aliyah.  We have not been alone in this perception.

I loved Israel.  I always have and always will.  Perhaps, perhaps I will give it another try someday. However, to move again with a full heart, all the expense, and effort to relocate I find I hesitate inside because I expect more of the same.

We did not congregate around Americans and therefore the accusation that we grouped and did not try to integrate cannot be used.  On the contrary!  We broke our teeth learning Hebrew ( though never spoke perfectly fluently as native). We lived in an old sochnut (government) house. I worked. But, but we never were truly accepted.  After 5 years we said enough.

So, with all the push for aliyah, Israel must also honestly open its arms.  I am not an angry, nor an angry jew. I am a strong Zionist and believe Israel is truly our home.  It has been 15 years. I am older, 15 years older, and my Hebrew has faded making everything more difficult.  If I were to return it would be to the south. Somewhere I still have a longing in my heart to return.

Having visited a few times since leaving, and having even stayed up in the north under the rain of rockets during the war in '06, I still felt somewhat alienated and we were still treated as alien.

I believe you are correct about the States, but at least here I can blend.  In Israel, which I believe is my home, we felt isolated and unaccepted. I am listening...

Dan

Yishai's answer: My reply is aptly summerized below:

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Shalom Yishai and Malkah,

Whoa!  I was listening to INR VERY early last Sunday morning (before sunrise, actually) and was blown away by one of the emails that you dealt with on the air, and especially your response to it.

You read an email from Dan, who wrote about having made aliya many years ago.  He lived near Tiberias and although he tried very hard to integrate, he felt that he was never totally accepted socially in his yishuv. I was expecting to hear you say that he should have tried harder.  So I was very pleasantly surprised to hear you both say that olim should not expect to integrate totally into Sabra society - that we'll probably find our homies among our own kind. 

I agree! Sure, total integration may work if you come to Israel before age 20, but I came at age 47 (from CT in 1994) and I also live in a yishuv near Tiberias.  Wow - does that email ever speak for me too! 

Maybe I'm too American - maybe my Hebrew is not good enough, maybe I just come from a different culture, and can't or choose not to switch over to the Israeli culture.  Whatever the reason, my social life is lacking.  I don't see the problem as snootiness on my part or on the part of my neighbors - but in the end, the reason doesn't really matter. What matters is not to take it personally and get to the business of finding the place where we feel at home.

I love living in the North, but there are very few religious "Anglos" here.  In my yishuv, there are 0, that's right, 0 religious Anglo women.  As a matter of fact, my best friend in the yishuv is an Israeli woman who lived in the US for some years and is a self-described "messianic Jew"..

And here comes a negative "Whoa":
The same email was dealt with by the Aliya Revolution. They showed no understanding of the basic issues.  They seemed to say that you get enough satisfaction from seeing your kids be fully accepted as Israelis. From experience, I can say that having your kids grow up as Israelis and seeing them integrate fully with Sabra friends and become members or even madrichim in B'nei Akiva is definitely satisfying.  But it doesn't compensate for the parents' lack of friends. There's still an unfulfilled need.

Getting back to the positive stuff, I thank you both for your sensitive treatment of this issue.  I've been trying to make it work since 1994, and have finally come to the same conclusion that you put forth.  Especially since I will be easing into retirement in a few years, I need to be in a place where there are folks that speak my language - both in the literal and the figurative sense.

Thank you for your insights and hizuk,

Sally

The Rain Drain

I am writing this on Rosh Chodesh of the month of Shevat. "Jewish Arbor Day" is coming up in 15 days and I am dreading it and wishing that someone would stick in a leap-month of some kind. When I see the beautiful white flowering of the almond tree I am sickened.

Why? Because I know that no rain has fallen. January has been the driest one on record in Israel. The Lake Kinneret water supply is so low that ecological damage has set in. The summer is going to come very soon and it will dry up the rest of our precious water supply. The country is on the verge of dehydration and I just wish that winter had another month to do its thing - but to no avail.

All the commentators explain that we are in a drought. Low pressure this, high pressure that. But why is there no rain? No commentator has an answer. It's a fluke; it's nature; it's bad luck.

Judaism has always believed that rain, or lack of it, is under the direct supervision of G-d, and He doles it out in accordance with our behavior. If we are good, we are wet. If we are bad, we dry up. It's a simple, effective and direct causal relationship. It's also very kind, because it's a barometer of how we are doing as a nation. A period of drought is a period of self-reflection, prayer and repentance.

I am not G-d, but I figure He wants me to think about some reasons why there is a drought. It's like when a parent sends you to your room and says, "Think about what you did."

So here is some self-reflection:

Maybe the rain isn't coming because of Gilad Shalit and Jonathan Pollard.

In the last few weeks they were both on the verge of freedom, but they were denied that basic human right. Gilad Shalit has been held captive in Gaza for almost three years. During Operation Cast Lead, Gilad probably heard Israeli bombs landing hits on Hamas targets close by to him. He probably thought, "They are finally coming for me." Maybe he even though that this whole war was started just to bring him home. Alas, the war has ended, but our pain remains. Gilad is not home yet; instead, he is in the brutal hands of our haters. Why did our beloved country stop the war prematurely without bringing him back?

Jonathan Pollard may have also thought that his day of release had arrived. He has been rotting for 22 years in prison for the crime of passing vital information to Israel from a friend. In George Bush's final moments in office, Jewish activists pulled every political string to get a last-minute pardon from the President. Days before Bush's presidency came to a close, the White House actually suspended the comment line - they shut it down - so they wouldn't have to hear any more of the numerous calls begging for Jonathan's release. But while Pollard activists were doing their part, the political echelon never mentioned Jonathan, and we never heard that the State of Israel brought pressure to bear on America.

The redeeming of captives is one of Judaism's greatest commands. It speaks of everything we hold so dear, including, "Love thy neighbor as thyself." If we can't get them released, why would the clouds release their precious blessings on us?

Or maybe the rain isn't falling because of Israel's Supreme Court.

The Supreme Court ruled against the Jewish National Fund's policy of selling land only to Jews. Yet the JNF collected that money from Jews throughout the world with the express purpose of buying property in the Land of Israel for Jews. How could that foundational Zionist activity be made illegal?

Recently, the Supreme Court ruled that the State can evict Jews from a building that was purchased in Hebron from Arabs. Yet the Jewish community had every proof that the house was legally bought, including video tapes of the seller admitting the sale and the receipt of money in return. Now, that house stands empty and boarded-off after an army eviction. How can legal purchases be overturned so arbitrarily?

Even more recently, the Supreme Court overturned a bi-partisan Election Committee decision to ban anti-Israel Arab parties from running in the upcoming election. The Knesset Election Committee felt that blatantly disloyal parties should not be allowed to run. But the Supreme Court, asserting itself in Israeli politics, overruled the committee and allowed those parties to run even though they openly support the destruction of Israel.

G-d in Heaven hates injustice, but it seems that the highest law in our land has no law at all. Their anti-Israel bent coupled with their immense power, untamed by any checks and balances, makes the Supreme Court the most dangerous entity in Israel today. How can we expect the Heavenly Court to judge us favorably when our own court has no regard for truth?

Or maybe the rain isn't falling because we waste the water we are given.

If you went to a venture capitalist and asked for a million dollars for a project, you would not be surprised if you got only a part of that money with the rest of the cash contingent on how you use the seed money first. Rain from heaven is the same. G-d says to us: "Here is just a bit of rain, and if I see you use it wisely, I will send down some more."

In many dry countries, like Australia, water capture technology is widespread. Roofs collect rain and siphon the water into big storage buckets. That water is later used for gardening or for toilet. Dish water and shower water is routinely recycled into the gardens in many countries. Israel should be a leader in this kind of technology, pioneering better ways to capture and utilize every drop of rain. But it is not. Most of the water that goes to the gutter on a rainy day gets dumped out into the desert with no practical usage. It simply gets wasted.

Now why would G-d send us more rain when we waste His gifts? Why would He give us blessing when we tolerate injustice? Why would He give us a hug when we forget to hug those who need us most?

Think of the drought as a gift, as a personal wake-up call to the nation. We can wake up. We must wake up. Or maybe instead we should just go back to our dry sleep. You know, dust to dust. Low pressure this, high pressure that. It's a fluke; it's nature; it's just bad luck.

Yishai

Hot Air and the Flameout

The Jews have been through a lot this month. Those who haven't welcomed their sons, husbands, and friends home from a dangerous war which came to an untimely and even more dangerous end, are losing the shirts off their backs on the American stock market or are getting held up in their driveways in South Africa, rioted against in Paris or - well, any number of things that are happening today in our crazy world.

I don't know about you, but I have become much more involved in prayer recently. I once had a dream (a nighttime dream, not a grand MLK-style vision) that a huge projector played movies of natural disasters and wars in the air above my house in Texas. This movie, which was played around the world (in my dream) as an immediate precursor to the arrival of the Messiah, was meant to finally illustrate to the people of the world that G-d had orchestrated each and every war and natural disaster as a warning and as an opportunity for us to return to Him in prayer and loyalty. I woke up very moved.

Of course, as is the nature of G-d's less perfect people (and as you can note occurs to the Jews in basically every book of the Bible), this acute understanding eventually faded from my mind, and was replaced by the much more mundane feelings and impulses which we all deal with daily.

With the recent return of chaos and uncertainty to our lives, as I felt the welfare of the Nation of Israel coming into peril as my brothers went into battle against our evil enemy, I myself returned - to my better self, my nobler priorities, and my wiser understandings - or at least tried. Even now, as the world seems no less shaky, I try to drag and scrape my way up the ladder toward G-d, hoping to be part of the solution, and not the vast, shameful problem.

When I heard the news that a major natural gas reserve was discovered off the coast of Haifa, I thanked G-d for the blessing he bestowed on the Jewish People, perhaps a token of love and support as we trudged home from a war from whose battlefields we were dragged prematurely, by powers who know no G-d.

"How great is our L-rd!" I thought. "Who knows from what direction blessings can come? Nothing is too big for Hashem!"

I read articles, in which the drillers breathlessly predicted 15 years of Israeli energy independence thanks to the new find. "Baruch Hashem!" I thought. "Things are finally going in the right direction. Score!"

But Yitzhak Tshuva, the owner of many of the companies involved in the joint drilling effort, burst my gas-filled bubble with his statement on the issue. Thinking the nation was in a different place after the unity of war cast a new light on our country, thinking recent anti-Israel UN resolutions might put our place in this world in perspective, I was shocked when I read Tshuva's enthusiastic comments to Army Radio: "My golden touch hasn't disappeared," Tshuva said.

Oh man! How sad. And angering. What a fool, what a missed opportunity, what an embarrassment! What did you touch exactly, Mr. Tshuva, and how did you become so "golden"? And how do you know that it won't disappear? Did you create your drills, or the gas you found, or even your talent for locating it? How could you be so self-centered - and so wrong? How could you think that you are responsible for all this good?

It's sad how easy it is to fall backward. The Jewish People, as they struggle forward, are constantly victim to this particular kind of disaster. "I made all these things," we think to ourselves. We don't realize the amazing kindness with which Hashem treats us everyday, the mercy. Instead, we think we are big - until Hashem is forced to show us that we're small.

I pray that the Jewish People break this vicious cycle soon, for everyone's sake. I don't want to watch G-d's disaster movie play out here in the Holy Land anymore.

Malkah