Welcome: Part III (Article# 90) 8/14/08

For those of you who have wondered where I have been these past few weeks, I had a ten day business trip to the USA and had written – but not gotten the articles in by deadline time. Some of the following is a bit old, but....

Somehow, we seem to have made the Nefesh Bnefesh welcoming ceremony for new olim an annual event for us. As new olim two years ago, we were overwhelmed by the support and raw joy we were showered with upon our arrival. I do not think that we will ever enjoy a flight to Israel as much as we enjoyed that flight.

Last year, we joined the crowd and welcomed former 5 towners Kiki and Gary Schickman, whose son Gabey was our son Mordechai's best friend through preschool. Seeing the ceremony as greeters instead of participants gave us a totally different perspective. It was great being there and I would definitely recommend that everyone, even if for some crazy reason you do not move to Israel, everyone should attend a welcoming ceremony at least once just to witness the emotion and outpouring of love displayed.

This summer the countdown began quite early. On a trip to Chicago last winter, my youngest brother Ozer and his wife Jenny told me that after several years of planning, they were going to finally be making Aliyah this summer. The news was hush hush at first, but eventually it went public and the excitement began to build. Especially at the Katz house.

I have an older sister and younger brother already living here, so these are not our only relatives in Israel. However, my brother will be living right down the block from us and that really fired the kids up. The oldest ones are looking forward to babysitting and helping out, while the younger ones are thrilled to finally have “local” cousins (we live on a block with tons of young families and many of them have local relatives).

No matter what the reason, the countdown began quite early on and the kids never tired of asking how many more weeks and days were left to the big day. My brother came to town for a pilot trip in the Spring, and helping him find a place to live and identify the right schools and preschool for his kids gave us a small role in the process as well.

It is hard to be that older brother sometimes. I found myself wanting to have him follow in my footsteps and make similar decisions that we made. Schools. Doctors. City to live in. I think part of that desire comes from a need to have someone else affirm our decisions as sound and appropriate choices. We all have similar feelings about the schools our kids go to or perhaps the shul we are members of. I think it is a major part in why olim are so passionate about their choice and in encouraging others to follow our lead.

We woke up nice and early to get to the airport before 7 AM as recommended by NBN. It was a good thing we did; the plane landed a half hour early. They made some changes to the program and ceremony. Most of them were slight changes that didn't really make a big difference one way or another (ok – I have to admit the kids enjoyed the iced coffee machine). However, the most significant change is one you can all be a part of.

Using the wonders of technology, rather than sit around waiting for the olim to make their way from the plane to the ceremony building, NBN had set up large screen televisions and were broadcasting the entire welcome live to the entire world. For us in the airport it helped build anticipation. We saw pictures of the departure from NY and then watched the landing and taxiing of the plane. We got to see the disembarking of the first few passengers (and heard a tremendously heartwarming story of the oldest oleh on the plane, a woman who had been turned back from making Aliyah aboard the Exodus – only to fulfill her dream so many years later). And of course, we headed out to greet the olim as they got off the airport buses just outside the welcome terminal.

However, we were not alone. Through the internet, my parents were able to watch the same scenes. They had been at JFK saying goodbye the day before and after arriving back home in Chicago they logged on the computer and there we were. Live and on camera, they got to see some of us as we waited and then my brother as he arrived. They got to watch the entire welcome and share in the moment – even though they were so far away. There is no doubt that seeing how they are embraced here helped ease some of the pain in letting go.

They got to watch the reunion of a man they had met at the airport who was going to live with his daughter who has lived here for 30+ years. We were just across the aisle as he walked through the crowd and was halted by a scream of “ABBA!” and mobbed by his daughter and family. Goldie and I could not help but think of the same moment happening in our lives as we wait in the hope that our parents (especially her father who has dreamed of living in Israel his entire adult life) will join us here.

After the ceremony, which is becoming shorter each year, we headed home and welcomed them once again as they arrived from the airport. For the next several weeks they will be living with us, waiting for their container to arrive from the USA. Because of the tremendous increase in exports, they had their shipment delayed a couple weeks and aren't sure when their things will arrive. While many families arrive here alone and sleep on air mattresses and use toaster ovens until their belongings arrive – we are happy to provide them with a softer landing.

It is interesting to watch as they open bank accounts, choose cellphone plans and express their befuddlement at how the world works here. We remember being in those shoes not too long ago and watching this young family adapt and assimilate, we are constantly reminded how far we have come in just two short years.

I was actually supposed to leave for a trip to the USA on the same day that Ozer and Jenny arrived here. At the last minute I was able to put off my departure a week to help Goldie with the arrival and help everyone adjust to their new routine. I was in Chicago and New York for 10 days and there is one thing that I can say with certainty, “THERE WAS NOT ANY SNOW WHILE I WAS THERE THIS TIME!!!”

As is usual, I was sick the day before my trip. I think I may be developing an allergic reaction to being outside of Israel (and I only say that half jokingly). With a full schedule of alumni events and meeting scheduled, I popped a few antibiotic pills and headed off (via Delta's new service to Atlanta – which I hated) to experience the galut in its fullness once again.

Although it was an eventful trip, I really only want to share a single thought that came to me while I was here. It is something that many people had tried to impress upon me before I made Aliyah but I hadn't really understood until I experienced it myself. It is how severely we Jews of Israel lack the sense of Achdut that used to be one of the showcase attributes of our country.

In the days of old (25- 60 years ago) we did not fight as much among ourselves. Chareidi, religious zionist, non religious – no matter what your religious beliefs were, we all stood together. Our national sense of gratitude at simply being alive gave us a shared sense of purpose that allowed us to coexist in harmony (at least for the most part). That sense of peaceful coexistence is something that we seem to have lost, yet you here in galut seem to have retained.

I am not saying that everyone in Israel always got along nor that there are no divisions between Jews in the diaspora. Clearly there are disagreements and hard feelings all around and there have always been such. However, you are able to set aside your differences much more easily than we are and still get along and care about each other.

This hit home on Erev Shabbat as my niece and I shared a few hours together picking up our American “supplies” off of my kids' shopping list. We had stopped at a local Teaneck restaurant to have a salad lunch and I could not help but wonder at the broad range of “religiosity” of the clientèle and the fact that they all seemed to know each other and get along. It didn't matter how modestly one or the other was dressed (or not) or what Yeshiva their kids go to or what shul they daven in, the diaspora communities – in their isolation from the sense of being a Jew that we enjoy in Israel maintain a much stronger sense of “loving your brother” than we do in Israel.

It is clearly a product of our no longer being outcasts or different from the mainstream society in which we live. Here in Israel, we belong. We are mainstream society. And we take it for granted.

You, on the other hand, have been and always will be viewed as different, no matter how welcoming your hosts are or how deeply you integrate into the society. Their holidays will still never be yours (no matter how much your holidays are “recognized” by society) and their values will always be different. This displacement gives diaspora Jews a common sense of unity; no matter how different you may be from each other – you are still more closely related to each other than you are to the general public. For that, I envy you. I believe that it is that sense of communal love that is our worst deficiency and our greatest danger.

I wasn't thrilled to schedule travel during the 9 days, but I traveled TO Israel and planned to either I) be working in the Bet Hamikdash as a practicing Kohein or II) davening in the Kotel plaza and reading a chapter of Eicha there on Tisha B'Av. While I ended up doing option II, being here affords me the opportunity to do so. I read Eicha at the Kotel last year and it helped me internalize the true loss we suffered, since I was literally sitting within 100 feet of the site of the destroyed Bet Hamikdash.

Last year there were literally thousands of people there when we arrived and the crush was somewhat impressive. This year, we managed to arrive about 45 minutes after the end of Shabbat and before most people. It was still an awe inspiring experience. After 2,000 years it is so hard to relate to the loss we suffered, but being on the site and mentally forming some kind of picture of what may have once been has added to my Tisha B'Av spiritual connection. If there is a future Tisha B'Av before Mashiach comes, I recommend the experience.

Although I do not look forward to having another opportunity to do so ever again and would prefer to see a rebuilt Bet Hamikdash, I am committed to continuing to be at Har Habayit every year – preferably to be in the Bet HaMikdash.