My Story 25

 The first three years of aliyah are spent in a euphoric daze. Things go wrong, bureaucracy looms large, violence and bloodshed are all around, but the sheer joy of being in Eretz Yisrael, plus the overriding feeling that soon all will be fine, keeps one not only going, but excited about the journey. All was scheduled for July 1, 1984. Sima, I, our two kids, plus a third due in two months, boarded a plane for Israel! We were on our way! A taxi had been hired by the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption, to take us to an "absorption center" at Kfar Chabad, about a quarter of an hour from the airport. The taxi driver was less than enthusiastic. "I'm from Romania. I hate it here". But I wasn't going to let any Negative Nelly rain on my parade. I was starting out better than most. Mishmeret Stam, the organization that had trained me as a sofer, had offered me temporary work at their Bnai Brak office as soon as I could start. I had also been in touch with the Beit El Tefillin factory, which assured me that if I were to move to their settlement, a job was waiting. The absorption center was less than pleasant. Some families had been there for years; no job, no place to move to, and no hope. The sounds of strife-filled the air each evening, with husbands and wives cursing each other. Sima was adamant. She refused to stay there long term. We must find a permanent situation before her due date in early September. In the year leading up to our aliyah, we had settled on two possible options. We either wanted to live in the holy city of Tsfat, a backwater in the Upper Galilee, replete with holy sites and an incredible history, or else the settlements of the Shomron, where the redemption seemed to be happening before our eyes. As Tsfat was our preferred option, we took two buses to make the three hour trip almost as soon as  we had arrived. We first took our two boys to the ancient cemetery, in order to pray at the tombs of the many Tzaddikim buried there; foremost among them was the Holy ARI. We arranged to meet a representative of a new housing complex that had recently been constructed by the Vizhnitzer Hasidim. Rents or purchase were extremely affordable; $40/month to rent, $20,000 to buy. By this time, our two boys were having a melt down in the July midday heat. The representative was less than enthusiastic. "I never saw such wild children! I don't think we want you here." She nevertheless handed us a list of rules for the development. I was asked to agree to a long list of behaviors that I was uncomfortable signing. It enumerated where I was to pray, promising not to organize new Torah classes, how we would dress, and how we would observe the Sabbatical year (Shmittah) in accordance with their standards; consuming only Arab produce. I declined. There was, in fact a Breslov community in Tsfat as well. But I had met their representative in New York. He had told us that we couldn't possibly afford an apartment among them, as they were upscale. When I received a publicity newsletter from them shortly after arriving in Israel, it touted how much they were doing to provide housing for the poor of Tsfat. I was angry. I have, ever since, had a bad taste in my mouth for Tsfat Breslov. The Israel I found in 1984, was a far cry from the Israel of the Six Day War and the Entebbe raid. It was the last days of the very unpopular Lebanese war. Many Israelis were now refusing to do military duty. The government had, incredibly, issued an ultimatum to the warring factions in Lebanon: make a deal with us, or we would withdraw our troops unilaterally (!!!). Inflation was galloping at over 400%. Although it was illegal to own dollars, nearly all Israelis would cash their paychecks at the black market for dollars, hiding them under a floor tile. Elections were held that month. A joke was circulating that a man told his friend that he was leaving Israel. "Why?" asked his friend. "Two reasons. First, I hate the Likud". "That's no reason! After the elections, Labor will be in!" "That's the second reason!". Yes, Zionism was dead. Idealism, or even ideology, had no place in the Israel of 1984.The two largest parties that had campaigned primarily about how the other party was evil and incompetent, formed a "National Unity Government", which many called a "National Paralysis Government" with little accomplished except each party ensuring that the other would not implement any policies. One day, as I was working in Bnai Brak, a settler from the Beit El community visited the Mishmeret Stam office. I told him that I was considering moving to the settlements. He invited us to come take a look at Beit El the following Sunday. We spent Shabbat with friends in Jerusalem, and took the bus north, passing through scenic terrorist enclaves Ramallah and El Bireh, to the community of Beit El. It was a different Israel. People had a sense of purpose. Neighbors looked out for each other. Everyone was religious, most deeply so. Most did not lock their doors at night. When knocking at a neighbor's door, they would simply shout "Ken!" (Yes). Never a "who's there?" There was a fierce nationalism, that most Israelis couldn't understand, and of which they were fearful. There was a sense that government was actually a value in and of itself. This was not just the government of Israel. It was G-d's Kingdom. Anything it did, no matter how bad, was actually very good, even if we could not now see that. I later came to see this cognitive dissonance as a form of Fascism. But for now, it seemed very appealing. The man who was showing us around, whose name was Gabi, informed us that he had American neighbors who had an apartment for rent. We went over there. The lady of the house opened the door and seemed startled. "You're Jeff!" She had been a student at Ohio State eleven years earlier and had been active in the Hillel. We moved in a week later. That is how we became settlers.

My Story 24

The centrality of the Land of Israel cannot be questioned. In all of Jewish religious literature, the Land is praised. Whether we possess it or not depends on our faithfulness to the Torah. One of the features of the Messianic Era is the return to Zion. In most Jewish communities, a small bag of earth from Israel is even sprinkled on the remains of the dead before burial. The oath from Psalms "If I forget thee O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget her cunning" has come down through the ages as the pledge of the Jew. Would you make such an oath about Washington, D.C.? But when the Zionist movement began in the nineteenth century, it was opposed by rabbis across the spectrum. It was secular. Even more, it was anti-religious. Reform rabbis were also opposed, as it contradicted their view of Judaism as a religion, and not as a nationality. Until the 1970s, the American Committee for Judaism (not to be confused with the American Jewish Committee), a largely Reform group, protested that Zionism was anti-American, and tainted American Jews with at least dual loyalty, if not disloyalty. In the aftermath of the Holocaust, that began to change. Few countries would do anything to help the Jews, including the United States. Perhaps we DID need a country of our own. Especially after the 1967 Six Day War, Zionist fervor spread throughout the Jewish world. Because Israel had survived where almost no one expected it to (including the Israeli leadership), it was widely seen as a miracle. That started the Teshuvah movement. It also started a movement towards "aliyah" ("going up" to Israel). The teachings of the late Rabbi A.I. Kook, were now taught in virtually every Jewish Day School, and preached from nearly every pulpit, albeit in an overly simplified and Pollyanna form. Those who were still opposed to Zionism, whether from the Orthodox Right, or the Reform Left, were cast as pariahs. Sure, reports abounded of great atrocities committed by the Zionists; the kidnapping of children from religious families, placing them in secular homes, and even using them as laboratory animals, the non-availability of employment, unless agreeing to send one's children to secular schools, the murder of some religious Israeli politicians, and perhaps most shocking, the involvement of some Zionist officials in stymieing the rescue of European Jewry during the war, in order to increase sympathy for a Jewish State (read "Perfidy" by Ben Hecht). These reports were either forgotten or disbelieved.  Sadly, these "stories" proved to be all too true.Yes, the statistic that 70% of American Jews who went on aliyah returned within five years. was pushed aside by idealism; "it won't happen to me". (This is now ameliorated by not keeping 5 years statistics, but only 3. At that point, most are still there. Read "Lying With Statistics"). Moreover, those who went on aliyah and return, find themselves seen as traitors by other Jews. Therefore, one always hears "Israel is wonderful! But I failed!". If spoken to in private, on condition of anonymity, one gets a different story. Sima and I really felt that we had accomplished as much as we could accomplish in the American Jewish community. Our time had come to "go home". True, we broke our parents' hearts, but we owed it to our kids. (Excuse me as guilty tears well up in my eyes). Yes, we were warned that the aliyah officials would lie, in order to increase their "body count", but we naively ignored those warnings. Friends who had previously made aliyah encouraged us greatly. Only when we arrived did they share their horror stories. One former friend, who had urged us repeatedly to drop everything and come, now told us "You have come to a police state...run by the Keystone Kops" (a silent movie era series of films, about bungling policemen.) This proved to be a pattern, with those who had moved there urging all their friends and family to come, while they were actually bemoaning their fate, and usually planning to return to the States. Often, they could not return, as all of their professional connections had been lost. If one returns after three years...maybe. After five, few can put their lives back together again. I stayed for seventeen years. My connections were mostly dead. That is the primary reason I now live in poverty, largely forgotten. An article surfaced recently called "When the dream becomes a nightmare". Many were shocked, but it barely scratched the surface. Benjamin Franklin once said "a ship has all the confinement of a prison, with none of the security". That is how I see Israel. There is little personal security, but numerous forces that confine and kill one's hopes and dreams. I could write a book about the horrors and injustices that I endured. But it would be untrue to say that I didn't get anything positive out of my experiences. Many will protest that I am "speaking lashon hara against the Jewish people". But I feel it would be a great injustice not to speak. My ideology has been very much shaped by my experiences, both positive and negative. Disillusioned? Of course. But, I hope, a lot wiser. There is a Midrash that  G-d said to Abraham that his children would be like the stars of Heaven, and like the sands of the seashore, He was actually saying "When they rise, they rise to the stars. When they fall, they fall to the dust." I have witnessed and experienced both. I will be sharing with you both phenomena.

My Story 23

During my three years in New Haven, one person who particularly made a huge impression upon me was Rabbi James Ponet. He arrived in town at the same time as I did, in 1981. Growing up in the Reform movement, he was ordained as a Reform rabbi, but then went to Israel to study in an Orthodox Yeshiva. When I met him, he wore a kippah, kept Shabbat and Kashrut. His wife regularly attended the New Haven mikveh, where she and Sima became friends. He did not call himself Orthodox, but rather just Jewish. We liked each other right away. He had just been appointed the campus rabbi at Yale. As I indicated in an earlier post in this series, campus work was my first love. I offered my services at Yale Hillel in any capacity that he might deem fitting. He invited me to give a class in the teachings of Rabbi Nachman. Besides that, he ran a Shabbat Egalitarian Service (the first time I had heard of such a thing), that was meant to bridge the needs of all students, from the Orthodox to Reform, and even agnostic. The service included an in-depth Torah discussion, which he invited me to attend and to give my own take on things. The two of us had many long discussions on all sorts of Jewish topics. He was very opposed to Interfaith marriages, and seemed to truly agonize over the rampant assimilation of American Jewry. How did he go from this, to his moment of international notoriety as the co-officiant in the 2010 Interfaith marriage of Chelsea Clinton, held on a Shabbat afternoon, no less? I have searched news items, and only came up with vague references to his "personal journey". I believe that I know where this "personal journey", which was actually a personal struggle, began. It would divide us, and set each of us on a radically different path. In June, 1982, Israel invaded Lebanon. Night after night, the news programs showed pictures of death and destruction, ostensibly caused by Israel. In areas under Israeli control, Christian Lebanese militias wrought wholesale slaughter on Muslim villages. (Whether or not the Israeli leadership was aware of these events before they happened is still a subject of dispute). The world was appalled. Even President Ronald Reagan, by far the most pro-Israel president in history, turned lukewarm and publicly denounced Israel's actions. Perhaps the most troubling question, for me and millions of others, was why the invasion had taken place at all? Was it imperialism? Was it that Menachem Begin and Ariel Sharon were just plain crazy? Unsubstantiated rumors circulated in the U.S., but no real answers. The war lasted for two years and was never really resolved. Only when I moved to Israel in 1984, did I learn that an all-day attack of shelling on Northern Israel on a Shabbat in June had forced Israel's hand. I was angry that I had never seen this in the American media, or even in Jewish publications, for that matter. Although I thought that a "final battle" with the PLO would ultimately be a good thing, I, too, was troubled by the apparent savagery I was seeing on television. It was at this point that many Americans soured on Israel. My non-Jewish neighbors would ask me if there was any justification for these "atrocities". Not knowing about the attack on Israel's North, I had no satisfactory answer to give them, other than "terrorism must be fought". During the first week of operation "Peace for Galilee", as it was called, I saw Jim Ponet. He was ashen. "Walking through the campus, people are shouting at me GET OUT OF LEBANON!" He, like I, was a man of peace. He asked me if I didn't think that Israel was using excessive force, in a battle that seemed unprovoked. I had no choice but to agree (based on my lack of knowledge), but again expressed the view that terror must be fought. He asked me if I thought American Jews have an obligation to protest these actions. I responded in the affirmative. Nevertheless, I continued to identify with the Israeli Right. I didn't understand what was happening but believed that it was for the ultimate good of eliminating terrorism. Jim took the opposite view. He became active in Jewish groups that were supporting Palestinian rights, and attempting to bolster Israel's radical Left, while holding the Israeli establishment, as well as its American supporters, up for criticism, and even censure. Jim, like numerous others, was faced with the conflict between a universal morality, and an ethnic/nationalist narrative that appeared to oppose it. We continued to work together, but it was never the same. I longed to work on campus. I was good at it. Students related to me and the answers I offered.  I begged Jim for an official position in his Hillel. He declined, saying that he thought that what I was already doing was sufficient. How much of this was real, or a sign of his displeasure with my politics, is something I can only speculate about. Sima and I discussed this at length. I felt that my most productive years had been on campus, where I could look back at the end of a week, and see how many people I had positively impacted. Sure, we both loved New Haven, but were our talents and abilities being utilized? Yes, there were small accomplishments here and there, but, essentially, I had been defeated by an apathetic Jewish establishment. Even those Yale students whom I had brought to observance, were eventually convinced by Chabad that only they had the true Judaism. Yes, the Yeshivish community had employed me as a teacher; but only for Hebrew language and Jewish history. My real loves, Jewish spirituality and awareness of G-d were areas I was not permitted to touch, not sharing the Lithuanian Yeshivish outlook. I was thirty-four years old, with no direction. Jim's journey away from identification with traditional values and institutions had begun. I could see no realistic alternative for myself. Like most Orthodox Jews, "aliyah" had always seemed like a dream. Perhaps our time to realize that dream, had come. Perhaps. For better or for worse, we took the plunge.

My Story 22

We moved to New Haven in 1981, when our son Nachman was two years old, and Sima was expecting our second child. We were made to feel welcome (at first) by all the factions. Being the "Mikveh Lady" requires great tact and discretion. Sima was perfect for the job, and was well liked.We quickly found out that one faction, Chabad, was boycotting our mikveh. Chabad has a completely different way of constructing a mikveh. When it was built, the small Chabad community in town had insisted it be built their way. The Modern Orthodox and Yeshivish communities balked. Yes, according to some, it was a better way, but some also considered it invalid. Anyway, it was far more expensive to build. There had been a huge fight. Finally, the non-Chabad factions offered a compromise. The plans called for two separate mikvaot to be built within the complex anyway. They could make one according to the Chabad opinion, and the other in the more traditional way. The Chabad leaders rejected this offer, as they feared that people would say "This one is the Chabad mikveh, and this one is the Jewish mikveh". The Chabad women would go to Brooklyn to use a Chabad mikveh. The Chabad "BTs"(Baalot Teshuvah; newly Orthodox) were allowed to go half an hour away to Bridgeport. The mikveh there was identical to ours, but they felt slighted by the decision that had been made. The factions that ran the mikveh were the Modern Orthodox and the Yeshivish groups. They did not trust each other, but cooperated on many issues for the good of the community. At one "Mikveh Dinner" (fundraiser) a Modern Orthodox rabbi made an impassioned, but divisive, speech about how New Haven was once such a wonderful place, until the "Glattnicks" (those who keep a stricter level of kashrut) had come to town. The local Modern Orthodox rabbis maintained a very minimal level of Kashrut in the stores, while Chabad shipped up meat from Crown Heights, and the Yeshivish community shipped up meat from Queens. Sima and I agreed that we would try to be on good terms with everyone. A woman affiliated with the Chabad community befriended her (they are still in touch). She invited Sima to a Chabad Women's Sunday brunch. She asked Sima if she would like to give a Dvar Torah the following week on the subject of Elul (the month of preparation before the High Holy Days). Sima gladly agreed. After a few hours, our phone rang. The wife of the local Chabad rabbi wanted to speak to Sima. "I understand that Mrs ... asked you to speak. Will you be quoting Rabbi Nachman? We don't want to confuse the women, so I'll give you some Chabad teachings to deliver".Sima declined, and ceased her connection with the Chabad Women's group. Animosity between us and Chabad was to increase during our stay. The Yeshivish community was composed of two factions that studied and prayed in the same building. There was the larger Slobodka faction, and a tiny Brisker faction. (Only years later did it become known that the head of the Brisker faction was convicted of preying on young teen boys). I had not been very familiar with either. They had never heard of Breslov. I liked the people, but found the former group's approach to Judaism very superficial, and the latter pseudo-intellectual. Each explained to me why the other group was hopelessly mistaken. (I described the differences in an earlier series). I tried to keep out of the squabbles. The Modern Orthodox were a different story. I tried to maintain good relations, but they seemed to resent anyone who was in any way to their right. Ironically, they maintained fairly good relations with Chabad, who ran the local Day School. Several leaders of this community told me that although they did not care for Chabad, they did accept that the Lubavitcher Rebbe was Mashiach. The Day School was run on a religiously "lowest common denominator" basis, but with a heavy dose of Chabad ideology. The Modern Orthodox did not feel threatened in any way. In the meanwhile, the Yeshivish community had formed their own school, on a much higher level of Torah knowledge. At first, it met in rented space in a synagogue basement. Then, a public school building, right in the middle of the Jewish part of town, was being abandoned by the city. The Yeshivish Day School offered to purchase it. The mayor decided that it was in the interest of the city that it remain a school, and sold the building for one dollar. A lawsuit ensued. The Chabad community went to court, arguing that this deal violated the separations of Church and State, as well as the "equal protection" clause of the constitution (!!!). The Yeshivish community was frustrated that the Modern Orthodox rabbis remained silent at this, and wondered out loud why no formal "Cherem" (Ban of Excommunication) had been issued at this move, which violated many basic halachot. In the end, the courts granted the Chabad suit, and the Yeshivish community had to pay full price for the building, plus court costs. Many painful memories of the Chabad way of handling these things that I had seen when I worked for the Chabad House in Cleveland a decade earlier came rushing back to me. It would be many years before I could again feel positively toward Chabad. Missing doing "kiruv" (outreach), I visited the Yale campus. I became friendly with the Hillel rabbi. He invited me to give a class at the Hillel on Rabbi Nachman. He also invited me to attend his Shabbat discussion group and give my take on things. He was, and is, a very interesting person. Sadly, international events were soon to drive a wedge between us. That will be the next part of my story.

My Story 21

Excited and encouraged by my Sofer course, and given some breathing space by the generosity of Satmar, I was able to look realistically at my situation. Someone did approach me about a rabbinic position in Monsey, which was offering a big $3,000/year. I asked how I was supposed to live on that, when it would not even cover my rent. The man said "Hmm...we just threw in the money to sweeten the pot. We thought the honor of being a rabbi in Monsey would be enough!" I realized more and more that I was dealing with a community that wasn't playing with a full deck. At last, a neighbor got me an interview with the principal of a Hebrew High School in Mamaroneck, close to the Connecticut border. Although the school was ostensibly Orthodox, with a very dedicated principal and teaching staff, the students were mostly cynical and rebellious. They saw their teachers as hopelessly "out of it". Some would turn on a large radio in the middle of class. The principal would say that there was nothing that could be done, as the parents were generous donors. However, I established a good rapport with the students, who were impressed by my arcane knowledge (e.g., that Linda Rondstat had once been with a group called "The Stone Ponies") and that I could converse with them about their secular subjects as well (particularly French and chemistry). One day, a student, in the middle of class, interrupted with "Rabbi Siegel, do you know what a synthesizer is?" I replied that it was a series of oscillators, used to produce music, sounding either like traditional instruments, or electronic sounds. Their jaws dropped. They had never been in contact with a rabbi who was in possession of such vital information! They began to pay attention to my Torah and Talmud classes as well. I was in touch with many of these students for several years after they graduated. Now that I had an income, I did two things. One, I called the Satmar group, telling them that I would no longer need their help. The man said "thank you, but we will continue to send food for another month, so you can get on your feet a little". The second thing I did was to discuss with Sima where we should go now. We looked at a map of Connecticut, seeing what towns would have decent access to Mamaroneck, New York. We figured that the further away from New York City, the more chance of finding a welcoming community. Our plan was to visit another community each Sunday, and hope for the best. The first stop was New Haven. We were fortunate to meet a rabbi from the local Yeshiva. He praised the city, and assured us that we would be most welcome. We felt encouraged, and drove home with much to think about. No sooner did we enter the door, than the phone rang. It was the chairwoman of the New Haven Mikveh Committee, offering Sima the position of mikveh attendant. The position only entailed a few hours a week. There was no salary, but it provided housing for the attendant and her family. We drove back a few days later and signed a contract. I still needed to go back to Monsey three evenings a week for a few months, in order to complete the Sofer course. I would often sleep in my car after the course, going right to Mamaroneck the following morning. On days when I didn't need to go to Monsey, I would usually take the commuter railroad. It wasn't easy, but we felt like we were finally getting somewhere. In our second year there, I was offered a position in the New Haven Yeshiva High School. As I shall describe in my next post, not all was peace and quiet there, but we were happy. I often have deep regrets that we did not remain there. I did learn more about Jewish communal politics, for in this lovely community of about 150 Orthodox families, there were five factions. Often, there were clashes, and sometimes lawsuits, with the mikveh being at the center of some of these. More about that next time.