Hi friend,
May I ask you a question? I hope you
won't find it intrusive or judgmental. As a fellow Yid living in Chutz LeAretz, I ask you to contemplate this with me.
My question is a simple one: after 2,000 years of a profound national desire to return to Eretz Yisroel, why is it that you remain in Chutz LeAretz? Is it simply too challenging? Is the distance from family, parnassah difficulties, and the cultural differences the primary reasons? Are the chaotic drivers, rudeness, and pushiness of people affecting your decision? Is the cuisine not up to your standards, and is the hassle of owning a car a deterrent? Perhaps it's your job or the high cost of living?
If any of these or similar reasons come to mind, allow me to pose another question: Will you be ready to move when Mashiach comes?
As a Torah Jew, I'm absolutely sure that you have no doubt in your mind that when the Shofar blows, you'll be on the first plane home. But, if I may, what do you think will be different? Will the homes suddenly grow larger, and jobs become more abundant? Will our Israeli brothers and sisters miraculously transform to be more like us? Will doves fly in the air with white sheets in their beaks, and the sweet chords of a piano fill the air? Will apartments spring from the ground, offering the comforts we hold dear?
Or might the following scenario be possible:
It's a Monday morning, your child misses the bus, and you arrive at work frustrated. A pile of to-dos has accumulated over the weekend, and your secretary is out sick, or your boss isn't in the best mood. You glance at your phone, noticing a missed message from your spouse, and several friends and WhatsApp groups buzzing with messages. You don't have time for callbacks or to read all your messages.
A quick glance shows a viral video about an old man blowing the Shofar at the Kotel, proclaiming himself to be Eliyahu HaNavi announcing the coming of Mashiach. Your initial thought is "another eccentric
individual" and "I really need to limit my time on WhatsApp." You feel you have no time for such nonsense as you're stressed, hating Mondays, and mentally note to check it out later.
By lunchtime, you see messages about mekubalim speculating that this might be genuine. You move on, thinking someone will inform you if it's real. Life is too hectic for such matters.
By the time you get home from work, your buzzing phone demands your attention. You scroll through messages and check Jewish news sites. While some mention the video, they come with heavy disclaimers like "in a viral video today" and "at this point, there's no reason to believe."
By Ma'ariv, it's the talk of the town. People are huddled together, discussing videos and photos of this man with a peculiar beard and a strange belt. Videos feature those dismissing it as nonsense and those affirming it's the real deal.
You start to feel a tinge of excitement. Could this be genuine? Should you consult your Rav or mentor? Yet, you hesitate, not wanting to appear foolish. Perhaps it's just a gimmick for a new ice cream parlor or another flashy grocery store opening. You discuss it with your spouse before sleep, then lay your head down.
Morning arrives, and you reach for your phone. All heck has broken loose. Contradictory reports flood your screen, but a general theme emerges: while the US was asleep, Rabbanim in Eretz Yisroel representing all communities met with the old man.
Some reports mention a consensus that this might indeed be the real thing. Some dissenting opinions exist, but "things just got real."
You bolt out of bed, running to Shacharis with unprecedented zeal. Everyone has heard the news. In the hallway and around the shul, groups gather, with the largest around the Rav. Even the 9:30 Shacharis regular is there early today. No one is entirely sure what to do. Finally, the Rav delivers an impromptu speech, expressing excitement about the news and his discussions with other Rabbanim early that morning. They all urge caution, reminding everyone that there are still two more days until Mashiach's arrival, assuming the old Yid is indeed Eliyahu HaNavi. Everyone agrees to a "wait and see" approach.
The next two days feel like an eternity. You
continually check your phone, consult with your Rosh Yeshiva and various Rebbeim, and finally, day three arrives. Mashiach reveals himself, and everyone is convinced. Perhaps he performed a miracle, or maybe he's a renowned tzaddik. Whatever the case, leading gedolim endorse him, and Klal Yisroel erupts in the most joyous celebration anyone can remember. There's music, dancing in the streets, tears, and laughter, exceeding all your expectations.
Photo Credit: Menachem Forster
Now what? What comes next? Countless
questions swirl in your mind. How do we go? What about our homes, possessions, housing, and schools? Clarity comes from the Einey HaEidah, stating, "It's time to go!" Flights are arranged, and you manage to secure one for your family just two days away. You're ecstatic, your family is overjoyed, but there's much to be done.
From the start, askanim make it clear that furniture will be an issue; there's no way it'll fit on the planes. Warehouses and guards are organized to store your possessions until a solution can be found.
Some tzaddikim agree to stay back to ensure everything remains safe. Some people choose to leave things in their homes, intending to return later to settle matters. For now, families are allowed one suitcase per family member.
Every Home Depot and Lowe's within a 50-mile radius of any Jewish community is completely out of boxes. You manage to find one of the last packs of bubble wrap and use garbage bags for the rest. It's a frenzy of packing!
It's challenging; will you be able to sell your home? With so many homes on the market, prices have plummeted. How will you manage your business? Maybe you'll need to return soon to establish a remote system, but so what? Mashiach is here! With deep trust in Hashem, you're ready to go!
The momentous day arrives, and you, along with hundreds of thousands of Yidden, dance and sing your way through the airport. The plane is filled with song for 12 hours straight, the air electric!
Finally, your plane touches down at Ben Gurion airport (or perhaps it's been renamed for a Gadol). It's late at night, and due to the high volume of arrivals, there aren't enough available gates. Ground crews line the planes up as far as the eye can see, and wheeled stairways are shuffled from plane to plane to allow passengers to disembark. Luggage crews move from plane to plane, unloading luggage and stacking it neatly near each group.
On the loudspeaker, a sadran keeps repeating, "Bruchim HaBoim LeEretz Yisroel, welcome home!" Then he adds, "Ani Mitztaehr, I very much apologizing, but wit so many people coming at once, we cannot prucess da people fest enough. Please wait patient near you plane until one of the Sadrunim can helping you."
You're so excited that you have no problem waiting. What's a little wait time after 2000 years? After about an hour, the kids start getting fussy. You've had to break up a few fights, and you're feeling embarrassed about your kids' antics. However, it's all good; Mashiach is here.
Around the three-hour mark, a chassidisheh yungerman in an orange vest with the word "Sadrunim" spray-painted on it finally reaches your group. "I'm so sorry," he says. "It's been crazy. I've been here since early morning, and we've processed over one hundred thousand people today. We're really doing our best." He asks for your name and family size, jotting it down on his pad and promising to return soon.
An hour later, he returns, apologizes once again, and delivers some not-so-great news. Unfortunately, there aren't nearly enough apartments available right now to accommodate all the arriving families. He tells you that under Mashiach's guidance, the Palestinians are offered fair compensation to move out, but as Jews, we must treat them with respect. They have been given a month to find housing in neighboring Arab countries. Moreover, much of the Palestinian
housing is substandard and needs
significant repairs, which will take at least six months.
Simultaneously, new apartments are under construction. He then asks if you have any handiwork experience, as they still need plenty of help. "While the apartments will be small," he assures you, "the new Vaad LeHakamas Diros BeEretz Hakodesh is working hard to ensure most families have livable apartments
within 12 months."
Finally, he has better news: "Baruch Hashem, we found temporary accommodations for you and your family. It's not the best, but who can complain? We're back in Eretz Yisroel, and that's what matters most! In Haifa, there's an apartment building on [Fill in the name] Street with an open Miklat (bomb shelter). Thankfully, we were able to place your family there with only 10 other families. Don't worry; they're all 'your type,' and you should get along well." He continues, "Unfortunately, there are no bathroom or shower facilities in the Miklat, but don't worry! The generous families in the building have agreed to share their bathrooms with the Miklat residents for one hour a day. Just check the sign on the wall to know which bathroom is available when you need it. Oh, and a bus will be here shortly to take you to your new home. Zol zein a gutteh yushuv!" With that, he's off to the next family on the list.
At this point, you're growing concerned, but
with your head held high, you lead your somewhat weary family onto the bus and load your luggage into the bottom compartment.
After two days in the Miklat, you've nearly lost your mind. It's time for a serious conversation with your spouse. "Listen," you say, "this is just crazy. The past two days have been incredibly difficult, and there's no way we can last 6 months to a year like this. Our home in America is still there, our cars and most of our possessions are still there. I think the best thing is for us to return and wait until things are better figured out here, and then we can come back." Your spouse reluctantly agrees; there isn't much of a choice. The kids are driving you all crazy, there's no privacy, no windows, and the bathroom situation is horrendous. You really have no alternative. So, sadly, you return home, vowing to come back as soon as things are more settled.
Six months pass, and you're back home, back at work. Life is fairly similar to pre-Moshiach times. News from Israel indicates that building projects keep encountering delays. It's going to be a while before things are fully resolved.
It's time for another conversation. "Listen," you say, "we're quite comfortable here. The children are happier, their chinuch is better, and maybe we should consider staying, at least for a few more years. Even when the apartments are built, they'll be much smaller than what we have now. It's just too challenging. We're not obligated… and with the Rabbanim taking over El Al, flights are very affordable. They've even brought back the Concorde, so flights are much shorter. Security at the airport is nonexistent with the fulfillment of the nevuah לא ישא גוי אל גוי חרב ולא ילמדו עוד מלחמה. We can literally wake up in Brooklyn, daven, eat breakfast, and be at JFK by 10:00. We could be on a flight by 10:30 and in Israel by lunchtime. We can go whenever we want, rent a nice apartment in Yerushalayim for Oleh Regel, and visit many times a year. It's truly the right thing for our family."
The truth is, I realize that much of what I've
written here might seem insensitive or belittling to you. Let me be clear - I'm not here to present a new concept about what the era of Mashiach will look like. My sole intention is to share a thought with you. It's a simple one: if Gashmiyos (materialism) is currently a roadblock for any of us when it comes to contemplating a move to Eretz Yisroel, it might be time for us to engage in some introspection. Is it logical to assume that when Mashiach arrives, Eretz Yisroel will magically transform into something akin to America, or that we will reach such lofty spiritual
levels without putting in the effort? The truth is, Eretz Yisroel has always been acquired through trials and challenges, and that might remain the case. So, the question we need to ask ourselves is this:
What are we doing to prepare ourselves for the possibilities that lie ahead? Does our current reality say something about our readiness to be "Eretz Yisroel Jews"?
For 2000 years, our parents, great- grandparents, and generations before them longed to return to Eretz Yisroel. They mentioned it multiple times daily in their tefillos, during grace after meals, at weddings, simchos, and on the holiest days of the year. The prayers revolved around the final redemption, an unparalleled obsession. There's nothing quite like it in any other aspect of Yiddishkeit. Our ancestors likely never met anyone who had visited Eretz Yisroel. They never saw pictures or videos; their knowledge came from deep yearning passed down from parent to child—a hope and love so profound that nothing could make them forget.
Throughout two millennia, many great Tzaddikim yearned to return. Some made the challenging journey by foot and sea, enduring mesiras nefesh. They were driven by deep love for Hashem and the land He chose for us. The Rambam visited, the Ramban relocated there, and many others came. The Vilna Gaon, the Baal Shem Tov, the Chasam Sofer—all sent their talmidim to Eretz Yisroel, and through immense hardship, they stayed. They persevered through earthquakes, famine, and epidemics. Even many who initially returned to Europe later came back, refusing to give up on the merit of living there.
The most significant establishment and codification of Judaism since the sealing of the Talmud Bavli occurred in Eretz Yisroel through the Ramak, Arizal, R' Yosef Karo, R' Chaim Vital, the Alshich Hakadosh, and Rav Shlomo Alkabitz. They brought about the codification of Kabbalah, Halachah, and the establishment of the first new tefillah in over a millennium. All of this happened in Eretz Yisroel through tzaddikim who traveled from across continents to live there.
After 2000 years of what may be the "deepest desire of all time," why haven't we gathered ourselves from the diaspora and moved? How will our ancestors judge us? Won't they be scandalized by the notion that, when finally granted the opportunity, we choose to remain in our comfortable homes, leading our comfortable lives? How will history judge us? Are we the generation that did not return?
Yes, an argument can be made that we're not obligated to move, and that the difficulties are too great. But what about the love, the desire, the prayers we recite repeatedly? How can we sincerely mean what we say when we don't seize the incredible opportunity before us?
Yidden, home is calling…
May I ask you a question? I hope you
won't find it intrusive or judgmental. As a fellow Yid living in Chutz LeAretz, I ask you to contemplate this with me.
My question is a simple one: after 2,000 years of a profound national desire to return to Eretz Yisroel, why is it that you remain in Chutz LeAretz? Is it simply too challenging? Is the distance from family, parnassah difficulties, and the cultural differences the primary reasons? Are the chaotic drivers, rudeness, and pushiness of people affecting your decision? Is the cuisine not up to your standards, and is the hassle of owning a car a deterrent? Perhaps it's your job or the high cost of living?
If any of these or similar reasons come to mind, allow me to pose another question: Will you be ready to move when Mashiach comes?
As a Torah Jew, I'm absolutely sure that you have no doubt in your mind that when the Shofar blows, you'll be on the first plane home. But, if I may, what do you think will be different? Will the homes suddenly grow larger, and jobs become more abundant? Will our Israeli brothers and sisters miraculously transform to be more like us? Will doves fly in the air with white sheets in their beaks, and the sweet chords of a piano fill the air? Will apartments spring from the ground, offering the comforts we hold dear?
Or might the following scenario be possible:
It's a Monday morning, your child misses the bus, and you arrive at work frustrated. A pile of to-dos has accumulated over the weekend, and your secretary is out sick, or your boss isn't in the best mood. You glance at your phone, noticing a missed message from your spouse, and several friends and WhatsApp groups buzzing with messages. You don't have time for callbacks or to read all your messages.
A quick glance shows a viral video about an old man blowing the Shofar at the Kotel, proclaiming himself to be Eliyahu HaNavi announcing the coming of Mashiach. Your initial thought is "another eccentric
individual" and "I really need to limit my time on WhatsApp." You feel you have no time for such nonsense as you're stressed, hating Mondays, and mentally note to check it out later.
By lunchtime, you see messages about mekubalim speculating that this might be genuine. You move on, thinking someone will inform you if it's real. Life is too hectic for such matters.
By the time you get home from work, your buzzing phone demands your attention. You scroll through messages and check Jewish news sites. While some mention the video, they come with heavy disclaimers like "in a viral video today" and "at this point, there's no reason to believe."
By Ma'ariv, it's the talk of the town. People are huddled together, discussing videos and photos of this man with a peculiar beard and a strange belt. Videos feature those dismissing it as nonsense and those affirming it's the real deal.
You start to feel a tinge of excitement. Could this be genuine? Should you consult your Rav or mentor? Yet, you hesitate, not wanting to appear foolish. Perhaps it's just a gimmick for a new ice cream parlor or another flashy grocery store opening. You discuss it with your spouse before sleep, then lay your head down.
Morning arrives, and you reach for your phone. All heck has broken loose. Contradictory reports flood your screen, but a general theme emerges: while the US was asleep, Rabbanim in Eretz Yisroel representing all communities met with the old man.
Some reports mention a consensus that this might indeed be the real thing. Some dissenting opinions exist, but "things just got real."
You bolt out of bed, running to Shacharis with unprecedented zeal. Everyone has heard the news. In the hallway and around the shul, groups gather, with the largest around the Rav. Even the 9:30 Shacharis regular is there early today. No one is entirely sure what to do. Finally, the Rav delivers an impromptu speech, expressing excitement about the news and his discussions with other Rabbanim early that morning. They all urge caution, reminding everyone that there are still two more days until Mashiach's arrival, assuming the old Yid is indeed Eliyahu HaNavi. Everyone agrees to a "wait and see" approach.
The next two days feel like an eternity. You
continually check your phone, consult with your Rosh Yeshiva and various Rebbeim, and finally, day three arrives. Mashiach reveals himself, and everyone is convinced. Perhaps he performed a miracle, or maybe he's a renowned tzaddik. Whatever the case, leading gedolim endorse him, and Klal Yisroel erupts in the most joyous celebration anyone can remember. There's music, dancing in the streets, tears, and laughter, exceeding all your expectations.
Photo Credit: Menachem Forster
Now what? What comes next? Countless
questions swirl in your mind. How do we go? What about our homes, possessions, housing, and schools? Clarity comes from the Einey HaEidah, stating, "It's time to go!" Flights are arranged, and you manage to secure one for your family just two days away. You're ecstatic, your family is overjoyed, but there's much to be done.
From the start, askanim make it clear that furniture will be an issue; there's no way it'll fit on the planes. Warehouses and guards are organized to store your possessions until a solution can be found.
Some tzaddikim agree to stay back to ensure everything remains safe. Some people choose to leave things in their homes, intending to return later to settle matters. For now, families are allowed one suitcase per family member.
Every Home Depot and Lowe's within a 50-mile radius of any Jewish community is completely out of boxes. You manage to find one of the last packs of bubble wrap and use garbage bags for the rest. It's a frenzy of packing!
It's challenging; will you be able to sell your home? With so many homes on the market, prices have plummeted. How will you manage your business? Maybe you'll need to return soon to establish a remote system, but so what? Mashiach is here! With deep trust in Hashem, you're ready to go!
The momentous day arrives, and you, along with hundreds of thousands of Yidden, dance and sing your way through the airport. The plane is filled with song for 12 hours straight, the air electric!
Finally, your plane touches down at Ben Gurion airport (or perhaps it's been renamed for a Gadol). It's late at night, and due to the high volume of arrivals, there aren't enough available gates. Ground crews line the planes up as far as the eye can see, and wheeled stairways are shuffled from plane to plane to allow passengers to disembark. Luggage crews move from plane to plane, unloading luggage and stacking it neatly near each group.
On the loudspeaker, a sadran keeps repeating, "Bruchim HaBoim LeEretz Yisroel, welcome home!" Then he adds, "Ani Mitztaehr, I very much apologizing, but wit so many people coming at once, we cannot prucess da people fest enough. Please wait patient near you plane until one of the Sadrunim can helping you."
You're so excited that you have no problem waiting. What's a little wait time after 2000 years? After about an hour, the kids start getting fussy. You've had to break up a few fights, and you're feeling embarrassed about your kids' antics. However, it's all good; Mashiach is here.
Around the three-hour mark, a chassidisheh yungerman in an orange vest with the word "Sadrunim" spray-painted on it finally reaches your group. "I'm so sorry," he says. "It's been crazy. I've been here since early morning, and we've processed over one hundred thousand people today. We're really doing our best." He asks for your name and family size, jotting it down on his pad and promising to return soon.
An hour later, he returns, apologizes once again, and delivers some not-so-great news. Unfortunately, there aren't nearly enough apartments available right now to accommodate all the arriving families. He tells you that under Mashiach's guidance, the Palestinians are offered fair compensation to move out, but as Jews, we must treat them with respect. They have been given a month to find housing in neighboring Arab countries. Moreover, much of the Palestinian
housing is substandard and needs
significant repairs, which will take at least six months.
Simultaneously, new apartments are under construction. He then asks if you have any handiwork experience, as they still need plenty of help. "While the apartments will be small," he assures you, "the new Vaad LeHakamas Diros BeEretz Hakodesh is working hard to ensure most families have livable apartments
within 12 months."
Finally, he has better news: "Baruch Hashem, we found temporary accommodations for you and your family. It's not the best, but who can complain? We're back in Eretz Yisroel, and that's what matters most! In Haifa, there's an apartment building on [Fill in the name] Street with an open Miklat (bomb shelter). Thankfully, we were able to place your family there with only 10 other families. Don't worry; they're all 'your type,' and you should get along well." He continues, "Unfortunately, there are no bathroom or shower facilities in the Miklat, but don't worry! The generous families in the building have agreed to share their bathrooms with the Miklat residents for one hour a day. Just check the sign on the wall to know which bathroom is available when you need it. Oh, and a bus will be here shortly to take you to your new home. Zol zein a gutteh yushuv!" With that, he's off to the next family on the list.
At this point, you're growing concerned, but
with your head held high, you lead your somewhat weary family onto the bus and load your luggage into the bottom compartment.
After two days in the Miklat, you've nearly lost your mind. It's time for a serious conversation with your spouse. "Listen," you say, "this is just crazy. The past two days have been incredibly difficult, and there's no way we can last 6 months to a year like this. Our home in America is still there, our cars and most of our possessions are still there. I think the best thing is for us to return and wait until things are better figured out here, and then we can come back." Your spouse reluctantly agrees; there isn't much of a choice. The kids are driving you all crazy, there's no privacy, no windows, and the bathroom situation is horrendous. You really have no alternative. So, sadly, you return home, vowing to come back as soon as things are more settled.
Six months pass, and you're back home, back at work. Life is fairly similar to pre-Moshiach times. News from Israel indicates that building projects keep encountering delays. It's going to be a while before things are fully resolved.
It's time for another conversation. "Listen," you say, "we're quite comfortable here. The children are happier, their chinuch is better, and maybe we should consider staying, at least for a few more years. Even when the apartments are built, they'll be much smaller than what we have now. It's just too challenging. We're not obligated… and with the Rabbanim taking over El Al, flights are very affordable. They've even brought back the Concorde, so flights are much shorter. Security at the airport is nonexistent with the fulfillment of the nevuah לא ישא גוי אל גוי חרב ולא ילמדו עוד מלחמה. We can literally wake up in Brooklyn, daven, eat breakfast, and be at JFK by 10:00. We could be on a flight by 10:30 and in Israel by lunchtime. We can go whenever we want, rent a nice apartment in Yerushalayim for Oleh Regel, and visit many times a year. It's truly the right thing for our family."
The truth is, I realize that much of what I've
written here might seem insensitive or belittling to you. Let me be clear - I'm not here to present a new concept about what the era of Mashiach will look like. My sole intention is to share a thought with you. It's a simple one: if Gashmiyos (materialism) is currently a roadblock for any of us when it comes to contemplating a move to Eretz Yisroel, it might be time for us to engage in some introspection. Is it logical to assume that when Mashiach arrives, Eretz Yisroel will magically transform into something akin to America, or that we will reach such lofty spiritual
levels without putting in the effort? The truth is, Eretz Yisroel has always been acquired through trials and challenges, and that might remain the case. So, the question we need to ask ourselves is this:
What are we doing to prepare ourselves for the possibilities that lie ahead? Does our current reality say something about our readiness to be "Eretz Yisroel Jews"?
For 2000 years, our parents, great- grandparents, and generations before them longed to return to Eretz Yisroel. They mentioned it multiple times daily in their tefillos, during grace after meals, at weddings, simchos, and on the holiest days of the year. The prayers revolved around the final redemption, an unparalleled obsession. There's nothing quite like it in any other aspect of Yiddishkeit. Our ancestors likely never met anyone who had visited Eretz Yisroel. They never saw pictures or videos; their knowledge came from deep yearning passed down from parent to child—a hope and love so profound that nothing could make them forget.
Throughout two millennia, many great Tzaddikim yearned to return. Some made the challenging journey by foot and sea, enduring mesiras nefesh. They were driven by deep love for Hashem and the land He chose for us. The Rambam visited, the Ramban relocated there, and many others came. The Vilna Gaon, the Baal Shem Tov, the Chasam Sofer—all sent their talmidim to Eretz Yisroel, and through immense hardship, they stayed. They persevered through earthquakes, famine, and epidemics. Even many who initially returned to Europe later came back, refusing to give up on the merit of living there.
The most significant establishment and codification of Judaism since the sealing of the Talmud Bavli occurred in Eretz Yisroel through the Ramak, Arizal, R' Yosef Karo, R' Chaim Vital, the Alshich Hakadosh, and Rav Shlomo Alkabitz. They brought about the codification of Kabbalah, Halachah, and the establishment of the first new tefillah in over a millennium. All of this happened in Eretz Yisroel through tzaddikim who traveled from across continents to live there.
After 2000 years of what may be the "deepest desire of all time," why haven't we gathered ourselves from the diaspora and moved? How will our ancestors judge us? Won't they be scandalized by the notion that, when finally granted the opportunity, we choose to remain in our comfortable homes, leading our comfortable lives? How will history judge us? Are we the generation that did not return?
Yes, an argument can be made that we're not obligated to move, and that the difficulties are too great. But what about the love, the desire, the prayers we recite repeatedly? How can we sincerely mean what we say when we don't seize the incredible opportunity before us?
Yidden, home is calling…
