How are new immigrants in Israel adjusting to life and war?

August 16, 2023

Ben-Gurion Airport’s desert landscape comes into sight in the plane’s windows.

The wheels touch down on Holy Land terra firma.

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Shouts of “Am Yisrael chai!” and song ring out through the cabin. The pilot announces his touching congratulations.

The good people of this special flight walk down the stairs, squinting into the heat and light, where press, soldiers, government officials, and family members cheer.

Tears run down the faces of many, including my own. Some kiss the ground.

A lifetime of longing, years of debating, months of planning, and a belly full of anticipation.

It is really happening – I am making aliyah.

For the second time.

December 5

I sit in my office at The Jerusalem Post and read my thoughts from back then – processing what I witnessed when, as a veteran olah, I joined Nefesh B’Nefesh’s annual charter flight of 215 people leaving North America to join the Jewish people.

It’s hard to believe how innocent I – and everyone else – was then, just about four months ago.

Back in the dog days of August, Israel was deeply split in the painful battle over judicial reform. I had intended to write about how these olim – 22 families; 75 children; 15 singles; 17 retirees; 45 lone soldiers; – aged from four months to 77 years – had granted me a fresh perspective on life here. It was an inspiring injection to soften some of the cynicism and civil discord that had pitted Israeli against Israeli.

I was going to title it “Coming full circle, coming home” (catchy, isn’t it?) and discuss how the NBN reporting trip involved a few days being back among New York City’s Jewish community, with visits to the UJA Federation, Camp Ramah in Nyack, the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, and even the Jewish Theological Seminary’s Rare Book Room. Seeing my hometown through the eyes of my fellow reporters, Israelis all, had given me fresh perspective on the life from whence I came, as the American-Israeli hybrid I now was, after making aliyah 13+ years earlier.

I planned to include testimonials from a few of the oleh families, along with a behind-the-scenes look at how much work NBN and its partners – the Aliyah and Integration Ministry, The Jewish Agency for Israel, Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael, and JNF-USA – put into preparing for the flight. And in a new innovation, the streamlined bureaucracy allowing each immigrant to receive his/her teudat oleh (immigration certificate) during the flight.

This was all going to tie the article together in a nice bow – perfect for printing during the post-hagim doldrums.

How uncomplicated it all seems now, in our post-October 7 lives!

WELL, OCTOBER 7 happened, and that no longer worked.

It was approaching the end of 2023 and the article hadn’t been written. Yet these new immigrants deserved to be credited for their bravery, first in making their individual journeys, then in sticking it out. And NBN and partners deserved to be recognized for the insane amount of work and love they put into ensuring that each oleh, young and old, has a smooth landing.

Conferring with colleagues, I realized it made more sense to include each family’s aliyah backstory and how they have been adjusting to this all-consuming new reality. A reality that is hard enough for Israelis who have roots here for generations to stomach.

So that’s what I did.

The Lautman family: Yaniv, Talia, and children

“The planned, the unexpected, and the master plan”

Making aliyah:

As told by Yaniv – It all started with our grandfathers.

Talia’s grandfather, Larry Friedman – whose first yahrzeit was two days after Simchat Torah – grew up in Borough Park, New York. He hadn’t intended to leave Brooklyn, but his wife passed away young, and he was left a bit depressed. A friend suggested he do something to distract himself, so he took a trip to Hebron.

There he met a woman named Rivka in a similar situation, and they formed an immediate bond, marrying within a year. The only problem? Larry lived in Brooklyn; Rivka in Israel. No one in his family ever thought he would leave New York, yet he and Rivka decided to live in Efrat, where they shared a home for over 15 years.

Zayda [Yiddish for “grandfather”] had found a new home and would beam with joy over FaceTime when talking about his community. On the last family trip to visit him in Israel with a couple of great-grandchildren, you could see how much he loved being together at their house. He always used to say that leaving family was the hardest thing.

[Over the past two years, as Talia and Yaniv decided to make aliyah, the couple couldn’t help but think of the renewed spirit and passion that zayda and Rivka had found in some of their tougher moments, when they built their home in Israel.]

Little did Larry know that when he and Rivka decided to live in Israel, they would create a pathway for us grandkids – who now get to walk in his guiding footsteps, continuing his legacy, and putting down the next generation’s roots in the land of our forefathers.

My grandfather Kurt, for his part, escaped Vienna during World War II. With two brothers, he went to what was then Palestine to get papers for the family and bring them over. After bribing their way across borders, they were caught by German patrol officers in a forest. After accepting a bribe, the officers decided that instead of killing the brothers on the spot, they would allow them a 10-second head-start to run – then they would start shooting.

Miraculously, the brothers made it. Arriving in Palestine, they managed to bring over their parents and grandparents from Austria. As family members recall, Yaniv’s great-grandfather said, “I will let you three [brothers] decide what we should do – business as we did in Vienna, or farming and settling the land like many of the others [around us].” And so it was they voted for farming, purchasing a barren patch of dirt next to Kfar Saba, in today’s Ra’anana.

A few years in, they realized farming wasn’t for them. Kurt ended up working for GE in Israel, where he met his wife Ada, Yaniv’s grandmother. Things didn’t work out in Israel during the 1950s famine era, so they moved to New York, where they built a successful travel agency and raised four children in Queens.

Kurt passed away a few years ago, but Ada is still alive and residing a few blocks from our former home in Riverdale, NY. She is 99!

We never planned this journey. We believe it was God who did.

WHILE DATING, Yaniv wanted to make aliyah, but Talia was not ready, so the discussion was tabled. The couple started to have kids, and the thought of where to put down family roots was creeping in. They had friends across America, but weren’t ready to settle down.

Straight out of the movies, little signs began to pop up. While sitting at a NYC restaurant, the waiter clearly had a Middle Eastern accent. In answer to “Where are you from?” he replied “Ra’anana.” This waiter was in for the summer helping his father, who happened to live four blocks away from the family’s holy patch of land.

The next sign came when Talia – a pediatric occupational therapist in Washington Heights, NY – was treating a special-needs boy. From Spanish Harlem (not Jewish), he would always bring in something from home, and one day he handed Talia a card. It read, “Masa Israel.” Talia turned it over and on the back it said, “City of Ra’anana.”

There are other stories like these, and eventually Yaniv and Talia decided: We will do what we can to return to that patch of land – which was no longer a farm, no longer barren, but part of a beautiful community in Ra’anana.

How they are now: Yaniv recounts – Our aliyah journey has been about putting down roots; you can’t uproot a tree; you first have to pick everything up around it. We were at a crossroads and not yet too entrenched in life in New York, so this was a golden opportunity to educate our children to live/love Israel.

Very few times in life do you see the big picture, the master plan of God. You see that in my grandfather Kurt’s experience – from Vienna, he was not religious at all, but he kept that plot of land.

My grandfather escaped the Nazis, running to Israel. We ran toward aliyah.

Yet months later, since October 7, we can see there’s a palpable difference being here during wartime, where people have your back, and not being amid the global antisemitism.

The first three sirens were challenging, to say the least, but we’re so happy and grateful to be here.

The Siegel family: Moshe, Michelle, and baby

“Jewish love for our homeland”

Making aliyah: 

Michelle – This is a dream that doesn’t feel real. When you’ve been waiting for something for so long and it finally happens, it takes time. I’m so glad we made this decision to come home.

Moshe – That was such an amazing flight! The best part was when we arrived at the airport and there was a band to greet us with the song “V’shavu Banim.” It was a true celebration, and we felt at home.

Many things in Israel are expensive – but starting a business doesn’t have to be. As a new oleh and an entrepreneur, I can begin executing my next start-up (a journaling app) because it is possible to do so with $0 start-up costs.

How they are now: 

Michelle – I have always dreamed of making aliyah, even more so after my sister did over 10 years ago and my parents five years ago. We felt the time was right; and after an exciting, exhilarating charter flight, we arrived home. Surrounded by our family and friends, we knew we were home.

The adrenaline from our arrival lasted several weeks in which we felt like everything was new; we were no longer tourists but acclimating to a new life. We had many appointments to attend, setting up a new life, ensuring we had a bank account and healthcare. After spending the hagim with our family, we returned to our community in Ramat Beit Shemesh for Simchat Torah.

October 7 is forever ingrained in our minds, and as new olim we had to learn to become Israeli quickly. We learned within minutes after the first siren how long to be in the safe room, and shortly after that, what was actually going on.

For us making aliyah, we [thought] our lives would begin here after the hagim, when things were expected to calm down. Our lives are forever changed, but we are so grateful to be here rather than back in New York with all the antisemitism.

We didn’t start ulpan until weeks after we initially signed up, and our son started kindergarten and is loving every second. We have begun to acclimate to our new community and meet people, while also being mindful of the state of our homeland and our people. I am a social worker and hope to eventually work when I get my license.

Baruch Hashem (thank God) we feel at ease being here, but are waiting, like everyone else, for there to be peace, and for our brothers and sisters to come home. We also hope that with Hanukkah, we will truly see many miracles.

Moshe – I’m going to focus on a specific aspect of my post-aliyah life: entrepreneurship.

One of my biggest motivations for coming to Israel was to meet other Jewish start-up entrepreneurs. I love all things business, and back in America I was super-involved in the New York start-up community. I had a few close entrepreneurial friends who were Jewish, but most of my start-up founder friends were non-Jewish.

With such a high percentage of non-Jewish entrepreneurial friends, I felt I was betraying my Jewish identity. Living in Israel, most of my entrepreneurial friends would naturally be Jewish – or so I thought.

Then October 7 happened and everything changed. I went onto social media with the goal of lowering people’s anger against my country. I searched online and found a prominent Jordanian start-up founder who posted something very anti-Israel. We started having conversations about our respective political opinions, and also about start-up culture. These conversations led me to connect to other Middle Eastern start-up founders.

Now I have Israeli entrepreneurial friends, as well as start-up friends in Dubai and Jordan. We talk about our lives, the war, and entrepreneurship.

These experiences have forced me to confront questions about my identity. As an Israeli, is it OK for me to be friends with Palestinian entrepreneurs? Ultimately I decided I could because it’s my life to live, it’s legal, and if I decide I want to, then I want to.

Immigrating to Israel has brought us emotional growth, challenges, and surprises. We’re grateful to be here.

Olim to come: Last words from the writer

With antisemitism surging around the world, and Jews being blamed for a phantom genocide, it’s no surprise we’re seeing a vast spike of interest in aliyah.

The unprecedented increase? Over 140% more aliyah applications since October 7, in comparison with this same period in 2022.

With my 14-year aliyah-versary approaching on December 29, a day I always look forward to, I can reflect – and it appears the two families above would agree – that moving to the Jewish state has been among my best life decisions.

(And in a twist, Michelle Siegel’s parents, Annie and Moshe Feldman, have become friends with my own parents, as they reside in the same Arnona neighborhood. In fact, I enjoyed a lively lunch with them this past Shabbat!)

So to those reading this in the Diaspora: Come home.

We wait to welcome you with open arms. 

My original (August) thoughts upon my second aliyah

December 29, 2009, was a momentous day in my life, when I said a heart-wrenching goodbye to my parents, siblings, friends, and all I had ever known, and went toward my destiny, to make aliyah on a Nefesh B’Nefesh charter flight.

August 15, 2023, was another emotional date when, now as a Jerusalem Post editor who had lived in Israel for a solid 13+ years, I returned home on this year’s annual NBN flight. This time, I was there to document the new immigrants’ life stories, to share in their excitement, and perhaps offer some (hopefully) wise counsel.

Instead of taking a comped taxi as a “lone olah” to the temporary home of family friends down South, hefty suitcases in tow, I could take the fast train home to Jerusalem, to my cozy apartment in Katamon, with dear friends and workplace all nearby. (And family – I was overjoyed when my parents made aliyah in February 2022.)

The opportunity to take this trip came at just the right time, as Israel roiled with protests, and tension prevailed for what seemed like endless months.

I have always viewed making aliyah as a marriage – from the beginning honeymoon, to the getting-to-know-you time, to everyday life bringing the true realization of what it means to commit to the relationship. Living in a homeland you thought you had understood as a tourist but that in reality is an often alien culture; with fellow Jews whom you had thought were just like you but more accurately might make up one big, dysfunctional family.

Often fun, often challenging, sometimes maddening, usually inspiring, always interesting.

By this past August, I had fully shed my rose-colored glasses. I was still firmly committed, but I was tired, so tired. And so this shot in the arm of Zionism, this reminder of why I chose aliyah in the first place – something every Israeli-by-choice needs – was most welcome.

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