I recently read a piece by a licensed therapist I know addressing the increase of voices in the Jewish world that have been urging Diaspora Jews to make aliya home to Israel based on the alarming upsurge in Jew hatred throughout the West. Her central thesis was this: not only is it wrong to use fear to encourage Jews to move to Israel, but it is emotional manipulation and projection.
I feel compelled to address this topic yet again, as it seems so many Jews have not yet come to terms with what is happening before our eyes.
Since we’re trying to peer into the psychology of this situation, we should name the most glaring issue plaguing our people: good old fashioned cognitive dissonance.
Cognitive dissonance is the mental discomfort experienced when a person holds two conflicting beliefs or when their actions do not align with their beliefs. This discomfort often motivates people to change their thoughts or behaviors to achieve consistency.
In this case, the (main) mutually exclusive beliefs coming into tension are as follows: many Jews clearly enjoy the lives they’ve built for themselves outside of Israel, and yet they are aware that it’s becoming increasingly dangerous to exist openly as a Jew in foreign lands.
When vocalizing their concerns about anti-Semitism, they often point to the very real experiences Jews have had in previous generations – the pogroms and expulsions we suffered, the violence that was frequently perpetrated against us. They know how it spreads. They know the devastating consequences that come when a society begins to turn on its Jews. They know how the Holocaust unfolded, slowly at first, until it quickly became an abject horror.
But on the other hand, they’re really comfortable in the exile. They love their beautiful homes and customer service and Costco.
Maybe they’re not feeling too unsafe on a day-to-day basis inside their Jewish communities. And this is where the cognitive dissonance starts to take hold – on one side, it’s clear as day that anti-Semitism is once again acceptable. But on the other, life as a whole is still going pretty good for the time being. And thus begins the rationalizations.
Have you ever heard this phrase “anti-Semitisim is everyone’s problem (not just a Jewish problem)”?
It’s a nice sentiment, encouraging non-Jews to take up the fight alongside us to quell the hatred rising to the surface.
There’s only one problem with this – when push comes to shove, it is Jews and their families who will pay the price, not everyone else, should this growing anti-Semitism continue on its trajectory. We Jews are therefore ultimately responsible for addressing it. And this is where historical memory MUST enter the conversation.
In our many experiences in exile, was there ever an instance where we as Jews managed to avoid the consequences of anti-Semitism rising in the society we resided in? Has it been proven, even once, that we managed to convince non-Jews en masse to protect us from the threat of violence once the sentiment becomes widespread?
The cold hard reality is that we as a people have a poor track record when it comes to recognizing danger before that danger is mature enough to strike – before the noose begins to tighten around our necks.
Since I was a small girl, I have dedicated much time to reading about and studying the events of the Holocaust, and certain glaring lessons stuck with me throughout my whole life. Most people don’t know this, but before the Nuremberg Laws were passed, there were some German Jews who had left Germany out of fear, only to return after the Laws passed, because it “wasn’t as bad” as they had originally anticipated.
People also don’t know that Z’ev Jabotinsky, father of Revisionist Zionism, ran around Europe in the 1930s declaring that Jews must evacuate Europe or a million of us would die. Everyone thought him to be a fear-monger and a loon. Indeed, he was wrong – the situation was far more dire than even his wildest imaginings. I took this lesson seriously as kid – when the writing is on the wall, when people say they hate you, believe it.
This is a long winded way of saying that many of us Jews who have begun expressing concern for Diaspora communities are not trying to shame or coerce people into making aliya for our own benefit. Nor are we trying to pretend as though things are perfectly safe in Israel – we know the reality is far from it, as our country is plagued by terrorism and war. But the distinction people love to ignore is that unlike Jewish communities worldwide, we are empowered here in Israel to take responsibility for our own safety in a way that we have not been able to do in roughly two thousand years.
On October 7, 2023, we experienced a pogrom. It’s true. Yet our security forces were able to take control of the situation immediately and respond decisively – not just to the people who committed the act, but to all the strong actors who backed them. As an Israeli, I feel that I am under no credible existential threat that my country cannot effectively counter. I feel no apprehension as a Jew that in the future I may be subjected to discriminatory laws, have my financial assets seized, or be subjected to violence by the state. These are simply not concerns – whereas, judging by historical precedent, I cannot say the same for those living abroad, no matter how comfortable or liberal the country may feel at the moment.
The tide IS turning. We know this, we see it, and yet many people still struggle to BELIEVE that our situation can, and most likely will, take a turn for the worse.
When you love someone, when you truly love them, you don’t sit idly by while they do things that can lead to their own destruction. When a family member has a drinking problem, the family might stage an intervention. It’s not borne of a desire to shame, to scare, or to guilt them about their actions. It comes from love and a desire to help them before disaster strikes.
I and everyone else know that aliya isn’t always easy, or comfortable, or smooth. It’s not an option for everyone to just pack up their bags and move tomorrow. And we can’t pretend that Israel doesn’t have its own share of problems.
But it’s irresponsible to act as though Jews at large should not be planning for the reality that aliya may be a necessary action soon.
I am the first person to say that it is better to make aliya out of a true desire to be here in Israel. But as the situation worsens each day for Jews worldwide, it becomes harder to ignore the reality that fear might (and perhaps should) serve as a legitimate driving factor for pushing Jews to move their families home to Israel.
Throughout this whole piece, I haven’t even touched on the biggest cognitive dissonance of all – the theological contradictions underpinning the idea that we should spend our energies preserving Jewish life outside of Israel.
As a child in a Zionist Jewish day school, I remember the exact moment when I learned that the Creator promised the land of Israel to Avraham and his descendants as an inheritance. I looked at the map on the wall of the State of Israel, and I raised my hand to ask the teacher “If HaShem promised us this land, and we have it back under our control now, why aren’t we all there now?”
My teacher, an Israeli emissary, simply smiled sadly and told me, “it’s complicated.”
As an adult, I understand now that it’s complicated. It’s not so easy to uproot our lives and start fresh as an immigrant in a country with a language and culture different to what we’re used to. It can be harder to make a living and sustain the lifestyles we’ve become accustomed to.
But all of our sacred texts and our greatest sages affirm the same thing over and over again: the place for Jews in this world, as a whole, is in the land of Israel.
We have been blessed to live in a generation that has the opportunity to not only protect ourselves, but self actualize in a way Jews have only dreamed of doing for thousands of years. And I will reiterate that I understand all of the difficulties that come with moving to Israel, and why so many are reluctant to do so. That being said, for those of us who care about the Jewish people’s purpose and safety, these urgent cries for aliya are not mere scare tactics or emotional coercion. It’s a call to remember our collective history and our people’s ultimate aspirations, and a reminder to our brothers and sisters whom we love to take control of their destiny instead of gambling with their safety to maintain a life of comfort that’s ultimately inconsistent with many of their own values and beliefs.
We cry for Mashiaḥ, but forget we must be the ones to usher him in. We acknowledge the turmoil, yet dismiss the idea of real danger because it feels yucky.
Recognizing cognitive dissonance in oneself takes courage and honesty. It’s uncomfortable and painful. It means facing reality without flinching. Perhaps shattering some long held beliefs we still cling to. But in regards to this particular issue, it is worth it. Because we are lying to ourselves by pretending we do not know the consequences of ignoring or rationalizing a situation that is deteriorating.
So I’ll end off with this: there is a famous Jewish parable that speaks of a man who is drowning. A boat comes by and tries to save him, and he declines, proclaiming “Hashem will save me!”
A second boat comes by, and again he refuses help, saying proudly, “Hashem will save me!”
A helicopter comes by to rescue him and again, he declines.
So the man drowns. And when he meets the Creator, he asks, “Why didn’t you save me?!”
HaShem replies, “Who do you think sent you those boats and the helicopter?”
This parable has been on my mind a lot these days, as darkness descends on the world. HaShem has blessed us with self-determination in our land and a strong army. He has empowered many of us to use our voices to call our people home.
How many of us will drown because we fail to see the Divine Hand guiding the lifeboats?
