A Tale of Three Men

From time to time, I am reminded of a few stories I once heard that I cannot seem to forget no matter how much time passes or how hard I try. Tales of three different Jews, each with their own journey, their own unique love of Israel, and each with their own seemingly tragic outcome. These are not simple tales or stories of triumph, but rather accounts of disillusionment, struggle, and unfulfilled dreams. 

The first story is about a family member of mine whom I have never met, but whose tale I have been fortunate enough to hear. This man, a simple Caucasus Jew, had spent his entire life in exile, like so many others who dreamed of one day reaching the Land of Israel. However, this man was also blind. Yet this did not stop him from fulfilling his and his nation’s ancient dream of moving to Israel when the opportunity presented itself.

Upon arriving in Israel, he asked those around him to describe what they saw. They of course complied. Moved, he asked those around him to describe to him the people of the land. When they mentioned, among other things, that some women in the land did not wear skirts, he was so deeply unsettled that he immediately protested and requested to be put back on the plane and returned to his country of origin. For this man, the reality of irreligiousness in Israel—so different from the vision he had carried in his heart—was just too much to bear.

The second story is about a man who I am deeply connected to. He was the embodiment of Zionism, his love of Israel and Zionism comprised every fiber of his soul. Every single one of his activities, decisions, and thoughts was dedicated solely to the advancement of these ideals. He wrote essays, delivered speeches, and offered harsh criticism to any of his fellows who did not live by his ideals. Every night, he would come close to tears, longing to be in the place where his forefathers had once lived, counting the days until he could make aliyah. His desire burned with a fierce intensity, each passing day a step closer to the fulfillment of his dream.

However, finally, the day arrived. He landed in Israel, following the great culmination of years of yearning. But when he stepped onto the land, he felt nothing. Total apathy. The emotional surge he had expected never came. So immediately he set out to visit the Western Wall, the heart of his heritage. Yet still, there was no rush of emotion, no sense of awe or connection. It was as if something inside him had fallen silent and he was completely deaf to the fulfillment of his grand dream before him.

The third story is one I only recently came to hear. It’s about a man I once knew, someone who always seemed to carry a deep love for Israel in his heart. A few years ago, he decided to move to Israel, eager to live in the land he had always cherished. Unlike the previous stories, his arrival was not marred by immediate disappointment or misfortune. In fact, things went relatively well at first. But as the years passed, an unexpected turning point arrived. One quiet Saturday suddenly became the infamous October 7: a day that changed everything for everyone. In the aftermath of that horrific day, this man decided to reevaluate his previous commitment to Israel. Ultimately, he made the painful decision that returning to the diaspora was in his best interest, leaving Israel behind for good.

I must admit, perhaps the reason why I fail to move past these stories is because, in a way, I see myself reflected in the journeys of all three of these men. In a certain way, I too have encountered my own disillusionment, apathy, and concerns upon moving to Israel. However, there is a common theme in the disappointment of all three men: they made the worthiness and importance of Israel dependent on another factor. May it be that they hoped to find holiness, fulfillment, or safety in Israel, ultimately they all came to be disillusioned with the land when they eventually experienced disappointment.

Unfortunately, it is not a new phenomenon in history that the Land of Israel is fraught with challenges. Even in the days of our forebears, in ancient Judea, our ancestors faced their own wars, religious disputes, and countless struggles. But even so, despite the wars, despite the death, and despite the disappointment, our ancestors never wavered in their love and commitment to the land. Through all of the bitter years of exile, they refused to assimilate, stop mourning, or give up on their dream of returning to the land once promised to their forefathers.

That is exactly the lesson to be drawn. What all three of these men failed to understand—and what many of us often forget—is that Israel, like all great gifts, comes with its own challenges and suffering. Yet, this in no way diminishes its intrinsic value. Israel’s goodness, much like the essence of the Jewish people, transcends the trials and difficulties encountered along the way. It remains a present from God, steadfast and enduring, regardless of the obstacles we may face in our connection to it.

As the immortal words of the ancient sage Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai proclaim: “Three good presents were given to Israel by God, all of which were given through suffering: Torah, the Land of Israel, and the World to Come.” The suffering that may accompany the Land of Israel does not at all take away from the fact that Israel is still considered an inherently good present. That is because the goodness of Israel endures and remains steadfast, no matter the external circumstances we may face. For the very land that has sustained us through centuries of exile, pain, and longing, also presents us with the reality of struggle and difficulty. It is not a perfect place, nor a flawless dream come true, but it is still the land promised to us—a land whose value forever endures, even in the face of our disillusionments.