Dear North American Rabbi, Some Homework For You
Dear North American Rabbi,
We all understand.
You have a job. A mission. A purpose in life that can only be fulfilled in a very specific place. You have a calling to lead, to inspire, and to provide critical life support to a flock that so deeply depends on you.
Let’s make some assumptions for a moment:
- You are scholarly and have a solid understanding of Written and Oral Torah
- You are a thoughtful, creative individual
- You have made difficult life decisions and real sacrifices to pursue this calling
- You are persuasive and capable of helping others rethink how they are living their lives
- You, like all people, are concerned about your parnassa
- And most importantly, you believe in the centrality of Israel to the Jewish experience—that the return of the Jewish people to the Land, and the rebuilding of the Temple, are goals we should all strive toward, both individually and nationally
If all of this is true, then please keep reading. If not, no worries.
Now that we’ve established that, let’s make a few more assumptions:
- Your “job” currently only exists in North America
- You would seriously consider moving to Israel if your role existed there
If that is still true, then please keep reading.
For as long as I can remember, the “Israel conversation” among Jewish educators and rabbinic leaders has revolved around a single point: we are here because the people need us here.
Rabbis of communities—no matter how Zionistic or visionary—are consistently faced with the same tension: their communities, their followers, their congregants become the anchor preventing them from turning Israel into a lived reality.
We already laid out some ground rules, so I won’t approach this cynically. I won’t assume these are merely “good excuses,” or that when push comes to shove, the decision would remain the same.
Aliyah is hard. We get it.
But if the reason community leaders and educators are not making Aliyah is simply, “What will the Jews of America do without me?”—then perhaps it’s time to consider how the facts on the ground can change.
So I implore you, North American Rabbi, to do the following:
Be a leader.
In the coming weeks—after your congregation returns from Cancun, Orlando, Mexico, and wherever else their Pesach journeys have taken them—invite your community into your home.
Invite your core group. Your closest friends, followers, and confidants. Invite the very people you have committed your life to leading in exile—and propose a dream.
A real dream.
Propose a vision where 10–15 families from your community move to Israel together. Where, as a support system, you begin to rebuild your community in the Promised Land.
Have an open and honest conversation about the fears. About the challenges. About the unknowns.
Talk about real landing spots. Real neighborhoods. Real schools. Real estate. Real life.
Be a leader.
Take your community on a mental journey. Help them confront what is actually holding them back from fulfilling millennia-old prophecies—and from living a life that our ancestors could not have imagined.
We are living in a time when the Jewish people are thriving. Prosperous. Capable. Strong.
Share your own emotions. Your own struggles. Your own dreams—honestly and practically.
Be a leader.
Dare to ask uncomfortable questions.
Questions that force people to confront a difficult truth: that for many, Israel is “nice”—but not essential. Not part of the Judaism that is truly for them.
And that should trouble you.
Because if that is the case, it may require reflection—not only from them, but from you.
Their spiritual guide.
How did we build a Judaism where Israel is a concept, but not a destination? A theme for a sermon, but not a plan for life?
For many North American Rabbis, Israel is a powerful word. A meaningful drasha. A compelling paragraph in a newsletter.
But until it is spoken about as a real, practical possibility—it will remain exactly that: something we pray for, but don’t truly pursue.
Be a leader.
Bring a pen. Bring paper. Bring whiteboards, markers—whatever it takes.
Make it real.
Start mapping out what it would actually look like to uproot your beautiful community—and replant it in the soil where its roots can deepen and its fruit can truly flourish.
With deep appreciation for the sacrifices you make every day to inspire those around you,
A fellow Jew, living in Israel, waiting for you with open arms.
