Time to come home
I haven’t been sleeping well lately.
It’s not just the news. God forbid, the news is bad enough on its own. It’s the late-night calls. A cousin in London, a friend in Melbourne, people I know in New York. Good people. Proud Jews. But they’re looking over their shoulders now. A guy in London told me he stopped wearing his kippah on the Underground. Just like that. Takes it off, puts on a cap. In 2026. In Western Europe.
And look at what’s happening around them. Keir Starmer steps down in Britain after months of chaos and rising antisemitic threats. The tragedy at Heaton Park Synagogue hit especially close—it happened barely a mile from where I used to live in Manchester. In Italy, local anti-Israel groups are actually keeping lists of Jewish businesses and tourists. On campuses in America, kids are getting harassed, subway cars are targeted, and what advice do they get from administrators? “Be careful.” That’s it? “Be careful”?
And then Bondi Beach happened. Families celebrating Chanukah, killed on the sand. It proved what we should have known all along: giant public menorahs and telling people to “be careful” won’t keep anyone safe.
Look at this weeks Parsha Ekev. Moshe tells us plain as day:
אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר ה’ אֱלֹהֶיךָ דֹּרֵשׁ אֹתָהּ תָּמִיד עֵינֵי ה’ אֱלֹהֶיךָ בָּהּ מֵרֵאשִׁית הַשָּׁנָה וְעַד אַחֲרִית שָׁנָה
“A land that the Lord your God cares for; the eyes of the Lord your God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.” (Devarim 11:12)
This isn’t just a nice verse for a sermon. It’s reality. Living in Israel is the actual foundation Hashem built for us. It’s where our story is supposed to happen. Not as a plan B.
We’ve heard of this story before in our history. We move somewhere new, we build nice lives, we get comfortable. And then the walls start closing in. Hashem is giving us a clear sign right now: it’s time to move.
And listen, buying an apartment in Jerusalem as a “backup plan”? It doesn’t work. If flights get canceled or borders close, an empty apartment in Rehavia won’t do you any good. Waiting until you’re forced to run—God forbid, after some terrible crisis—that’s not how Aliyah should be. Running away in panic breeds bitterness. Coming home because you chose to? That brings real joy.
I know, I know. It’s not easy. I was an oleh chadash myself, so I know firsthand just how brutal and overwhelming the bureaucracy can be. Nobody is pretending otherwise. But home is where one grumbles the most—and where one is ultimately treated the best. Staying abroad and trying to live a full Jewish life while ignoring the Land… something is missing. The heart of it is missing.
“Never Again” can’t mean Israelis do all the fighting and heavy lifting while everyone else stays comfortable overseas. We need you here. We need your energy, your skills, your families.
Don’t wait until life over there gets impossible, God forbid, or until staying becomes too painful. Move now. On your own terms, with your head held high. Israelis are ready to step up and help you figure out the job market, the schools, the paperwork—all of it. Come home to where you belong.
