One does not necessarily have to be Jewish to say “Mazal  tov” to another who is celebrating a happy event. Mazal tov in the Hebrew language is the  definition for “good luck“.

By Dr. Harold Goldmeier - Going back to school was not first on my bucket list as I entered semi retirement.  Certainly not undertaking to learn a foreign language, and to top it off, a language spoken by relatively few people in the modern world: Hebrew.

It took more than forty years, but a promise made is a promise kept. At least that’s the way Geoffrey Rogg sees it. And a pledge he made to David Ben Gurion in 1969 finally came true this winter when Geoffrey made Aliyah on a Nefesh B’Nefesh Group Aliyah flight from New York on Nov 10, 2011.

Jewish rock band "Rockiah" produced this song and video about Aliyah. Watch and share!

The summer of 2011 was the summer of a lifetime. It was the summer that we made Aliyah. 

Our Aliyah

As former general manager of El Al’s Canadian operations, Stanley Morais has seen many people travel to Israel on a one-way ticket, when making Aliyah. However, as a fervent Zionist, Stanley always felt that being a supporter of Israel from afar is not enough. Luckily, Israel’s national airline had a place for him on the Israel side of their operations, and in August 2007 Stanley, his wife Janet, and their three daughters, made use of their own ‘one-way tickets’  on a Nefesh B’Nefesh chartered El Al flight.

In August 2007, after months of bureaucracy and a hasty Aliyah, I was drafted to the Duchifat battalion of the Kfir Brigade. After finishing basic and advanced training, I was sent to Course Makim, non-commissioned officer's training, and returned to the training base in the Jordan valley to train the then-new recruits of August 2008. The following is a story that occurred towards the end of my time as a commander, while we were stationed in the Ramallah area:

By Talia Harari, NBN 2011

“Congratulations” was all I read before I screamed with delight. I passed the New York State Bar Exam.

I was staying at a friend’s house for Pesach in Haifa when I received the confirmation e-mail;   the last seven years of my life wasn’t a complete waste.  My investment in education actually produced a tangible return.

So, I needed “visharim” for my car. Visharim are windshield wipers, so called because they go “vish, vish, vish”…

Anyway, I went to a few places locally but no one had the right size visharim for my car (Toyota Corolla 2002 – uses size 1820).

http://www.rabbilipman.com/

Nefesh B'Nefesh presents the 'laundry tale' of Jonathan and Rebecca Goldstein, who finally realize their dream of Aliyah to Israel after postponing for a few years.

 Movie by Efrat ZoaretzAnimation and VFX Naor ZoaretzMusic Production Danny Meged"Coming Home" song- Arranged, written and preformed by Rami Feinstein 

To purchase the "Coming home" song, email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it . Part of the proceeds from the video will be donated to Nefesh B'Nefesh. 

 ארגון "נפש בנפש" מציג את סיפור עלייתם של ג'ונתן ורבקה גולדשטיין שמתקיים כולו על חבל כביסה. תסריט, בימוי והפקה- אפרת זוארץ. פוסט ואנימציה- נאור זוארץ. הפקה מוסיקלית- דני מגד. שיר הנושא "Coming home" -מילים, לחן וביצוע: רמי פיינשטיין.

Made Aliyah with Nefesh B’Nefesh in 2009 from Brooklyn, NY to Kibbutz Ga’aton.

Born in Brooklyn, New York, Yoni Avital spent his formative years growing up in Kfar Shmuel and then returned to Brooklyn. In 2009, he made Aliyah and now resides in beautiful Kibbutz Ga'aton, located in the Western Galilee. Yoni works as a performer, cantor, singer, educator and dynamic leader, bringing vitality to Jewish communities in multicultural and pluralistic settings across Israel and around the world.

JFK airport, July 13, 2004. I’m rushing, wedding dress in tow, to get in line to check in for my Nefesh B’Nefesh Aliyah flight, and my father suddenly stops to say hello to someone. He introduces me to the Sussmans, fellow Potomac residents, who are also making Aliyah. We were at very different stages of our lives: I was six weeks out of college and preparing for my upcoming wedding. Josh and Romi were making Aliyah with their two young children.

Another in my series of "Why I love living in Israel."  In the last four days I have:

1. Participated in an interfaith conference in the West Bank and discussed Moses with a Palestinian geologist.  A rabbi who volunteers with the Border Police was another participant, along with a former Israeli ambassador to an African country.

When I made Aliyah two years ago with the assistance of Nefesh B’Nefesh, we joined three children and 12 grandchildren in Israel, but left three children and 15 grandchildren in the United States. While I continue to miss them when we are apart, the relationships that we nurture long distance give us all much joy and satisfaction. At the time of our Aliyah my husband, Mort and I divided our time between Israel and Florida.

Yesterday, I had lunch with two former colleagues, now friends, from Baltimore, both currently visiting Israel. These are two of the most Israel-aware friends I had in Baltimore.  Both speak Hebrew far better than I do.  And they were kind enough to let me, ahem... advocate for their respective aliyah (aliyot?) during our lunch.

This year, Chanukah in Israel was celebrated without lights. No flashing lights of red and green, no tinsel or fake Santas ringing bells while collecting money for the Salvation Army. No candy canes or “Season’s Greetings” nor all the other aspects of the typical Holiday Season that oddly enough, epitomized Chanukah until I got to the Holy Land. It seems strange to associate all these aspects of the “Holiday Season” with Chanukah but until I arrived here, that phrase was code-word for Christmas. It was not just imposing; it was ubiquitous and certainly not as P.C. as the term would lead you to believe.

In contrast, Israel’s “Holiday Season” (which is typically understood as the time of the Yomim Tovim: Rosh HaShana to Simchat Torah, but since it’s now December, I’ll refer to Chanukah), tinsel and stockings are replaced with sufganiyot (with different fillings!). In fact, there was even a contest between Jerusalem bakeries on the best sufganiyot- caramel, jelly, butterscotch, fudge or date-fillings (hungry anyone?). Christmas carols are replaced with traditional Chanukah songs and in place of outdoor, plastic nativity scenes on snow-covered lawns, beautiful, glass-encased chanukiyot (menoras) that house small cups filled with pure olive oil stand outside the front doors of almost every home.

I was talking to my sister (in America) about the small effects that Nefesh B’Nefesh Aliyah is having on future Aliyah and she said “Not small effects, big effects.”  What an incredible thing we have been a part of. I want to recall for you a conversation I had with a friend a few years ago. One day I was with the kids in a pizza place in Florida, when I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. We were catching each other up on our lives and I told her we were planning on making Aliyah.

Do you know how she answered?  She said, “Oh, people still do that?”

After years of infertility workups in the States, we decided to try our luck at having a second child here. What a difference a Jewish state can make!

Here, you don't need to explain what a mikva (ritual bath) is. Instead, you are simply asked whether you observe the family purity laws (associated with the mikva).

There is a respect for modesty; for many procedures there is no need to even change into a gown. There is a true personal interest in your progress as well. After each blood draw or ultrasound, the technician says, "B'hatzlacha, chamuda." (Good luck sweetie!)

Best of all, we are now expecting our first sabra!

Dan and Odia Wroblewski ‘02

I went to the local tekes for Yom HaShoah. I cried and sobbed through most of it. When I see all these young and old people and everyone in between and all of these chayalim and chayalot I am blown away. They want to kill us all but here we are, Boruch Hashem.

We have zillions of little kids (kayn yirbu) and a fantastic country to boot.

Amazing.

Josh Mark ’02, Raanana

It is really amazing! Our yishuv's theme for the Yom Haatzmaut tekes was Aliyah.  Each of 9 different couples lit a torch honoring their aliyah.  One couple made aliyah in 1972 and founded the yishuv. Another was a young Ethiopian couple who, at the age of 3, walked across Sudan with their families to meet the waiting plane that would bring them here.  Another was a soldier/child of an olim pair who demonstrated the continuity of ownership of this country from generation to generation.  Another was a Romanian couple who, together with 9 other couples, converted to Judaism and made aliyah in 1990.  Another was a Moroccan man who arrived with a whole group of single French olim last summer.  Another was a woman from Belarus who has been here since the 1990.

We were paired with another US family that came last summer, representing the people who come here because they want to come.  It was very moving for everyone because we all felt like each story was our own.  We were on the basketball court, overlooking a gorgeous view of the hills of Gush Etzion.  The children sang and danced and we all retired to a beautiful Yom Ha’atzmaut tfilla in which the Rav of the yishuv recited shehecheyanu and the whole community stood before the ark and said Shema and Hashem hu ha'Elokim like on Yom Kippur (among other lovely liturgical additions...)

Afterward, there was a celebration of all the many cultural/ethnic groups represented here. Each group served food, dressed-up, and hung pictures/paraphenalia from their cultures (S.Africa, US, Colombia, Russia, Ethiopia, Yemen, Morocco, France, England, and others).  It was really wonderful.  The whole community really came together and spent the evening singing Israeli songs. I came home and called my mother and told her that I could never imagine ever spending another Yom Ha’atzmaut in Chutz la'aretz. There's just nothing like it!

Tzvi Richter ‘03

1. Be prepared
2. Always leave yourself enough time
3. Know your assets

And I learned them through this story:

Friday I left my house with Yaakov, Shira and Lexi at 5:05 pm to take the girls to their friends’ homes in Efrat, the next town over, for Shabbat. Candle lighting time was 5:30 pm. Ordinarily, 25 minutes is plenty of time for the round trip to Efrat and back, and Friday was no exception. As the drive involves big country roads, no traffic lights, and, at that time on a Friday, certainly no traffic, I was not worried about making it back in time for Shabbat. As long as I got back into Neve Daniel before the gates closed for Shabbos I’d be fine.

Aliyah is challenging, with or without funding.  At times, after the initial high wears off, you may begin to second guess yourself.  Children are no different.

Once the excitement dies down, they begin to wonder what's so important about living here anyway. Nefesh B'Nefesh arranges for a memorable welcome that gives chizuk to the new oleh for a long, long time.

As a child attending day school in suburban Chicago, I never looked forward to Yom Ha'atzmaut.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not like the mention of the day brought about some kind of severe reaction or that I anticipated the day with particular dread.  It was simply one of those things that came and went without profound meaning. The rituals of the day remain forever branded into my memory.  There was the mandatory flag costume- a standard white polo shirt and uncomfortable, stiff navy blue Shabbat pants.  We convened for a large communal tefillah, enhanced with the recitation of Hallel and sometimes even with the chanting of a haftarah.  The school served the traditional falafel hot lunch, a treat for some and a punishment for the rest of us.  (Call me anti-Zionist, but to this day I have no taste for the greasy Mediterranean classic, adorned with tomato and cucumber bits and dripping with white substances.)  And who could forget the assemblies, featuring Israeli dances, flag-waving, and the singing of Israeli songs?  I don’t blame the school’s noble and richly sensory program, but I never got ‘it’.  Other than magically transporting me to a mystical land 6000 miles away, on the other side of the Mediterranean, what could I understand?

My wife and I still recall vividly our very first day of living here in Israel. After the exciting Nefesh B’Nefesh flight and reception at Ben Gurion all 11 of us with our 40 pieces of luggage packed into 2 vans for the ride to our new home in Mitzpeh Yericho.

It was a hot Summer day, the mid-day Midbar Yehuda sun blazing when we arrived. We were exhausted. As we stood at the entrance of our still unfinished new home, all we could see was sand, sun and sky. Coming from “civilization” (Teaneck, NJ), it was as if we had entered the Twilight Zone.

Life of the Oleh: I found an apartment to rent on Flathunting.com before I made aliyah. I wanted to move straight into my own place without having to go to a mercaz klitah or a friend's couch. I had a friend go to look at it, and she correctly assessed that it was beautiful: A spacious, furnished one-bedroom in Katamon with lots of light (even though it's a basement apartment) and a nice mirpeset for only $450 per month. Perfect!

Here's a story that happened to my mom when she was here visiting a few weeks ago. She went to the Olive Wood Factory in Me'ah Shearim on Thursday. She got there only a few minutes before they were closing. She quickly got what she wanted and when she was ready to pay, she asked if they took VISA. The guy said no, but we’ll take an American check. My mom didn’t have one (after all, we’re Canadian anyhow :-) so she asked if there was an ATM machine nearby so she could take out money. The guy said there wasn’t, but not to worry. She could just come back when she got a chance and pay then!

My mother was shocked! She paid him whatever cash she had and she still owed 135 shekel. The guy said, no problem. Just pay me when you get a chance. He took their card, wrote the amount down on the back – and gave it to my mother! He didn’t write it down for himself anywhere. Didn’t take her name, her number – NOTHING! He simply trusted, that at some point, my mom (or in this case me) would come back and pay 135 shekel!!!!

ONLY IN ISRAEL!

Yitz Motzen NBN '03

Why do I want to make Aliyah? That is the question I find myself confronted with on a daily basis. My motive is to become an Israeli. My reasons are a bit more complex. When I stepped off the plane at Ben-Gurion Airport for the first time, 10,000 miles away from Houston, I felt at home. The no-smoking signs at the baggage claim were in Hebrew, the cab driver wore a kippah and Israeli music with biblical themes poured out of his radio. Israel was now a reality to me. When I returned to Houston after more than six months in the Promised Land, I became hungry, hungry for more. The desire to return to Israel burned within me. As I began to eat, sleep and breathe the very idea of Aliyah, my hopes were dashed by college loans. With my parents struggling to put three kids through college, I knew that it would not be possible. I shuddered at the thought of never returning to the land of our forefathers, our birthright. So instead, I dedicated my life to Israel, advocating for her at every opportunity, applying for the position of Press Officer at the Israeli Consulate. Working at the Consulate for a year and a half only served as a catalyst for my decision to make Aliyah. After reading this, you still might be wondering why I want to live in a Jewish state. Growing up Jewish in South Africa and the United States is not always easy. The thought of my kids returning to their desks in English class to find swastikas drawn all over it is frightening. Israel is a place where Jews can live together in safety and free from hate. My hopes and dreams to become an Israeli, fight in a Jewish army to defend our land, raise a Jewish family in a Jewish state and work for the betterment of Israeli society are far stronger today than they have ever been.

Personal essay submitted by Warren Blumberg z"l in 2003 for Aliyah assistance from Nefesh B'Nefesh. NBN mourns the untimely passing of  Warren Blumberg in 2005.

We caught the last bus out of the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem at 12:00 am.  The bus driver started his work day at 3:00 pm and normally, after his final run, he returns to his home at 2:30 am. We were pleasantly traveling along with about 10 bus passengers.  Someone rang the bell for the driver to stop at Tzomet HaGush, a main stop on the way to Kiryat Arba.  Travelers got off and the bus driver continued.  About 10 minutes later a man from the back of the bus started asking if we had passed Tzomet HaGush.  When we told him "Yes" he said, "OH NO.  I fell asleep.  I was supposed to get off there."

You may think it strange or funny or weird or, perhaps, you might even smile in knowing agreement, but one of my personal highlights about living in Israel is hanging my laundry.  I’m not looking to make you jealous or anything but I do happen to have a superior clothesline.

Let me explain. When my husband, Sergio, and I went to purchase our clothesline we didn’t just grab the first line that came to our eyes.  Sergio, being of Italian origins, knew exactly what we should be looking for.  He insisted that we purchase a metal line coated with plastic, “Made In Italy”—NATURALLY.  He knew that this would be a “keeper of a clothesline” and he was right!

My husband was a little bit distressed when he saw how I’d filled out my half Nefesh b’Nefesh application.  In the “why do you want to live in Israel?” section, I’d written a few basic truths: proximity to husband, proximity to niece, and stuff-your-own-falafels. Okay, so they are not the only reasons that I wanted to move to Israel, but they definitely ranked as top three. I resisted including things like “develop devil-may-care approach to driving” or “cultivate my outer Sabra (the prickly part of the prickly pear)” because I wasn’t certain of how my sense of humor would jive with the application evaluators. Apparently, though, application evaluators either have a good sense of humor, or are really serious about falafels.

Like most children, my birthday was my favorite day of the year. Not only because I got presents, cake, and a treasure hunt, but because all eyes were on me, and I loved the attention. You can imagine how I felt, when arriving home from school on my seventh birthday, January 17th, 1991, I found my mother in our kitchen listening to the radio, sobbing. This was not the the birthday I had envisioned.

I used to read Israeli news at least three times a day, waiting for bad news to happen. When the Second Lebanon war broke out I found myself glued to the couch, watching the war on a buffet of television networks.

This process repeated for Operation “Cast Lead” in Gaza. I found most of my attention focused on Israel, I could not stop thinking that half the Jews in the world were busy fighting wars and building a new country while I was at home managing a store at my mall, and doing some real estate on the side.

I couldn't take it anymore not understanding my Bezek bill and charges.  I called Bezek and after negotiating the voice mail, which is already a BIG achievement, I finally got to speak to a live voice. I asked the gentleman if he spoke English and he said, "Yes".

I told this very nice man that I'm a new olah and would really appreciate if  he would take the time to go through my bills and explain to me all of the charges.  He was really patient and pleasant.  I took notes on the bill so I can refer back to it in the future (or hopefully memorize the terminology).

"It's not going to be easy, Shara. This will be the hardest thing you've ever done."

Fabulous! I was looking forward to the challenge of picking up my life from the comfort of all that is familiar and moving it to a new country with a language and culture that is almost completely unknown to me. I have been in Israel for one week now and I can't help but think back to the last eight months of my life.

My decision to make Aliyah centered around two things:

1) Living in Israel nurtures my Jewish soul in a way that I do not feel is possible in another place in the world.

2) I had a strong inspiration that making Aliyah was like a marriage, that I needed to make a commitment to myself and to the land, that somehow my life would unfold differently if I made that commitment.

I would be lying if I said that it’s easy to be here, during this time and away from my family, but I am continually amazed by the people I meet here, my community of friends, and I have no doubt that I am spiritually richer.

Anne Seham ‘02

An Oleh wrote (on the yahoo NBN forum): "Yasher Koach! Not really envious of NBN'2004 - Actually happy that their Aliyah could be that much easier. We should do everything to boost those numbers."

I agree with her. However, I just want to "put out there" that we have to be careful not to start the "You guys have it so easy. Back when I made aliyah, we sure didn't get services like this" game.

Saving Israel is getting a lot harder to do lately. The insanity there is overwhelming. Arab murderers kill our children and more leftist Jews such as "rabbis for human-rights" appear in defense of the perpetrators. I tend to agree with my dad, an 85 year old Rumanian survivor of the Holocaust, in that my wanting to move to Israel qualifies me as a ‘mad-man’. We'll be hated by the 300 million Arabs that will surround my home. We’ll be disliked by thousands of Israelis who will resent us for living in the Golan. We'll be disliked by some secular Jews who will view us as retrogrades, and by some religious Jews who will look down upon us for not being observant enough.

How will I explain all of this to my children? How will I justify my decision to them? At times, I think moving to India or to Australia would be easier. But then I think of what it will feel like to land in Israel with a Nefesh B'Nefesh airplane filled with Jews that share similar dreams (and fears) as I do. For that one moment, the whole Aliyah experience might be worth it. I don’t know what life will be like in the Golan. I don’t idealize Israel at all, and I’ve met enough Israelis in Florida and New York to know what kind of people I’ll be dealing with (no offense intended); but I want to fulfill God’s commandment to live in our land.

Within just days of arriving last summer, Stan became ill, involving many trips to Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem and culminating in surgery only weeks after our arrival.

One day afterwards, when he was at home recuperating, I had an errand to do and called a local taxi, as we do not have a car.  My driver happened to be one we had already become acquainted with, and since Stan and I usually went nearly everywhere together, Aaron (my driver that day) patted the empty front seat where Stan would normally have been sitting, and immediately wanted to know, "Where is Stanley?"

This is the story of a miracle.  Miracles happen every day, but we don't necessarily notice them all the time.  To those of us who have made aliya, we know that the idea of a miracle in eretz Yisrael is natural........ not to be taken for granted, of course.  Or do we take it for granted????  Sometimes we merit to witness a very great miracle being performed for us.  In any case, my point is that miracles in eretz yisrael are meant to be. I made aliya last July through Nefesh b Nefesh.  I will never forget the excitement and happiness........ however, the difficulties that I faced with determination.  I made aliyah as a single mother of 3 children, hoping to live our lives in peace and to leave the suffering behind.

I’m not what you would call a “dog person,” but since my Dalmatian, Fleck, died last week, I haven’t been able to stop crying.  Until I got a dog, I secretly scoffed at people who got all mushy over their pets, confounded by their incomprehensible attachment to a mere animal.  No more. Fleck (Yiddish for “spot”), was with us for fourteen years, which made her almost one-hundred equivalent human years old.  Over the last twelve months or so, she lost her hearing and her back legs became wobbly.   As recently as the previous Shabbos, she jumped for her piece of motzi challah, but that was the only jumping she did all week.

As I struggle with clothes pegs and a slack line, I remember my mother, mouth full of pegs, bending, spreading and pegging in one fluid motion. It was my task, at her side, to hand her the socks, already paired. Up with the Joneses in our small Western Australian country town, our washing machine had the latest in wringer technology (ie. electrically driven). We had a rotary clothesline, which my father built himself, and on which the neighborhood children and we were often chastised for swinging. Nobody heard of a dryer!

We're crazy settlers. At least, that's what everyone tells us. That's what the newspaper says. That's what the "security fence map" shows. That's even what relatives say when we invite them to visit us. But it's strange, because I don't feel like a crazy settler. I do believe there are crazy settlers. I just don't think I'm one of them. Nevertheless, I figured you would be interested to know what the average day of a crazy settler is like. I wake up in the morning, go to shul, come home and help Gilla (a little) get the kids ready for school. Then I drive to work. The kids walk to school. Is that crazy?

It has been almost six months B”H since we moved to the Holy Land (not Lakewood) and by now quite a few people actually believe (or noticed) that we left.  As you know literally thousands of articles, stories and vignettes have been written about the Aliya experience.  Most of them deal with the spiritual awakening and the wonderful experiences shared by those who have made the journey. Some deal with the trials and tribulations encountered by the families as they try to acclimate themselves to Israeli society.  There is humor and sadness, insight and ignorance, but by and large everyone tries to describe or explain the unique nature of their extraordinary experience. Then there is us.  

B”H, we have had an uneventful move.  No mysteries, no intrigue, no incredible experiences (although the reception orchestrated by Nefesh b’Nefesh was pretty cool), no epiphanies, no divine revelations, no unbelievable difficulties, no incredible salvations, just the everyday Divine miracles that allow us to function as a relatively normal family.  We have good days and bad days much like we did back in Baltimore, although almost everyday I am amazed that we are here.  Let’s face it, living in Eretz Yisroel is just not the challenge it used to be.  The stores are overflowing with great food. Just about every convenience is readily available.  It took less than twenty minutes to get a cell phone, and less than two days to get DSL.  Medical care is on par if not better than most western civilizations, and you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get a Jewish doctor. They definitely do things differently here, some for the better and some for the worse, but I don’t remember Baltimore being utopia either.  Don’t get me wrong, Baltimore is still our home team; but when your here it’s like rooting for the team where your son is the leadoff pitcher.  We miss the snow, but not the freezing rain or the hurricanes and we still like to call Bais Yaakov to see if school has been cancelled.  There is a language barrier, but if you are patient, most Israelis are more than happy to learn the new words you’ve coined in Hebrew.  Just last week I spent approximately three hours in Israel Discount Bank where I either opened a checking account or bought the branch office.

Tisha B'Av is rapidly drawing to a close as I look over the hills to Jerusalem from my front porch in Efrat. Efrat is home to me and Menashe. There are many people who think we are crazy; these are the reasons why we are not.

Last night with thousands of others I went to Jerusalem davened and walked around the walls. I heard the speeches, felt the comradarie of Jews that did not "know" each other but stood together at Har Sinai. We arrived at our waiting spot and the bus didn't come, and the bus didn't come, and the bus didn't come. We marveled at the interaction, non-stop, of Jews coming to the Kotel (it was 2 am). The air was electric.

This motzai Simchat Torah I finally felt perfectly at home. It hit me while at the community-wide hakafot shniyot at the main synagogue in our new home of Kiryat Shmuel, a religious neighborhood in the Galil, on the Haifa-Acco bay. As I sat on a bench to take a breather from the intense dancing, I looked at the crowd of maybe 1000 people dancing with and around the Torah scrolls to the lively tunes of the band.

When we first came to Israel, we came with 4 duffle bags of clothing and a few keepsakes. We walked into an empty apartment, with just the four walls and two kitchen sinks. No kitchen cabinets of course. We had no furniture, no closets and no appliances for 4 months. It was canned food, pizza and falafel for us at that time.

I don't have to tell anyone how hard these concrete floors are here, but sleeping on them with small Israeli mattresses was not my idea of a good nights sleep. When we met a neighbor of ours, she came to our place and saw how we were living. She wouldn't have it. She immediately gave us her table and chairs used for her sukkah, and 2 small cots.

Bus stops in Israel defy description. A bus stop could be a yellow metal flag on a pole listing the bus numbers and destinations, it could serve as a reinforced mini-bomb shelter or it might be a ghost stop, where a bus stop used to be and people, out of habit, still wait there while the bus drivers dutifully pick up and let off passengers.

Bus stops here double as bulletin boards. Posters announce neighborhood gatherings, demonstrations and Torah classes. Signs warn women to preserve their modesty by wearing a wig, or not. Death notices and funeral times are posted and what time Shabbat enters. Offensive posters are marked over or ripped off. Israeli bus stops reflect local needs.

This was written a few days following the tragic terrorist attack at Yeshivat Mercaz Harav in Jerusalem.

Every morning I take the 35 bus line to work. It's a quick ride and usually takes no more than 12 minutes. The third stop after I get on by the shuk is directly in front of Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav.

This morning I found myself a bit anxious, unsure of what I was going to see as we passed by. As I looked around, I saw death notices pasted all over the street and flowers that had been brought lined the entrance to the Yeshiva.

I will never forget the day of the first rain in Cheshvan during our first year on aliyah. At the first sign of drizzle, people walking on the streets stopped and lifted their hands to the sky. As the murmurings of the first rain spread, workers in buildings opened their windows to catch the fresh droplets on their outstretched arms. Children were holding their heads back in desperate attempts to catch raindrops in their open mouths. Teenagers were pulling out their cellphones to report this great miracle of nature. But my five year-old son, Ariel, captured the whole experience with one insightful thought. " In America, when it rains, it's just rain. In Israel, when it rains, it's a brecha." May Ha-shem bless us with many first rains in the upcoming years as we build and celebrate new lives here in Eretz Yisrael. Nessie and Moshe Fisher ‘02

We have had our share of ups and downs during the first year.  It has been the support of our friends of NBN, the new friends that we have made here in Israel and family.

Here's another 'only in Israel' story.

We were trying to find a way to get to the Kotel. We finally hailed a taxi, and after having haggling over the price of the a ride to the Kotel with the cab driver, we told him we had just made Aliyah and had arrived in Israel only two weeks before.

We entered our new apartment and it was still being cleaned...no biggie, all the kollel wives that live in our vicinity left food on the table (provided by the yeshiva) and stopped by to welcome us...so nice! Our very first 2 shabbosim we were invited out Baruch Hashem (a staple phrase in kollel life) since our lift had not yet arrived. -Upon arrival we were informed that we were the lucky winners and that our lift was going to be inspected....$$$$.... The central airconditioning unit in the dirah was not working but in the meantime we had one from the yeshiva (and blew too much money on a couple of fans from Tambor)...until they needed it back for the boys that were coming in a few weeks...

After preaching and teaching about the importance of making aliyah and putting it on a pedestal almost on par with all other mitzvot in the Torah, I finally did it. I led by example, I made the move, the major sacrifice: I journeyed home.

As I sit here in my bomb shelter - converted into a cozy office - and look out my windows to the trees I planted and the lawn I mowed, I think about the millions of Jews who only dreamed of this moment. For many are they who could not even imagine we would be able to fulfill the Biblical command to Abraham, "Go live in that land, build your family and nation there, and there you will be blessed."

Others, however, tasted it. Herzl prophesied that within a hundred years the land would be ours, we would have a place to call home, Jews would come home from all the corners of the earth. In his generation and the ensuing ones, the idea began to germinate, the meetings were held, the leaders emerged, and the nascent steps towards a Jewish sovereignty began to take shape.

Yet, a hundred years would be needed before any Jew - any Jew - who was willing to make the move was finally able to do so. And slowly, Jews started coming home. Today, one walks the streets and sees Jews in army uniforms with Magen Davids on the lapels, Sephardic Jewish police officers, South American Jewish postal workers, Russian Jewish engineers, American Jewish carpenters, Moroccan Jewish presidents, and Israeli Jewish taxi drivers. One can not help but marvel at the reality of this dream, of this kibbutz galuyot (ingathering of the exiles), of this manifestation of the words and the message of the Torah: The Jewish people should be together, in the land promised to Abraham by God.

Well, it’s been almost 3 weeks now, and the adjustment is….well, adjusting. The yo-yo of emotions I’ve felt over the last few weeks has been overwhelming.

The first 2 weeks I spoke to my family in the US, every day. Then I realized the phone bill was going to be astronomical, and my in-laws might just kick me out for phone abuse. So I cooled off. Now I speak every other day!

It’s hard for the idea of “I’m here permanently” to penetrate my brain. I still feel like it’s a vacation, although I’m getting tired of it already (living with others is wearing out my patience, I yearn for my own S-P-A-C-E!!). I am hoping once we get our lift and move into our (empty, lonely) rented apartment things will feel different.

There were a few things I’ve noticed lately as we’ve been bumming around the Jerusalem area. These are the bright notes people try to remind you about when you tell them, so far things are in the “bad dream” phase; We were at a crafts fair, and a non-religious salesman was giving us the halachot (Jewish laws) regarding a handmade wood serving piece he was selling.

With the observances that began last week with Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) and concluded over the past two days with Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day) and Yom Hatzmaut it's been an emotionally and spiritual intense seven days. Part of that intensity and the reason why I've given so much thought about what to write is because these observances, like everything else in Israel, bring with them not just the expected emotions but a hornet's nest of controversy, exposing all that is wonderful and frustrating about the diversity of Israel's population.

I don't want to get into the various issues, nor do I want to talk about my feelings on the issues (even after ten months I still know how to be diplomatic).  Instead I want to share with you my experience yesterday spending most of the day in Chevron.

I'd never been to the city before, never had the opportunity to visit the Me'orat Hamachpelah, the final burying place of our patriarchs and matriarchs.  Hesitating before due to terror related fears, after ten months of living here and envelope pushing those fears dissipated.  When my shul posted on the email list an opportunity to travel with our Rabbi to Chevron for a morning of study and touring I checked with Rachayle and replied I would go.

Eight people in all joined us. It was immediately apparent upon meeting our guide that he was one of those fascinating people, born and raised here, who'd absorbed by osmosis the significance of every hilltop, rock and blade of grass.  Any tension we felt at discovering that the van wasn't bulletproof dissipated in a flurry of gallows humor (It's okay, you can sit by the window) and our guide's awareness of the historical import of the sights outside our window.

It's hard to know where to begin. The fact that I haven't been writing about gas masks or sealed rooms is in itself incredible.  After all the build up, the stocking of the sealed room, the shlepping gas masks to Jerusalem for Shabbos, the dawning realization that the war in Iraq was a non event in Israel is like the icing on the cake to the Pesach joy enveloping us.  It's like all of us just looked up in middle of the frenzy of Pesach cleaning and said, "Hey, nothing happened" (usually while cleaning the sealed room).  You smile at your spouse, neighbor, friend and then get back to cleaning, taking a little extra delight in the sheer normalcy of what you're doing. It's the frenzy though that's incredible.  Pesach here is not something a small minority does, it's an all consuming national event.  Everyone is exhausted from cleaning.  Everyone's houses smell like bleach.  The lines at car washes stretch for blocks at every car wash.  Everybody is buying more Matzah and wine then they could possibly need. The funniest thing is listening to the radio or looking at billboards. 

Monday nights are my late nights.  I teach evening classes in two Jerusalem yeshivas and I catch the 11:00 or 11:30 bus for the hour long ride back to Ramat Beit Shemesh. With someone else doing the driving, I usually use the time on the bus to make some phone calls on my cell phone.

Last night I was talking to my father (there's something surreal about watching the Jerusalem mountains twinkling with lights pass by while talking to a Brooklyn office in the middle of the workday) when I was put on hold for a minute.  While waiting, I scanned the passengers around me and noticed something.  It was 11:30 PM.  The bus would not arrive at its final destination until after midnight.  Yet half of the bus was filled with children, young children under the age of five most of whom looked more awake than their parents.

Journal, No. 8, 01/26/04, Shevat 3, 5764

The other day I asked myself what, so far, has been the most meaningful part or experience of living in Israel.  Of course, the Kotel (Western Wall) immediately came to mind, but although that is very special, and once upon a time would have been my answer, I didn’t think that that was still number one for me.

Our trip to Shiloh a few months ago (which I have yet to write about), where the Mishkan (Tabernacle) stood for 369 years, was pretty incredible to me.  “They” really think they know exactly where it stood--and we were there!

In honor of my 4 month anniversary living in Israel, I wanted to share a brief update on some recent experiences and thoughts of mine. Aside from securing a wonderfully enriching job at the Jewish Agency, I’ve been involving myself with the beauty and excitement that Jerusalem has to offer, including some amazing student discounts on memberships to the Israel Museum & the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra.

All in all, it’s been wonderful and in some ways I feel like I’ve been here for much longer than four months. On the other hand, there are times when I feel like a complete stranger.