From Yaakov’s Dream to a Jewish Home in Israel

Here, ahead of Rabbi Paul Bloom's book-signing event for Coming Home: 101 Reasons to Make Aliyah, is a reasoned piece on the relevance of Aliyah to the coming week's Torah reading for parashat Vayeitze. For details of Paul's book and the signing event, click here.

From Yaakov’s Dream to a Jewish Home in Israel

The opening question

There is a moment in the life of Yaakov Avinu that speaks to anyone who has ever wondered whether the next chapter of life could still hold something extraordinary. He is leaving his parents’ home. His brother is threatening his life. The future is uncertain. He has received the berachot, but his immediate circumstances hardly look like a blessing. He is alone, traveling toward a place where he will have to begin again.

Then he stops for the night. He takes stones from the place, lies down, and dreams of a ladder standing on the earth with its top reaching heaven. Malachim ascend and descend. Hashem speaks to him about the land, his descendants, and the blessing they will bring to the families of the earth. And Hashem promises to accompany him and bring him back.

When Yaakov wakes, he says, “אָכֵן יֵשׁ ה׳ בַּמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה וְאָנֹכִי לֹא יָדָעְתִּי”. Surely Hashem is in this place, and I did not know it. The place has not changed overnight. The stones are still stones. The road ahead is still difficult. What has changed is Yaakov’s awareness of where he stands and what his life can mean. He discovers that an uncertain journey can be part of a divine purpose.

That is what I would like us to consider together. How does a person carry a dream through the ordinary difficulties of life? How does a Jewish family move from loving Eretz Yisrael to thinking seriously about a future here? And for those of us who have already come home, what responsibility do we have toward the people we love who are still asking those questions?

These questions are close to my heart as I prepare for the signing of Coming Home: 101 Reasons to Make Aliyah this week. A book can begin a conversation. The more important question is what that conversation might make possible in someone’s life.

A ladder planted on the ground

The Torah describes the ladder as “מֻצָּב אַרְצָה”, planted on the earth, while its head reaches heaven. We tend to remember the heavenly part. It is a magnificent vision. But the bottom of the ladder matters too. It rests on the ground. A ladder suspended somewhere above our heads would be inspiring to look at, but impossible to climb.

I would suggest that this gives us an image of how Torah asks us to live. Our aspirations must reach beyond convenience and habit. Yet those aspirations have to enter the world of actual decisions: where we live, how we earn a living, how we raise children, and what we do with the hours Hashem gives us. A dream becomes consequential when there is somewhere to put our foot.

That is especially relevant to Aliyah. We can speak movingly about Jewish history and destiny. We can feel something profound when we hear Hebrew in the streets or stand at the Kotel. Those feelings matter. But eventually someone asks about employment, a school, an aging parent, a spouse’s concerns, or the ability to manage a medical appointment in Hebrew. These are the places where the ladder touches the ground.

If we respond to those questions only with another inspiring speech, we may leave the person with a beautiful ladder that he cannot reach. A serious response respects the aspiration and helps make the next step possible. Sometimes that step is a conversation with an experienced oleh. Sometimes it is learning Hebrew, investigating a community, or spending a visit exploring ordinary daily life rather than only touring.

There is no single timetable appropriate for every family. A conversation that begins today may lead to a decision much later. But a distant possibility begins to change when we ask a concrete question about it. The first step does not require us to see the entire staircase. It requires enough clarity to begin responsibly.

Different angels for a different chapter

Rashi asks why the angels in Yaakov’s dream first ascend and then descend. We might have expected angels to come down from heaven before going back up. Rashi explains that the angels who had accompanied Yaakov in Eretz Yisrael were ascending, while the angels who would accompany him outside the land were descending. Yaakov was entering a different spiritual environment.

There is comfort in that explanation. Hashem’s care does not end when Yaakov leaves home. The form of accompaniment changes because the circumstances change. Yaakov will have to serve Hashem in a place very different from the home of Yitzchak and Rivkah. He will need to remain faithful while working for Lavan, building a marriage and family, and dealing with dishonesty.

We should recognize the extraordinary Torah lives Jews have built outside Israel. Our families, schools, shuls, and communities have sustained commitments that deserve respect. When we discuss Aliyah with someone whose life is rooted in such a community, we are speaking to a person who may be giving up something precious. We will understand the conversation better if we acknowledge that honestly.

At the same time, the promise in the dream includes a destination. Hashem tells Yaakov that He will bring him back to this land. Later, in Bereishit 31:3, Hashem tells him to return to the land of his fathers. Divine accompaniment on the journey does not erase the significance of home. For those of us who have made Aliyah, this can also illuminate our own experience. We may have arrived with habits, expectations, and ways of managing life that worked very well elsewhere. Some continue to serve us. Others need adjustment. The need to learn a new way of doing things does not mean that we took the wrong path. It may mean that a new chapter requires new forms of support.

And if Hashem provides accompaniment for Yaakov’s transition, perhaps we should ask how we can provide human accompaniment for someone else’s transition. A person may have all the official information and still need someone to listen. He may need to hear, “I remember finding that difficult too. Let us think through whom you could speak to.”

What the stones teach us

The Torah first speaks of the stones Yaakov places by his head, and later refers to a stone in the singular. Rashi brings the teaching of Chazal that the stones each wanted the tzaddik to rest his head upon them, and they became one. It is a Midrash many of us first encountered as children. Revisiting it as adults invites us to listen for its deeper teaching.

Ramchal cites the image of these stones in Mesillat Yesharim when discussing how the physical world can be elevated through its connection to a person’s service of Hashem. Something ordinary can become part of a holy purpose. The wine used for Kiddush, the money given for tzedakah, and the food offered to a guest all enter a life of mitzvah through what we do with them.

We can apply that thought to the way we regard a home. A home contains ordinary things: a table, chairs, dishes, books, a place to sleep. Yet around that table people can learn Torah, welcome a lonely neighbor, encourage a child, and make Shabbat. The physical setting becomes a place where avodat Hashem happens.

Life in Israel offers many opportunities to see ordinary activity as participation in a larger Jewish story. We work, shop, raise children, care for neighbors, and contribute our abilities to a society whose future matters to the Jewish people. We still have to choose how to conduct ourselves. Geography does not perform our avodah for us. But it gives that avodah a particular setting and responsibility.

There is another thought I would add to the image of the stones becoming one. Each stone wanted to support Yaakov. In the Midrash, they finally do so together. Perhaps we can hear in this an invitation to think beyond our individual contribution. One person can offer encouragement. Another understands employment. Someone knows a community. Someone else can help a family think about schools.

No one has to be the entire support system. Together, however, we can make it easier for a person to move from uncertainty toward an informed decision. The question becomes less about who receives credit and more about whether the family has the support it needs.

Preparing for the life ahead

There is a beautiful explanation associated with Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky about the years Yaakov spent learning in the beit midrash of Ever before arriving at Lavan’s home. Chazal teach that he spent fourteen years there. Why was such preparation necessary? Yaakov had already grown up in a home of exceptional Torah and kedushah.

The explanation is that he needed preparation for the particular environment he was about to enter. Learning in his parents’ home and living faithfully in Lavan’s household would present different challenges. He needed the strength to carry his Torah into a setting where the values around him would often pull in another direction.

This is an important educational lesson. We want our children to know Torah, and we also want them to know how to live by it when circumstances become complicated. How does a person remain honest when dishonesty seems profitable? How does a family protect time for learning when work expands to fill every available hour? How do we respond when the surrounding culture treats our commitments as strange?

Preparation helps a person carry convictions into daily life. That idea also has a practical application to Aliyah, though the challenges are different. Love for Israel is an essential beginning. A family also benefits from preparing for its own circumstances. Which expectations are realistic? What support will a child need? What does a spouse fear losing? How will the family find a community where it can belong and contribute?

It can be tempting to regard those questions as evidence of insufficient enthusiasm. Often they are evidence that someone is taking the decision seriously. Yaakov’s preparation should help us respect the work that comes before a major transition. We cannot derive one universal Aliyah timetable from his story, but we can learn to value thoughtful preparation.

This is part of what I hope the Israel Inspiration Initiative can encourage. People need Torah inspiration, and they need a way to think honestly about their circumstances. Our Aliyah Readiness Insights questionnaire and personalized report are intended to help that reflection. The mentoring effort we are developing aims to add the experience and encouragement of people who have already made Aliyah.

A mentor cannot decide for another family or replace a professional adviser. But a mentor can help someone formulate a better question, recognize an assumption, or find the right person to consult. Sometimes that is the support that allows a conversation to move forward.

The concerns behind the five Buts

Many of us have heard a sentence that begins, “I would love to make Aliyah, but…” The concern may be family left behind, children, earning a living, Hebrew, or fear that things will not work out. These are among the barriers I discuss in Coming Home. They deserve a patient response because they concern people’s real lives.

Consider a parent who worries about leaving children or grandchildren. We should not answer as though attachment to family were a weakness. Or consider a family worried about a child’s adjustment. A child’s needs deserve careful attention. Someone asking about parnassah is asking how to meet responsibilities that the Torah itself takes seriously.

The helpful question is often, “Which part concerns you most?” A general fear can feel overwhelming. A specific concern can sometimes be investigated. “My Hebrew is not good enough” might lead to a plan for regular study. “I do not know where we would fit” might lead to conversations with residents of several communities. “I could never manage this” might become a list of the tasks that require help.

Some difficulties will remain substantial. Some circumstances require time, and some decisions will require guidance beyond anything a friend can give. We can acknowledge all of that while keeping the conversation open. Respect makes it easier for a person to speak honestly. Pressure often makes him protect himself by ending the conversation altogether.

For those of us living here, that asks something of us too. We should share the meaningful parts of our lives and speak truthfully about the difficult parts. If we describe everything as effortless, our words may be less helpful when the person encounters an obstacle. Honest encouragement gives someone a more dependable foundation on which to think.

After we have come home

There is a question that follows Aliyah: now that I am here, what will I build? Yaakov’s journey is a family story, but it becomes part of the formation of Am Yisrael. Our own lives also extend beyond the decisions we make for ourselves. The way we welcome people, conduct business, participate in a shul, and care for neighbors helps shape the Jewish home we are building together.

And our relationships abroad remain part of our lives. Some of us speak regularly with a sibling, a former neighbor, a chavruta, or an old friend who wonders about Israel. That relationship may give us an opportunity no public speaker has. The person knows us. He can ask the question he might hesitate to ask at a lecture.

We do not need to turn every conversation into a discussion of moving. We can make it known that we are available. We can offer to spend time together on a visit, introduce someone to a suitable community, or help locate an experienced professional. We can ask permission to share something that may address a concern the person has already raised.

That is the connection I hope to make through this week’s book signing. Coming Home gathers reasons to think seriously about Aliyah through Torah, Jewish history, and our shared future. For someone still considering the possibility, I hope it can open a door. For someone already here, I hope it can help begin a thoughtful conversation with a person they love.

When we sign a book, we usually write a name and a few words of blessing. Behind each name is a life. There may be a family weighing possibilities, a retiree imagining a different future, or a young couple wondering where to establish a home. The printed words are a beginning. What happens afterward depends on the conversations, decisions, and acts of kindness that follow.

Returning to the ladder

Let us return to Yaakov asleep beside the road. He cannot yet see the family he will establish or the experiences through which he will grow. He does not receive an explanation of every difficulty ahead. He receives a promise of Hashem’s presence and a vision that connects earth and heaven.

When he awakens, he takes a stone and makes it a matzevah. He responds to the dream with an action in the physical world. The place where he felt vulnerable becomes a place marked by commitment. He will still have to travel, work, learn, and face uncertainty. But he goes forward with a different understanding of his journey.

Perhaps each of us can take one practical commitment from that image. If we are considering Aliyah, we can identify one question to investigate. If we are already here, we can think of one person whom we might help with patience and respect. And wherever we stand, we can ask how the ordinary materials of our lives can serve a greater Jewish purpose.

May Hashem help us recognize His presence in the places where we stand. May He give us wisdom to prepare, courage to take the steps that are ours to take, and generosity to accompany one another. And may the homes we build, and the people we help, become part of the continuing story of our people coming home.