Why we named our daughter Aliyah Channa (plus a Chanukah story)

This past Tuesday, the 6th day of Chanukah and the first day of Rosh Chodesh Tevet, our daughter was born. We named her עלייה חנה (Aliyah Channa).
Channa, is for both Nitza's and my maternal grandmothers who shared that name.
Regarding the name Aliyah, it is almost self explanatory: The Hebrew word 'Aliyah' means 'to ascend' and has come to refer to the act of immigrating to Israel (though it first appears in that context already in the Mishna in Ktubot). The idea behind this term is that when one immigrates to Israel they are not merely relocating geographically, rather are ascending from a lower state of being to a higher one.
As we have done with our other children, we attempt to capture within our children's names the state of being we are in during the period of pregnancy and birth. With Matanel - gratitude to Hashem for having a child, with Edden - the return to Jerusalem and a Shabbat birth and with Ma'oz - the grounding of having our own home in Israel.
Anyone who knows Nitza and me, knows the degree to which we are dedicated to the promotion of Aliyah as a foundational aspect of being Jewish. This has been our raison d'etre of sorts for coming to Toronto and has underscored our work here. Be it by familiarizing people with Israel with anecdotes over a Shabbat meal, encouraging trips, answering questions, Israel Guidance and actively assisting people through their Aliyah process.
That is why we called our daughter Aliyah; to express our belief in the centrality of Aliyah to being Jewish as well as to solidify our own commitment of once again ascending back home to Israel.


I'd like to share with you the words (more or less) I shared with my High school Yeshiva students immediately following the naming.
"One of my strongest childhood memories is the Chanukah I spent in the hospital when I was 9. Due to frequent tonsillitis, I was scheduled to have my tonsils removed. Unfortunately, the procedure was to to take place during Chanukah at Bikur Cholim Hospital.
I say unfortunately as doing the surgery on Chanukah would mean missing out on several Chanukah activities (and foods) but more significantly, due to the hospital itself. Bikur Cholim Hospital, located smack in downtown Jerusalem, was an small, old and outdated hospital. At the time, the hospital had only 2 wards - infants and adults. 
After the surgery I was sent to the adults ward for recovery. When I woke from the anesthesia I discovered that the 'adult ward' was a large hall filled with 25 beds, surrounding the perimeter the room. After a few more moments of looking around the room more carefully I realized two additional facts. The first was that I was the only child in the room. The second was that I was the only Jewish patient in the room. More specifically, the only non-Arab patient in the room.
Approximately a week earlier, the first Intifada had broken out. Though I doubt I fully understood what that meant at the time, I was non the less nervous and a bit scared of the situation I found myself in; being the only child in a room filled with 20 adult, Arab, patients. Luckily, my mother was right there beside me the whole time which definitely helped.
That evening, the rest of my family came to visit and, being Chanukah, brought a Chanukiya with them. We lit the candles, sang HaNerot HaLalu and Ma'oz Tzur just like any other Chanukah night. We weren't trying to make a spectacle of it but weren't trying to hide what we were doing, either. Everyone in the room was looking at us, or at least it felt that way. I remember that even at the time, at the age of 9, I thought it was 'cool' that we were lighting Chanukah candles under those circumstances. I remember looking around the room, wondering what the Arab patients were thinking while we sang about how, throughout history we've defeated the enemies of the Jewish People. I remember feeling proud and defiant as though to say - 'we're lighting Chanukah candles and there's nothing you can do about it!'.
In retrospect, I realize that memory encapsulates and expresses so well the unique role living in Israel plays in the life of a Jew. What is special about that night was that there was nothing special about it. It took me years to even realize it is a story worth telling. My parents are the farthest thing from the type who makes public displays of principal in order to make a point.
What was amazing about that night is that it was obvious we were going to light candles. It was obvious to us, it was obvious to the hospital staff and it was obvious to the Arab patients. Torah and Judaism are the default in Israel. You don't have to go out of your way to feel Jewish, look Jewish, act Jewish. Judaism in Israel isn't something that you do, separating and distinguishing you from the world that exists around you, rather, Judaism is the context within which everyone and everything already exists. It is not only the difference between being a majority and being a minority (though that is part of it as well). It is more about the difference between having all the communal mechanisms - national, municipal, cultural, etc... being framed by Jewish existence, followed by Jewish tradition and observance (even if partial). 
That's what it means to live in the land and State of Israel in this day and age. It's the difference between being in a never ending struggle for Jewish survival and being part of the revival, rejuvenation, and flourishing of Am Yisrael and Torat Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael.
May our daughter, Aliyah, be a constant reminder to us all about what is expected of us as Jews - as well as what we we stand to gain by - ascending to Israel!"      

"I'M ALIYAH. HOW ABOUT YOU?"

  

Modern Orthodoxy vs. Religious Zionism (part 1)

Modern Orthodoxy and Religious Zionism are not the same thing. There is a lot of overlap but they are not the same.

Modern Orthodoxy, as I understand it (and possibly even practice it), answers the question: "How can I be an Orthodox Jew and also be a Modern person?", or, in it's more sophisticated version "How does Modernity and the changes it brings with it impact Orthodoxy?". 

Being a Modern Orthodox person means understanding that developments of Modernity can and should impact us as Orthodox people as they too are part of how Hashem "speaks to us". That means that the shift in the role of women in society should impact Jewish thought and practice. It means that the role academia plays in modern life should impact the way we view general studies. It also means that the development of Zionism and The State of Israel - also products of Modernity - should impact our religious outlook and observance. 

But, at the end of the day Modern Orthodoxy is dialectical. It is constantly trying to balance conflicting ideals and resolve contradictions. "Torah vs. Science", "Rights vs. Obligations", "Individual vs. Communal", "Consumerism vs. Idealism", "Self Actualization vs. Self Sacrifice", "Universalism vs. Particularism", "Heteronomous Morality vs. Autonomous Morality", etc...

Modernity and Orthodoxy are separate, dialectical entities, which need to be reconciled and many a time this split manifests itself in a schizophrenic religious identity. This also accounts for Modern  Orthodoxy's continuous decline in the US; it is too indecisive, too contradictory, too unsure of itself as all to often by trying to be "also this and also this" it ends up being not enough of either.

      

The question Religious Zionism is answering, on the other hand, is "How does Modernity serve as a vehicle for the realization of Judaism?"
Religious Zionism, is not at its core, dialectical. I can best describe it in the first person.

I don't know myself as a Jew without Zionism and I don't know myself as a Zionist without Judaism. I don't know myself as a Jew without Zionism, as the return of Am Yisrael to history and the rebirth of the State of Israel serve as one of the foundations of my belief in Hashem and Jewish commitment. 

I don't know myself as a Zionist without Judaism, as Torah and 2000 years of Jewish prayer and observance serve as the justification for our return to the land, for what has been - and still needs to be - achieved.         

The two are so intertwined that they are one in the same and - for me - indistinguishable. 

The yearning and motivation to return to the Land of our Forefathers, to be sovereign and have a national identity there, are not a product of Modernity, just expedited and executed by it.
The relationship between "Religious" and "Zionism", therefore, is not dialectical rather that of synthesis. They inform, enhance and empower each other as they are one in the same.
The Modern Orthodox Jew finds himself torn between two worlds while the Religious Zionist Jew lives in a (philosophical) state of unity.

Based on all this, a Modern Orthodox Jew, by definition, would be a Zionist but a Religious Zionist would not necessarily be of a Modern orientation.
As stated at the beginning of this post, there is a lot of overlap between the two philosophies. People can comfortably prescribe to both and many do, as they are by no means contradictory.
That have been said, understanding the differences between them can explain many of the tensions and issues being debated in the public sphere of these communities both in Israel and North America. I hope to expound on them in a future post.
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Are you a Refrigerator Zionist?

"Refrigerator Zionism" is an approach which likens Zionism to purchasing a refrigerator. A refrigerator is an appliance which certainly possesses pragmatic and instrumental value and their invention may even spark Halachic discussion (e.g. may it be opened on Shabbat?) But by no means does the possession of a refrigerator penetrate to ones inner religious experience or impact his beliefs. There is no difference between a Judaism with a refrigerator and a Judaism without a refrigerator. To some people, Zionism is no different - there is no difference in their observance, beliefs or religious experience with or without the existence of the State of Israel.  

On the other hand, one may view the coming into being of the State of Israel as similar to that of having a child; not merely a technical addition to our religious lives, rather the development of a new facet of our identity that impacts on a profound level. With the birth of a child, a parent defines himself differently, fundamentally changing the way he evaluates himself and his surroundings. 

So too should we relate to the State of Israel as redefining our religious identity and experience: We are home. We are together. Our fate as a people is once again in our own hands, we can define for ourselves our relationship with the world and with history. We are better able to discover our capabilities and realize our full potential. In this sense The State of Israel is the child of the Jewish people.

Nevertheless, it is important to recognize, that those voices in the Jewish and Halachic community that relate to the State of Israel as no more than a mere instrument have value as well; they serve as a constant reminder that though we have come a significant way in the redemptive process, there is still much to amend, to perfect and to strive for.

In the meantime, let us be joyous and thankful for the gift of life given to us and inspired and motivated towards its continued growth. (250+87)

חג עצמאות שמח!!

                        

The Uganda Plan (2012 version)

Moshe and Tarphon are two 24 year old university students, who have recently joined yeshiva. Although they can read basic Hebrew, daven and they grew up surrounded by Jewish observance, they are not Halachacly Jewish and hope to properly convert soon. This is not uncommon in today's Jewish world or even in our yeshiva.
What makes these students unique is the fact that they are Ugandan natives from the village Putti. In addition to Putti not having electricity or running water, they have no Jews.
In the 1910's, Semei Kakungulu was increasingly drawn to the 5 books of Chumash, eventually taking upon himself - and his followers - Jewish observances including circumcision, Shchita, biblical holidays, Shabbat and more. Their synagogue holds Friday night and Shabbat services - in Hebrew. They were persecuted as Jews by Idi Amin.
They know full well they aren't Jewish and do not claim Jewish ancestry. They believe in the truths and ideals of Judaism and have been living them, as individuals and as a community, for nearly a century. Their greatest wish is to undergo an Orthodox conversion and become part of the Jewish people.
Moshe and Tarphon will spend the coming year studying at Yeshivat Hamivtar after which they will return to Putti as spiritual leaders of the community.
Rambam says about the era of Mashiach (Melachim Umilchamot 12:1): "They will all return to the true faith and no longer steal or destroy. Rather, they will eat permitted food at peace with Israel..." (249)

At Ben Gurion airport, from L to R,  Tarphon, Rabbi Riskin, Ari Zivotofsky, Moshe and myself