Like many, I was convinced that the only place for a Jew was Israel. It was 1983, and Sima and I realized that it was now or never. I was now thirty four, and many programs had an age thirty five limit. We had read Rabbi Kahane's books about the potential holocaust in the United States. Many were predicting that it would happen the following year; 1984. The Hebrew year, 5744, spelled out the word "Destroy". Synagogues and Rabbis homes were being set on fire in nearby West Hartford. Rabbi Kahane had staged a rally there, urging all Jews to leave immediately for Israel; the writing was on the wall. (It was later discovered that the perpetrator was actually a deranged Yeshivah student.) The last time such a dire year was evident was 1938, when the Hebrew spelled out "Murder". We attended an "Aliyah Fair" in New York (we lived in New Haven, Connecticut at the time). Booths representing different communities in Israel were set up. People were selling apartments, selling the ideas of this rabbi or that, who was a community leader, promising anything. "Of course you can come on aliyah! You don't need money! The government will give you whatever you need! The Arabs? they know they are defeated and cause no further trouble! The "territories"? Nobody ever talks about abandoning them anymore!" Remember the old commercial "promise her anything but give her Arpege"? These people are paid on "body count" (how many people they get to go on aliyah). They promise the world, but are not under any obligation to fulfill their promises. We did learn that our best bet would be the Settlements, where housing was cheapest, government grants were readily available, and we would have a fine religious environment. We were put in touch with settlement leaders, who were then visiting the U.S. I was unprepared for what I was to see. The settlers looked just like the Modern Orthodox with whom I was familiar. I expected the shallow, wish washy one-size- fits-all Orthodoxy I had come to know and not love from a myriad of Yeshiva University graduates. These people were for real. They were learned.They were idealists. They used Kabbalistic terminology; it was part of their world view. I felt at home. They got me in touch with the owner of the Beit El Tefillin factory, who immediately offered me employment. They gave me information on various settlements, as well as people to contact. They assured me that there was nothing to fear from either the Arabs, or government policies. Little did I know that prison awaited some of them when they got back to Israel, because of violence against Arab municipal heads. To make a long story short, we arrived at Beit El at the beginning of September, 1984, after a two month stay at an absorption center. Sima was to give birth to our third child a week later. Beit El was a breath of fresh air compared to Israeli society in general. People were kind and friendly. They were open to my Hasidic ways. Rabbi Nachman was well known to them, and I was frequently asked to speak at community events. One thing I did notice, and thought was strange. My new neighbors considered the state to be synonymous with "Klal Yisrael" (Universal Israel). They told me that despite the fact that they were strictly observant, they still felt closer to a secular, even anti religious Israeli, than a non Zionist Hareidi. The state was everything. This idea of "Klal", which had always been part of Judaism, had been strangely put at the very center of everything. They "explained" to me that we, as individuals, are of no value, except to the degree that we serve the Klal. I thought it a bit strange, but could live with my neighbors having that ideology That is, until the Intifada came three years later. We were thrown under the bus by the government. An emergency meeting was called by the community. The Rabbi, Zalman Melamed. would address us. I expected that we would be divided into defensive and offensive squads, assigned to protect the community. I walked proudly, if apprehensively, to the meeting. I was stunned. The rabbi said that this was another stage in the Ge'ulah (Redemption). Rocks were being thrown at us because we did not love the rocks of Eretz Yisrael enough. This was the Arabs' last gasp. We must wait in silence, for we have already won. The ideology of Rav Kook had, essentially, castrated the community. It got worse.