As a first-time nursing mother, I needed to make a dreaded trip to the Misrad Hapanim (Ministry of the Interior) to register my baby on my ID card. At that time, this could easily have been at least a two-hour wait for a fifteen-minute task.

I took a number, noting that there were over one hundred numbers before mine. Sitting down, my nerves were already shot. Mostly, I worried that my baby would be hungry (which always needed half-an-hour at minimum) and I’d be stuck in the ladies room feeding him while my turn came and went, then need to haggle (which I hate) to get my missed turn back – if I could even get it back without waiting even longer.

There was nothing else to do but daven.

Barely able to concentrate, I took out my Tehillim and started. After around ten or fifteen minutes, a middle-aged lady in an old-fashioned blonde shaitel came over to me and held up a ticket number in front of my nose.

“I was looking for someone to give this to and I saw you with the baby and thought that maybe you could use it,” she said.

Startled, I replied, “Uh....”

“It’s okay,” she reassured me. “I took this number, but then found out I didn’t need it after all. It’s not stealing. You’re just taking my turn instead of me.”

Now my turn was only five (or something like that) numbers away.

I thanked her profusely and she left.

When I looked around to see to whom I could give my old number, a middle-aged lady with bleached hair and long magenta fingernails lurched forward, saying, “I’ll take your number.” I agreed as she plucked it from between my fingers.

B’chasdei Hashem, my turn came quickly and I completed my task before my baby got hungry. (And since he rarely ever held out even two hours between feedings, this was also a neis.)

And I left the Misrad Hapanim with warm fuzzy feelings toward both my God and my people.

A friend of mine once made an unforgettable observation.

We were sitting on the hilltop at Neve Yerushalayim discussing our lives. She had already told me that her favorite food had been ham spread with apricot jelly. Her upbringing had been rabidly secular and Leftist. But she knew that three generations back, her family had been kosher Jews.

“Why me and not them?” she asked. “They must have wanted to come to Eretz Yisrael. People used to yearn and dream about coming. They were really frum without even half the aveiras I’ve done. So why did I merit to make aliyah and not them? It’s a huge privilege that I certainly don’t deserve. Yet Hashem gave it to me anyway. I have no right to complain about any difficulties I have in living here.”

Whoa.

I hadn’t thought of that. People used to come to Eretz Yisrael knowing that they’d be completely at the mercy of the Turkish authorities, knowing they would be firmly under the thumb of their Muslim neighbors, knowing that they probably would never have enough to eat. The Pele Yoetz (1824) strongly encourages aliyah throughout his book, but he cautions in his chapter on Eretz Yisrael:

Commenting on the situation of the Jews in Israel, he goes on to say:

That was over a century ago when Israel was still occupied by the corrupt Ottoman Empire and Yerushalayim residents were dependent on wells and easily sabotaged pipes for water. Olim arrived by boat and it took days over rocky roads to get to Yerushalayim.

Yet they came.

And can you imagine a life in Eretz Yisrael so unstable that it’s recommended to only go in your old age and not raise a family there?

Certainly, the Jews today of Har Nof, Efrat, and Ramat Eshkol are not living like “chickens in a coop.” And parnassah may be difficult, but I wouldn’t say that overall, Jews “are not able to earn a living.”

Yet Jews all over the world prayed and hoped to come.

Jews who kept Shabbat, received their meat from the local trusted butcher and knew how to kasher their own meat...poor Jews who were willing to share their last crust of bread with a needy guest and rich Jews who supported the town school and chessed societies...Jews for whom Hashem was part of the family and for whom davening was the obvious response to any problem...they yearned for the merit of coming to live in Eretz Yisrael.

But for the most part, they didn’t merit it.

And we did.

One of the truly gratifying aspects of living in Eretz Yisrael is that even in your worst, most depressing moments, you can still look at the window and remember where you are and how you don’t really deserve to be here, but in Hashem’s great Love for you, He brought you here anyway and though it’s not easy (and for our own spiritual benefit, not supposed to be easy), settling the Land is still easier and more feasible than it ever has been since the Destruction of the Beit Hamikdash, may it be rebuilt speedily in our days.

Well, we all know that Chazal said that Eretz Yisrael is acquired through hardships.

But why?

When something is excruciatingly difficult, even impossible, we are forced to turn to Hashem. The Kedushah of Eretz Yisrael intesifies every aspect of life.

Yes, you'll grow wiser because the air of Eretz Yisrael really does positively impact your brain as Chazal said.

But it means that even simple things you took for granted in your country of origin develop a special intensity with Eretz Yisrael.

Oftentimes, this means that certain tasks become more complicated or fraught with seemingly absurd obstacles.

Yet this very intensity means that coming to Eretz Yisrael is an unparalleled opportunity for spiritual growth. That was true for Avraham Avinu. It was true for the Jews who followed Yehoshua Bin Nun. It was true when one rabbi from long ago wrote to another that he should only come if he is willing to forgo his rabbinical honor and be treated just like everyone else.

And it is true today when you are dealing with a government clerk named Re'ut who is completely unqualified for her position but got the job anyway because the guy in charge of that branch is her mother's cousin (who owes her brother a favor).

During the absorption process, it is natural to at times feel angry at:

• Israelis
• Israeli society
• Socialism
• Israeli beaucracy
• Yourself
• Your spouse or children (if you're lucky enough to have such people in your life)

• Anything else

However, directing your anger at the above targets is not correct because these entities are only messengers from Hashem. Yes, I know that outside of Eretz Yisrael, all events and interactions are also messages from Hashem. But like I said, in Eretz Yisrael, these same messages are greatly intensified.

I'll give a you a personal example.

Recently, I needed to call my health clinic to check something. Going through the whole automated "For this__, please press this__" and getting nowhere for twenty minutes made me feel like tearing out my hair.

"Argh!" I said. "This reminds me of it was when I first made aliyah almost two decades ago! I can't believe this is happening again...."

Then I remembered the right way to do things.

So I thanked Hashem for the hardship, both because it was for my own good and because it is blessedly minor and painless in the scheme of things. Then I did teshuvah. Then I asked Him to help me get what I needed.

Within ten minutes, I'd completed my task and as a bonus, received a useful tip from a pleasant secretary on how to expedite the process next time.

Of course, there will be times when you'll be too aggravated to turn straight to Hashem. That's totally normal. Hopefully, you will find an empathetic listener for those moments until your mind settles back into some kind of emuna state.

Hashem is your loving Tatty who is absolutely delighted that you've finally come home! And while He always loved you from afar, your great mesirut nefesh to chuck so much aside and be with Him is reciprocated in kind, middah k'neged middah. From now on, the contact between you and Him will be both constant and intense.

Yes, you will frequently see that you need to daven for every little thing (although even if you don't, Hashem in his great Mercy will often still tweak events to suit you), and that is because of the great benefit that constant connection with Hashem provides you.

And it's not me who says it. Take a look at what Rav Eliezer Papo wrote in Pele Yoetz in 1824:

He concludes with: