Sometimes you know that you are truly a part of history being made. The charisma emanating from Nelson Mandela as he walked into a room filled with Jewish people was just such a moment for me.
I cannot recall how the lottery of life had beamed down to make me one of those present, but the light from the smile on his face made me sure this was such a moment.
After his 27 years in captivity, he wished to celebrate his freedom amongst those who were the people who had offered him employment as a legal trainee in South Africa, as well as those who had represented him when he was being tried for terrorism. Jewish people.
And it would have played its part on our psyche some 40 years later as we made aliyah believing we too were on our own walk to freedom to live our lives amongst our people. And that is true, with one qualification.
And that brings into question consideration of the aliyah process, but not in a way reviewed on more than one occasion previously in this paper.
Some weeks ago, the ambitions of Eisenkot were considered to see how likely it was that there could be 2 million olim by the time the State of Israel was 100 years old, notwithstanding excessive bureaucracy that disincentivized people from coming here.
Although this is not an article about the well-trodden topic of red tape awaiting the most determined aliyah candidates, we need to consider our own journey in order to arrive at the place that I believe would help people be assured of the wisdom of the difficult task they were choosing.
Aliyah amidst rising UK antisemitism
Our story is a familiar one. Determined Zionists, emotionally battered onlookers to the events of October 7, and caught up in the rise of antisemitism in the UK for me and Ireland for my wife made our choice an obvious one.
The end of our respective careers enabled us to turn what had been a holiday home into the home we could be proud of to welcome our family, friends and visitors.
Our situation was probably not untypical either. Whilst “old” but not decrepit, we would not be looking for a home, jobs or schools for kids and were in a financial position to give, give and not take, take.
As one of the things I loved about Britain was horse racing (and believe that Israel deserves a race track), I liken the making of aliyah in horse racing terms to the Grand National, a steeplechase in which you have to overcome the 30 largest fences to complete the race and receive the trophies. In this case, citizenship in the Jewish state, healthcare, and a passport, as well as an allowance.
But before setting off on the race, we have to complete the preliminary requirements. A letter from a Rabbi showing that we are qualified to exercise our Law of Return.
The obtaining of police reports to show that we are of good character and the obtaining of documents of birth, marriage, and death of those necessary to gain our visas of entry. All of this seemed like having to obtain a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.
So many official documents to be stamped in a way that might be likened to visiting a post office on the sub-continent. And not just stamped but apostilled, a word with which, despite many years of hearing legalese, I was totally unfamiliar. It seems that this turns out just to be a way for notaries, lacking higher qualifications, to make a living.
So what are the issues along the way that make the system close to intolerable? The lack at every stage for the person on the end of a phone line to be able to speak English. Why should that be?
The chances are that the person trying to make an appointment does not speak Hebrew; after all, they are not Israeli, and so the chances are pretty good that they only speak English. The making of some appointments can be allocated at any date in any part of the country. Why would we have a car?
Having made aliyah, we have just become the proud owners of one. Before that, why would we want to travel long distances on public transport? Why would the appointment allocated to gain digital IDs be separate for Husband and Wife?
But even these are not the straws that break the camel’s back.
It is not the endless red tape. For us, the problems begin with the inconsistency of the information provided.
Before making aliyah, the Jewish Agency told us that the test for citizenship, which would bring with it the right to register with one of the four health providers, was staying 183 nights in Israel, albeit not consecutively. A test we were confident we would be able to meet.
And that was the yardstick repeated to us at the Jewish Agency twice, the Israeli embassy on collection of our visas, and everybody passing on information. And the same information has been passed on as the best understanding of the rules by people who one would expect to know.
But then the information, if not the rules, began to change, and the test for our rights to be undisturbed is that Israel remains the center of our lives, which happily it does. But is there still an arithmetic requirement of so many days?
The point is that my wife and I are collectively 151 years old. We are able and used to living lives with the choice of where and when we travel without our civil rights being in any way reviewed. We agree that the state must be sure that its generosity is not abused by those just looking to benefit from the rights that citizenship affords.
But as we set off on a short journey to see our wonderful 96 year old Mother/in law or our 2-year-old grandchild, we have the feeling that a Jewish Big Brother is looking down on us, ready to say, right, you have been away long enough, so come back now.
Mandela would agree that is not what the long walk to freedom was designed for. It may sound spoiled, but we did not come here to build a wonderful home and life with our new car in the garage in order to feel pressured.
Meanwhile, Israel, thank you for having us.
Nigel Lithman is a retired criminal Judge and author. He lives between London and Zichron Ya’akov.