Coming Home by Melissa Radler

The threat of terror and the economic crisis notwithstanding, 400 North Americans are scheduled to arrive here on aliya on Tuesday - citing Zionism, religion and September 11 as their motivation.

When American Steven Accardi met his future wife in Jerusalem's Old City six years ago, they decided to get married and move to Israel - eventually." We knew we were besherts [soul mates] immediately," says Steven, a 42-year-old clinical psychologist. Engaged within two weeks and married four months later, the Accardis settled in Monsey, New York to build their careers and start a family. "We'd been thinking about moving off and on for a couple of years. If we hadn't met there, it might have been a slower process," says Steven's wife Esther, a legal secretary and mother of two. Explaining why they decided to move now - in the midst of a war on terror, during an economic crisis and without jobs - the Accardis cite their spiritual growth, support from friends and family, and faith in God as the rationale behind packing up their suburban New York home and moving to Kochav Ya'acov, a town of 600 families on the West Bank.

"Every Jew knows deep down they belong in Eretz Yisrael. Anybody who has set foot in the land has to have felt the spark of it," says Steven. But the moment of clarity didn't occur in synagogue, at home or even in the Holy Land. Instead, it happened on the side of a road on September 11, 2001, the day 19 hijackers killed 3,000 people in terror attacks on New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. "A couple of hours after the attack, a car passed by us, and a guy screamed out, 'Die!'" Steven recalls. He followed the man for a few blocks, jumped out at an intersection, banged on the window and demanded an explanation. "He said, 'I want you people out of my country. You caused this '" Steven remembers. "I stood there stunned, thinking about what I had just heard. Two hours after thousands of people were murdered, his first response was that the Jews had caused it."

Steven immediately recalled a conversation he had had with a rabbi before the September 11 attacks. He told the rabbi he wanted to move to Israel, but that he had reservations. "The rabbi said that things were going to be getting bad [security-wise] in both places, and that there was no comparison between being in my homeland and living in a place that's not my home." On September 11, the rabbi's words proved prophetic for the Accardis, and today, Steven thinks of the young man who uttered the anti-Semitic slur as a messenger. "This guy was a shaliah [emissary] from God saying, 'Get out.'"

And so, on Monday, the Accardis are joining 400 Americans and Canadians on a chartered flight out of New York's Kennedy airport and immigrating to Israel, arriving Tuesday.

The group is comprised of individuals and families from 23 states and Canada, but all 400 have at least one thing in common: Were it not for Nefesh b'Nefesh, a group founded by Florida businessman Tony Gelbart and a Boca Raton rabbi, Yehoshua Fass, they might be spending Monday evening around the dinner table, in front of the TV or anywhere other than aboard a transcontinental flight to Ben-Gurion Airport.

With funding from private donors - a significant portion of which has been from Christian donors to the International Fellowship of Christian and Jews, led by Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein - Nefesh b'Nefesh provides one-time loans/grants of $5,000 to $25,000 to individuals and families to alleviate the financial obstacles associated with aliya. Once in Israel, Nefesh b'Nefesh provides services to help the immigrants settle in by pairing them with employment mentors and Israeli families, operating a 12-hours-a-day psychiatric-support hot line out of Jerusalem and holding seminars on topics such as adjusting to the Israeli school system. Once the families have spent three years in Israel, the loans become grants.

Fass, who is also moving to Israel on the July 8 flight, thought up the concept after finding that many North American Jews who wanted to move to Israel were unable to do so for lack of funds. After teaming up with Gelbart, who provided the group with its initial funding, Fass spread the word through Jewish Agency immigration emissaries in the US and Canada. Nefesh b'Nefesh's stated aim, to "revitalize North American aliya and to expand it for generations to come by removing the financial, professional, social and logistical obstacles that are preventing many 'would-be' olim from fulfilling their dream," is seen as an antidote to shrinking immigration rates from North America.

In 2001, just 1,378 olim arrived from North America, compared to 2,503 in 1995 and more than 8,000 in 1971. This summer alone, Nefesh b'Nefesh is scheduled to send 550 people to Israel - 400 on Monday's flight and 150 in August, and it plans to send at least one planeload of people every three months.

But how does a happy, well-adjusted North American pick up and move to a country where buses, discos, malls, hotels and pizza shops are being targeted in a constant stream of terror attacks, and financial instability is causing even the most die-hard Zionists to question the merits of living in the Jewish state? "I'm scared, I have to admit," says Beth Mark, a legal secretary and mother of four. "But I feel strongly that we're doing the right thing. This is our land, we are Jews and this is where we should be."

In interviews with six individuals and families who are making aliya this week, all cited a strong religious or secular Zionist identity as their chief reason for moving. "To say it's spiritual or historical, that doesn't fully explain it. It just feels like home," says Beth Mark's husband, Josh. The immigrants, like the Kletzl family from New Jersey, are also highly optimistic that the future holds great promise for them, and are confident they will have the support system to work out the burdens of moving to a new homeland.

Those who don't have jobs lined up yet said they are willing to switch careers or perform menial labor in order to live in Israel, and none appeared overly concerned about the economic situation. "I'll do anything. I want to live there and I'm willing to do something else," says Esther Accardi, who worked as a legal secretary in the US.

The ins and outs of Israel's tax laws, such as recent discussions in the Knesset on additional taxes for immigrants, seem to have had no effect on the immigrants. As Josh Mark puts it: "It doesn't say in the Torah that [you should] only move to Israel if you have 'X' amount of money in foreign investments. It just says, 'Live there.'"

When it comes to security, all the immigrants say they plan to take precautionary measures, such as avoiding public buses and crowded restaurants, but they pledged that terrorism would not rule their lives. For many, September 11 proved to be a major turning point in their decision to move, and Israel's continued fight with terror has motivated them to put their love for Israel into action.

"Part of it is, the harder the Arabs want to push us out of our land, the more determined we are to move to Israel. This is also our way of expressing that this is our place. We're going to show you by our actions, not just by our words and opinions," says Asher Fine, a 42-year-old scrap-metal dealer from Canada.

Some have developed coping mechanisms, like gallows humor, to buoy their spirits. The Marks, for example, joke that they plan to pen a letter to Palestinian Authority Chairman Yasser Arafat. "We want to tell him we're moving in, and he's going to have another six people to murder," says Josh.

The Marks were the only couple to openly talk about their fears of failure, and they said the success of their move hinges upon their children's adjustment. To make the move a bit easier on their seven-year-old twins, Orly and Talia, six-year-old son Aaron and baby daughter Aliza, 21 months, they found a home in Ra'anana within walking distance of Beth's brother and sister-in-law, who have six children, and Beth says she plans to open an English-speaking kindergarten when Aliza starts pre-school. Josh, a psychotherapist, plans to open a clinic near their home.

From Canada, Asher and Oranit Fine have wanted to make aliya since they began dating. "After I met Asher, it was obvious to both of us that one day we would live in Israel," says Oranit, who spent her high-school years and completed army service in Israel before settling in Toronto. "When my wife and I first met, our first conversation was on the telephone, and one of the first things I ever said to her was, 'My dream is to one day live in Safed.' She said, 'Oh my God, Safed is my favorite place on earth!'" says Asher. Two years ago, the Fines started the aliya process, but then backed out, having decided they needed to save more money before moving. Asher enlarged his scrap-metal business, buying a new warehouse and equipment, and Oranit worked with him, teaching Hebrew on the side to build their savings. "As hard as I was working, for the last two years all I've been doing is losing, losing, losing because the value of scrap metal is so low," says Asher. "We were in Israel in March visiting family, and when we came back I said to Ori, 'We're going in July. I don't know how, but we're going in July.'" Asher visited Toronto's aliya office, where an emissary told him about Nefesh b'Nefesh. He called Oranit immediately. "I said, 'We're on our way.'" With plans to look for a job in Ramat Gan, where they're moving with their two-year-old, Zohar, Asher says he's nervous about the economic situation, but that he'll find a way to manage. Oranit is expecting their second child in late autumn, and says she thinks Israel is the only place to raise a family.

Like the Fines, Noa Hirsch, a 22-year-old law student, says she would not be making aliya without help from Nefesh b'Nefesh. Hirsch decided to move after she visited Israel this past January with "birthright Israel," which provides young adults with free, 10-day trips. Unsure whether she was in a financial position to emigrate to a new country, Hirsch approached a Jewish Agency emissary in Philadelphia, where she was studying at Temple University. "I'm in law school, I have student loans and I was never that good in Hebrew," she explains. Nefesh b'Nefesh had just opened shop, and she filled out an application for a grant. Thrilled that her dream might be realized, Hirsch began teaching herself Hebrew, which she now speaks with ease. After the grant was approved, she signed on for a five-month Hebrew immersion course in Jerusalem, after which she hopes to continue law school. With just a dozen friends and acquaintances in Israel, Hirsch joined an Internet chat group that was set up for young adults who are making aliya, at kumah.org.

More than 30 American immigrants and other Israelis responded. "One woman wanted my flight number when I get there and another planned a welcome party. Every single letter included a phone number and an invitation for Shabbat. That's truly the reason I'm making aliya," she says.

For Rebecca France, September 11 was reason enough to make aliya. The lessons of the terrorist attacks on the US for the 31-year-old fundraiser weren't just that terrorism can hit anywhere and everywhere; it was a wake-up call to stop putting off her dreams. "It was just a huge shakeup, and as often happens with huge shakeups, I had a 'taking stock' moment. I thought, why am I not doing the things I want to be doing," said France, who worked for the Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Greater Boston before deciding to move to Jerusalem. "I think a total lack of limits on what was possible was in evidence that day, and it made me realize that all these limits I had put on myself were not necessarily real." Brought up by "intellectual leftist New York" parents who taught her Zionism was racism, France said the concept of a Jewish state piqued her interest in college. "There came a moment in graduate school when I realized I just wanted to be Jewish and I wanted to go to Israel," she says. Today, she says her family has accepted her decision: "I think everybody's happy for me, and everybody's a little worried."

For Nissan and Rena Lifschitz, the decision to move to Israel was made four years ago, when they got married in New York. The young couple waited until Nissan had gained a few years of work experience as a computer programmer, and picked this summer to move so that their older son, three-year-old Shaul, could start school in Israel. Their six-month-old son, Eliezer, is the youngest immigrant aboard Monday's flight. While Nissan says that the most frightening aspect of moving to Israel is the bureaucracy and red tape, Rena says she's scared of terrorist attacks, but that living in Israel more than makes up for it. "There's something about the atmosphere in Israel, the attitude of people, the warmth, the Torah that I feel is much more real there than it is here," she says. Nissan, who plans to study in a yeshiva for a year, says both his parents and his in-laws support their decision wholeheartedly and plan to visit them in their new home in Ramat Beit Shemesh. "My mother always says, 'This [aliya] is our education to you.'"