Argentinian Jews take a chance on Israel 

Trend-defying influx heartens country

by Rebecca Goldsmith
Sunday, March 2, 2003
Star-Ledger Staff 
http://www.nj.com/news/ledger/index.ssf?/base/news-7/
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Jerusalem -- One in six immigrants to Israel last year came 
from Argentina, 6,000 in all. Pablo Sektman Koros was among them. 

With economic turmoil at home and a desire to be part of a 
Jewish state, Koros was undeterred by the risks. 

"I don't want to be extremist, but you don't choose where 
you want to die. You choose where you want to live. I chose 
to live here. If I'm going to die, I'd rather die here, 
for Israel," he said. 

First there was the conflict with Palestinians and the daily 
threat of suicide bombings and restrictions on movement. 
Now there's the possible war in Iraq. 

Koros, 23, got a gas mask, but he has made few other concessions 
to the dangers in his adopted homeland. 

Koros was raised in Buenos Aires as a member of Argentina's 
once-thriving Jewish community. The son of an architect and 
an accountant, he studied law and worked as a computer teacher. 

Now he is milking cows on a kibbutz. 

Koros was one of 35,000 people who moved to Israel last year. 
Seeking better opportunities, a chance to start over or a 
closer-knit community, the newcomers are lauded as a sign of 
hope for a country where much else seems to be broken, 
from the economy to the peace process. 

While overall immigration was down from almost 62,000 in 
2000, Argentinians came in greater numbers than ever. 
In Argentina, the Jewish population has been especially hurt 
by the political and economic crisis that caused a run on 
the banks, wiped out billions of dollars in deposits and 
decimated the country's middle class. 

In 2000, Argentines made up less than 2 percent of the new 
immigrants. Last year they made up 17 percent, and another 
6,000 Argentinians are expected to arrive this year. 

In Israel, immigration is a national preoccupation. 
Historically seen as the lifeblood of this tiny country, 
which is slightly smaller than New Jersey and has 
6.5 million residents, immigration is thought by many 
to be the key to preserving Israel's Jewish identity. 
About 80 percent of Israel's residents are Jewish, 
accounting for 37 percent of the world's Jews. 

In the 1940s and'50s, immigrants built the country's 
roads, farms and infrastructure. 

"If you think of your safety, it's not the best time 
to come right now. But if you want to help Israel, 
I think that living here now is one of the best ways 
to help Israel," Koros said. 

National policy to encourage immigration calls for a 
generous bundle of government benefits, including 
airfare, education and help with housing. The standard 
package is worth about $10,000 for a couple with two 
children. The country's 300,000 temporary foreign workers, 
who are not Jewish, do not get such benefits. 

Immigrants coming from Argentina this year and last have 
been eligible for even more assistance -- the equivalent 
of an extra $20,000 in benefits from the Jewish Agency 
for Israel, which gets its funding from Jewish philanthropies 
around the world. The money helps cover shipping expenses 
for furniture and household goods as well as a mortgage. 

Welcoming immigrants this way is an expensive burden and 
may fuel the sentiment behind the popular Hebrew expression, 
"Israelis love aliyah" -- people who are moving to Israel -- 
"but they don't love olim," immigrants. 

This year, however, the foreigners willing to brave the 
unresolved situation less than 300 miles away in Iraq are 
embraced with extra gusto, said Leah Golan, who oversees 
immigration issues for the Jewish Agency for Israel. 

"People are really going the extra mile to make sure they 
feel welcome and that they belong," Golan said. "We do hope 
the issue of the war will be as quick as possible so more 
people do not wait to come." 

At a Hebrew language school for new immigrants, called an 
ulpan, in Jerusalem, dozens of students in their 20s and 
30s congregated around the computer room and TV room Wednesday 
when a rare snowstorm forced the cancellation of classes. 
Hailing from Argentina, Britain, France and the United States, 
all said they were hoping to find greater opportunities, 
closer-knit communities and a feeling of belonging in their 
new country. 

"In other countries, they don't say to us, 'Come, I try 
to help your people.' Here it's different. When you arrive 
here, all the people say, 'Welcome. Thank you for coming,'" 
said Hernan Burstein, 32, an Argentinian psychologist who 
said he came to help with crisis work in hospitals. 

Sandra Boespflug, 25, said she came from Alsace, France, 
even though she knew it meant sacrifice. She said she did not 
have any Jewish friends in France and hopes to raise a Jewish 
family one day. 

"I had a good life in France and I could find a very good 
job in France. Here I'll make less money, the life is harder," 
she said. 

Shmuel Carp, an Uruguayan immigrant who heads the Organizacion 
Latinoamericana en Israel, said that 75 percent of the 120,000 
Jews who emigrated from Latin America since 1948 came from 
Argentina. As a result, the Jewish population in Argentina 
has shrunk from half a million 20 years ago to about 200,000 
now. 

"The situation is very critical. The great majority come for 
the help from Israel," he said, noting that many wealthier 
Argentinian Jews choose Miami, Venezuela or Spain instead. 

Most Argentinian immigrants professed to come for a mix 
of idealism and financial reasons. 

Barbara Weiskind, 25, arrived with her boyfriend. Once they 
master Hebrew, she plans to study politics and he will study 
philosophy. She said the money was not the main reason for 
coming, but it didn't hurt. 

"It's more affordable than Harvard," she said. 

Although Koros misses his mother's Hungarian goulash, he is 
enjoying the experience of working with animals. When he 
is not working, he is learning Hebrew and preparing for 
college entrance examinations. Life on the kibbutz is 
simple, he said. 

"It's easy to study here," he said, "You don't have to 
cook. You don't have to wash (dishes). Your laundry you 
send to a service." Plus, he feels as if he's walking 
in the footsteps of his ancestors. "L'dor v'dor," 
he said, using the Hebrew expression meaning "from 
generation to generation." 

The grandson of Hungarians who fled Nazi persecution, 
Koros said he feels no connection to the country of his 
birth, explaining, "I always thought I was by mistake 
in Argentina."