By Rabbi Josh Wander
In Greek mythology, Cassandra was cursed with the gift of prophecy. She could see the future with terrifying clarity—but no one would believe her. She warned of catastrophe that could still be avoided. Her punishment was not ignorance. It was awareness without influence.
Many Aliyah advocates today live with that same curse.
We read the writing on the wall—not through crystal balls or political punditry, but through the ruthless consistency of Jewish history and the clarity of Torah. We see the surge of global antisemitism not as an anomaly, but as a signal. A message. A warning from Hashem.
The Gemara already told us exactly how this works:
אם אין ישראל עושין מה שראוי להם – מעמיד להם מלך כהמן הרשע
If the Jewish people do not do what they are meant to do, Hashem appoints over them a ruler like Haman the wicked—an evil leadership that pushes them, through suffering, toward their destiny.
This is not theory. It is history replaying itself in real time.
Across the globe, openly antisemitic leaders and movements—modern-day Hamans and Hamandanis—are rising. Some are explicit. Others hide behind “anti-Zionism,” “progress,” or “economic justice.” But the outcome is always the same. When societies fracture and economies decline, the Jew becomes the scapegoat.
And the economy is cracking. Unsustainable debt. Collapsing trust in institutions. Social unrest. Moral confusion. History has already shown us what happens next.
Those of us calling for Aliyah are not fearmongers. We are not extremists. We are realists who recognize patterns Jews have paid for in blood again and again. We are watching the warning lights flash—while being told to calm down.
We cry out to our fellow Jews: leave the exile while there is still time. Come home by choice, not by force. And again and again, our words fall on deaf ears.
But this resistance is not new.
The Nevi’im themselves were deeply unpopular. They were sent directly by Hashem—with unmistakable authority—and still the Jewish people dismissed them. They were mocked, ridiculed, silenced, accused of extremism, accused of disloyalty. Some were imprisoned. Some were beaten. Some were killed.
Jews ignored prophets speaking בשם ה׳. Why should anyone be surprised that they ignore warnings now?
And today, there are communities so entrenched in exile that they no longer experience it as exile at all.
They call it “home.”
They identify emotionally, culturally, even spiritually with their host countries more than with their own ancestral homeland. They wrap themselves in foreign flags and foreign identities and convince themselves this is normal Jewish existence.
When challenged, they retreat into feigned uncertainty:
“How do we know this is the right time?”
“Who says this is Kibbutz Galuyot?”
“Just because half the Jewish population lives in Israel again doesn’t mean anything has changed.”
As if exile ever ended with a formal announcement.
As if redemption ever waited for universal consensus.
For the first time since the destruction of the First Temple, more than half of world Jewry lives in the Land of Israel. That alone should shake Jewish consciousness. Instead, it is dismissed as coincidence.
The Land itself is testifying—and is ignored.
The Gemara states explicitly that there is no clearer sign of redemption than when the Land of Israel gives forth its fruits. Not metaphors. Not abstractions. Physical blessing. A land desolate for centuries now overflowing with life, agriculture, innovation, and sovereignty.
Forests where there were swamps.
Vineyards where there was dust.
Hebrew revived from prayer book to living language.
And still people say: “Nothing has changed.”
So one must ask—what would wake them up?
Another economic collapse blamed on Jews?
Another wave of expulsions?
Another moment when police stand aside?
Another October 7—but in the diaspora?
The tragedy is not ignorance. It is willful blindness.
And the Rambam is unsparing about this.
In Hilchot Ta’anit, the Rambam writes that when calamities strike and people dismiss them as random, as “the way of the world,” this response is not merely wrong—it is cruel. Cruel because it ignores the message Hashem is sending, forcing Him to bring it closer, louder, and more painful until it can no longer be denied.
Hashem does not whisper forever.
Ignoring the signs does not make them disappear. It guarantees escalation.
History proves the Rambam right. Spain. Germany. Everywhere Jews said, “This is different.” Everywhere they were wrong.
This time, we have no excuse.
There is a Jewish state.
The Land is open.
The doors are not sealed.
Cassandra was not wrong. The prophets were not wrong. They were inconvenient.
That is the curse of our generation: to see clearly, to warn sincerely, and to be mocked—until the warnings become reality.
Exile trains Jews to survive.
Redemption demands they choose.
The signs are no longer subtle. The nevuot are unfolding before our eyes.
And there is a third possibility—one Jews prefer not to contemplate.
In Egypt, during the plague of Darkness, Chazal teach that eighty percent of the Jews chose to remain in exile. They were comfortable. Assimilated. Unwilling to leave what they called home. They did not survive.
Redemption did not wait for them.
The choice before world Jewry has never been clearer: to return willingly, to be pushed by forces like Haman—or to be left behind altogether.
The question is not whether history is moving.
The question is who will have the courage to move with it.
