There is a version of retirement aliyah that appears in certain brochures and promotional materials for life in Israel that goes something like this: you arrive in the golden years of your life, you find a beautiful apartment in Jerusalem or by the sea in Netanya, you take long walks in the warm Mediterranean air, you pray at the Western Wall on Friday afternoons, you eat wonderful food, your grandchildren visit, and you spend your days in a state of serene spiritual fulfilment.

Most of the aliyah content you will find — including, I confess, much of this series — is oriented toward families. Couples. Parents with children. The assumption built into many guides, many workshops, and many well-meaning pieces of advice is that you are making this move with someone. That there is a "we."

At some point — ideally early in the process and definitely before you sign a rental contract — you are going to need to decide where in Israel you are going to live. This is one of the most consequential decisions of your aliyah, and it is also the decision most likely to be made based on entirely the wrong criteria.

By the time you are a few weeks into the aliyah process, something will happen that nobody warns you about. You will be sitting at your kitchen table, surrounded by documents, reading an email from your Aliyah Advisor, and you will realise that you have no idea what any of the words in the email mean. Not the Hebrew words. The English words. Words like "sal klita" and "teudat oleh" and "Bituach Leumi" and "arnona" and "kupat cholim" and "misrad" this and "misrad" that. You will feel, briefly, as though you have accidentally enrolled in a degree programme nobody told you about.

At some point in your aliyah process, you will realise that you are not doing this alone. There is an infrastructure. A whole ecosystem of organisations, government agencies, and non-profits whose entire purpose is to help you get to Israel and settle there successfully. This is genuinely one of the most remarkable things about aliyah — the support structure that exists for people going through it is extraordinary. I did not fully appreciate this until I was in the middle of the process and realised that I had not one but several dedicated human beings whose job it was to help me specifically.

Let us begin with a question I have been asked more times than I can count, a question that contains within it centuries of theological debate, considerable family complexity, and occasionally some awkward conversations at Passover.

Who qualifies?

Shalom. I am Rabbi Moshe. Welcome to my series.

Let me tell you how this series came about. I made aliyah three years ago. I am a rabbi. I am an educated man. I have a postgraduate degree, I have read the Talmud in its original Aramaic, and I once navigated the New York City subway system during a snowstorm with a broken phone and no signal. I consider myself a capable person.