Alon and Tehila Diamond had built a very nice life for themselves in Teaneck.

They had a solid marriage, five healthy kids, and were respected members of their shul.

After finishing his residency training in emergency medicine, Alon had pushed himself to the limit in order to finish paying off his loans. With the down payment saved for a house in Gush Etzion, the Diamonds were finally ready to follow their dream of making aliyah.

And while aliyah is fraught with uncertainty for most people, the Diamonds had planned everything out to the finest details. They were thrilled to move in to the same neighborhood as Alon’s older brother in Efrat, who had made himself available to handle all the logistics. They picked schools for their children and had scouted out their new shul.

Tehila’s training as an accountant kicked in as they budgeted out their moving expenses, monthly costs, and made an actuarial assessment based on their expected salaries.

Grants via Nefesh B’Nefesh for shipping their things came in handy, and Alon’s older brother came to the airport in a rented van and loaded suitcase after suitcase. An hour and a half later, the Diamonds were standing outside of their new home.

And then in less than six months, Alon was sitting in my office to talk about his wife’s depression.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Dr. Freedman,” he said as we shook hands. “As an oleh yourself, I figured you’d be uniquely situated to understand our issues.”

As it turned out, I didn’t think there was too much unique about Tehila’s case.  She was irritable, frustrated, always tired, and often crying. With this in mind, I encouraged Alon to make an appointment for her at my first opening later that week.

“Great!” he said. “I’ll try to be available via Skype, even though it will be 4 a.m.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about, Alon. We said 11 a.m.,” I clarified.

“That’s Israel time. I’m headed back to New York for work tomorrow.”

As it turned out, Alon couldn’t manage a virtual presence that morning either.

And Tehila was not happy, “He’s been essentially absent for the entire half year since we’ve been here, Dr. Freedman. Am I depressed? I don’t think so. I am tired, frustrated, overwhelmed, and basically abandoned to acclimate our family to an entirely new culture. But depressed? No.”

And the more questions I asked, the more I appreciated her self-assessment.

“He’s been at work in the States for practically the entire time we’ve been here. I’m lucky if we find time for a phone call in between his shifts in the ER. And when he’s here, he’s either sleeping due to the jetlag, or going off on trips with his brother. So, am I depressed? No! I’m totally alone, and then when I ask him for help I get one of three answers: ‘Go ask my brother’s wife,’ or, ‘Don’t you realize that aliyah is tough?’ or, ‘Don’t you know I’m working hard to support our family?’ First off, my sister-in-law is busy with her own family. Secondly, aliyah is only hard for me... he’s having plenty of fun hiking around with his brother whenever he happens to be in the same county as me. Lastly, we have enough money saved up. I ran the numbers myself.”

I asked her if it was true that the money he makes in America is necessary.

“No! I mean, sure. But not like it’s critical. Alon wanted to have a bigger house, but we’re fine here. We don’t need two fancy cars or extravagant vacations. Yes, our house is smaller and we only have a Kia and not a BMW, but it’s Eretz Yisrael — and my kids need their father and I need my husband. This virtual dad thing is just not working.”

I was planning on calling Alon later that evening, but he beat me to the punch.

“I thought you’d understand how tough it can be to make ends meet as a new oleh, Dr. Freedman. Didn’t you also travel back and forth to pay the bills when you first made aliyah?”

Hoping to leave my own history out of the picture, I attempted to refocus on the issue at hand, “Alon, it sounds like your wife is a bit exasperated.”

“What, she’s not depressed?”

“Distressed, not depressed. And no antidepressant is going to cure the fact that she’s largely been keeping the family afloat on her own over the past few months.”

“I have to pay the bills, Dr. Freedman, and my position back in the States makes it happen.”

While I understood the solid logic behind Alon’s arguments, his wife and kids needed him at home to get over the aliyah humps and bumps. No wad of cash is big enough to replace a present father.

Tehila was stuck doing all the aliyah paperwork and was pretty overwhelmed with all the child-rearing duties, even though English is the second official language of Efrat. Sure, there were good neighbors who were doing their best to send babysitters and kugels. But there was no substitute for her husband when it came to boosting morale within the house.

“Alon,” I asked, “Is it worth it?”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“The money? Sure, I mean, you’re making dollars and spending shekels. It’s great,” he responded defensively. “Come on, Dr. Freedman, don’t tell me you didn’t go back and forth until you established yourself — you still have a Massachusetts medical license.”

“Alon, this isn’t about me. I’m not married to Tehila Diamond who clearly needs a husband at home,” I answered.

“I hear, Doc, but you know, plenty of professionals — doctors, lawyers, dentists, just about everyone — do the commuting thing, and it’s fine.”

“Alon, we aren’t talking about everyone else. We’re talking about Alon Diamond whose situation has become dysfunctional enough for you to send me your wife so that she can be evaluated for depression. What’s it worth if the big paycheck comes with so much collateral damage? Alon, listen to me. Find a way to make it work. True, houses are smaller here but your wife willingly gave up her SUV. You’ll be fine, Alon. People survive on much less than the two professional incomes you and your wife have.”

“What are you saying, that I should just come back and get a job at some local hospital? That will make everything better? Wait, maybe you can help me find a decent job....”

“Alon, let’s get serious. You’re a professional, American-trained doctor. They’re dying to find a great guy like you. And those are just the hospitals. Let’s not forget how lucky the patients will be to have a good, frum, Anglo doctor like you who they can depend on,” I said as I watched him blush over Skype.

I waited a few seconds. “So tell me, Dr. Freedman, how did you do it?”

“Same way you will. A lot of hishtadlus and a lot of emunah. I still daven every day to make it happen.”

Identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of patients, their families, and all other parties.

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 747. Jacob L. Freedman is a psychiatrist and business consultant based in Israel. When he’s not busy with his patients, Dr. Freedman can be found learning Torah in The Old City or hiking the hills outside of Jerusalem.  Dr. Freedman can be reached most easily through his website www.drjacoblfreedman.com.