On the return flight from Buenos Aires to New York City, the flight attendants passed out the usual customs forms. Among the mundane details, the form asked about the nature of the trip: Business or pleasure?

At times during the three days there we enjoyed aspects of Argentinean life, viewing this grand city from the bus windows, eating traditional food, and spending one late night watching a dance performance in a tango café.

But I would not call this trip a vacation, and would certainly not have gone on my own, had I not been invited to participate in a fact-finding mission on behalf of the Jewish community of Argentina..

Was it business? Not in the usual way we use the term "business." But I realized that connecting with other Jews and helping them in need is certainly my business, as a rabbi. One of a delegation of 160 Jewish leaders from across the United States, our group was doing the business of the Jewish people.

In mid-April, I experienced a very full and colorful three days in Buenos Aires, where our delegation found a Jewish community with great treasures and vibrancy caught in an economic maelstrom that threatens the well-being of their families and the very existence of their established institutions. This was a unique trip, where we did see elders and children fed in soup kitchens and impoverished individuals receiving their medications for free from the Jewish community. We also learned about the "new poor" who look just like us--middle class, non-orthodox Jews in a cosmopolitan city--and are too dignified to ask for help. They drop their "luxuries" one by one, taking children out of day schools and camps, leaving pledges to the community unfulfilled, as their businesses fail, they declare bankruptcy and worry about losing their homes.

On the surface, the city hums with activity. It is clean, colorful, and architecturally stunning. People are dressed professionally, respectably, and the streets are busy with pedestrians and autos.

But with 25% unemployment, and a devaluation of the peso of 66% 3 months before in December 2001, there are many problems if you take the time to speak to people.

The main political mouthpiece for the Argentine Jewish community, the DAIA (Delegacion de Asociaciones Israelitas Argentinas) received a phone call from the local media on Tuesday. "What’s happening at the airport? There are many Jews leaving and many Jews arriving!" Indeed, as 160 American Jewish leaders disembarked in Buenos Aires after an eleven-hour night flight from East Coast cities, 140 Argentineans of all ages were gathered with their families, preparing to make aliyah to Israel. Our first act as a delegation was to hand the new olim their tickets, and to wish them hatzlacha (good luck) in their new lives.

One might ask, why would anyone make aliyah when Israel is in such dire straits? Who would choose to leave a prosperous Western country for Israel now?

It is true that the Argentine Jewish community has been historically one of the most Zionistic. The level of spoken Hebrew among the young people is legendary. For many years their youth movements have prepared significant numbers to leave the 4^th largest Diaspora Jewish community to make a home in Israel.

It is also true that Argentina’s Jews have a similar history to the emigration of our American forebears. 90% of Argentine Jewry arrived following the pogroms of the early 20^th century. 85% of the population is of Ashkenazi descent. Like our grandparents and great-grandparents, they arrived from Poland and Russia, first 100 years ago and later, invited by the government to settle as they fled Hitler (ironically, the government, along with other South and North Americans governments, sheltered Nazis as well).

Most of the Jews in Argentina have made this country home for 3-4 generations, and have lived comfortable middle-class lives. Mostly small business people, the Jews owned factories and stores, and many became doctors, lawyers and other professionals. Over the generations, this community has built up many social service, educational, and communal institutions to serve the Jews of Argentina, numbering 220,000 in the 1990s. Ten years ago, there were 50 Jewish day schools and 30 JCCs. They created a rabbinical seminary for the training of Conservative rabbis and their graduates have filled congregations throughout South America, helping liberal Judaism to flourish in Buenos Aires and spilling over to congregations in the US. The graduates bring a model of warmth and energy and a commitment to community-building and pastoral care that are unprecedented in most rabbinical training programs in the US.

So why would such comfortable Jews, Jews, like us, leave so suddenly?

Many of you may remember the horrific bombing attack on the Jewish community of Buenos Aires in the summer of 1994. There is an ongoing investigation and trial of those believed responsible for that attack, as well as an attack 2 years earlier, in 1992, on the Israeli embassy in Buenos Aires. Those attacks bear a striking resemblance to acts of Islamic terror around the world, including the bombing of the US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, as well as an attempted attack in London in 1994 shortly after the Buenos Aires explosion, carried out by car bombs parked outside the building. Other evidence makes a strong case that Iran had a strong hand in engineering bombing and supplying the terrorists with funds and material. This information has been supported by FBI investigations.

In addition, the 1994 AMIA bombing was one of the first in which Islamic terrorists recruited locals to help carry out the attack, as a means of protecting themselves. The current trial has implicated four Argentine police officers, of the five who are indicted. There are also indications that government officials, even up to a former president, may have been involved in covering up and delaying the investigation, which has now dragged on for 8 years.

But anti-Semitism has not driven away Argentina’s Jews. Since then, the government has provided police guards 24/7 outside every synagogue, school or other Jewish institution, in addition to the security inside, which is paid for by the Jews. The level of anti-Semitism is not on the rise, as yet. And the Jewish community has developed and maintained remarkably cordial relations with the leadership of the Muslim community in Buenos Aires—despite protests by hard-liners in both communities against this ongoing relationship.

So why are they leaving?

Most of you are probably at least peripherally aware of the current economic and political crisis in Argentina. The situation is quite complex, one that even baffles economists. How can a country so rich in resources, with the most literate population in the Western world—higher literacy rate than the US—have sunk so low? Most will explain it with one word: corruption. During the past four years of recession, Argentina ahs received millions of dollars of support from the World Bank. All of it is gone. Instead of producing goods for export, the government has relied on imports and failed to invest in its own population. The government privatized its industries, selling them off for a song and squandering the money. The government payroll has been very bloated, and money has not reached those who needed it most. Now, there are no jobs and no handouts. In December, the peso, which had been tied to the dollar, was devalued so that it takes 3 pesos to equal one dollar. Whatever people had in savings suddenly vanished. Inflation is rising at about 20% now, and people can’t keep up with rising costs of food and rent and services. Free medical care is no longer available, and the doctors themselves are out of work, Medications are becoming harder to come by. In a country where everything looks upscale, middle-class men in suits are combing through garbage to find food to feed their families.

I met Susannah and José, with whom I conversed in high school French, as they received assistance to leave Buenos Aires for Israel. Neither speaks English or Hebrew. Both studied law, but neither is employed in the field. Jose has a job as a taxi driver, which does not pay well. They have two daughters, 24 and 22. Neither one is employed. José has a heart condition.

I met Samuel, who owned a factory and shop for 30 years. He was a clothing designer and had many employees. First, he had to let all of the workers go, so that he could afford to pay the rent. He continued to work alone, but unable to compete with imports from abroad, he was forced into bankruptcy. He lost his car, he lost his house, and moved into a small apartment. Now he has no money to pay rent. Samuel has decided to go to Israel.

I met young people, graduating high school and college, who see no future in their country. Without a job, they simply remain a burden to their parents, who themselves are overwhelmed. Many middle-class people are caring for aging parents as well. Students who were once encouraged to take academic courses in college are now urged to study technical skills.

The community has 20,000 individuals on it welfare roles, people who are supported by social services, soup kitchens, and food stamps issued by the Jewish welfare organizations. Government welfare does not exist, except for the meager subsistence offered to seniors. Of the 20,000, only 3000 are seniors. These are not chronic poor. They are what the Argentineans refer to as the "new poor."

Last year, 1100 Argentine Jews made aliyah to Israel. In the past 4 months, 1200 Jews have left and many more have made inquiries, despite the difficulties and fears of going to Israel. Many are delayed from leaving because they have legal problems or debts to pay.

Not everyone is so desperate that they want to leave, however. At most, leaders expect 5000 Jews to make aliyah, out of a population of over 200,000. Some will try to go to other Spanish-speaking countries, as the non-Jewish population is seeking to do. Some will try to make it in America, if they can get it. But most plan to stay.

How will the community survive? What can be done for these families?

If you were in this situation, if your savings were wiped out, you lost your job and your partner had to take a lower-paying job, how would you get by?

First, you would cut back all your discretionary spending. You would cut out luxury items. First go the vacations. You’d stop buying new computers, game boys for the kids, new clothes. Ok. That doesn’t sound so bad. Of course, you would have to cut back on your charitable giving. So the institutions you care about, your community centers, would have to cut back too. And the private school would have to go. You could ask for a scholarship, if there’s one available, or your pride might prevent you from seeking a handout. Your kids would go to the local schools that you had not intended them to attend.

50 day schools have been reduced to 36. Half the teachers have lost their jobs, and the ones who are still working have to wait 2-3 months to get paid. The 15,000 members of the local JCCs have dropped to 6000. The center now can’t afford to give snacks to the kids who come for programs, because only a few can pay for the snacks and there’s no budget to cover the rest.

The "new poor" have to adjust to a very different reality. They can’t stay in the same social circles with their friends who still have some means. The kids can’t go to their friends bar mitzvahs or birthday parties, because they’re ashamed to come without a present. In a family that moves into a low-class hotel, with curtains instead of doors, the father has to accompany his 12-year-old daughter to the bathroom. You might try to sell your apartment—but you’d have to find a buyer and hope they could pay you what it’s worth.

I have to be honest—I did not personally witness many people in the depths of poverty. I did not go into anyone’s homes. We did hear from people in desperate situations, but most people are too proud to speak about these things, especially to strangers from America. Can you imagine getting up in front of a group and admitting to them that you need financial assistance?

What I did see were the possibilities for creative assistance. This is a community with bright and dedicated leaders, many of whom are willing to think outside of the box, to restructure the community, to develop new ways of thinking to maintain these rich institutions and to serve people’s immediate needs.

I saw micro-businesses, retraining individuals to go back to work in a taxi service, a bakery.

I saw job centers to give the unemployed computer services to hunt for jobs and send out their resumes on the internet.

I saw Jewish schools and the rabbinical seminary that are in danger of closing.

I saw the brand new tsedaka foundation that has introduced a new model of collecting funds and allocating them to worthy programs, rather than function on patronage as some other established agencies do.

I met a woman who works for the Jewish radio station, a source of joy and comfort for many Jews, who is working as a volunteer because the station’s revenue is from ads and there are no more ads.

I saw a synagogue building that now has a soup kitchen, a thrift shop and a pharmacy that gives out free medications to 300 people, almost all run by volunteers.

There we found boxes of matzah from Kiev, imprinted with the statement "This matzah was produced in Kiev, Ukraine especially for the Jews of Argentina as a present from World Jewry."

I saw posters advertising "Pesach Beyachad—Passover Together," seders that were organized this year throughout the provinces for an expected turnout of 10,000 Jews in 49 different locations. 14,000 people showed up, despite rain and despite transit strikes. The boxes of matzah were meant to reach the community in time for the seders, but due to the breakdown of the customs and transit systems, they arrived too late.

This may sound like a huge enterprise: caring for the urgent needs of hungry and homeless Jews, keeping the doors open to the important community institutions, and helping those who wish to make a life for themselves in Israel take that step. But surprisingly, we are not talking about a huge amount of money. The seminary could be saved by an investment of $200,000. $1000 per student would keep one child in day school for a year. The Argentine community itself does not expect or ask for a great deal of money. What they want from us is our solidarity, our caring. They want to know that we understand their situation, and we will be there for them.

One of the inspiring aspects of this trip was, with the seemingly insoluble issues of Israel and suicide bombers in the background, we had a sense that here in Argentina we had a problem we could actually resolve. In one corner, at least, we could redeem the world.