JERUSALEM--Loan guarantees. A new government in Israel and a U.S. election that promises to be closer than expected has vaulted this issue back onto the national agenda in both countries. But the reason for providing Israel with $10 billion in guaranteed loans to assist in immigrant absorption has little to do with settlements, the peace process or even the politics of the U.S.-Israel relationship.

The real reason is humanitarianism. Because since the mid-1970s, U.S. presidents and members of Congress have constantly pressured Soviet regimes to allow Jews the freedom to emigrate to Israel. Because now that the Cold War has ended and the floodgates have opened, over 400,000 Soviet Jews have emigrated to Israel since September 1989. Because the unemployment rate among the new arrivals is now topping 40 percent, and only 20 percent of those who are employed are able to find work in their trained professions.

These new Israelis are some of the brightest and most talented immigrants the Jewish state has ever received. Well over half come to Israel with advanced degrees--engineers, doctors, scientists and architects.

What they need most is jobs. Without the loan guarantees, Israel has neither the capital nor the international economic standing to attract the foreign investment necessary for creating new jobs and industries.

These former Soviets now have roofs over their heads, food in their bellies and a community of their own in a country they can honestly consider home. But what they lack is work--what many Soviets consider the most important aspect of life.

And that makes sense. These people lived their lives under a system where a state-run economy guaranteed work for every ablebodied citizen. Unemployment was virtually unknown. Failing to work was a crime against the state--that branded the culprit a "parasite."

In a system in which few had money and there was little to buy, one's self-importance was based primarily on one's profession. Without work, the Soviet immigrants eventually lose hope after their first year or two in Israel. From discussions with them, it is clear that many have already become broken men and women.

Take Mikhail from St. Petersburg. A 42-year-old mathematician who taught in a high-level university for 18 years, he has been forced for the past year to sing for pennies on Jerusalem's pedestrian mall. Store-keepers shoo him away, passersby laugh at him. He cannot stand the shame of making a fool of himself before fellow Jews.

Take Anna, a 33-year-old mother of two from Baku, who once worked as a chemical analyst in a hospital. She now lives in a caravan site outside of Be-er Sheba, where little employment is available for even the native Israelis who live in the area.

Anna thought that if she used her hands and head, she could find a job in Israel--but she has had no luck so far. She clings to the hope that some kind of work will surface soon.

And Eric, a 54-Year-old former Muscovite now living in a Jerusalem suburb. He bears the dubious distinction of being featured in a recent major newspaper under the headline, "Builder of Atomic Energy Plants Now Sweeps Floors for a Living." Since then, the school he used to clean has closed for the summer and Eric, once at the top of his profession, is jobless.

In Hebrew, the word for "work" and the word for the Labor Party are the same. Soviet immigrants are hoping that members of the new Labor-led government will pick up on this connection and create desperately-needed jobs for them. But the Israeli government cannot succeed on its own.

Just two weeks ago, the Red Army Choir opened its Jerusalem performance by singing the Israeli national anthem--"Hatikva," which means "hope"--in Hebrew. Hope, for Russians in Israel, simply means finding work.

For Sasha, an immigrant boy from Ukraine who now plays "Jerusalem of Gold" on his violin to help the family put food on the table, hope is nothing more than a chance to earn a living. He does not ask for gold.

His future, like the futures of other former Soviets now in Israel, can be brightened by the efforts of the superpower--the other superpower--that began working for their freedom 20 years ago. Now that same government should help these people live a life of decency in their new-found democracy.

Allan S. Galper '93 is the assistant editorial chair of The Crimson.